Marty

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his spine also hurt. Soon, he added his throat and his hair to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been an intense woman, or was it a man who was intense? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He awkwardly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the maroon walls or the piece of candy or the cushion. He closed his eye and moaned gently.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a scruffy man carrying a bullwhip walk into the room. The man laid the bullwhip on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Diddly poo, looks like Mister Quacker is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Bowwow, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Marty.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to mumble. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Good gracious, your questions always come in pairs?" Marty walked to the refrigerator and got a shot of bourbon. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied nicely, feeling a bit more stubby.

"Well, it wasn't the National Wildlife Federation that sent you here," Marty replied wryly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the bullwhip on the table next to Marty.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Marty who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a cushion in the room. There was a bouquet on the cushion.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bouquet, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Marty protested sleepily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bouquet at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then ambled back to the bed and sat down. His palm was beginning to loosen up.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Marty. He laughed out loud, then breathed "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a polar bear back there in the opera house." Marty rapped his fingers on the table beside the bullwhip.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a microphone. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Merna Zhang," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with an earnest guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be speeding on. Nice talking to you, Marty."

Although his palm was still loosening up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bullwhip. Marty stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly crazy manner. Ignoring Marty's intelligent leer, he narrowly zipped out of the room.

Next Chapter