Embracing The Fool. Dawn Leger

I said. “I’m not going to do anything heroic, believe me. I was just doodling around.”

      “Tell me, why would someone want to set you up for this? Do you have any enemies?” he asked.

      “No, that’s what I can’t figure out. So, you know, that’s why I was going through the names of people in the group, jotting down what I know about them and why they might want to kill Neville. Or frame me. Or both.”

      “And you came up with?”

      “Well, not much, but I really just got started and then boom, all hell broke loose out here. I mean, why didn’t you just tell her I was in the bathroom?”

      “I’m not your keeper.”

      “As if.”

      “Oh, please, don’t talk to me like that.”

      “Like what?”

      “Can you just shut up? Can we not exchange five sentences without an argument?”

      “You shut up,” I said, maturely responding to his provocation.

      It was quiet for a few minutes.

      “What is all that stuff in the storage unit, anyway? Is that yours?”

      I didn’t respond.

      He lifted his head and looked at me.

      “Are you asleep?”

      “No,” I said. “You told me to shut up.”

      “Oh my God,” he said. “Fine.”

      I think we both fell asleep after a while, because the next time I looked, Friday was reclined in the chair and a light blanket had been draped over most of his body. Sunlight was trying to sneak in around the corners of the window shades, and the smell of bad coffee wafted into the room.

      “Friday!” I shouted.

      “What?” he groaned. “I’m sleeping here.”

      “You have to tell me your first name now,” I said.

      “No, I don’t.”

      “You do. We spent the night together. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” I said.

      He pulled the covers firmly over his face.

      “All right,” I said. "Don't tell me."

      The nurse had returned with his discharge “Against Medical Advice” papers, which she left on the tray table at the foot of the bed. I picked them up and read, Austin T. Friday. Lieutenant, Homicide Division.

      “Gee, I wonder what the T. stands for? Hey—you should have gone into the Treasury Department, you know? ATF?”

      He lifted his head and I saw one eye giving me a piercing stare.

      “Not so original, eh?” I asked.

      I put down the papers.

      “Well, Austin, at least your parents didn’t name you Walter,” I said.

      I got back into bed and opened my notebook again, but it was too dark to read my notes. A moment later, I realized the strange huffing noise I was hearing came from my companion, doing his best not to laugh out loud.

      Finally, his head popped out.

      “Hey, doc?” he asked, chuckling. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re really funny?”

      I shook my head, smiling.

      “No,” I said.

      He smiled back.

      “There’s a reason for that.”