Alexandra made a sighting. “Pigeons at twelve o’clock!,” she said. “Gun her Harold!" As the adrenaline pumped through his caffeine soaked veins, Harold floored the gas petal.
The flight to the Congo was uneventful. Except for the shadow. Had Mr. Pickles known we were to have such an ominous visitor on board, he’d never have gotten on the plane.
"I'm ready to take that letter now, Charles," said Mr. Pickles. He gripped the quill pen with his trunk, lifted it out of its stand and dipped its nib into the inkwell. Dearest Veronica,