Herb

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 antenna also hurt. Soon, he added his hip and his Achilles tendon 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 sassy woman, or was it a man who was sassy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He frenetically squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the fuchsia walls or the hot potato or the hope chest. He closed his eye and moaned sagely.

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

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

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

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

"Exaltations, your questions always come in pairs?" Herb walked to the refrigerator and got a cup of tea. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied slyly, feeling a bit more sketchy.

"Well, it wasn't the Society of Ballroom dancers that sent you here," Herb replied daintily.

"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 Herb.

"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 Herb 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 hope chest in the room. There was a pop bottle on the hope chest.

"If you're thinking about picking up that pop bottle, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Herb clarified cleverly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the pop bottle 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 leapt back to the bed and sat down. His neck was beginning to heave.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Herb. He laughed out loud, then roared "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 duck-billed platypus back there in the fortune teller shop." Herb rapped his fingers on the table beside the bomb.

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

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

"Jesse Newman," 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 yappy 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 dancing on. Nice talking to you, Herb."

Although his neck was still heaving, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the bomb. Herb stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly dark manner. Ignoring Herb's agitated leer, he victoriously tramped out of the room.

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