A/N:- For once in my life, I don't know what to say!! Except for… Sorry if I forget the Americanisms and put 'trainers' instead of 'sneakers'.

THANKS SOOO MUCH FOR YOUR GROOVY REVIEWS!!

So with no further ado, READ ON FAITHFUL CHUMS&CHUMETTES! =D

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Chapter Four – Getting Down to Business

"So you're trying to say that that the victim was strangled to death by a pair of laces and was found barefoot at the scene of the crime, because the killer stole their shoes?" Ned double-checked, with a small frown as his eyebrows knitted together.

"Hell no," Emerson stated candidly. "I'm not 'trying' to say anything: I'm saying that the victim was found barefoot at the crime scene and was strangled to death, coinciding with the fact that his pair of sneakers was, in fact, stolen. His name's Paris."

Ned wiped the table absent-mindedly, still listening to Emerson and the new murder case. "That's a lot of 'was'es."

"Was he French?" Chuck asked spontaneously.

"No, back to business, I say we go down to the morgue and then get you, Pie-Man," He jabbed a finger in Ned's direction. "... to do your magic finger stunt and then, we decide what to do next."

"Isn't that a bit irrational - killing somebody for a pair of sneakers?" Chuck piped-up, immediately feeling sorry for the dead victim.

"They weren't just any trainers: they were Jacob Deflector's Deflectors trainers."

"I've heard about them!" Olive interrupted, squeezing her petite self in-between Chuck and Emerson. "They're doing a Trainer Exhibition this afternoon in Muse Museum, in honour of the creation of them."

"They're very comfortable," Emerson assured impassively and wriggled his blue and red clad feet beneath the main counter, to prove his point. "I should know, I've got a pair."

"How?" Chuck interceded. "I thought they were only coming out today and you'd have to damn rich to afford a pair – even if you did get your name down on the waiting list."

"I have my connections…" Emerson replied smugly.

The facts were these: on the agreement of finding the murderer of Lady Elisabeth du Elisabeth's son, Lady Elisabeth Du Elisabeth following her previous encounter with a Private Investigator that ended up in tears, mud and a dictionary, could not trust this Private Investigator, whom happened shared his surname with a fish. She, therefore, refused to pay the fees in advance, so to secure the deal and in exchange for a pair of the desired Jacob Deflector's Deflectors to be promised and given, Emerson Cod agreed to solve the case as fast as he could and receive payment afterwards.

"So, what's the dig?" Olive asked casually.

"Don't you have some serving to do?" Emerson retorted with a sigh. "I'm sure Ned won't be happy if them British folk run off complaining about the bad service 'round here."

"OH I LOVE THIS PLACE!"yelped the male voice that belonged to the British, talkative, hyper man whose name they were unaware of.

Olive grinned and nodded at the words, as if to prove her point. All four of them craned their necks around to see the (assumed) tourists nattering away to each other and the man practically jumping up and down. Emerson, to his great disdain, was made to shut his pie hole – unable to find the correct words to shoo his commonly known 'Itty Bitty' away.

"They seem happy!" Chuck smiled in approval at Olive.

For the next couple of interrupted seconds, Olive managed to somehow catch-up with the latest juice and was able to now know, due to her experience as part-time P.I. in training, that some hot guy had been murdered by a pair of shoelaces and Emerson had been sent to solve the case. Emerson grunted at Olive's happiness, as he approved of her to help when needed, mentally suffering over the fact that the money would presently need to be split 25-25-25-25 instead 40-40-20, like it should be with one 40 going to him. Life was tough for Emerson...

The 38th uninterrupted second past, when the waitress by the name of Olive Snook was called for and reluctantly departed from the group huddle, to tend to the needs of the three happy customers by the name of Rose, Donna and… as far as Olive knew, 'The Doctor'.

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"Yuoosharyugnowanffom?" the Doctor exclaimed, mouth still full of banana cream pie – he gulped down the sweet creamy mouthful and wiped his mouth quickly, repeating himself. "You sure you don't want some? No? Suit yourself, this is delicious!"

Donna and Rose stared in shock and awe at the Time Lord, who was happily stuffing himself with the sweet golden pastry, gobbling down the food faster than you could say, Face of Boe. The crumbs spilled down his full mouth as he filled himself with the delicious filling and he looked like a two-year old toddler who'd just learned how to feed himself rather than a 900-year-old Time Lord, who could travel Time and Space with the whiz of a button!

Smiling sweetly, Chuck set down the two cup-pies one of which a Chocolate Satin and the other an exotic Kiwi flavour.

Chuck stared awkwardly at the Doctor and then smiled at the blonde and the redhead.

"I'm guessing someone likes banana!" she chuckled cheerfully.

"Likes?" Donna said, raising her eyebrows at the Time Lord. "That doesn't even describe it."

"You don't know the 'alf of it!" Rose joined in, as Chuck stared ever more at the Doctor, probably as fascinated at his appetite as they were. Rose stabbed the fork into the pie and scooped up a piece. "So where's Olive?"

"Oh, she's just, err…" Chuck twisted her head around but found no sign of her, then spotted her crouched behind the counter and feeding Pigby scraps – who had one way or another clambered down from Olive's apartment and made its way to the kitchen… Hmm. "Feeding Pigby – he's Olive's pet pig!"

Donna shot a look at the Doctor as she tucked into the pie, contemplated an amusing image in her head of the Doctor as a pig and smiled pensively, shaking the thought bubble away. Belching, the Doctor removed the fork from his mouth, shoved the already empty dish out the way, and stared around at the three pairs of clearly amused eyes in front of him. He straightened his tie and ran a quick hand through his hair, just to check that everything was in order but still managed to find all attention focused on him.

"WHAT?!"

Chuck walked off giggling to herself, while Rose shook her head and shielded her face with a mop of hair, concealing a laugh and Donna stared wide-eyed at him.

"Nothing, just… nothing…" she said.

"Is there something on my face that I should know about?"

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"Cheapskate..." Rose muttered under her breath, searching her pockets for loose cash.

"He was like this at me wedding!" Donna added huffily, also rootling around for some money.

Collecting the expenses from two not very happy companions, the Doctor guiltily gathered their compilation of coins and five-pound notes and sauntered up to the main counter to pay their bill. Of course, this was America and English sterling pounds wasn't exactly the coprrect currency but a quick whiz from his Sonic Screwdriver soon solved that problem. Smiling his own handiwork, he protectively clutched the newly-made American dollars and quarters in his hands and looked around for a sign of Ned, Chuck, Emerson or Olive.

All four of them were hunched together in some sorts of group circle in the kitchen area, muttering furiously to themselves. The Pie Maker by the name of Ned and the girl named Chuck were still avoiding each other's touch, the Doctor could tell, from his oh-so clever sixth… no seventh Time Lord sense. Hmm, he couldn't put his finger on it but there was something not quite right about that couple. He'd soon find that out too, using his excellent charm and persuasion skills he'd picked up as a Time Lord.

"What charm and persuasion skills?"a voice challenged in his mind. Great, now he was talking to himself. The Doctor sighed and drummed his spare fingers along to a gentle rhythm, on the marble tabletop, until he found another focus for his attention.

Eyeing the companions not so far down, the Doctor watched as Rose and Donna exchanged laughs and took it in turns to yap away.'Gossiping' they called it. He called it women. He rolled his eyes but suddenly frowned. They were probably talking about him too! Oh, how he missed the days when his companions would actually respect him. Eager to know more and planning a whole I-accidentally-on-purpose-happened-to-eavesdrop-on-your-girly-conversation situation, the Doctor propped himself up on a neighbouring stool and tested his hearing skills, seeing if he could hear their conversation.

However, what he heard was not the familiar voices of Rose or Donna, but the clear non-nonsense voice of Private Investigator, Emerson Cod.

"Nuh-uh. A dumb idea is a dumb idea, Itty Bitty is staying right here – and I say, that me and Ned go to--"

"How about me?" Chuck piped up.

Emerson sighed.

"Fine - me, Ned and dead girl," He shot a sideward glance at Chuck, who smiled brightly back at him and the Doctor frowned vaguely, finding the situation rather odd – even for him. The Doctor assumed that Emerson was talking about 'Chuck', but of all nicknames why dead girl. She was clearly alive! Unless…. No, no, he'd have sensed if she was of alien origin and what was he thinking, another Captain Jack! Why was he getting worked up? It was probably some inside joke, but a little gut instinct told him that there was a lot more to it than an 'inside joke'…

"We go dig up the dirt on little Paris du Elisabeth and 'analyse' his body at the morgue, while you," he pointed at Olive. "Stay here and guard the Pie Hole."

"For what?"

"Murderers – you see any suspicious killers skulking about, scream for your life and I'll come to collect my reward money - I mean I'll come to rescue you. Anyway, back to --"

"But I'm your Itty Bitty!" Olive protested.

"And?"

"Don't I need to be in on the action?" Olive modelled a gun with her fingers and mimicked being on the look out, 'gun' cocked up in a shooting gesture. "You know, Itty Bitty as in - back-up, look-out, distraction, interrogator?!" Nobody seemed to be getting her flow. "Oh come on guys! Ned? Chuck?"

"Sorry, Olive, I'm with Emerson on this one," Chuck surrendered sheepishly. Ned nodded and Olive scowled.

"So, as I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted by a dumb idea," Emerson threw a hard look at Olive who shot him back a scarier one. "According to this newspaper, people are going crazy for these sneakers, putting themselves down on as many waiting lists as they can find and when I say crazy, I mean crazy as in bad crazy, mob crazy, murderous crazy."

"Let me get this straight – are you thinking what I'm thinking, because I'm thinking that you think that the killer is a 'murderous crazy' individual with a serious sneaker-obsession that's taken his obsession too far?" Ned said, running the ideas through his head.

These people had a point and they had some pretty good theories, the Doctor deduced happily. They weren't too bad, compared to him anyway.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking, so I say, if our infamous killer is as dumb as I think he is – he's gonna be idiotic enough to be walking around in broad daylight showing off his Deflectors. And then BANG, I get my reward money."

The Doctor frowned again; he wasn't particularly fond of the fact that they were solving somebody's murder all to earn some extra cash and have something to put in their pockets. In his opinion, it wasn't fair to make a profit on somebody's death and treat death like some gamble over money. That was the reason why he ran about saving planets, people and civilisations, never stopping to let people make a fuss of him and offer him gifts and money. He just did it for the sake of saving people, because it felt good.

"You mean our reward money," Chuck reminded, raising an eyebrow and subconsciously showing off her brightly coloured red bow in her hair.

Emerson grunted, "Yeah, yeah - whatever."

"Very clever indeed!" the Doctor suddenly found himself exclaiming. "It was Emerson, wasn't it?"

Emerson grunted something that sounded a lot like, "Yeah."

"How long have you been listening?" Ned asked the man in the tan coat suspiciously, as all four of them jumped around to see the Doctor who was as energetic and unpredictable as ever.

"Long enough," the Doctor replied innocuously.

"You don't happen to work for the Daily Dynamite, do you?" Ned asked precariously.

The Doctor stared at him, clearly full of bewilderment.

"I'll take that as a no," nodded Ned.

At this point Emerson was growing more and more suspicious of this young man with the mysterious dark brown eyes. Straightening his jacket and flashing his sneakers as he went, Emerson strode purposefully forward and placed both hands on the counter-table, his large figure obscuring the Doctor's view.

"Tell me everything you know," he demanded steadily from the man – secretly worried for his well-being as a Private Investigator and the safety of Ned's secret.

At this instant, Rose and Donna were fully aware of the situation precisely eight and a half metres from them and had promptly gathered to surround the Doctor, sensing that the Doctor was inadvertently looking for trouble.

"Weeeell, for starters, I know that… there's a hand on the end of my arms, I've got two eyes, a nose, and a mouth – a very big loud mouth, at that and I also happen to know that I--"

"Doctor…" the two women warned him cautiously, not wanting the Doctor to start up a fight.

"Look, I don't need no funny busine--"

"Oh just cut the crap and tell him what you heard!" Olive sighed breezily to the Doctor, walking past with a cloth and going over to clear up the trio's mess.

"I heard everything," the Doctor gave in quickly, before launching into a fully flung explanation. When I say I heard everything – I mean… justhappenedtoaccidentally onpurposelistenintoyourconversationeventhoughIhadnointentiontointrudeandIswearallIknowisthat… a man called Paris was murdered and something to do with Jacob Deflector's Deflectors trainers – that's sneakers, in English."

"Thank you," Emerson nodded politely.

"Judging by the unimpressed expression on your face, I take it you don't want me to stick my big honker of a nose in and let all three of us assist you on your investigation?" the Doctor babbled, gesturing to Rose and Donna.

"We're very good at investigating," Rose added.

"And spying on people!" Donna supplemented.

"So what dya say?" the Doctor beamed broadly. "You don't have to worry about payment by the way, I strongly disagree using someone's death as an excuse to make money – not trying to offend you in any way of course. So, would you mind us doing some snooping along with you?"

Emerson pretended to ponder for a moment.

"Hmm… Let me think," He looked from Ned (who was busy staring into space), to Chuck (who was busy looking at Ned), to his Itty Olive (who was grumpily clearing up) and then looked back to the Doctor, with a stern expression. "No."

"Absolutely, positively, one-hundred and ten percent sure?" the Doctor persisted hopefully.

"Hell, yeah. Look, I'm sorry to disappoint, but you look like nice folk – so instead of turning into some certain Norwegians and getting your hands dirty, why don't you skip off and view the views like good little tourists," Emerson explained sweetly, a forced smile gracing his face. He gritted his teeth. "Now shoo."

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"Sorry about Emerson," Chuck uttered shamefacedly, as she dropped the change into the Doctor's palm. "He doesn't like people… meddling with his investigations."

"I'll say…" Olive muttered, joining Chuck's side.

"Nah, it's alright," the Doctor smiled – not put down by any of this and just enjoying the moments. "We understand completely!"

"We'll see you again soon, yeah?" Donna said, smiling at the pair of them.

"Come again, anytime!" Chuck reassured.

"The food was gorgeous; tell the boys I said thanks!" Rose said cheerily, following the Doctor and Donna's lead out the front door.

They each gave a final wave and bout of thank yous, before properly exiting the Pie Hole altogether. Stepping into an abrupt halt, the Doctor spun around on the balls of his feet, striding back into the Pie Hole – a sudden wave of inspiration blowing him full in the head.

"Sorry to bother you again, but you don't happen to have that newspaper again, do you?" the Doctor boomed optimistically, re-entering the eatery to eveyrone's surprise.

"What are you up to?" Rose hissed.

"You'll see!"

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Hiding in the abandoned Best Friends Incorporated lobby, Rickoji cackled and threw his green and purple-spotted arms into the air, diving into his collection of shoes– that varied from the poor unknown brands like Aihfdihge clogs to the well-known infamous pairsof Converse.

His large purple tennis-ball sized eyes suddenly bulged as a device that looked suspiciously like an alien computer bleeped and Rickoji clapped his hands in determination.

"AAAH, a new brand is on the market – I MUST COLLECT!" Rickoji guffawed wildly.

More shoes. More shoes. He needed more shoes – yes, he already collected (technically, stolen) three-hundred and fifty two pairs from all across the galaxy, but he could never have enough. Ever since he'd broke the rules and stared into the heart of the Colour of Samba, he'd been become fixated and craved shoes. All shoes, any shoes: heels, trainers, clogs, clogs, ANYTHING!

With a press of a button, on his watch, a bright blue teleportation light collected Rickoji and sent him hurtling to collect his next prize…

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A/N: - MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Now this is where the fun begins! Hope you like.

Ooh and…

Disclaimer: DOCTOR WHO AND PUSHING DAISIES DON'T BELONG TO ME! The BBC and ABC get full credit, but if you ever see an alien called Rickoji appear on screen, you'll know that… HE'S MINE! HEEHAW.

Reviews are loved! =D =D =D =D =D