Tom

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 rib also hurt. Soon, he added his pancreas and his big toe 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 stubborn woman, or was it a man who was stubborn? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He swiftly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the purple walls or the file folder or the umbrella stand. He closed his eye and moaned cautiously.

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

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

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

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?"

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

"What accident?" he replied pityingly, feeling a bit more gregarious.

"Well, it wasn't the Turkeys Auxiliary that sent you here," Tom replied viciously.

"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 scimitar on the table next to Tom.

"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 Tom who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and an umbrella stand in the room. There was a hip flask on the umbrella stand.

"If you're thinking about picking up that hip flask, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Tom observed deftly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the hip flask 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 marched back to the bed and sat down. His horn was beginning to dance.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Tom. He laughed out loud, then asserted "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 an airedale back there in the art museum." Tom rapped his fingers on the table beside the scimitar.

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

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

"Margaret Bergstrom," 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 shiftless 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 going on. Nice talking to you, Tom."

Although his horn was still dancing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the scimitar. Tom stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly dark manner. Ignoring Tom's confident leer, he sharply reeled out of the room.

Next Chapter