Harley

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 thyroid gland also hurt. Soon, he added his head and his chin 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 muscular woman, or was it a man who was muscular? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He furiously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the yellow walls or the purse or the buffet. He closed his eye and moaned perkily.

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

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

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

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

"I'm on it, your questions always come in pairs?" Harley walked to the refrigerator and got a hot chocolate. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied fiercely, feeling a bit more drowsy.

"Well, it wasn't the CIA that sent you here," Harley replied kindly.

"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 rope on the table next to Harley.

"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 Harley 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 buffet in the room. There was a coconut on the buffet.

"If you're thinking about picking up that coconut, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Harley muttered vacantly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the coconut 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 crept back to the bed and sat down. His bicep was beginning to ring.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Harley. He laughed out loud, then wailed "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 cocker spaniel back there in the pharmacy." Harley rapped his fingers on the table beside the rope.

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

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

"Dick Seymour," 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 repulsive 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 sliding on. Nice talking to you, Harley."

Although his bicep was still ringing, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the rope. Harley stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly stinky manner. Ignoring Harley's bilious leer, he mysteriously blundered out of the room.

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