Thursdays With Uncle Boom #92

The icy waters of the river slammed over my head as I fought and kicked against the bonds that held me.

Bastard!

I kicked myself above the surface momentarily and expelled what precious little air there was in my lungs to yell at the vagabond watching me impassively, mere feet away.

He was so close, standing on a wooden planked pier easily within reach of an outstretched arm.

If your arms were not tied tightly behind your back that was.

I kicked frantically.

This was not how it was meant to be?

The waters closed over my head once more, the water, even in the dim light seemed bright with the bubbling churn of my struggles.

Again I breached the surface.

Help me, damn it!?

I spat at the figure above.

I noticed that he had lit up a pipe and was regarding me with some merriment as I thrashed in vain to stay atop the water.

Even as I battled an imminent drowning I took a moment to appreciate the scent of the baccy he was smoking. A fine blend, one of my favourites, Fifi's Nook, prepared by Hungarian widows.

The figure on the pier shook his head and bent to pick up a nearby scrap of wood. He took careful aim before releasing it lazily at my head.

Gah!?

I saw stars as it crumped off the side of my face.

BASTARD!

I managed to roar once more before the waters closed over me and I sank down into the cold murk.

Down I sank, deeper and deeper.

My lungs burned and I longed to let go and gulp for breath but I could not, even as my vision grew darker than the black waters that held me.

My bound hands bumped something and reflexively I jerked around.

A body was there, floating in the caliginous depths. Spiraling slowly around to face me.

The corpse was bloated and pale from prolonged immersion in water, the neck gaping raggedly where it had been sliced open.

Dobbers!?

I thrashed in my death throes, my heart pounding impossibly loud in my ears as everything faded to black.

I wrenched myself awake, my shirt clung to me, drenched in an icy sweat.

I could still hear the pounding of my heart. Wait, no, was that the door?

I lurched up from the chair in my sitting room and staggered to answer it.

Flinging it open, I saw my good friend Anulus. He was panting for breath as if he had just vigorously tupped a wench with his mighty walloper.

Anulus!?

I croaked.

Boomy! It's Dobbers. The police. I'm afraid to say old chap, they found him. He's, he's dead.

I leaned against the door frame. Dobbers, a lifelong friend. Dead. Being no stranger to death, I wouldn't have expected the news to hurt so much.

But it did.

Let me guess, his throat was cut?

My voice was a harsh rasp.

Anulus gasped.

They're not supposed to say but yes, Hilton, he told me his throat was cut and he was dumped in the river.

I winced.

Anulus reached forth steadying me with a firm grip to the shoulder.

How did you know, Boomy?

I thought of my dream and the vagabond on the pier who had cast me into the river. Even in the dark I had recognised him. Even if he hadn't been smoking that damned pipe.

I recognised him because he was me.

I shook Anulus's hand from my shoulder and straightened, gritting my teeth.

How did I know?

I shook my head.

You should know by now, Anulus, old fellow...