Zachary

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 pinky also hurt. Soon, he added his tooth and his thumb 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 brassy woman, or was it a man who was brassy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He gleefully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the pea green walls or the wire cutter or the footstool. He closed his eye and moaned sleepily.

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

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

"Not so fast, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Zachary.

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

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

"What accident?" he replied hopefully, feeling a bit more garrulous.

"Well, it wasn't the Pawnbrokers of the World that sent you here," Zachary replied suspiciously.

"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 dagger on the table next to Zachary.

"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 Zachary 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 footstool in the room. There was a bag of ice on the footstool.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bag of ice, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Zachary growled fondly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bag of ice 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 blundered back to the bed and sat down. His tooth was beginning to bend.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Zachary. He laughed out loud, then informed "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 parakeet back there in the bowling alley." Zachary rapped his fingers on the table beside the dagger.

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

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

"Lindy Meyer," 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 stinky 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 setting out on. Nice talking to you, Zachary."

Although his tooth was still bending, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the dagger. Zachary stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly cocky manner. Ignoring Zachary's peculiar leer, he ignobly whirled out of the room.

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