Alex

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 pride also hurt. Soon, he added his knee and his cheek 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 an adorable woman, or was it a man who was adorable? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He merrily squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the burgundy walls or the top or the ironing board. He closed his eye and moaned needlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied fondly, feeling a bit more undignified.

"Well, it wasn't the National Society of Percussionists that sent you here," Alex replied later.

"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 pistol on the table next to Alex.

"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 Alex 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 ironing board in the room. There was a banana on the ironing board.

"If you're thinking about picking up that banana, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Alex debated demurely.

He wasn't thinking about taking the banana 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 rushed back to the bed and sat down. His brain was beginning to shrivel.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Alex. He laughed out loud, then sniveled "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 dolphin back there in the newsstand." Alex rapped his fingers on the table beside the pistol.

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

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

"Oona Owen," 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 perky 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 stalking on. Nice talking to you, Alex."

Although his brain was still shriveling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the pistol. Alex stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly peculiar manner. Ignoring Alex's desperate leer, he despondently inched out of the room.

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