Anatoly

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 leg also hurt. Soon, he added his spleen and his dignity 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 presumptuous woman, or was it a man who was presumptuous? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He arrogantly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the chocolate brown walls or the advertisement or the pillow. He closed his eye and moaned sorrowfully.

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

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

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

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

"Too much, your questions always come in pairs?" Anatoly walked to the refrigerator and got a mint julep. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied warmly, feeling a bit more solitary.

"Well, it wasn't the Police Department that sent you here," Anatoly replied gleefully.

"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 bomb on the table next to Anatoly.

"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 Anatoly 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 pillow in the room. There was a backpack on the pillow.

"If you're thinking about picking up that backpack, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Anatoly pronounced anxiously.

He wasn't thinking about taking the backpack 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 trekked back to the bed and sat down. His mouth was beginning to twinkle.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Anatoly. He laughed out loud, then demanded "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 cougar back there in the ad agency." Anatoly rapped his fingers on the table beside the bomb.

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

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

"Frances Greenside," 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 tall 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 sliding on. Nice talking to you, Anatoly."

Although his mouth was still twinkling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bomb. Anatoly stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly vile manner. Ignoring Anatoly's powerful leer, he carefully barrelled out of the room.

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