PART FOURTEEN: A Botched Rescue Attempt

* BANG * went Paree's pistol.

Zeeoww went the bullet, literally parting Mumbles's hair as he ducked in the nick of time, thanks to Stooge's warning.

Crash-tinkle went the empty bottle of whiskey as shards of glass flew everywhere – luckily Mumbles was now face-down in the raft, or he might have been blinded.

Pssshhhhsshhh... went the raft as it was pierced not just by the bullet, but by slivers from the shattered bottle as well.

Still flat on his belly and too terrified to move, Mumbles felt his feet get wet first, then his shins, followed by his knees. The hissing sound became a bubbling as the ruptured end of the raft dipped below the surface. With fresh panic, he sat up and frantically tried to stop the air from leaking out, but there were just too many punctures. "Elp! Elp!" he cried piteously. "I'lldrown! I'lldrown!"

Sketch Paree grinned down at the sight of the floundering hood, looking even more Dracula-like than usual; all he lacked were a pair of fangs and a cape to complete the image. "Oui, drown, m'sieur Mumbles. Drown like ze rat zat you are. And good riddance to–"

He never completed his sentence. Incensed by what Sketch had done, Stooge Viller had pulled out a blackjack and sent the Parisian off to dreamland with a single blow to the back of his head. As Paree slumped to the deck, Stooge dropped the blackjack and ran toward the railing nearest to the rapidly deflating raft. He knew that Mumbles could not swim, but he himself could. "Hang on, buddy," he hollered as he started to remove his jacket and shirt. "I'm–"

A sudden noise behind him stopped him cold, even as he was beginning to climb the rail. It was not a loud sound, but it was one that Stooge knew only too well: the sound of a bullet being slid into the loading chamber of a gun. The Brow – or Pruneface, or B-B Eyes – it didn't really matter which one of them it was. In that instant, Stooge realized that once he jumped into the water, he was a dead man, and Mumbles would drown all the same. A braver person (like, say, Dick Tracy) might have called the villains's bluff and dived in anyway, but Stooge was too much of a coward to risk it. Not even to save the life of his best friend, who was currently clinging despairingly to what was left of the raft, the water now up to his shoulders. "Elp-elp!" Stooge could still hear him calling. "S'body elpme!"

The distance from the ship to the raft was too great to toss him a life preserver. In desperation, Stooge turned to the four who had voted in favor of sparing Mumbles. "One of you guys has got to save him! Can any of you swim?"

"Not me," protested the Mole. "I've never swum a yard in my life. I'd sink like a stone out there."

"And I'm allergic to salt water," was Itchy's excuse. "It gives me a rash."

"What doesn't?" Stooge snarled derisively, but did not waste time pursuing the argument. "Flattop...?"

The flat, misshapen head shook slowly back and forth. "Don't look at me. You got my vote, but that's as far as it goes."

Stooge's voice nearly cracked as he faced the last, and probably the least likely, contender: "Oodles? Please tell me you know how to swim!"

The morbidly obese and none-too-bright thug took a few seconds to contemplate the question. "Me? ... Swim? ... Nope, nope, can't say that I do..."

His final hope dashed, Stooge's shoulders drooped. "Then ... then I guess that Mumbles is a goner..."

Oodles shrugged apologetically. "Nope, sorry, but I really don't swim at all ... I can float like a cork, but that's not the same thing as swimming..."

"You can WHAT?!"

"It was this synthetic rubber formula that me an' the Brow stole a while back. When the cops caught up with us, I drank the formula so it couldn't be used as evidence against us. Ever since then, I've always floated on top of the water. Couldn't sink if yuh tied an anchor to me. Makes it tough to take a bath, lemmetellyuh..."

"Well, you're gonna take one now!" So saying, Stooge gave Oodles a tremendous kick in the backside that sent the latter over the railing and into the water with an almighty splash. "Now float on out there, you rubberhead, and let Mumbles grab onto you before he drowns. And that's an order from your Captain!"

"Watch it, Viller," gritted the Brow. "Captain or no Captain, you can't kick Oodles around like that. Only I can kick Oodles around like that!"

True to his word, Oodles bobbed upon the surface of the water, looking for all the world like a giant inflatable beach toy. The kick hadn't hurt him (he was too well-padded to feel much pain back there). Lying on his back, he laced his thick fingers behind his head and began to move his stubby legs in a way that slowly propelled him closer to the drowning blond-haired criminal. "Hi yuh, Mumbles," Oodles called out to him cheerfully. "How're yuh doin'?"

Mumbles did not answer. Exhaustion, dehydration and sustained terror had taken their toll on him, and as the now-completely deflated raft slipped below the surface, so did he.

"Huh?" Oodles rolled over on the water and raised his sodden bangs, looking about in bewilderment. "Mumbles? Where'd yuh go?"

"He's under the water, you half-wit!" Stooge yelled from the ship. "Reach down and haul him back up, hurry!"

Obligingly, Oodles tipped forward until his head was submerged and his legs and rear end were in the air, like an enormous dabbling duck. For several long, anxious seconds he remained in this position before he finally straightened up, a triumphant grin on his fat face. "I've got him, Stooge. Here he is." And out of the water he pulled ... an extremely annoyed swordfish by its long nose. "Oops! Sorry, sir – uh, ma'am? – I thought yuh was Mumbles."

The swordfish shook itself free of Oodles's grasp, gave him a smack with its broad tail, then swam away in a huff. This produced loud guffaws from the ship, as B-B Eyes, Pruneface and the Brow were finding the botched rescue attempt to be even more entertaining than if they had managed to shoot Mumbles. Meanwhile, Stooge was chewing his nails to the quick; he did not find the spectacle to be the least bit funny. "For the love a' Mike, Oodles, can't you do anything right? Look – that spot where all the bubbles are coming up – that's gotta be where he is. Try again!"

"I'll try," Oodles answered, "but if he's sunk too deep, I won't be able to reach him. I can't dive underwater, y'know..." Once again, he dipped his head and arms below the surface. This time he remained in that position for much longer than before. Half a minute went by, during which time the bubbles that marked the place where Mumbles had disappeared came up less and less frequently, until there weren't any more.

Finally, after nearly forty-five seconds, Oodles's head exploded up from the water, puffing and blowing like a surfacing whale. As soon as he could speak, he gasped out: "I did it! I found him! I've really got him this time!"

"Yeah?" Stooge asked dully, by now having clearly abandoned all faith in Oodles and giving Mumbles up for lost. "Y'sure you haven't latched onto an octopus or somethin'?"

Oodles tried to shake his wet hair out of his eyes. "Nope, it's Mumbles all right..." And to prove it, sure enough, he hauled up Mumbles – by one ankle. The rest of him remained under the water. "See?" Oodles said proudly. "I recognized his shoes!"

*Blub-blub!* I don't recommend trying to hold your breath along with Mumbles when you read the next installment...