Not catching sight of anything, the helicopters spotlight moved on its search, Henson quit rubbing his neck to twist off the vodka bottle cap and drain the remaining contents into his mouth. He tosses the empty bottle into the river, bouncing off a furry hide of what could hopefully be deemed only as animal.
“Nice shot, my dear chap” exclaimed a voice from somewhere in the darkness of the bridge from which Henson could not see.
Henson guessed where the voice came from; pulled out the gun he had in his jacket and aimed, judging where the figures’ chest would be.
“Now hold on there mate, don’t shoot, you and I are one in the same” said the voice. “Let me show you.”
A pale hand protruded into the faint light, carrying a unique marking imprinted on the palm.
“Take a look at your hand, son” said the voice.
Henson looked down at his free hand and saw nothing; he held it up to the show the voice, which then the voice explained to switch the gun to the other hand. In his sweaty palm held the same emblem, still vibrant and fresh.
“If it is alright with you, I would like to put my hand down now and introduce myself.”
Henson nodded, un-cocked the gun and placed it back into his jacket pocket.
“Well, ran me for a scare you did, eh? Though I was rats in the river, a duck in thunder, gone to the land of wine and wenches.”
Out from the shadows came a man, an aged fellow, with a head thick of peppered hair and smoky stubble. He walked with a limp up to where Henson sat and placed himself beside him.
“Bit of my odd humour I’m afraid, wine and wenches, sounds like a pretty good heaven to me.”
He kneaded his limp leg at the thigh, relaxing the muscles as he rested.
“Bradley Kherrington is the name” he extended his hand to Henson which he grasped in return. “But my friends call me Sabo.”
“Sabo?” uttered Henson, forgetting for a second how to speak.
“Sabo, yes, as in saboteur, vandalizing vigilante, dissenter of dictatorship. And you are?”
“Um, Henson…Salt, I think…”
“You think you are Henson Salt?”
“Well, I haven’t been able to remember much since last night” Henson reached up with his hand and rubbed the back of his neck some more.
“Ah yes, the operation, went on last night you say? Well, no worries mate, it’s happened to all who have done it. Memory loss, but memory return soon.”
“You wouldn’t by chance happen to have something to drink?” asked Henson.
“Bit nippy out tonight eh? Here.” Sabo pulled a flask from his pocket. “Whiskey, warms the body right.”
Henson popped the cap and let the liquid drain into his mouth. He wiped his mouth, screwed on the lid and handed back the flask.
“What do we do now?” Henson asked.
“Well.” Sabo said looking at his watch. “We wait.”