Blinders On

I blew out a cloud of smoke. “Listen, doll. I’m not one for murder cases.”

“I'm not hiring you to solve a murder, Mister Cartwright. I’m hiring you to find a document.” The frostiness in her tone. Seemed I'd touched a nerve. She lead the way to the train station as the evening turned slowly to full night. I tried to spark a conversation a few times, but she’d decided to give me the silent treatment. I shook my head. Dames were sensitive creatures.

I permitted her to buy my train ticket—expenses, you know? We passed a number of buskers on our way to the platform. There was a pegasus in an undone tie sang his way through Billy Foal's “Piano Mare”. A zebra rapped Big Daddy Colt's classic “Ain't No Half-Hoofing” and wasn’t doing a bad job of it. In the corner, a griffin played a sad ballad on one of the guitars. Must be nice, having thumbs.

I gave each a few bits as I passed. The wheels of life turn for everyone, and I've spent more than my fair share of time with a hoof outstretched for a coin or two.

When we finally joined the two or three patrons on the platform, we relaxed for the moment, me with my smokes, she lost in her own thoughts. The silence was companionable, broken only by the sound of Manehattan traffic in the distance. I wasn't particularly bothered. Never was much of a talker. Actually pretty helpful in my business. Ponies abhor a silence. Makes them nervous, and a nervous pony is a talkative pony.

She cleared her throat and proved my point. “We found my father in his Manehattan office, slumped over his desk. Prognosis was that he'd been poisoned. When the police questioned the office staff, they found that he'd been playing around with one of the secretaries. When she started questioning his intentions, he dropped her like a rock and, well...” Her voice trailed off. I noted she was looking anywhere but right at me.

“So you already caught the murderer, huh. That's a relief, I suppose.” She gave me a quick glance, then just as quickly averted her eyes. Interesting, that.

“Yes. She's been detained. We're keeping this as quiet as we can. We don't want a media circus over family business.” I nodded. I could understand that. No one wants to be caught, no one wants to be related to a murder case. What if it rubbed off on you? Oh sure, ponies were generally too nice to openly hold it against you, but there'd always be that thought, that stigma following you around. “We were called back to the family home in Ponyville for the reading of the will, but when we got there...” She motioned vaguely with a hoof. “The place had been ransacked. My father's safe, cracked wide open and the will missing.”

I cocked a brow at that. “Wouldn't a copy of the will be with his lawyer? Didn't get it notarized?”

She coughed, embarrassed. Cute little noise, but I buried that thought as ruthlessly as possible. “My father made many wills through his life. I have one. My family members all have their own copies. And every single one locks the rest of the family out.” She turned on me suddenly and I jerked my head back in surprise. “Who does that? Who makes that kind of mockery of his own family!” She looked in my eyes, seemingly on the verge of tears. I didn't say anything. What could I say?

She turned away, whatever comfort or understanding she'd been expecting unforthcoming. “So what I need you to do is find the original, whatever version of the will my father kept for himself, so that we can get this settled.”

I exhaled smoke into the night air, watching it dance before me as it slowly drifted away. “What if you aren't the inheritor?” I asked casually, still admiring the smoke so I didn't have to see her snap her head toward me sharply. “You've promised ten grand, plus expenses. Say you don't get a cent from dear old daddy. Do I still get paid?” I blew out another puff so that I could say I didn't see her face go contemptuous.

“You'll get paid, Mister Cartwright.” I almost winced at the frostiness in her tone. “I'm a made pony, regardless of my father's money. Ten thousand isn't anything to me.”

“Surprised to hear that.” I looked at her now, right into those big red eyes. “Normally, the monied don't sweat little things like wills and inheritance unless it's something big. So, if you ain't after the money, what's your stake in all this? Prestige? Getting one over on your family?” She almost laughed at that.

“Remember who it is you work for, Mister Cartwright.” she said icily.

I raised my hooves in surrender. This is why I play the strong silent type. I've always been the kind to stick a hoof in his mouth. We waited a few more minutes, letting the silence grow steadily heavier until it was shattered by the sound of a train whistle. The City of Neigh Orleans roared into the station, ninety tons of steel wrapped around a core of fire. Smoke billowed from it's stack and blackened the gaudy red and yellow paint that adorned the locomotive.

The train screeched to a stop before us, and we waited patiently as the night travelers took to the streets. Babbling voices, laughter, a lot of things I didn't get that much of these days. I almost hated them for their happiness, but I've never been one to begrudge another for their good fortune.

Especially when a back alley and a blackjack could make it my good fortune.

We boarded a nearly empty train, the few fellow passengers heading to their sleeper cars in short order. I was surprised to find my client sitting across from me. “I'd rather have you somewhere I can watch you, Mister Cartwright,” she said by of explanation. Well, no harm in sharing a room with a cute young filly, is there? Yet somehow, I felt uneasy.

She opted to retire immediately, so I excused myself from the room and went to the dining car. It was empty, seats securely under the tables and silverwear put away. I didn't mind, I wasn't here for the food. I took a seat and lit another cigarette. A deep drag and I was lost in my own thoughts.

I didn't like murder cases, even when it was just tangentially related to whatever I was working. Murder's one of those crimes, the ones that Equestrian law won't forgive. If you’re lucky, you’re talking twenty to twenty five in one of the monarchy's high security dungeons. Hell, if you were some erstwhile young detective you might do five in the big house just for sticking your nose in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Couldn’t say I liked working a murder. No, couldn’t say that at all.

The train trundled slowly along as I worked my way through my pack. My hoof brushed over a sunburst symbol and I pulled it out of my coat to look at it. I studied it through the smoke. I used to be an East Roamin Celestian, but I'd distanced myself from the faith after Her loyal boys-in-blue tossed me in the slammer and threw away the key. Say what you will, but that leaves an impression on a colt. Nowadays I was leaning more towards the Lunatheran Church. The whole “Princess of the Night” thing was making it's way through the younger and more impressionable crowds, but I did most of my work at night and it seemed polite to pay my respects. I put the sunburst back in my coat pocket and checked the time.

Two in the morning. I rolled my shoulders and yawned. Well, nothing for it but to see what happens. I snubbed my cigarette on the tabletop and tossed the butt over my shoulder. I opened up the car door and walked right into a pony. “'scuse me,” I began, then stopped as I saw his face. I didn't see his hoof flash out and catch me in the chest. I fell backwards into a table. Chairs splintered as I lay on my back, chest heaving as I tried to get some air in my lungs.

The pony standing over me was named Russian Don. He was near on half again my height and could kick his way through a brick wall. Dark gray mane streaked with black and narrowed black eyes, and a bigger smile than I thought the situation warranted. Smug son of bitch. He was the heavy, the one you called if you absolutely didn't care about getting the money and you just wanted blood. He was an earth pony, though he'd never let that stop him. Watched him take down a pair of unicorns who tried to crush him with magic. Took me two days to wash the blood out of my mane.

He laughed as he trotted over to me. “Ah, Shank, my friend,” he boomed out. I don't think Russian Don knew how to be quiet, not that he'd ever needed that particular skill in his line of work. “You owe many people money, da? And you try to run?” He clicked his tongue as he shook his head sorrowfully. “Very naughty, Shank, very naughty. You should pay your debts, da? Honorable, like colt.” He pulled me up by my coat front and threw me across the car. “Very disappointed, Shank.”

I slammed into the far wall and slid down, dazed. I couldn't believe they'd send Don after me. He didn't come cheap, and I knew I owed them less than he charged. I made this evident as I staggered up.

He laughed again. “Oh, Shank, Shank, you know, we work together many time, and always wondered, always wanted to know who was better. You never wanted to know?” As it turned out, no, I didn't. I already knew he could kill me, whatever my ill-earned reputation for survival might say. “So they come to me, and say, 'Russian Don, you kill Shank Cartwright, we give you much, much bits.' And I tell them, ‘No, I do this for free.’” His eyes narrowed even further as he looked at me. “Yes, I kill you very much for free.”

With that said, he charged across the car, smashing furniture out of his way as if it was nothing. I beat hooves and jumped out of the way. He smashed into the wall and dented it. I could feel the impact even where I was standing. Wouldn’t do to get hit by that. When you fight someone like Russian Don, it doesn't make any sense to take him head on. To be fair, it doesn't make much sense to take him on at all. I needed to swing the fight to my advantage.

He turned to find me at his back, swinging a chair hard as I could. It slammed into his head, and he didn't even flinch. Well. So much for that. Another kick sent me flying across the car again, this time straight through the door. I slammed down on the connector and couldn't help but cry out in pain. Eyes squeezed shut, driving out tears as I could feel him standing over me.

He sighed, and I could feel the scorn coming off him in waves. “Is this all, Shank? Three hits, and you lay down? I expected more from legendary Shank Cratwright.” He sighed again, heavily. “Oh well. Guess I end this quick, since is free.”

I could feel him raise a hoof up high and rolled to the next cart as it came down hard on the coupler, right in the loop of chain that connected the two cars. He looked at me, surprised I was still moving, and his eyes widened as I pulled the chain tight and unbalanced him. He fell to the side and into the darkness with a mighty shout. I don't know if he went under the wheels or not, but he was out of my mane for the moment.

I leaned against the train car door, shaking and clutching at my side. If I didn't get this money fast, if I didn't pay my debts, I didn't think being in the boonies would keep the people I owed from collecting my head. Great. Now I had a time limit.

I returned to the sleeper car, unsurprised to find the lights out. I locked the door, then carefully anchored a chair under handle. Every little bit helps. I slid into my bunk and lost myself in dreams of better times.