Chapter 1: "a regular Keyser Poneh"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 1: "a regular Keyser Poneh"My hooves were strung up with thick, tight rope to a rusted water pipe above my head. I hung my head low to reserve my strength, if I ever made it out of here I'd need it. The only thing I could see was my own body, my grey coat scruffy and matted with blood, it didn't matter to me whose blood it was anymore. Blood and sweat ran off of my muzzle, but no tears, never tears. Tears were a sign of weakness, and their was no time for weakness when you're getting worked over by the Equestrian mafias best hit pony. "You been a real pain in my flank, ya know that?" The thick Manehattan accent boomed through the dark, empty warehouse. no one knew his real name, or even if he existed, he was a regular Keyser Poneh, a fairytale mobsters told their kids to keep them in line. I had a hard time believing he really existed myself, but the cuts and bruises that covered my body where more than a wake up pinch, this wasn't a nightmare, there was no princess Luna coming to wake me up, this was reality, this was real life and it was finally catching up to me. "sorry 'bout the goon squad, the ameteurs only roughed ya up a little, lemme fix that." The white unicorns horn began to glow and I felt my ribs crushed into tiny pieces one by one. I've been hurt before but not like this, I could feel what was left of my ribs poke and prod at my internal organs, I vomitted and choked out my own blood before letting out a scream of anguish. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Heh, you think that's bad, wait 'til ya get a load a' this." He reached over for a tool bag and began emptying it onto a small surgeons tray, lining up each one of his tools with a demented smile. The final tool was a small hoofgun, my hoofgun. "Whaddya say we have a little target practice?" He struck a pose, aiming my own gun at me. "Ya shoot me, you better not FUCKING. MISS." I grunted out the first thing that came to mind, some stupid one liner from an old cop movie, it was a bad idea. "heh heh heh." He reached for a claw hammer and swung at me. "SHUT IT!" I felt the full force of the hit, skin and fur torn from my cheek, teeth loosened. "NOT SO TOUGH NOW ARE YA? FUCKING ACTION MOVIE COP, MOTHER FUCKER!" He swung fast and furiously, his shining, perfectly filed hooves damn near cracking my skull. At ths point death was the best thing I could ask for, I was twitching in pain and he showed no sign of letting up. He pressed the gun into my temple "DO YOU WANNA DIE? 'CAUSE I WILL BLOW YOUR DAMN BRAINS ACROSS THIS WALL!" I peered up at him and looked into his eyes, he was serious, if he had his way I'd probably be six feet under by now, or, more likely, still be rotting in that damned warehouse, an old forgotten corpse, so I don't know why I said what I said to him. "Do. It" He pushed the gun off my temple and turned around, I thought he was just going to change his shot, shoot me from a distace to make sure their was no splash back, but what he did instead was worse. He began laughing maniacally. "HAHA, YOU REALLY DO HAVE A DEATHWISH DON'T YOU? HAHA" I didn't know what to do anymore, I joined him. "Like you NNGG wouldn't believe, pal." He'd finished laughing, I don't know if its what I said or his short temper, but his demeanor quickly changed. "You're funny, arent you? TELL ME ANOTHER JOKE, FUNNY PONY!" I briefly questioned wether to tell the joke or not, I thought wether it would be quicker to die there and then or try and wait till I bled out. It didn't matter too much now, anyway my immediate death was all but assured. "O-kay, an earth pony, a unicorn and a zebra walk into a bar..." I lowered my head to spare myself his reaction, which was guarannteed to be a negative one. "I think I know how this one goes." My smart-ass attitude refused to die, we both did. "Good, because I don't" He gave me a look of pure hatred, like I just insulted him on a deeply peronal level "That wasn't very funny." "You want a comedian, go talk to your boss, he's pretty funny." The fire in his eyes began to burn, hotter and hotter. "with that thick, funny little accent." Hotter, and hotter. "And his stubby little legs." Hotter and hotter. "AND THOSE THICK GLASSES, AND THOSE LIVER SPOTS!" He picked up a lead pipe and began to swing. I winced, expecting to feel the full force of the giant stallions swing, but nothing. When I looked up he was on the floor, a well place sniper shot in his back, the lead pipe behind me, having been thrown in the air and sending the light fixture above my head back and forth. The light shone, barely revealing the cat walk above me, and atop it, a strangley familiar mare holding a rifle. I don't think she saw me see her, but she must have been on my side, gunning down Equestrias most notorious serial killers is one thing, but when she freed me with a perfectly ricochet'd shot, from the wall through both ends of the rope that kept me suspended an inch above the ground, I know she wasn't some rival mafioso or a vindictive vigilante trying to bring down this criminal empire we both found ourselves in the middle of, she was some kind of angel.
Chapter 2: "suspicious cabbies and back alley surgeons"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 2: "suspicious cabbies and back alley surgeons"I found it hard to get back on my own four hooves. the bullet that freed me, also sent me on my back, rolling around and squirming in pain, knocking loose teeth completely out of my mouth, and further dislodging out of place bones and internal organs. I eventually balanced myself on the small surgeons tray used to torture me earlier, I emptied it, sending assorted tools and blades all over the warehouse. I slowly limped to the exit with the help of my makeshift walking frame and was shocked to find where I was, they didn't bring me to the middle of nowhere or some rural, mafia controled town, they brought me home, Baltimare. I was hurting bad, it was becoming hard to breathe as my lungs filled with blood and my head became heavy, I thought I was a gonner. Suddenly a bright light appeared, blinding me for a brief moment. As hard as it was to think about anything other than surviving, my brain raced, and visions of an angel of death reflected in my glazed and bloodshot eyes. I blankly stared into the beacon as a voice snapped me out of my trance. "Hey, buddy, you o-kay?" Some cabbie blinded me with his cart lights, on top of every other wound I'd gained I guess he wanted to blind me, too. I wanted to reply, the words kept ringing in my ears: NO, but all I could muster up was pained grunts and moans. I passed out, landing on my knees before slamming my face into the cold, dark gravel. I woke up in the back of a cart, my tongue a little looser, able to form complete sentences. "Where are you taking me?" The cabbie didn't miss a beat. "To the hospital, you don't look too good, pal." He was a regular good samaritan, was probably gonna set me up in a nice hotel, all expenses paid, but their was still work to be done. "No, take me to the corner of trotter and west." I had an old friend in those dark alley ways, a back alley surgeon who fixed up thugs after shootouts, and he wasn't above helping an old, tired private detective. "Trust me, buddy, it's a dangerous area, you don't wanna go down there." I somewhat regret what I did next, he didn't notice my hoofgun, tucked close to my broken ribs, while setting me up back here. I pointed it at his head. "whatever happened to the customer always being right?" He was calmer than I expected, good cabbie, kept his compusure, didn't pull the gun tucked under his seat that I neglected to remove. "I was wrong about you, I thought you got roughed by one a' those gangs, but you're a gangster yourself, ain't ya?" He stopped the cart, we were here. The deep black of the alley way was complemented by the orange street lights. It's unholy halo. I answered the cabbies question. "Far from it." I hobbled out the back and hoped he'd be here, the cart left with the speed and noise of a stampede, leaving me alone again. I stumbled into the alley and called out "BONES!" When I got no reply I slid down a wall, I always hoped I wouldn't die on my back. I called out again. "BONES, GET YOUR FLANK OUT HERE, RIGHT NOW." Blackness was closing in on me. I was already dead but now I knew, once my eyes closed they wouldn't open again. I woke up in great pain, a metal brace half inside me, the light reflecting off of it half blinding me. "What the buck?" I was confused, unsure what had happened, then I heard that raspy, creepy voice, obscured by his medical respirator mask. "Hold still, little pony, your almost FIXED!" His sudden maniacal laughing didn't help to ease the tension, the best I could do was to just grit my teeth and let it happen, I faded in and out of conciousness from the pain, occasionally catching glimpses of rusty bone saws and heavy, bloody mallets. It's a truly terrifying thought to imagine what they were used for. I finally woke up, half dead, but still more alive than when I came in. He was friendlier, and more professional than I remembered, running every manner of test to assess my physical well being, giving me glassess of water and offering oxygen tanks at the slightest throat scratch. He told me somethig big was going down and I was at the center of it, told me I needed to be prepared. I didn't heed his warning, he'd always had a couple of screws loose and I was in no mood to play his games. He told me I was on the table for 4 hours, but it was still dark out, guess that's winter nights for ya. He offered me perscription painkillers, and went to grab them for me, I saw my oppurtunity to leave and immediatley took it, leaving an I.O.U on a piece of paper on his desk. Their was nopony outside, no cabbies, no gang bangers, not even a hit pony, just empty streets and vacant roads. I walked for a short eternity before I recognised a tall, decrepid building. I was home.
Chapter 4: "a flank to kill for"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 4: "a flank to kill for"It was the first snowfall of winter. It was almost beautiful, the filthy city being covered in a thick blanket of white snow, the gunshots and yells of the past, a lullaby rocking the city to sleep. I tried to fool myself into thinking that this would be the final winter, the oncoming blizzards woud last forever, leaving the city in a catatonic state. I watched from my second storey office as people made their way home, ill prepared for the sudden snow fall, I almost thought of joining them before the door opened. She stepped through the door frame, her powder blue coat dotted with small clots of snow, her pink mane protected by a black beanie, and sat in the chair opposite me without speaking a word. I took a swig from my flask before asking. "Anything I could help you with?" She wore an expression of exasperation, she leaned in close and spoke quietly. "I need your help, my husband was in debt to a casino in las pegasus, and about a month ago we started getting threatening letters and now he's gone missing." I thought it over, most of the casinos in las pegasus were owned by the Equestrian mafia, if this stallion had gone missing he was probably already dead, wearing a pair of concrete horse shoes at the bottom of the ocean, but I didn't have the heart to tell her. She handed me a piece of paper, their were names, a suprising amount of information on the casino, and the threatening letters themselves, frankenstein letters, cobbled together from newspapers and magazines. I looked them over before telling her. "I'll do what I can, check back in a week and I'll fill you in on the case's progress. If any vital evidence shows up, I'll be sure to inform you myself." She let out a sigh of relief and pulled out her bit purse, I could tell she was going to ask for my fee. Before she could open her mouth I answered. "You don't pay a bit until I get results." She gave me a look of thanks. "Thank you so much." We shared a look into each others eyes. The warmth of her big, beautiful blue eyes contrasted with my blood shot squint of pain, and yet, she never looked away, until my old and tired lungs spoiled the moment with a violent cough. I apologised and she made her way to the door, leaning from behind it while saying her goodbye. She never gave her name, only her husbands, Black Jack. I put on my fedora and trench coat, I was a walking cliché, but it didn't matter, I'd earned my reputation as someone you didn't want to mess with, breaking the law, more than upholding it. If I walked into the right place, I could get anyhing I wanted, it wasn't respect I garnered out of ponies, it was fear, and fear was more powerful than respect. As I made my way to Baltimares seedy underbelly I thought to myself, why the girl would come to me instead of the police, I came up with an answer, one that should have been obvious from the begining, this was a dirty job and no one would care, or even notice if a washed up private detective got caught in the crossfire. I wondered if that should hurt me, but even if it should have, it wouldn't matter, she had a flank to die for, a flank to kill for.
Chapter 5: "fake names and watered down drinks"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 5: "fake names and watered down drinks"After a small walk I found myself standing outside a familiar, drab, three storey building. It was a skin joint, there was no name or indication of what this place was, everyone inside was a regular patron, hearing about it from word of mouth only. I stepped inside, locking eyes with a bulky, black coated stallion. "I thought I told ya, your type ain't allowed in here no more!" He walked towards me, reaching for some kind of holster. I quickly disarmed him by breaking a heavy, glass bottle of whiskey over his head. With no one in my path I continued to the main floor. It was a pink haze of smoke and sweat, the stench of stale alcohol permeated the room. The minute the bar tender saw me his demeaor shifted, he quickly broke under the pressure of seeing me. He slipped into the backroom, thinking I wouldn't notice, he thought wrong. I held my head low as I passed through the crowd of mares carrying drinks and horndog, middle aged stallions, gawking at them like they were pieces of meat. No one noticed as I picked the back room lock, and then opened it with an unnecessary amount of force. As the door slammed against the wall I heard gasps of fear, this was a changing room, I quickly informed the mares that I wasn't here to hurt them. "relax, I'm a cop" I lied through my teeth "I just need to ask the bar tender a few questions." It was at this point I realised that their gasps of fear weren't aimed at me, but at the bullet riddled bar tender that lay dead on the ground. "Oh no." I was taken back, this wasn't supposed to happen, at least not this early on. Before even chasing my first lead he was gunned down. They were on to me, whoever took out that mares husband, they were on to me. I told the mares to get help, as futile as it was, he was already dead, the barrage of bullets severing every major artery. I ran further into the back room, against the half dressed mares escaping the crime scene. As I turned a corner I saw a potential shooter, a white coated unicorn with a paper package. I chased him, he hopped onto the fire escape and I did the same, I was his shadow, mimicing every move he made, evey step he took, over roof tops, from fire escape to fire escape. I felt youg again, in the midst of a hunt, chasing down bad guys, it was a grim dream, the best kind of dream, but it had its way of turning into a nightmare. my age caught up with me, my lungs froze and my heart gave out, but I refused to give up, trying to follow the suspect as he jumped across to another rooftop, I missed. The fall was a moment of realisation, of reflection. Why was I risking everything for this strange mare? Was it her eyes? Her voice? Her coat? No, it was none of those reasons. Before I could finish my thought reality caught up wih me again, slamming me down on the cold snowwy concrete below. As I began to drift in and out of conciousnes I heard sirens, A violent lullaby, putting me to sleep.
Chapter 6: "deaths door"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 6: "deaths door"After what seemed like an eternity of blackness and silence, my senses slowly began to come back, one by one. At first all I could hear was ringing, all I could see was a blurry, white light, but slowly, more noises crept in, a faint beep, and then another, and another, a steady rythm of beeps. I heard talking, no words, but I could hear talking. I tried to look around as the room became less and less blurry. I don't know why I was suprised, I was in a hospital. As I tried to make sense of how I got here I was disturbed by the sound of someone coming in. A doctor, wearing a confident smile on his face and an overly expensive watch on his wrist. "Oh good, you're up. We were all very worried you wouldn't pull through this, champ." He sounded insincere, he'd never seen me before in his life, he wouldn't lose any sleep over my death. "If you're feeling a little under the weather we could prescribe you some painkillers, that was a rather nasty fall, after all." And with that, it all came rushing back to me, the dead bar tender, the white unicorn, the girls, the girl, my client, the one who trusted me to find her husband. I snapped back to reality when I realised he'd offered me something. "Uh, sure, thanks." I sat up, feeling my back snap back into place, it would've been lucky if I'd survived the fall, if I had to spend the rest of my life a paraplegic, but the fact that I was shaking it off so easily was a damn miracle. "Oh, I almost forgot. Their's a police officer outside, he'd just like to ask you a few questions." None of this was supposed to happen, I was supposed to walk in that bar, and shake the guy for answers, he wasn't supposed to die, but death had a way of following me around. The cop walked in, he was the serious type, I could tell from the way he wore his tie, and the fact that he wore a tie at all. "My name is detective sergeant Spy Glass, I'm going to ask you a few questions regarding last night." He didn't recongnise me, but I almost didn't recongise him, we went to the academy together, we were friends, both idyllic, young colts wanting to make a difference. In a world of wolves and sheep, we were the shepards, at least that's how it was supposed to happen, my first week as a beat cop, I earned my title by putting a mugger in a body cast for six months. Needless to say, I got fired, last I heard, Spy Glass was climbing the corporate ladder, just made detective sergeant, evidently, I heard right. He gave me a quizzical look, and then a concerned one, he finally recongnised me. "It's you." He stared blankly, speechless. "Its me." He didn't break eye contact. "After you got kicked off the force everyone said you became a private eye, then every other week their were rumours that you'd died. I wasn't expecting to see you again. It's been too long, man." He didn't comment on my matted coat, scruffy mane, or eyes beyond their years, but he'd have to be blind to not notice them. I agreed with him. "It really has, last time I saw you, you were some fresh faced rookie, talking about stopping all crime like it was actually possible." For a split second he looked offended at my comments, but i guess he shook it off as good natured banter between friends. His face now looked serious again, but a slight smile cracked through. "I thought you were dead." He was suprised I was still alive, we both were. "Didn't anyone look me up, I'm in the phonebook?" I said, half-jokingly, the slight smile dropped from his face. "No one ever cared enough to." We shared an awkward silence before he gave a clearly false cough. "What were you doing, jumping from roof top to roof top like the mysterious mare do well?" He suddenly remembered why he came here and began asking me about the other night. "You think I have something to do with the stiff in that skin joint, don't you?" He was blunt before, but I was blunter. "Do you have anything to do with the stiff in the skin joint?" He spat my words back at me, almost insultingly. After that, I told him everything, the case I was working, the missing stallion and the white unicorn. He took notes, everything I said wound up in his notebook, and then left, not even a goodbye. After that I got my prescription drugs and checked myself out, after all, I'd barely even started this case and the questions were piling up faster than the bodies.
Chapter 8: "back in the saddle"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 8: "back in the saddle"It felt good, having an actual lead was new to me, and it was a welcome change. In the past I'd always rough up the bartender at the seediest place in town until he gave me whatever information he had that was relative to the case, but he was gone now, I was truly alone. It was an inconspicuous little place, by the waterfront, a place you'd expect middle aged, upper class folks to go, not guns for hire and dope pushers. As I opened the large, wooden double doors I was immediately hit with an aroma of stale booze and ciggerate smoke. The place was filthy, a den of killers and thieves, I fit right in. I walked up to the bar and ordered a whiskey, I was content with sitting in silence and slowly formulating a plan, but the bartender started a conversation. "I aint seen you around before, what brings you here?" He was suspicious, he should have been. I slid the casino chip over to him and and grunted. "Where's the boss?" He gestured for me to follow him, I did just that. As the undesirables that inhabited this place began to stare I began to think, I had just walked into the great unknown, no plan, no backup, just a bad temper and an empty hoof gun. I was brought to a snowy roof top, the neon lights of the city stretching into the distance. I was left alone on the roof, the bartender slipping away, unnoticed. A frail, old stallion was leaning over the side of the building. Without turning, he spoke to me. "You're the kid who dealt with our problem?" I tried to disguise my voice with a higher pitch. "Yea." He gave out a cuckle. "Good. You've outlived your usefulness, get outta here." As I turned I was met with three large stallions with bats and pipes, and behind them, smoking a ciggerate, the white stallion from the other night, he gave me a knowing smile, and a goodbye wave. They beat me until I coughed blood, popping stiches I'd gained from my fall. After thirty minutes of beatings, I passed out, the eternal blackness, a welcome escape from my torment.
Chapter 9: "wake up"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 9: "wake up"After that, I woke up in the old warehouse, and I've already told you what happened after that. So I sat there, in the old recliner chair in the centre of my crappy one room apartment, out cold from the booze and drugs. Their was a knock on the door. I couldn't move, my stitches were popped and my head ached. The couch had become stained by the blood seeping out of the cuts adorning my body. Another knock. I tried to muster the strength to tell them to leave, but all I can muster is silent screams of anguish. My throats too dry, need water, whiskey'll do. A third knock. Who the hell is it? My question is answered. The goon squad from the previous night busted my door down, guns blazing, stray bullets exploding discarded bottles of cheap whiskey and lodging themselves in my walls. It was a rough wake up, but it was the wake up I needed. Like it was a reflex, I quickly spun around, bringing the chair with me, using it as cover as the bullets made dents in the rough material. This chair wouldn't last, and neither would I. The cracked and frosty old window never looked so inviting. I jumped through it, a hail mary that payed off. I landed on a snowy rooftop below, back first. I stood up, shaking loose shards of glass and clots of snow. I looked up to be greeted by one of the goons following my lead, jumping out of the window, right at me, but he missed his mark. I trotted over to him as he held on for dear life, still clutching to the gun in his hoof. I took it from him, before pushing him down to collide with the cold concrete below. I looked up, expecting to see the remaining goons in my window, nothing. They'll be coming for me, though, make no mistake about that. I make my way down the fire escape, hoping to escape the hit sqaud. I run out of the dark alley that the fire escape led me to. As soon as I escaped the darkness, I was met face to face with the business end of a shotgun, these buckers meant business. My mind raced, two options came to mind, get on my knees and began or the action movie approach. I chose neither, instead opting to stand there, frozen in fear. A cart came from no where, sending the hit pony into the air, accompinied by a red mist, then back down like a cheap firework. A familiar face stepped out of the cart. "What the hell are you doin' here?" I grunt out through gritted teeth. It was Spy Glass. "I wanted to check up on ya, landlord said he hadn't seen you in a week. What the buck is going on and why does he want to kill you?" He was referring to the corpse, now mangled beyond recognition. "Bad joke. Doesn't matter. Go home, this is my case." He chases after me as I examine the corpse, before taking his shotgun. "Your a private eye, these shenanigans have gone on long enough, this is far out of your jurisdiction!" There's a piece of paper next to the stiff, a contract, five grand for my head, and five for the girl. Lotus Blossom, I see her picture, amidst all the chaos her beauty fails to escape me, damn it, keep it together, stay focused! Can be found at Baltimare relaxation spa, crap, they'll be coming for her now. I look back at spy glass and hit him with the butt of my gun, he goes down, should stay down for a while. I run around him, throwing the shotgun into the passanger seat of his cart and throwing myself in the drivers seat. I sober up quickly, I'm focused now, because I have a job to do, a broken promise to make up for, and a life to save. I'm coming, Lotus Blossom.
Chapter 3: "home, sweet home"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 3: "home, sweet home"The building was tall, too tall, my head was still spinning and the sensation of vertigo this place gave me wasn't helping. I felt alienated. The sun was begining to rise and the golden glint coming off of the apartment complex made it seem beautiful, but this place was ugly, I knew that for a fact. The rooms inside were home to murderers, drug dealers and me, scum, nothing but scum. I opened the door and crept in, it sounded like it always did, crying, screaming, miscellaneous sounds of pain and suffering, I used to try and help them, the criers, the screamers, but too late I realised that these peole were beyond saving, their paths were set in stone, and I couldn't change that. The stairs never seemed so impossible to traverse, every step seemed rugged and uneven. It was a mountain walk to get to my crappy, one room apartment. After an eternity, I came to a familiar looking door, green chipped, paint and three corroding numbers "three two three" I fumbled for keys until I realised a well placed kick could send the door wide open, it was one of the reasons I never kept anything of value in here, the other being that I had nothing of value anyway. The room had an aura of filth, bottles of cheap whiskey and vodka lay dormant throughout the apartment, some empty some half empty, I wasn't proud of my home, or myself, but I was willing to do anything to get me through the day. I grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey and the three loose painkillers off of the small table by my front door and began to rest on the large recliner chair that resided in the centre of the room, facing the large, cracked window. Without thinking, I threw the three painkillers in my mouth and washed them down with a long, drawn out, swig from the large glass bottle in my hooves. When I stopped to take a breath the bottle was empty, and the painkillers were kicking in. My head fell back and the bottle of whiskey slipped through my grasp, dropping to the floor with a satisfying thud, lulling me to sleep as I remembered how it all started, how I got here, and why I wished the drugs would kill me.
Chapter 7: "cold case"View Onlinememoirs of a private detective: volume 1Chapter 7: "cold case"I got my coat from my apartment and went to the bar down stairs. I needed to clear my head, and a stiff drink seemed to be the best way of doing it. I planned on staying there until last call, trying to block out the thought that I had no more leads, that I couldn't solve this case and that I'd have to look into those big blue beautiful eyes as they filled with tears of disappointment. I sat at the bar and grunted "Just the usual." As I placed five bits down and slid them towards the bartender. He just rolled his eyes and poured me a glass of whiskey, It was dirty, bitter and rough, they say stallions share personality traits with their drink of choice, the resembalance wasn't hard to see. I was on my 15th whiskey, when two, large stallions walked in, I could tell they were all buisness. They took one look at me and began walking closer. "Can I help you gentlemen?" I spoke with an audible grin, it didn't help the situation. I heard them pull guns and before I knew it I was holding my own gun and hiding behind the bar with another dead bartender. I was too drunk to realise I was in danger, but just sober enough to get a decent shot off. I squeezed the trigger until I heard clicking, in my drunken state, I had riddled one stallion with bullets, and practicaly crippled the other one. He lay in a pool of his own blood, clutching his shoulder and choking back tears and screams of pain. I stared into his eyes, when he finally decided to open them. "Who sent you?" His expression of pain quickly turned into one of anger. "Buck you, pal!" I placed my hoof on the gaping wound in his shoulder. "Let's try this again, why do you want to kill me?" He was squirming, letting out brief screams, before subsiding. "Your worth ten grand, to the right ponies." It was good to know my flank payed good money, but it didn't answer my question. "And who are the right ponies?" He began to violently cough and gag, before finally passing. I searched his body and found a book of matches for a bar called the cuckoos nest, I also found a casino chip, for one bit, wrapped in a scrunched up note that read "Show this to the boss in the bar, he'll tell you what to do" With that, I finally had a lead, I closed the dead stallions eyes and made my way to the cuckoos nest.
