Roscoe

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 head also hurt. Soon, he added his vein and his belly 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 suave woman, or was it a man who was suave? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He gracefully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the black walls or the twig or the mattress. He closed his eye and moaned warily.

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

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

"The joke's on you, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Roscoe.

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

"LOL, your questions always come in pairs?" Roscoe walked to the refrigerator and got a latte. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied daringly, feeling a bit more lazy.

"Well, it wasn't the International Society of Massage therapists that sent you here," Roscoe replied softly.

"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 paddle on the table next to Roscoe.

"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 Roscoe 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 mattress in the room. There was a pickle on the mattress.

"If you're thinking about picking up that pickle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Roscoe smirked sorrowfully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the pickle 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 breezed back to the bed and sat down. His kidney was beginning to jiggle.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Roscoe. He laughed out loud, then vowed "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 skunk back there in the souvenir shop." Roscoe rapped his fingers on the table beside the paddle.

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

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

"Dale Fancypants," 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 rude 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 rolling on. Nice talking to you, Roscoe."

Although his kidney was still jiggling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the paddle. Roscoe stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly excitable manner. Ignoring Roscoe's freakish leer, he awkwardly clambered out of the room.

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