Blinders On

It all started simply enough. I've got an office in Manehattan, down on 31st Street. It's not a big place; realtor used the word cozy. I used the word cramped. There was enough room for my desk, an overstuffed filing cabinet and a couch, shoved roughly to one side. There was a dirty window on the wall behind me, half opened and letting in what little light lingered from the sunset. I sat at my desk, contemplating the mountain of paperwork I couldn't be bothered to fill out. There was a half eaten meal pushed to the side. Bad curry. All I could afford these days.

I shared the building with a lawyer and baker, both of whom made more money than I did. The rest of the rooms were vacant; something about the building being condemned and technically unlivable had driven off other potential tenants. Made sense. This wasn't a building for those on the way up.

I fished around my coat pockets for a smoke. Hard times, hard times. I'd laugh if it wasn't so depressing. I put a cigarette in my mouth and cast about for a lighter. Another day without business meant another day for that stack of unpaid bills I was ignoring to grow an inch or two taller. The latest few had been demanding money with menaces. Some bypassed the money entirely and went straight to limbs. Some were downright rude.

As I finally lit up and relaxed, a sound I didn’t hear that often made my ear prick. Steps, a single set, clopping up the stairs to my door.

“Client?” I muttered to myself. “As if I'd be that lucky. Creditor? If it is, then I'd hear a few heavies setting up to beat me down. Cop? Come to shake me down for 'operational costs' maybe?”

I opened up a drawer and eyed my security wand. I'm an earth pony, and proud of it, but sometimes you need a bit of magic to deal with those high-fliers and horn-heads. You never know what's going to walk through that door, and Mama Cartwright didn't raise no fool.

I could see a female figure pause at my door and examine the frosted glass window. It said “CARTWRIGHT INVESTIGATIONS” in black lead. Had that installed back when I was younger, when I thought I'd make something of myself and go on to greater things. How life breaks you down.

She pushed open the door with a dainty little shove. A dame in white with bright red mane, legs going all the way up. Earth pony, like me. Her eyes matched her hair, and I could tell she had an innocence to her that I had lost a long time ago. Her mark was a peach, ripe and full. I profess, I was a bit taken.

But not taken enough to take my hoof off the wand.

She looked around my dark office with what I'll call an expression of polite disgust. Her nose wrinkled as she took in the stale air heavy with smoke and stench of half eaten meals left sitting for too long. I noticed her gaze lingering on my couch and the heap of unmade blankets. Pretty obvious this office was lived in. Pretty obvious it'd been lived in for far too long.

She walked in with a stilted gait; I could tell she was nervous, unused to a sleazy sort of place like mine. I motioned to the chair across from me, and she hesitated as she took in its dilapidated condition. She opted to stand. Smart filly.

“Mister Cartwright?” she said. Her voice reminded me of cinnamon whiskey, heated and rough. I couldn't quite place her accent though. Sounded like something from out in the boonies. “My name is Southern Comfort. I heard that you could... help me.”

I sat in silence, studying her face. She shifted uncomfortably under my stare as I tried to contain my excitement. I took a calming drag of my black cigarette, pleased at how steady my hoof was. “You, ah, you want to hire me, Miss Comfort? For some investigative work?”

“Yes.” In my mind I was doing cartwheels and shouting with glee. “I was told that you were the only one who could help me find what I'm looking for. I really, really need your help.”

She gave me a look that could have melted the heart out of a windigo, but I've been in this business a while, and if I had two bits for every dame that thought she could win me over with a smile and a look, I wouldn't be in my current financial straits.

I rolled my shoulders and leaned forward onto my desk, fixing her with my most competent stare. I could tell she wasn't impressed. “Well, Miss Comfort, I'm sure that I could help you find whatever you're looking for, if I was available. But you have to understand that I'm often quite busy with work, and my rates reflect that. Quite, quite busy.”

She looked at me. Looked at the desk, the couch. Took in the general state of my appearance. Something told me that she didn't believe me.

“I don't believe you,” she said flatly.

Yeah, that.

She leaned forward suddenly, slamming her hooves on my desk. I was so startled that I jerked back, then tried to play it off as if I meant to lean back in my chair. Smooth, Shank. Never let them know they got you.

“Mister Cartwright,” she began, more forcefully than before, “we both know that you need this job. We both know that you owe a lot of the wrong ponies a lot of money. I'm offering you ten thousand bits, plus expenses, to help me find something I need. If I walk out of this building, I can almost guarantee you'll never get an opportunity like this again.”

I kept my face diplomatically straight. “Ten thousand, huh?” I didn't notice that my smoke had burned down until the ash fell onto my shirt front. I brushed myself off as I thought furiously. Ten thousand bits would pay off my debts, set me up for months. Wouldn't have to worry about what I was going to eat or dig through the back of nearby restaurants for scraps. I could almost taste it.

And yet... Ten thousand wasn't a small amount of money. Wouldn't be offered for something easy, and something told me this filly didn't need me for divorce work. But still, what choice did I have?

None, as it turned out.

My door slammed open and we jumped, startled. Standing in the doorway was Money Down, an “asset redistributor” as he fancied himself. Unicorn, like most creditors. Loan shark. I could see the Leemare brothers standing behind him, looming. They were good at looming.

Money Down stood there looking insufferably pleased with himself. “Mister Cartwright, as I live and breath.” His voice reminded me of rotten butter, thick and oily. “I've finally managed to catch you in your office. Why, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were avoiding me.” He leered at Southern Comfort, who drew back in disgust. “Who's your lady friend? You wouldn't be holding back on me, would you?”

I smiled at him. Why not? Smiles cost nothing, which is what I planned on paying him. “Come on, Money, she's a client, why don't you leave her alone? I'll have you know that she's offered me a job that'll let me pay you back in full, interest and all. I've been a good customer to you, haven't I? We go back years, don't we?”

He turned back to me, and I noticed a certain dangerous glint in his eye. “Oh yeah, Shank, we've known each other a long, long time. How many bits have I loaned you? Two, three thousand now? And yet you're always out, always tomorrow, after this job, after this windfall.” His voice steadily rose until he was screaming into my face, spittle flying, eyes wide with pent-up rage. “Well not any more, Shank! I'm sick of it! I've finally caught you, and I'm going to get what I'm owed.” His voice dropped to soft-spoken whisper, heavy with malice. “If not in bits, then I'll get my pound of flesh. Maybe your little lady friend can help you pay it off.” He laughed menacingly, but broke off when he saw the look on my face.

I can be a right threatening sort when I try.

He stood tall on all fours and cleared his throat. “Boys, take him and this office apart. Take the filly.” And as he turned his head to look to his goon squad, I grabbed my wand and kicked my desk hard as I could across the room. Papers filled the air in a flurry of white as the desk slammed into Money Down and pinned him to the floor. I could hear him shouting up a storm as I overcharged the wand and blew the window out of it's mooring.

I spat the wand onto the the floor. “Come on!” I yelled to Southern Comfort, and her head snapped in my direction as she recovered from her shock. The Leemane brothers were trying to shoulder their way past each other and help their boss. He wasn't helping the overall confusion with his caterwauling and carrying on. Well, no time to worry about that. I jumped out the window, Southern Comfort at my heels.

Don't quite know how long we ran. Long enough for the screams to fall behind, long enough to outrun the sirens and hubbub of the early evening crowds. We leaned on each other outside of Cafe Le Cheval, gasping for breath. She looked at me and couldn't stop giggling. I decided not to take that to heart. Bigger colt than that.

“Is this how you normally do your job?” she asked, leaning companionably against me. I didn't say anything. It was nice.

“Normally, no. Most times I wait in a bush for five hours with a camera, trying to catch somepony with somepony they shouldn't be with.” I fished for another cigarette and glanced over to her as I lit it. She had caught her breath and stopped using me as a support. “Guess I'm in your employ now. What's the job, anyway? Hopefully something out of town?”

“Far out of town,” she answered. “Little place called Ponyville.” I had never heard of it. Somewhere in the sticks, I assumed.

“Farther the better, all things considered. What am I looking for?”

Her eyes went distant, sad. I'll remember that look in on her face. “My father was murdered." I grimaced.

"I need you to find his will.”