AN: I know you guys have been waiting patiently for this chapter, so I'll save my Authors Note till the end. :)
" 'EY! Don't be goofing off down there, you two!" Charlie shouted towards below, where two pairs of eyes looked up in response. A few days later, after Skut and Charlie had the discussion about jobs, Charlie found himself continuing work on Skut's plane. Most of the small repairs had been completed by Charlie and Peter, leaving the rest of the plane to be painted a cheery shade of yellow.
The pair looking back at Charlie were Braxton and Bean, spunky, red haired, identical twins who had a knack of pulling small jokes at work. ("Tha' Little Devils" as Peter liked to call them.) Every time they got fussed at by their co-workers, they would manage to form a smirking, toothy smile- each fending so much innocence it was impossible to tell which one was the guilty party. Now, they each held the same smug expression, yellow paint splattered onto their clothes, faces and their hands.
"HE STARTED IT!" They both yelled at the same time, pointing accusatory at each other. However, in the process, both managed to smack each other in the face with their paintbrushes, creating a bigger mess than before.
" I don't care who started it," Peter began from the other side of the plane, his uneven tufts of silver hair peeking over the top of the cockpit. "clean it up, you two."
"Yes, papa..." Bean whispered in mock respect, earning a giggle from his brother.
"Arrggghh..." Peter growled back, swinging from his hanging position on the plane's side to shoot them a piercing glare, his small paintbrush sticking straight up in his hand. The twins laughed at his odd position high above their heads as they trotted over, their movements and mannerisms reflecting each other.
"Look at that, Bean."
"Look at that, Braxton."
"Poor Peter-"
"Hanging like that-"
"Must be very uncomfortable-"
"Very uncomfortable-"
"Painting the top of the plane for Skut-"
"I'd hate to be all the way up there-"
"Hanging like a pendulum-"
"The safety harness must not be comfortable either-"
"All right boys, I think that's enough." Charlie chuckled softly as diffused the situation before it got any further. Charlie knew the pair of young men meant no harm by their jokes but, telling by Peter's new shade of dark red, Peter wasn't feeling the same about the their jokes. "Why don't you get back to painting the tail. I think you missed a few spots at the back. You want to finish this plane for Skut, don't you?"
"Of course-"
"He's our very best friend-"
"He gave us our jobs of after all-"
"Ya' know, bein' mechanics-"
"No one else would take us-"
"Gee, wonder why..." Peter muttered under his breath, but after Charlie gave him a sharp look, he said nothing more, swung back to his spot and continued to paint. Leaning over the side, Charlie picked up his paintbrush and continued his task of detail work. Taking a small can of red paint, he clambered down onto the wing and crouched down next to the right side of the small plane. His oil streaked hands grazed over faded letters, which spelled out a name.
Rudy.
Charlie always wondered why Skut's beloved plane was named that. As far as he knew, Skut only used it for pleasure flying, rarely for commercial flight. It seated only up to six people, including the pilot and co-pilot. Even though it was a smaller plane, alot of the men loved to hang out in there while it was grounded, stretching and lounging about where there was space. He tried to squeeze out of Skut why he'd named his plane Rudy, but, without avail. The furthest answer he got from his friend was: "He was man I knew. Liked name. Good name for plane. Nothing more." No one it seemed, could get the answer out of Skut, not even Braxton and Bean, whose constant prodding and pestering with finishing each others sentences didn't break Skut into telling them.
Charlie suddenly found himself smiling, and standing up on the wing he peered over the cockpit, "Hey Peter, I just had a thought."
"Hmm?" Peter questioned, pulling himself up a bit more in his harness to get a better look at Charlie.
"You know who the twins remind me of?"
"Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum?"
"No." Charlie responded, shooting a hard glance, "They remind me of-."
"Good gracious, Thompson, is that who I think it is?"
"Indeed, Thomson, it's Skuts dear friend Charlie! Hello up there!"
Surprised, Charlie looked down, to see double at the garage door. "Detectives Thompson and Thomson! Come in! Come in!"
Carefully sliding off, Charlie stumbled over to the waiting pair of detectives, each holding a new black cane and bowler hats in hand.
"Why, what a lovely plane that is, Charlie." Thompson commented, momentarily looking over Charlie's shoulder at the newly painted airplane.
Charlie chuckled, looking back to admire their handiwork. "It's not exactly mine. It's-."
"Skuts!"
"Funny, he is-"
"But, of course,-"
"Not as funny as us!"
Turning on his heels, Charlie was surprised to see Braxton and Bean leaning on Thompson and Thomsons shoulders, grinning from ear to ear.
Still blinking in bafflement, the Thom(p)sons watched as the twins slowly walked in front of them, the siblings giggling at the detectives astonished expressions.
"My, my Thompson, who's who?" Thomson asked his companion in a loud whisper, thoroughly confused on the sight. The twins mirrored the police's posture, pretending they held canes and top hats in their hands.
"But detectives-"
"The question is-"
"Who's who-"
"With you?"
The twins burst out laughing at their personal joke, but, the Thoms(p)sons still found the whole affair confusing. Charlie, flushing in embarrassment, stepped between the laughing siblings and the speechless investigators, giving Braxton and Bean a stern look. "Now, now Braxton, Bean, I think that's enough of joking around."
Biting their tongues to stop their uncontrollable laughter, they shot Charlie a knowing smile.
"Now, now Charlie-"
"You know we're just playin' around-"
"We never meant to hurt anyone-"
"As our momma said 'You boys are as mischievous as a pair of-'"
"BOOYYSS!" Peters booming voice shot over the din, his angry face appearing around the plane when all peered toward the source of the sound.
"Foxes!" Bean (or was it Braxton?) finished, the duo scurrying off and out of the garage, tossing a monkey wrench back and forward to each other as they fled.
Peters monkey wrench.
"I'll get you little rascals if it's the last thing I do!" Peter screeched after them, quickly descending and hurrying around the corner before he was out of sight and earshot.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Thomson cleared his throat. Charlie, still flushing, scratched the back of his head. "I-I apologize detectives. The O'day boys are like a couple of firecrackers. A little wild... those two."
Thomson chuckled lightly, "It's alright. They remind us of when we were that age. Isn't that right, Thompson?"
"To be precise, Thomson. At that age, they were exactly like us."
Shaking his head, Charlie sighed in great relief, "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"
The companions leaned in close, cautiously, suspiciously.
"We're here to look for clues."
Charlie blinked, "Clues, detectives? I don't think you'll find any here now. It's been a few weeks since...well... you know."
"Of course," Thompson reassured, "We know that Interpol already came to mark on the runway and collect evidence. Do you mind if we take a second look for further evidence? Conduct some interviews perhaps?"
Although Charlie doubted the plan would work, he shook his head. "Knock yourselves out."
After exchanging a series of farewells and good tidings, the group went their separate ways, the Thom(p)sons already whipping out their magnifying glasses and Charlie began to search for his (probably still fighting) co-workers.
However, after hearing a faint crash in the distance, Charlie prayed that the clumsy duo wouldn't take the last thing he told them literally.
After finding the trio of bickering men, Charlie mustered the strength to pull them apart, one finger at a time. Between Peters shouting in one ear and the twins taunting in the other, Charlie was glad when all of them headed back to the garage, Peter slowly calming down after they gave back his monkey wrench. As Charlie started catch up, he felt a strong hand tap his shoulder.
"Excuse me, young man..."
Charlie turned to see who the voice belonged but to he was meet with a man he'd never seen before. The middle aged man was wide as he was tall. He held a curious expression, had a thick mustache and a pair of round spectacles perched on the edge of his nose. Even though it was a mild day with a slight breeze and he wore only a thin shirt and tie, the stranger was sweating feverishly, and was breathing as if he ran a mile.
"Are...*huff* you...*huff* Charlie Peeters?" He asked, wiping away a bit of sweat with his brow.
"Yes..." Charlie started, a look of confusion on his face, "Are... are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, of course." The man replied, nodding his head and finally catching his breath. "I've been looking around for someone to help me for an hour now. Can you perhaps-."
"Look, if you want an interview of what happened a few weeks ago..."
"I don't want an interview." The man chuckled, shaking his head full of dark hair. "I have something..." The man pulled out an envelope from his back pocket, the yellow envelope crinkling in his large hands. "Do you know Fallon Beckett?"
Charlie subdued a chuckle. Fallon Beckett was Mr. Johnsons true name, although, he rarely used it around his employees. The name "Mr. Johnson", was just a stage name, which he used for any public interviews and on the side of Johnson Inc. transportation. Yes, with the small but lucrative company he had, it wasn't uncommon to see the slogan "Mr. Johnsons jets are the best!" in big, bold letters plastered on the side of every plane he owned.
"Yes, I know him." Charlie replied with a small smile. The man pressed the envelope into Charlies hands, his own hands shaking.
"Good," The man said, giving a little nod. "I need you to give this to him. It's very important! Make sure nothing happens to it for me."
Charlie gave the man a questioning glance. "Why do you need me to give it to him? Surely-?"
"I have a meeting," the man blurted out, already starting to leave. "He'll know who its from. My name is addressed in the letter inside. Thanks mate!" And before Charlie could protest, the man quickly staggered off, leaving Charlie standing alone on the empty runway, still clutching the wrinkled envelope.
As he looked around in confusion, a small voice called from behind. "Hey! Charlie! Are you coming or not? My patience is only so thin with these two!"
Looking back he saw Peter standing at the doorway of the garage, Braxton and Bean practically hanging off of Peters well muscled arms, both waving back to the dumbfounded co-pilot.
"I gotta' give this document to Fallon- I-I mean Mr. Johnson. I'll be back in a bit!"
Turning quickly, Charlie sprinted his way to the main office, leaving Peter trapped with his worst nightmares in a cloud of dust.
In no time, Charlie managed to find Mr. Johnsons office with ease. The brick building was tucked away in the back of the Johnsons Airlines airport, not generally seen by the public eye unless they were landing or taking off from there. The main part of the airport, which was used by the public most of all, was set up in the front and always seemed to be busy. The office was a two story building, made of red brick with a wide, white doorway leading into it. Ivy choked the left side and handrail leading into the building, dead leaves crunching under Charlies shoes as he clambered up the cement stairs. Inside, the small office space was busting at the seams with confiding work spaces, Mr. Johnsons multiple agents typing and talking away on their phones. A woman rushed past with a stack of papers, a man whizzed by with a clipboard muttering under his breath about "crazy schedules" and something about "sales through the roof". Walking calmly through the commotion, Charlie felt his hand tighten around the envelope.
I certainly didn't want to lose it in this mess... Charlie concluded, watching the beehive of activity all around him. Charlie could never find himself getting comfortable in departments like these. He found his joy outdoors, not confined inside, hunched over a typewriter at a desk. Even though he was only walking through, he felt a sense of nervousness around him.
Perhaps it's the air. Charlie pondered, taking a whiff of the musty air.
Slowing down only briefly to help a woman pick up her pencil that had rolled off her desk, Charlie continued on his task, keeping an eye out for the door he was looking for. After a few minutes of walking through the long, seemingly endless corridors he found what he was looking for. There, at the end of the hallway, was Mr. Johnsons office. It was much larger and had more windows than any of the other departments, letting sunlight filter through and mold everything inside into silhouettes.
"It's a wonder I didn't find it sooner!" He muttered, approaching the door with speed. He came to an absolute halt, however, when he heard shouts from inside. Mr. Johnson was yelling into a telephone, his silhouette able to be seen through the frosted door.
Charlie couldn't tell what he was arguing about, the doors thickness and the rapid talking was too hard for him to even follow. However after hearing the muffled slams of a fist agaist a wooden table, he concluded, whatever it was, his boss was not happy.
Not one single bit.
This went on for a few minutes longer, until with a final shout of "GOODBYE!" Mr. Johnson slammed the phone on his desk with a ding.
Moments passed before Charlie mustered up his courage and knocked on the door. A grumbling curse came from behind the door, before it was tugged quickly open, a gust of wind coming out so strong, it almost knocked Charlie's favorite cap off.
"What?!" Mr. Johnson cried, his face a shade of dark red. After a second, his tense grip on the side of the door lessened, his eyes loosing their fiery glare.
"Oh. Mr. Peeters..." Mr. Johnson rubbed his eyes, his pair of reading glasses rising up on his face as he did so, "Look, now isn't the best time..."
"Boss," Charlie already began, holding out the crinkled letter in front of him. "This is for you. A man gave this to me near the garage. I never got his name though. It seemed urgent..."
Mr. Johnson snatched the letter out of the co-pilots hands, his glare returning.
"You sure the man didn't give you his name?" Mr. Johnson questioned, his long fingers running over the tarnished surface. He flipped the envelope over and his the look in his eyes shifted.
"Have you opened this letter?"
"Uh... no sir, I have not. Is the seal broken?"
At first Charlie couldn't tell what his boss was feeling, worry? Frustration? Then, Charlie slowly realized that Mr. Johnson had simply chased away every emotion and that his grey eyes became lifeless and hollow all at once.
"Yes..." Mr. Johnson murmured, "I know who this is from."
As though he was coming out of a trance, the hot-headed man realized that Charlie was still standing there, giving him concerned look.
Before Charlie could ask any questions, a thin smile broke on Mr. Johnsons lips, "Thank you Mr. Peeters for delivering this letter. You may go now." Mr. Johnson gave a few dismissive waves with his hand, his attention back at the envelope once more. Charlie gave a salute (although he doubted his boss even noticed) and started to walk away. Charlie felt the spot between his shoulder blades itch and he turned his head around. Mr. Johnson, still standing at the doorway, was staring at him intently.
Watching.
Scrutinizing.
It wasn't the beehive of activity or dingy smell that made Charlie so nervous in this confided space. It was Mr. Johnson. It was the way he observed him as he left...
And how Mr. Johnson only closed his office door once he was out of sight.
AN: WOW.
HELLO FANFICTION.
IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME, OLD FRIEND.
I know it's been FOREVER since I've updated ANYTHING. And I apologize. I'd gotten out of the swing of writing fanfiction and had a giant gap of what I was going to write next. I believe, if I set a schedule for updating, I will finish writing this fanfiction ALOT faster than updating just whenever. I plan on start updating the last day of each month (unless stated otherwise at the end of the AN, but the max will be 2 months.) Thank you again for being patient for this update (I just know it was killing y'all!)
Back to the story, can you guess who I got inspiration from for Braxton and Bean? Come on, I know you know! Ha ha! And poor Peter, they'll give him a heart attack sooner or later!
Anywho, enough of my senseless rambling, I hope you enjoyed this (very belated) update and look forward for more! Thanks once again for hanging in there!
I'd LOVE it if you would tell me what you think about my story so far (and if it needs improvements anywhere, such as any annoying grammar mistakes, etc.) don't be shy to leave a review! Gosh, I love those little things.
Until next month, (and next chapter) I'll just say...
Cheerio!
~Tintinfan101
