My Little Pixie

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Potential Paramour

The next morning, we had Emily and Elizabeth for company as we set off on our early morning run.

They may have grumbled about all the exercise but the two were in a much better state than when I had last run with them so I decided to take them out on my normal route. Thomas was waiting at the gate and we set off up the steep climb. The two suffered, of course, but my pixie and I were suffering too so that was alright.

We paused for a moment at the top to appreciate the magnificent morning but, when we started our descent on the broader paths, Emily dropped back to talk with Thomas.

I let them have a moment together but then I had to break them up. "Emily," I called back to her - well, more gasped than called, to be honest. "I don't mind you getting to know Thomas... but not when he's on duty... He's supposed to be concentrating on keeping us safe... and not be distracted by thoughts about getting inside your knickers!"

Emily gave a little gasp of outrage but I did notice that she exchanged a meaningful look with her potential paramour before rejoining the rest of us.

But then I decided to do the two of them a slight favour so, after checking that we were all alone, I called for a brief pause.

"You are never to talk about this," I told her, "but Thomas was in charge of the raid in which you were set free. He was the one who carried you out of the bungalow."

She looked across at him with her eyes wide open in astonishment.

"Oh, and you, Thomas. You should give careful consideration as to your intentions before commencing any kind of relationship with young Emily here. Should you do anything to hurt her, you will be answerable not just to me but the other two Musketeers too!"

The smiles that Elizabeth and Naomi gave me reassured me that I had got something right.

Because of the delay with Emily, we were running significantly late and, as we came, puffing and panting, up the main drive, we were overtaken by Qunicy in his pastel green sports car.

"You've got a few minutes," I told the girls. "I need a word with Quincy. I'll let you know when I'm ready for breakfast."

They scurried off, bubbling enthusiastically about baths.

"Good morning, Quince!" I said as I draped my sweaty body across the roof of his car. He gave a sigh of mild exasperation - he was quite ridiculously proud of that thing - but he managed a polite, "Good morning, Sir."

"What are the results of those cutting tests that we have been running?" I asked.

"We've determined that a particular brand of industrial grade dishwasher powder is not picked up by any of the standard tests," he reported but he hesitated and I could tell he wanted to say something more.

"Go on," I encouraged him.

"The effect of injecting that stuff into a human body would be appalling - almost certainly lethal."

"I understand your concerns but these are worthless junkies we are talking about. If they choose to inject themselves with some unknown substance they've bought in a pub car park, they have to accept the consequences. And, furthermore, I have no intention of selling the contaminated product, I'm going to allow it to be stolen."

But, nevertheless, he continued to look uncomfortable.

"Come on, Quince! The effect of injecting even the unadulterated stuff can hardly be considered benign."

"I suppose that's true," he conceded. "It just doesn't feel right."

So I briefly outlined the plan to him. "As soon as the stuff starts hitting the streets and the big panic starts," I explained, "I intend to provide information to the police which will allow them to cut off the supply. The purpose of this exercise is to disrupt the Mylar group, not kill junkies."