Octavio

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 jaw also hurt. Soon, he added his thorax and his rib 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 wizened woman, or was it a man who was wizened? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He ingeniously squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the beige walls or the dish or the billiard table. He closed his eye and moaned testily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a slender man carrying a water balloon walk into the room. The man laid the water balloon on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Bless my britches, looks like Mister Bumpkin is coming back to life."

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

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

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

"Adios, your questions always come in pairs?" Octavio walked to the refrigerator and got a glass of buttermilk. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied suavely, feeling a bit more sincere.

"Well, it wasn't the American Medical Association that sent you here," Octavio replied bravely.

"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 water balloon on the table next to Octavio.

"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 Octavio 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 billiard table in the room. There was a tablet computer on the billiard table.

"If you're thinking about picking up that tablet computer, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Octavio gabbed noisily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the tablet computer 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 struggled back to the bed and sat down. His piehole was beginning to break off.

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

This seemed to genuinely amuse Octavio. He laughed out loud, then laughed "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 rat back there in the auto repair shop." Octavio rapped his fingers on the table beside the water balloon.

"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?"

"Sven Jacobsen," 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 hirsute 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 wading on. Nice talking to you, Octavio."

Although his piehole was still breaking off, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the water balloon. Octavio stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly sincere manner. Ignoring Octavio's fiendish leer, he softly swung out of the room.

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