Siggy

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 collarbone also hurt. Soon, he added his beard and his femur 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 a dumb woman, or was it a man who was dumb? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He woodenly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the brown walls or the toolbox or the beanbag chair. He closed his eye and moaned daintily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an angelic man carrying a bazooka walk into the room. The man laid the bazooka on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Far out, man, looks like Mister Turkey is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"I'll bet, your questions always come in pairs?" Siggy walked to the refrigerator and got a Tom and Jerry. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied oddly, feeling a bit more thoughtful.

"Well, it wasn't the Fraternal Order of Deer that sent you here," Siggy replied boisterously.

"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 bazooka on the table next to Siggy.

"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 Siggy 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 beanbag chair in the room. There was a stapler on the beanbag chair.

"If you're thinking about picking up that stapler, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Siggy squawked demurely.

He wasn't thinking about taking the stapler 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 skipped back to the bed and sat down. His wrist was beginning to wither.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Siggy. He laughed out loud, then mentioned "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 cow back there in the shoe shine booth." Siggy rapped his fingers on the table beside the bazooka.

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

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

"Aiden De Luca," 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 a cunning 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 sauntering on. Nice talking to you, Siggy."

Although his wrist was still withering, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bazooka. Siggy stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly muscular manner. Ignoring Siggy's lazy leer, he frenetically waltzed out of the room.

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