I wrote this short story over a year ago for a writing assignment. Enjoy!
"Your reporting days are over, boy," snarled the drug dealer, his gun trained directly at the teenaged reporter's head. "Say goodbye, Tintin."
Tintin, who was standing in the corner of the warehouse used by the drug dealers as their base, cowered in fear. He may have been a reporter, and facing criminals was literally his job, but when he was standing seconds from death, his fear mounted and showed.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!" yelled two loud voices.
Tintin gasped as he recognized it. "Detectives Thompson and Thomson!" he cried aloud as they merged into the room, pistols drawn.
"Drop your guns!" one of the two mustached officers commanded.
With no other choice, the criminals carefully set their weapons on the floor and stood up, hands raised in surrender. Thomson and Thompson stepped into the room, and other police officers hurried in after them, quickly arresting the dealers.
Relieved at the timely rescue, Tintin exited the corner and joined the two head officers. "Thank you, detectives," he smiled.
"Any time, Tintin," they nodded in sync. They said almost everything at the same time, so much so that people would think they were twins. However, despite their similar last names, their almost identical appearance, and practically joined personalities, they were surprisingly not even related.
"You all right?" asked Thomson.
"I am now," Tintin answered. "How did you find us, though?"
"Snowy led us here," Thompson answered, and all three glanced toward the door as a little white Wire Fox Terrier raced in the door, barking.
"Snowy!" exclaimed Tintin, smiling as he knelt to receive the dog.
"Indeed," agreed Thomson. "He came to the police station and barked at us until we followed him, and here we are."
"Good dog, Snowy," praised Tintin, rubbing the terrier's ears. "You must have slipped away after we got here to bring reinforcements."
"He's a clever dog, that one," confirmed Thompson.
"He sure is," beamed Tintin, standing up again. The proud dog sat at the boy's side, his white face practically glowing at the praise of his master.
"Well," sighed Thomson, "I suppose we ought to be going, eh, Thompson?"
"Right you are, Thomson," Thompson replied. "I'm afraid we must be taking those criminals down to the station."
"Tintin," bid both officers in farewell, tipping their black bowler hats to him.
"Detectives," nodded Tintin.
The investigators left, leaving Tintin and Snowy alone in the warehouse.
"Well, Snowy," the reporter grinned, "I suppose we ought to be getting home now, huh?"
The dog only barked in reply as the two exited the building and strolled down the sidewalk towards their house on the outskirts of Brussels. Tintin had moved there months ago after becoming best friends with a retired mariner, Captain Haddock. Previously, the boy had lived alone in a city apartment, Snowy being his only real friend. He had no parents or siblings or any other kind of family to mention.
However, in the midst of solving yet another exciting case, Tintin happened to make the acquaintance of the Captain, who had been dragged into the whole adventure. After it was over, though, they continued a friendship, and before Tintin knew it, the Captain, having learned of Tintin's living situation, invited him to live in his residence, Marlinspike Hall, with him. At first, Tintin politely denied, but the more the Captain insisted and the lonelier Tintin realized he was in his apartment, the more he was convinced to accept. Finally, the Captain won, and Tintin moved in.
"What a beautiful day, Snowy," smiled Tintin as the two of them left the bustling Belgian city behind and entered the country. "It's so wonderful. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the trees are green and thriving. It's beautiful for mid-morning in spring, isn't it, Snowy?"
The dog only barked.
"I wonder what the Captain has been up to in our absence," Tintin mused aloud. He frowned. Ever since the previous month, he'd noticed his friend was rather restless and upset. It only seemed to mount with every passing day, which Tintin thought was rather odd. He'd rather hoped that time would help the situation dissolve.
It had all started on a normal March day. It was only Tintin and the Captain at Marlinspike Hall, along with their good friend, Cuthbert Calculus. He was a scientist, an ingenious one, and very successful. However, he was rather deaf, though he called it being "a little hard of hearing in one ear." He was always thinking everyone said things they didn't, which annoyed Tintin and especially the Captain to no end. Sometimes, the inventor wore hearing aids or used an ear trumpet, but using either were rare. Tintin personally thought the old man liked being able to work in peace.
Anyway, the gentle professor had always been appalled with the Captain's obsession with whiskey and other liquor, which the mariner had developed after the death of his grandfather. Calculus secretly invented a pill that disallowed anyone who ingested it to hold down any alcohol. He'd first given it to the Captain, who was furious at the professor when he found out the cause weeks later. He'd demanded a cure, which Calculus was still working on. Meanwhile, the Captain was having a miserable time adjusting to being sober, and he was often grouchy.
"Well, I certainly hope that he's in good spirits," Tintin sighed in conclusion to his thought as he and Snowy reached the driveway to the manor. "It would serve him well."
The short rest of the trip was spent in a relaxed silence. In a minute's time, the two companions had reached the huge house, and they when they entered, they were greeted by their always emotionless but still loyal butler, Nestor.
"Good morning, Nestor," smiled Tintin warmly. "How are you?"
"Um, very good, sir," the butler answered hesitantly. He still wasn't used to the way that Tintin inquired of his own well-being. The person who had owned the hall before the Captain acquired it, Ivan Sakharine, had been a rival of the Haddock line and a criminal. Consequently, he'd never been one to ask how people were.
"Excellent," responded the young journalist. "How's the Captain this morning?"
Nestor frowned. "I'm afraid not very good, sir," he replied. "He's been complaining about not being able to have any whiskey for the past hour or so."
Tintin sighed. Removing his coat, he hung it up nearby before leaving to find the Captain. He soon discovered the old naval man in the large sitting room, flopped ungracefully on the coach, bemoaning his loss.
"How are you, Captain?" Tintin asked tentatively. He knew the answer that would come.
"Horrible!" growled the Captain. "When is that dratted Calculus going to finish creating that cure?"
"Science isn't easy," Tintin responded in an effort to soothe the angry sailor. "However, I'm sure he's working hard on it."
"Is he?" snapped the Captain. "How about you go see for yourself?"
If that's what it takes, Tintin thought. "All right," he agreed calmly. "I'll walk down to his lab and inquire of him." He paused. "Are you coming?"
The Captain huffed. "I think not," he muttered.
Tintin sighed again. "Fine," he answered. "I'll be back soon with your answer."
The Captain rolled over onto his stomach, still pouting as the boy left the room.
Within a few minutes, Tintin and Snowy had reached the small but high-tech lab a half mile from the hall, just across the lawn. When they entered it, they were met by the sight of a small man, dressed in a forest green coat and a matching hat scribbling like crazy on a blueprint sheet.
"Hello, Professor," smiled Tintin.
Calculus turned his head at the greeting. Pleased to see the boy, he answered, "Tintin! What a pleasure!"
"Indeed, Professor," grinned Tintin.
"In need?" repeated Calculus. "Of what?"
Tintin shook his head at the misinterpreted sentence but answered, "Just some information for the Captain. He's wondering how the work on the cure is coming."
"A deer is coming!?" exclaimed Calculus. "Where is it? It must not eat my papers!"
"No, no, Professor!" Tintin cried. "Not a deer!"
The panicking scientist, who was attempting to grab up all his blueprints for apparent safekeeping, didn't appear to hear the journalist. With a sigh, Tintin searched Calculus' desk until he spotted the ear trumpet. Grabbing it, he quickly handed it to the professor.
The inventor stared down at it in puzzlement, dropping his pile of documents back on his desk. "My dear boy," he asked, "why ever would I need this?"
"I must ask a question," the boy answered.
Tintin wasn't sure what his companion had heard, but whatever it was, it had convinced him to use the trumpet.
"Well, then," the professor sighed, "let us hear your suggestion, shall we?"
Tintin paused, then shook his head again. "I simply wanted to ask about the cure for the Captain. He was wondering about it."
"The cure?" repeated the scientist. "Why, I'm working on it now. I'm almost there, I just need some numbers from George."
Tintin frowned. "Who's George?" he asked.
"Why, haven't you met George?" the Professor inquired. "He's my assistant. He's worked with me four years now, the lad. Started on with me when he was ten. Needed some money for his family, he said. I couldn't say no. He's a quick learner and very brilliant. He's even invented some of his own concoctions. He has a brilliant mind, I tell you."
Only seconds after the explanation was over, a boy came through a door in the back of the lab, holding a sheet of paper. He was quite thin, Tintin noticed, and short, though he was but three years younger than himself.
"George," called Calculus. "Come over here."
The boy immediately obeyed, bringing over the papers. "I got your results, Professor," he answered.
"Excellent," chirped Calculus. "However, right now, I would like you to meet my good friend, Tintin. Tintin, this is my assistant, George Ruben. He lives here at the lab, in that room back there." He pointed to the door through which George had entered.
"He does?" Tintin replied. Turning to George himself, he asked, "Don't you have a family?"
A spark of emotion flashed in the boy's eyes before disappearing, "No . . . not anymore. My father died in jail, and my sister and mother perished from pneumonia a few years ago."
Tintin wavered. "I'm sorry," he answered.
The boy seemed eager to move away from the subject, and he did so quickly. "But you!" he cried with a sudden enthusiasm. "You're – you're Tintin!"
The reporter was taken aback. This kid knew him?
"I've heard about your cases!" the boy cried. "I've always wanted to meet you, but . . . " He faltered. "I just thought . . . I don't know. You wouldn't care." He admitted the last part bitterly.
Tintin frowned. "Oh, you can't assume that," he answered.
The boy looked up. There was the slightest gleam of hope in his eyes. "No?" he murmured.
"No!" answered Tintin. Knowing he couldn't possibly turn down the hopeful boy, he added, "I can even tell you about my latest case!"
"Really?" exclaimed George, his eyes alight.
Tintin nodded in confirmation. Turning to Calculus, he asked, "Can I borrow your assistant for a bit, Professor?"
The scientist looked up from where he was reading the numbers George had brought him. Seeming quite content with what they were telling him, he replied, "Oh, of course," very distractedly before returning to his project.
Tintin smiled. "Thank you," he responded, "and goodbye. Come on, Snowy." He turned to glance at the terrier, surprised to find it growling. "Why, Snowy," he asked, "what's wrong?"
The dog barked at George.
"Snowy! Snowy, stop it!" demanded Tintin.
The dog growled again, as much to Tintin as to George, displeased at the command.
Tintin sighed. "Why ever would Snowy be barking at you?"
George thought quickly. "I have some crackers in my pocket," he admitted. He pulled them out. "Besides a sandwich for meals, this is all I have."
Tintin looked on in pity as the boy laid his crackers on his desk, next to a few clear glass bottles, all of them holding the same, blue-colored liquid.
"Doesn't the Professor feed you?" asked Tintin.
George shook his head as the two exited the lab, Snowy following. The dog glanced back at the desk before rushing after them.
"No, he pays me," George answered. "Two dollars an hour, eight hours a day."
"Why, you're only fourteen!" exclaimed Tintin. "How could you possibly work that much?"
George shrugged. "When it's all you can do, well . . . it is what it is."
Tintin frowned.
Seeming to want to get on to a brighter topic, the assistant inquired, "So, what happened in your last case?"
Tintin went on to explain all about tracking down the drug dealers as they made their way to the hall. He finished just as they walked inside.
"Oh, Captain!" Tintin called into the house. "There's someone I want you to meet!"
The still rather grouchy sailor stumbled his way into the large, pristine entry way. "Who is it?" he sighed.
"This is George," Tintin said. "He's Professor Calculus' assistant down at the lab."
"Oh?" answered the Captain. "I didn't know he had one."
"He does," Tintin responded, "and has for the past four years. George lives at the lab."
"Interesting," the Captain replied, though his tone conveyed he hardly cared. "How is my cure?"
George spoke up at this point. "It's almost done, sir," he chirped. "Professor Calculus thought he would have it finished tonight."
The good news greatly cheered the Captain. "Blistering barnacles!" he exclaimed happily. "Isn't that just fantastic, Tintin?"
Glad that his friend was now in a joyful mood, Tintin grinned, "It sure is, Captain."
"Thundering typhoons! It's past noon already!" cried the Captain. "How about the three of us have lunch?"
So they did, and the conversation over the meal gave Tintin and the Captain a chance to get to know George better.
"So, no family?" Tintin inquired cautiously, hoping he wasn't tapping into a sensitive issue.
Not seeming too bothered at first, George answered without making eye contact, "No. We had always been poor, and Dad – " He suddenly paused. "He stole a necklace," he admitted. "He only wanted to get some money to take care of us – he wasn't a bad person, really! – but . . . " He shrugged, his gaze on his plate as he chewed a bite of potatoes. "He was caught," he pushed on, "and taken to jail. I got job with Professor Calculus, then, which served us pretty well." He shrugged yet again.
"Then, maybe a year later, my sister, Anna, caught measles. The professor heard, and he wasn't happy. He knew how easily measles spread and expressed his disallowance of infection in his lab. He insisted that the rest of the unaffected family – which was just Mother and me – take a vaccine. My mother refused to take it, believing it would only worsen things. I had to get the shot, since I worked for Calculus, and it was the only thing that saved me.
"Meanwhile, Mom and I still had to take care of Anna. I wasn't able to buy her enough medicine to keep her well, and before I or Mom knew it, she'd developed pneumonia. By then, we both knew it was hopeless, though we still tried to help her. However, whatever we did . . . wasn't enough to save her life.
"Then, only a couple weeks after her death, Mom, who'd been tending her the whole time, got affected by the measles virus. I took off a lot of hours to try and take care of her, but the same thing happened as with Anna; she got pneumonia, too . . . "
Tintin felt guilty when he saw a tear slip down George's face. If I hadn't asked him about his family, he wouldn't have recalled all these painful memories, Tintin thought. He was about to tell George he didn't have to finish when the boy concluded, "I couldn't both work and tend her. I didn't have the money for food and medicine and other necessities, and I didn't have the time to make it if I was going to care for her. Eventually, all I could do was keep her comfortable until she passed, and finally . . . " It took more energy than he seemed to have to force out, "She did. I even found out that my father had passed away while in jail that same week." He paused bitterly. "And I was alone. I couldn't afford the apartment anymore, so the Professor invited me to stay at the lab. When he moved to Marlinspike last year, I moved with him, and I got a room built special in the back," he sighed.
Sensing the child would appreciate a change to a brighter topic, Tintin asked, "So, speaking of the lab, do you do your own projects there?"
"Um, yeah," George answered. "If I have a little spare time, Calculus will let me design some of my own mixtures or inventions. That is, if I do good on what I work on for him."
"Well, that's cool," Tintin enthused. "Are you working on anything right now?"
George shifted in his chair, thinking as he took another bite. After swallowing, he confirmed, "Yes, actually. Well . . . not really. It's almost finished. I just need to use it."
"What is–" Tintin started as the phone rang. Cutting off his sentence, he said, "I'll get it," and left the room. He picked up the device and spoke, "Hello?"
"Tintin?" asked a voice.
"Officer Thomson!" greeted the boy.
"Ah, no," answered the police officer. "It's Thompson, actually."
Tintin frowned, wondering how the detective could possibly know what name he had said. Thompson continued, "We, uh, that is, Thomson and I, need you to come down to the station, if possible. Just to do some paperwork on the case from this morning. Like a witness statement."
"Oh, of course, Officer," Tintin answered. "I'll be down shortly." He hung up and headed back to the dining room. "Hey, guys," he spoke up. "Um, I have to go down to the station to wrap some things on the case, but you guys can stay here and finish eating. I won't be gone long."
George's eyes lit up, and he abandoned his half-eaten plate of food without a second thought. "No, I want to come with you!" he exclaimed.
Tintin was a little surprised but rather flattered. "Oh, okay," he answered. "Coming, Captain?"
Captain Haddock glanced up from his steak at the sudden question. "Oh, I suppose," he sighed. He took one last bite before jumping up to follow them.
"Excellent," beamed Tintin. "Come on, Snowy."
The white dog, who lay snoozing under the table, awoke at once and yawned before running after the three.
The ride to the police station in downtown Brussels wasn't very long, and the companions reached it in short time. Immediately after walking inside, Tintin found Thompson and Thomson and followed them to a desk in a back room. As he started writing, Snowy sighed and settled on the floor by his feet.
Meanwhile, out in the lobby, the Captain was quite bored. George, on the other hand, was full of curiosity.
"That boy always takes forever," the Captain brooded. "Why did I ever agree to come along? I could be eating the rest of my steak right now. I hope it hasn't gotten cold . . . . "
George was rushing around the room in an excited tizzy. He'd rarely been to the police station before, especially in good graces. Everything and everyone was interesting. He sneaked around to every room, wondering which one Tintin was in. When he eventually found him, the journalist was almost finished. He spoke with the detectives for a second before handing over the papers. Rousing Snowy, he stood and walked to the door, exiting the room. He greeted George cheerfully outside.
"Well, that seems to be it," Tintin announced. "Let's find the Captain and head back to Marlinspike Hall, shall we?"
"All right," George agreed, and the three of them returned to the lobby. They found the Captain slumped unenthusiastically in a chair, still grumbling about his unfinished meal. They left and returned to the hall, where Tintin prepared to bid farewell to George.
"Well, I hoped that the past couple hours were somehow fun," smiled Tintin as he, George, the Captain, and Snowy stood outside.
"Of course they were!" cried George enthusiastically. "I got to hear about your case, see the police station, a–"
Before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a loud crash from the nearby highway. All four looked in the direction of the noise in confusion before running towards it. Within a minute, they reached the road, only to find the wreck of a police car in the ditch a few hundred yards away. They rushed over as fast as they could, Snowy barking hysterically the whole time.
Tintin rushed to the driver's side of the car, ripping the door open as fast as he could. Immediately he spotted the officer inside, his head laying on the dashboard, dripping blood. Feeling a pulsing rush of cold blood wash through his body, Tintin quickly shoved the man upright and checked his heartbeat and pulse. Neither could be found. He was dead, and they were too late.
George, Snowy, and the Captain rushed down beside Tintin. Snowy barked up a storm as the Captain exclaimed, "Billions of blistering blue barnacles! What a mess! Is he alive?"
"No," Tintin sighed. "I think he died as soon as he crashed."
"But I don't get it," frowned the Captain. "Why would he crash? There's nothing along this road that could have caused such a tragedy."
Tintin frowned. "I don't know," he answered. "Let's look around the car. Maybe we'll find out something."
George followed, fascinated, as Tintin circled to the passenger side of the car. The Captain, meanwhile, simply watched, not sure what to do. Tintin opened the passenger door, greeted by a partially-eaten sandwich lying on the seat and a coffee mug sitting in the cup holder.
"He must have been eating his lunch while he was driving," Tintin mused. "He must have been at the station and was sent on a call." He paused to stare at the food. "It's obvious he didn't get very far in eating it, though that isn't surprising, considering he was driving." He lifted the mug to examine it. "It's barely touched," he observed with a frown. Cautiously he smelled it, knowing anything could be helpful at this point. His effort was rewarded, as a harsh scent met his nose, overwhelming it with a disgusting mix of sharp spices and herbs, none of them usually used in coffee.
"Ugh," Tintin shivered, wrinkling his nose. "Smell this, Captain."
The Captain narrowed his eyes in displeasure at the request but complied anyway. "Thundering typhoons!" he gasped. "Isn't that quite a concoction! It smells like some kind of bitter herb medicine!"
"Indeed," answered Tintin thoughtfully. "However, why would there be medicine in his coffee? Even more importantly, why would it cause him to crash?" He frowned again, drawing in his breath slightly. "Unless," he muttered, "it's not a medicine. Not a medicine at all. In fact, it's the opposite: it's poison!"
"Poison!" exclaimed the Captain in shock.
"Yes, Captain," confirmed Tintin, convinced of the theory, "poison. He must have drank the coffee while driving by here. The poison worked its way through his system, and . . . why, he was dead before he ever crashed!"
"I still don't get it," the Captain complained. "Whoever would poison a police officer?"
"That's what we're going to find out," Tintin answered determinedly. Turning to George, he asked, "Want to help solve a case?"
Sticking his hands in his pockets with an excited look on his face, George exclaimed, "Of course!"
"Good," answered Tintin. "We're going back to the police station to investigate."