Gavin

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 gall bladder also hurt. Soon, he added his spleen and his hand 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 lazy woman, or was it a man who was lazy? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He ferociously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the mauve walls or the spittoon or the wine rack. He closed his eye and moaned happily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an unkempt man carrying a pair of scissors walk into the room. The man laid the pair of scissors on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Ay yi yi, looks like Mister Hothead is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Verily, your questions always come in pairs?" Gavin walked to the refrigerator and got a Jack Daniel's. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied valiantly, feeling a bit more perky.

"Well, it wasn't the National Rifle Association that sent you here," Gavin replied temperamentally.

"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 pair of scissors on the table next to Gavin.

"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 Gavin 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 wine rack in the room. There was an advertisement on the wine rack.

"If you're thinking about picking up that advertisement, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Gavin simpered effortlessly.

He wasn't thinking about taking the advertisement 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 lumbered back to the bed and sat down. His tail was beginning to crumble.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Gavin. He laughed out loud, then jeered "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 otter back there in the tattoo parlor." Gavin rapped his fingers on the table beside the pair of scissors.

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

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

"Iris Vidmar," 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 bald 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 marching on. Nice talking to you, Gavin."

Although his tail was still crumbling, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the pair of scissors. Gavin stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sanguine manner. Ignoring Gavin's high-strung leer, he daintily cantered out of the room.

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