Of Crab Tins and Diamonds

Chapter 11: Of Big Guys and Pretty Lies

It was several minutes before Tintin found the strength to lift his head in the crawl space under the stairs.

Hands shaking, lips trembling, the young man wiped the remaining snot and tears with the back of his hand, muffled sobs now only the occasional sniffle.

Tintin wished to stay in the safety of that small cramped place more than anything, but knew too well that he was extending his welcome. Tom would be wondering what had happened if he didn't return to his post soon and, stealing a glance at his watch, realized his break had ended ten minutes ago. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with his good hand and, quickly noting the stillness of the air, twisted his body to look around the narrow corridor. The unfamiliar hallway stretched in both directions with no visible end in sight. Swallowing thickly, Tintin's eyes shifted towards the corridor he'd came from minutes before, the open door at the end spilling light into the hallway.

He felt a shiver race down his spine as gruff, throaty laughter drifted from the depths of the hold. Tintin saw the shadows of men coming closer, their silhouettes criss-crossing on the cold, steel floor.

That was enough to make his decision.

He stood from the spot and ran, rushing down the hallway leading towards the port of the Karaboudjan. He made his way as quickly as he could, hoping the sound of his rushing feet wouldn't give away his location to Sharkey or any of his men.

Quickly realizing he wasn't being followed by the brusque crew, Tintin allowed his pace to slow to a stop around a corner, giving himself a chance to catch his breath.

Cautiously, he peered back around.

In all his journeys, from China to Syldavia, he had met many people: young, old, unkind and kind alike.

Sharkey, however, was in a category all his own.

Tintin had met men similar to him before. Cruel, vicious men. Men whose eyes would shine with lust for power, for fortune.

Tintin still shivered at the thought of those eyes. They were the eyes of the men in his worst nightmares. The eyes of someone Haddock, on countless occasions, did his best to shield him from.

They were the eyes of someone who wanted him dead.

If Tintin knew anything, Sharkey was the man one never wanted to cross and, to him, was someone he definitely didn't want to meet again soon.

"There you are!"

With the voice growling behind him, Tintin yelped, twisting to bolt from the spot.

He felt himself choke as a large hand caught the edge his collar, jerking him back and down to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Wait just a minute, boy!" The gruff voice snarled as Tintin was pinned to the spot, "I'm not finished with y0u!"

"No!" The young lad howled, sending a balled fist flying towards his attacker.

The fist made contact and Tintin felt the man release his iron grip on his sweater.

Cursing, the figure reeled back, before landing to the floor with a heavy thud.

Turning over, Tintin scrambled to his feet, clutching his now throbbing hand close to his chest as he stood.

"Don't run from me, Tintin!" The voice called, "That's an order!"

At this, Tintin recognized the voice and stopped in his struggle.

"C-Captain Allan!"

Indeed, the looming captain of the Karaboudjan was sprawled spread-eagled on the floor, hat and trenchcoat knocked askew. He sat up onto his elbows, shooting Tintin a poisonous look as a trickle of blood dripped out of his crooked nose and onto his worn turtleneck.