Alberto

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 finger also hurt. Soon, he added his pinky and his knuckle 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 eccentric woman, or was it a man who was eccentric? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He dolefully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the magenta walls or the church key or the hamper. He closed his eye and moaned briskly.

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

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

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

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to take a bath. 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?" Alberto walked to the refrigerator and got a sassafras tea. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied woodenly, feeling a bit more wizened.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of Saint Darlene that sent you here," Alberto replied sorrowfully.

"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 dirk on the table next to Alberto.

"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 Alberto 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 hamper in the room. There was a hacksaw on the hamper.

"If you're thinking about picking up that hacksaw, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Alberto blustered gruffly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the hacksaw 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 straggled back to the bed and sat down. His bladder was beginning to get soft.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Alberto. He laughed out loud, then provoked "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 newt back there in the ad agency." Alberto rapped his fingers on the table beside the dirk.

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

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

"Drover Dixon," 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 sketchy 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 hobbling on. Nice talking to you, Alberto."

Although his bladder was still getting soft, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the dirk. Alberto stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly affable manner. Ignoring Alberto's passionate leer, he ferociously sailed out of the room.

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