IN WHICH TINTIN RATHER FORWARDLY PUTS OFF A VARIETY OF UNSAVORY CHARACTERS
I asked him, "What are you planning to do with me?"
"We're gonna throw you into Lake Michigan," was the reply.
"And before that?" I asked him.
"We're gonna tie a dumbbell to yehs," was the reply.
"And before that?" I asked again breathlessly, peering at #5 as he sat in the faded green armchair across from myself. I had already decided to assign the American gangsters who had kidnapped me numbers when I awoke from my sweet-and-sour slumber, lying on my stomach with my hands and feet tied together on this unfamiliar sofa.
What isa 'sweet-and-sour slumber', you might ask? It's actually a novel little phrase I've coined for my episodes of unconsciousness! They seem to be happening more and more these days, and in my experience I've discovered that a rag drenched in chloroform (in the scant few seconds one is awarded the privilege of actually being awake to experience it) smells very much delectable and very much utterly awful all at once.
#5 shrugged, a drink in one hand and the other barely holding his .38 Super, sneering, "Whaddya mean 'before that'? We wait for the boss to get here. Try anything funny and you'll get a bullet to the head."
"You're completely despicable," I told him.
"Course I am!" he announced with a callous smirk, "If my name isn't -"
"I don't want to know your name," I urged quickly, and I struggled against my bonds in what I hoped was a stealthy fashion but he suddenly slammed his drink on the end table and cocked his pistol.
"Did you not hear me, ginger snap?"
"Aren't you supposed to be waiting for your boss?" I quipped in the same fashion.
#5's nostrils flared and he paused for a moment before withdrawing the gun reluctantly.
"You got a smart mouth on you, you know that?"
Now, if there's one thing anyone in the business of writing (whether it be reporting, or transcribing, or penning a book) knows, it's that language is power; and one must set boundaries from the very beginning, lest things get out of control later.
"It is a rather smart mouth," I confirmed, looking up at him defiantly, "and I certainly hope you aren't planning to use it!"
#5 made quite possibly the phoniest production of looking surprised that I'd ever seen.
"Ex...excuse me?"
"I bet you want to, don't you? You vile animal!" My cheeks began to feel hot just imagining it - downright enragingit was; the thought of him putting his intrusive, thick member anywhere near my perfect little mouth. That's for speaking and eating, thank you!
"Whoa, hey...no..." he attempted to assign the blame elsewhere, putting his hands up defensively - for a moment he nearly fooled me; made me feel as if I was the one brandishing the weapon. "I'm not...we don't..."
I could tell it was a ruse. He was obviously getting feverishly aroused by the sight of me lying helpless at his mercy.
Perhaps I could appeal to his humanity. I was taught as a youth that all men possess it deep down, regardless of moral alignment; and so maybe he would listen to reason.
"Please sir…you wouldn't do such unspeakable things to a poor defenseless boy…" I whined.
"Look, kid, we - we don't dothat..."
"What kind of gangsters are you?" I demanded to know as the door swiftly flew open and #3 and #4 returned.
"Alright, let's get this show on the-" #3 started, but #5 was already out of the chair and craning his neck over the former's shoulder.
"Hey, this kid thinks-" #5's whispering dropped to an inaudible volume but I knew exactly what he was doing.
They were planning which one of them was to have me first!
When they all slowly turned back to look at me I gave them my most innocent smile, hoping it might accelerate things along. I mean, of course, the interrogation. The drowning. Whatever it was #5 had said, I'd quite forgotten, what with being so concerned for the preservation of my worldly innocence.
"What?" #3 said blankly, his head turning back and forth between me and #5 several times before finally settling on me, as if I could provide some kind of excuse for their lecherous, unprofessional behavior. "What?"
#2 arrived, the boss following close behind. "So," the boss cackled, his broad chest rumbling as laughter belted out of him in droves. "Tintin, world-famous reporter! It seems as if you've overstayed your welcome in Chicag-"
"Spank me all you like, I'm still going to bring you to justice," I said.
"H-what? Nobody said anything about-"
"You can get your seed all overmy face, but you're only going to end up in prison!" I shouted.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph-!"
"You'll never get away with fucking me all at once!" I cried. That'd show them!
My scare tactics did wonders - the boss's knees collapsed and he narrowly avoided falling altogether as #2 and #4 caught his arms. His automatic clattered on the floor as one of the thugs whipped out a kerchief for him. What a depressing life it must be, always fearing jail - and keen young men like myself willing to suck any lead dry to put them there!
"This boy," he bellowed, "is a complete lunatic! Where did you get this...this...preposterous…basket case?"
"That's Tintin, sir, like you asked," #5 confirmed, and the boss shot back, "There's no way thatis Tintin."
They began to argue fiercely and it continued for quite some time – much too long for my liking, if I had anything to say on the matter – and I took the time to stretch, arching my back and lifting my rear off the cushions as high as I could take it.
I know for anybody picturing it in their mind's eye it appears quite silly but it is a legitimate stretch, I assure you! Scout's honor! In fact, I found myself in this very position quite often as a youth in my troop, in tents on camping trips.
"-clearly he's insane-"
"-this wasn't how it was supposed to go-"
"-you idiot, that can't be him-"
"Are one of you going to take advantage of me or are we done here?" I suddenly found myself saying, because my time isincredibly valuable; and before I knew it I was being untied, handed my dog, and thrust back out onto the street.
"What a freak," And with that the door was slammed behind me.
"How utterly rude," I grumbled as I put Milou down and we made haste back to the hotel.
Along the way my room key somehow slipped from betwixt my fingers, and I cursed under my breath as I watched it disappear into a drain.
"Crumbs, I suppose I'll have to take the side entrance in that dark alley," I muttered.