Mr and Mr Thompson...or Thomson or something, are, well, quite strange for police officers. They looked identical to me, though Tintin appeared to see the difference between them. They wore the same clothes, from their hats, to their shoes, and in one of each of their hands they grasped the same wooden cane.
"They victim's name was Barnaby Doors." started one of the policemen. "He was one of the top agents at Interpol...but we haven't got a clue what he was working on." added the other. "...Quite right Thompson, completely clueless." finished the first.
"Interpol doesn't have any other leads?" I asked surprised and intrigued.
"Steady on there...Miss..."
"Valentine"
"Right, we are still filling out the paperwork..."
"...Believe it or not, but police work isn't all glamour and fun, there's an awful lot of filling." Ended the other Thompson...or Thomson.
"Well I might have the answer for you!" Announced Tintin. We all looked over his shoulder as he elaborated. "...Before he lost consciousness, Doors was trying to tell me something...and I think he was spelling out a word." And with each blood-soaked letter on the front page newspaper, found with the man shot dead, he continued to spell out a word he already had begun. " 'b', 'o', 'u', 'd', 'j', 'a', 'n'. "
"Karaboudjan." I read as Tintin held it us to show.
"Karaboudjan?" One of the Thompson's came and grabbed the paper, inspecting for hidden information.
"Does that mean anything to you?" Tintin asked.
"Great Scot the Yard!"
"What is it?" I inquire as we stepped up to his side to see what he was seeing.
"Extraordinary" He continued.
"What is?!" Demanded Tintin.
"Wellingtons at a half priced on bowler hats."
We all sighed, frustrated. "Really Thompson, this is hardly the time" The other Thomson creased the paper to examine it's page. "Great Scot the Yard!" We all jump back intrigued only to have Thomson declare that canes are half price too.
I had it. Snatching the paper I asked the so called 'Police Officers' "Are you two going to take charge of this evidence?" Only to be 'reassure' that the evidence was safe with them, which I almost believed until seconds later, one of the policemen clumsily tripped over a Siamese cat, taking a terrible tumble down stairs.
"Thompson? Where are you?" Thomson asked.
"Why...I'm already downstairs. Do try to keep up."
I gaped at Tintin with disbelief. He rolled his eyes in return and proceeded downstairs to say goodbye.
I noticed the newspaper lying where the cat had previously been sitting and picked it up. The blood was more or a dark brown brown than red, and had seeped through at least three pages behind it. I looked up as Tintin talked to the Officers, then a particular thing occur. Tintin reaches into one of the Officers to retrieve his wallet, only to have it attached to string.
The Pick-Pocketer. Of course.
I made my way downstairs and stopped beside Tintin. They looked at me, and without a word, I held up the paper.
"Good heavens Thompson! Look after the evidence man!"
In which Thompson replied, "Sorry Thomson...my mind is on other things."
The Officers stepped out, and bowed to us and bid their goodbyes before walking away in the fog.
A man walked by and Snowy headed on after him, growling. "Snowy, what is it." Tintin jogged up to him, I waited by the door, looking out towards the man who walked by. He disappeared and when I was about to turn around, I stopped.
"What...?"
Was that the same man running back? Yes it is. And what's that? Thompson and Thomson? What is happening?
Tintin slowly stood up, trying to also make out the disturbance, blocking my view. I walked out to peer past him, to see the man had reached here already, and colliding with Tintin.
Apologising he continued running, and I had to dive out onto the road to avoid him, having a large van whizz past me, causes me to stumble forwards.
"The pick pocket Tintin! He's getting away" yelled Thompson, who is now on the ground.
I turned around to see the man crossing at the intersection ahead, almost fading away in the fog again. Next second was Tintin running past me saying sorry, followed by Snowy.
Tintin looked like he had it covered so I ran over to Thompson to help him up, then both the Officers and I ran to catch up to Tintin.
When we reached the road, the man had gone and Tintin was stranded amongst bleeping cars and trucks screeching along the road, swerving round the road avoid the boy in the centre of it all.
I thought fast and grabbed one of the canes from the Officers and reached out to the road, hooking Tintin's arms and yanking him back to safety. He stumbles back as expected, shoving me into the wall behind us. Once Tintin regained his balance, helped me regain mine. "Thanks." he breathed. I nodded.
Thompson...or Thomson snatched his cane back, and then thought I deserved at least a compliment.
"Thank you sir. But it wasn't anything."
"You saved me." Press Tintin but I shook my head.
"The Pick-Pocketer is gone."
Worry poured down Tintin's face. "You must find my wallet. It is very important. I have to get it back."
"And you will." Reassured one Thompson. "...Leave it to the professionals."
Walking back to the apartment, Tintin went over what was happening in his head. "We have lost the scroll...but we have lost the story."
"What scroll?"
"It is in my wallet, from the ship." I nodded, slowly beginning to understand.
At Tintin's apartment, three tall, muscular men carrying a crate waited by the door, peering inside. One of them was holding a clipboard. He looks at us, asking "Mr Tin...tin?"
"Yes" Tintin replied. The man looked at me, a small smirk grew on his face, but disappeared as soon as it appeared.
He turned back to Tintin. "Delivery for ya."
"But I didn't order anything."
"Oh well...That''s because it's you.." He clamped a cloth I assumed was drugged, over his mouth and nose. As he dumped Tintin's body into the crate he looked at me. I ran.
I felt my breaths enter and exit my lungs, rasping in and out of my throat. The pounding of my feet on the pavers. I couldn't even hear the man chasing me, but I didn't risk the look. I ran towards the police station, only to be stopped at an intersection, and learning from Tintin, I knew better than to just run straight across.
A red van pulled up in front of me, and too late did I realise it was the same people who kidnapped Tintin. One of the men jumped out and drugged me before carrying my body to the crate in the back.
Blackness quickly engulfed me.
