Justin

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 neck also hurt. Soon, he added his spine and his pride 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 puzzled woman, or was it a man who was puzzled? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He daringly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the crimson walls or the flag or the pillow. He closed his eye and moaned recklessly.

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

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

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

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

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

"What accident?" he replied nervously, feeling a bit more shifty.

"Well, it wasn't the Mongeese Auxiliary that sent you here," Justin replied hopelessly.

"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 stick of dynamite on the table next to Justin.

"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 Justin 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 pillow in the room. There was a corsage on the pillow.

"If you're thinking about picking up that corsage, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Justin shuddered dolefully.

He wasn't thinking about taking the corsage 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 ambled back to the bed and sat down. His thumb was beginning to grow pale.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Justin. He laughed out loud, then babbled "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 police station." Justin rapped his fingers on the table beside the stick of dynamite.

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

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

"Briget Rebensdorf," 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 dowdy 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 skipping on. Nice talking to you, Justin."

Although his thumb was still growing pale, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the stick of dynamite. Justin stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sinister manner. Ignoring Justin's homely leer, he hysterically trekked out of the room.

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