To Drown A Butterfly

by Matthew DePointe

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Thriller, Original Character, Mystery, Random, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 7774

Set in 1950's Hell's Bakery, Los Pegasus. an unforgettable story of loss and redemption as our anti-hero Mr. Serendipity Eggstrum Ponetti tries to get rich quick. In a city with 4 million stories, this is one of them.

Set in the backdrop of 50's noir Hell's Bakery, Los Pegasus. These gripping crime thrillers stars Serendipity Eggstrum Ponetti. An unforgettable story of loss and redemption as our anti-hero tries to get rich quick. In a city with four million stories, this is only one of them.

Edited by the talented Politicalunrest2400

Published 2014-10-07 21:50:05 UTC
Last updated 2015-11-22 01:43:29 UTC

To Drown A Butterfly

She was a petite pony, with hooves that seemed covered in everlasting polish. She had a grayish mane that looked to have just been stylized at a rather expensive beauty parlor only hours before, and her teeth had the impression of holding back a scowl. Her horn wasn’t glowing, but if it had, it would have been dusting the old saloon we were in. Her coat was mostly ash, like the remaining timbers of old flames. Her green eyes with curly eyelashes had a glare like she couldn't believe that she was going to succumb to a lowlife like me.

The Drunken Horse Saloon wasn’t usually the place where sophisticated ponies were seen. Not that we were in a bad part of Los Pegasus. Hell’s Bakery was only three blocks away from Sunset Boulevard, and its posh atmosphere must have rubbed off on the old tavern. Not nearly enough to warrant any favor from this pony though. It was where I spent a lot of my free time, drinking chardonnay with apple slices on top. I was having that at the moment, while the mare in front of me discarded the water as “downright disgusting."

I would normally meet clients in an abandoned alley, where the deep shadows gave me cover more efficiently than my trench coat could. But on this occasion, I decided to do this transaction in a homey place. Not for any particular reason, just because I was lazy. And on this occasion, I didn’t wear anything except a black bow tie. I had to look professional, to seize control over the situation, and especially, to make bits.

She looked around the room, as if looking for any LPPD members. I sighed and shook my head. She was obviously naive, as she couldn’t figure out that the only reason I came after her was because the police loathed her. Her phone records stated she called them at least three times a day, for reasons ranging from a bad hair job by her stylist to finding a mouse under her bed. I smiled at the thought.

Her face returned to the table. She must have been nervous and anxious to get this over with, but at least she tried to act professional. She was slightly shaking, but her face looked calm and collected. My own face betrayed nothing. As long as the transaction was completed, I was more than happy to waste time not looking at each other.

“I don’t know very much about you.” she said.

I knew more than a little about her. Her name was Velvet Rose. She was around 35 years old and she lived in a gated community under the Hollywood sign. She lived in a mansion, which I presumed was made of gold and lollipops (at least, those were the rumors). She had a rich husband, from which all her recent problems (me) started. She didn’t work, but was busy doing her social obligations. She had an ego that a million bits couldn’t satisfy. She was at a masquerade party at her neighbor’s house when my “associate” visited her mansion.

“I’m afraid there’s not much to know,” I said.

“I’m afraid there is, Mr. Ponetti,” she said, each syllable in my name dripping poison.

“Listen, I would love to help you, Mrs. Rose. But as civilized ponies, I think we should conduct our business after dinner. As a member of high society I’m sure you agree. What looks appetizing to you?”

She had a dazed look in her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe she was being lectured about being civilized by someone like me. Her face turned to anger, but she deftly masked it finding her composure. Her mood was dreadful, though. I mean, the food wasn’t that bad here. Right?

Our waiter came, and I ordered my usual meal of daisy sandwiches. Without looking at the menu, Velvet said she would have the same. She was as bored and annoyed as anypony I have ever taken meet. I’ve never been a victim, but I would like to think I would act a little more pleasant with the situation. Not smiling wouldn’t fix anything, only makes your own mood more sour.

I just shrugged and grinned as Mrs. Rose tried to be still and failed, something she was obviously not use to. Her hooves kept tapping at the floor, her eyes glancing all over the saloon, and her tongue was sticking out just the slightest bit. Finally, she sighed and asked, “Can I smoke in here?”

I nodded and she took out a long cigarette, one of those you see the evil dame’s sucking away at in the movies. Being the gentlecolt I am, I took out my lighter and lit it for her. She nodded her head in acknowledgement and breathed in the smoky delight. I saw her shoulders relax, and for a second she looked liked a regular pony, enjoying a good cigarette.

I watched her for a few seconds and leaned back in my chair. My chair and I had a long history together, with me occasionally napping while on it, or passing out from drinking too much. The ass-print on my chair left me wondering if I was going to spend the rest of my life in this bar. I didn’t have the blood-shot eyes that many years of drinking would earn you, but it didn’t surprise me. I was only twenty-four years old.

Velvet puffed a few more times, the smoke rising into the rafters where it dissipated only adding to the smoky atmosphere of the room, then put it out on the ashtray. “Do you still have it? Please, I just have to see if you are lying or not.”

I understood why she couldn’t relax until she saw the necklace. I got it out of my pocket and laid it on the table. The necklace was shaped like a butterfly and weighed nearly four pounds, solid gold. Small diamonds glittered outside of the wings and the two antennas folded over each other to create a heart. A tear dropped out of her left eye when she saw it.

She said, “Thank Celestia, it’s all right! I thought you would have sold it to some meth head, or drug dealer." She said the last two words as if she tasted bile.

“No meth head can pay what this thing is worth.”

“Still, I assumed that you were only leading me on for more money. I was afraid that when I brought it you would... I’m just so relieved that it’s safe.” She reached to pick it up, but I was faster.

“Not till after dinner, darling.” She glared daggers at me then, oh how I love it when they loathe me. Makes things more interesting.

Her eyes were full of fury, no doubt her default emotion. She was probably contemplating whether she should strangle me before or after the exchange, when our meal arrived. I ate like a starving horse, please excuse the pun. Mrs. Rose, with all her good breeding and etiquette, levitated a knife and began cutting up the sandwiches into minuscule squares. The squares themselves were cut into triangles, and she kept cutting until there were a million pieces of a once great sandwich. I’d already finished, so I was just watching the spectacle.

She began eating shortly thereafter. I swallowed the glass of chardonnay and ordered another. And another. And another. I just downed my fifth drink when she was finished. Finally, we got down to business.

“Twenty thousand bits.”

“Are you out of your mind!," she shouted, obviously not caring about the stares we were receiving from the other patrons.

“Keep your voice down. Yes, that is what I am asking for. I know it means much more than twenty thousand bits to you, so just shut up and pay me.” I don’t usually get that rude, but I was starting to get lightheaded, probably just the least bit drunk as my vision started to blur. I wish I hadn’t set up the exchange this way. Instead of hours, it could have taken twenty seconds in an abandoned alley. Next time.

“How dare you try to sell me something that belongs to me in the first place!” She took a deep, long breath and continued. “I know you have preconceived notions that I am the richest pony in Los Pegasus. My husband is, but I’m not. You have to be reasonable.”

“Your husband," I said angrily, “is a douchebag that uses filly labor to make his shampoo products! You have no standing with me when it comes to money. I would personally ask for a million bits, but as you stated otherwise, I am a reasonable pony. This is your only chance to get back your necklace. Otherwise, I enjoyed your company and you know where the door is.”

Velvet tried to take the power of the situation away from me. No pony does that. She looked exhausted, physically and mentally. She knew she was defeated. Trying to save some face, she said, “You have to give me some time. My husband gives me an allowance, but nowhere near enough to cover that.”

“I’ll give you twenty minutes to call him and arrange for him to put the money in a briefcase and then you bring it here. Every minute that you are late, I will double the price.”

She was dumbstruck. I looked at my pocket watch and said, “The clock is ticking…”

She quickly got out of the booth and went to the payphone near the restrooms. I didn’t hear much of the conversation. Then she hurriedly went out the door, all while I was drinking my fifth (or was it my sixth?) glass of chardonnay.

Eighteen minutes later, Velvet came back to the booth, this time hovering a large briefcase on the table. I made no move for it.

“Don’t you want to see if all the bits are there?”

“No thanks. I’m satisfied you haven’t cheated me.”

“Why? Is it that I’m always honest?”

I laughed at that idea. “No. I know where you live.”

It was obvious that it never occurred to her that I might try to con her again. I threw the necklace up in the air and she caught it with ease. She gave me a nod, in acknowledgement that our business was done, and hurried off into the night. I suppose she caught a pegasi cab that would fly her back to her mansion. I could walk to my apartment from The Drunken Horse; it was literally a stone’s throw away.

I realized that nothing changed much from this exchange. The Rose’s were a few thousand bits poorer, but with her husband's growing empire of shampoo products, it would be remade in less than a month. All my income required was criminal activity. She lived in a mansion, and I lived in a mold-infested apartment next door to a grumpy old mare who shouts too loud at her television. Our lives have touched briefly, but now it was over.

Except, I had one final piece business to take care of.

I carried the briefcase across the street into my apartment. I had to set it just inside my apartment and locked the door. Walking for ten blocks was pretty tiring, so I was glad when I reached the Los Pegasus River. I opened my pocket and took out the real necklace. The one I had given Velvet was a fake, professionally made by a Mr. Vendetta. Or at least that was what they told me. They never tell me anything.

My original plan was to con Mrs. Rose out of the 20,000 bits, and then sell the original for the street value of six thousand bits. A clever game, a game in which I always won. But not that night. That night, I realized that they would always win. I got some money for my troubles and I guess that is all any pony could ask for. But I wanted more. I wanted power, respect, recognition, and all the little things that make a pony a success at life.

I stared at my prize, a beautifully hoof-crafted necklace. If I looked at it just right, I could swear that the wings were glowing, an after effect of the diamonds hitting the moonlight. I held it in my mouth and twisted the necklace, making it seem like it was hovering. I couldn't even guess how old it was, but I knew it was from an era where gold ruled supreme. I guess things never really change. We’ve gone from gold to bits, but greed stayed the same.

I didn’t deserve it, and the Rose’s certainly didn’t deserve it. Life is unfair at times, you know? But I could do something about that now, in my own petty way. I heaved back and threw it into the river, watching the butterfly cease to flap its wings as it sank below the black surface. Magnificent beauty lost to the dark waters below. I turned and walked away, feeling like something has died inside of me. Maybe another glass of chardonnay would fix that…

Author's Note

My intent with this character could be a bit confusing. I will reveal more characterization in the next chapters. I wrote this story thinking that there weren't enough noir pony stories on this website. I like to add a bit of to an otherwise creepy situation. S.E is a very complicated pony, with many talents, both criminally and professionally. Anyway, I hope everyone who read this is satisfied.

A billion bits to you (and one for me!),
Matthew DePointe

This Time Tomorrow

I saw him enter; it was hard to miss. He had short brown hair that barely went down to his ears. It was a two-bit haircut, meaning that Scissors, a barber who I happened to know was homeless, would cut your mane and tail for a bit. The other bit was for the subway to get there. He had a high forehead, prominent cheekbones and a mouth that was just a little too wide for his face. Missing his two front teeth, he looked like a bum and even had that kind of smell that is synonymous to poverty, piss and bourbon. He didn’t wear any clothes, but by the way I’m describing him, you’d probably imagine him wearing a dirty flannel shirt and an old baseball cap.

He stood for a moment in the doorway getting his bearings. It was around four on a Thursday afternoon, which is as slow as it gets at The Drunken Horse. The lunch crowd was long gone and it was too early for the type of ponies who get drunk every night, wanting to forget their pasts and their mistakes. Myself included.

He took notice of my presence right away. I caught the threatening glint of red in his eyes from across the room. It threw me off, as a lump of trepidation caught in my throat. As I stared with wonder about his intentions, he stopped at the bar to reassure himself. And just when I thought it nerving, he took it upon himself to sit between the table I was occupying and the door.

“Mr. Ponetti? Do you know who I am?" He said.

“I know who you are. He called me. Have a seat."

He sat down opposite me, took out a cigarette and a box of matches, and then paused to ask if it was alright to smoke in here. I get asked that question more times than I would care to admit. I assured him that it was.

His voice wasn’t what I’d expected. It was quite soft, his accent from Manehattan. He was young, maybe a year or two older than me, which would put him in his mid-twenties.

The waitress Mare-lyn, came to the table while I was watching him. He ordered a glass of white wine and I ordered another chardonnay. I piled up my glasses from my previous orders into a leaning tower. It was amusing, but I’m sure it scared the crap out of poor Mare-lyn. She gave a tightly closed smile and walked away.

When the alcohol arrived, the pony in front of me put his hoof in his drink, and then put the hoof in his mouth. I stared strangely, and before I could ask the question, he said, “A little habit I picked up in Trottingham. Yeah, I got into a drinking contest with this light-weight. When he thought I wasn’t looking, he added some poison to my drink. Can you believe it? For a fifty bit bet? I was so pissed that I grabbed his face and smashed it through the table, not unlike this one. So now, I make sure that everything I drink isn’t poisoned or tainted in any way. I guess that’s a habit that I will take to my grave.”

I didn’t know how to respond. There was nothing crazy in his manner, but to hear this chilling story in such a nonchalant matter was off putting . Oh well, wouldn’t be my first time dealing with a maniac. I swallowed my drink without tasting it.

“I can probably guess why you are here.” I said.

“Your reputation is growing. One of the rising stars in this business.”

I couldn’t have disagreed more with him. Last night, I had the potential to become rich. I tricked one of the wealthiest mare’s in the city, Velvet Rose, into giving me 20,000 bits in exchange for her grandmother’s butterfly necklace. Except the necklace was a fake and I could have sold the real one for a lot more money. I threw it away in the Los Pegasus River instead. Maybe it was too much alcohol, messing with my common sense, or maybe I was just getting soft. The thought made me want to drown my sorrows in more chardonnay.

“I think you’re putting more faith in what Shadow said then you should. I don’t think he would recommend me for anything.”

“Oh, I asked for you by name. It just so happened that I knew him and he knew you and could put me in touch. See, I’m looking for somepony who is willing to help me with this … job I’m working on. It pays well. In and out.”

“I’m afraid I don’t do that kind of business.”

Oh yeah. Did I forget to mention that the nameless pony in front of me was a contract killer? He was one of the most famous murderers west of the Mississippi. The rumors were that he killed the ambassador from the Griffon Kingdom only ten years ago. That meant he would have been fifteen or sixteen when he did the dirty deed. Now that is dedication to his job.

“You know what I am. What I do. Does it bother you?”

“Not particularly. I’m just more than a little hesitant to do it myself. It’s difficult to conceal a knife in my mouth. You have magic on your side.”

“But that’s not the only thing that matters. You have to have the guts, the know-how, and the intuition to pull it off. You also have to be smart. You graduated from Pranceton, right?”

That was true. I got accepted to Pranceton right after high school. But since I couldn’t afford it, I had to do some small jobs in order to pay my tuition. Besides my part-time job at the Hay Burger, I also ransacked ponies cottages, had one-night stands with prostitutes and stole their money while they were sleeping, and, of course, cheated on my taxes.

“What did you get your degree in?”

“Criminology.”

He laughed. “So you studied criminal behavior in order to become a better criminal? That’s genius!”

“We all have to learn something other than what teachers crammed down our throats in school. I just decided to make what I was learning useful in real life. My parents weren’t too proud of my decision, though.”

“I’ll bet.” He paused. “Look, this job pays out really well. It’s somepony who will not be missed. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say he is scum. Clockwork, his name is, raped a mare, and then beat her with a rusty pipe until her eyes gouged out of her head. Now she is emotionally scarred and blind. Her father wants me to bring Clockwork to him, so he can have a chat with him, so to speak. I’d gladly do it, but I’m afraid I have other commitments as of late. “

“So you’re just giving me this information out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Hardly. I take a 20% referral fee. But that’s all and for this job, it’s a great deal.”

“How much?”

“100,000 bits.”

My jaw hit the floor. That was more money than I ever dreamed of. Even after the nameless pony’s fee, I would still clear 80,000 bits. I could hire a butler and never have to cook again. Hell, I could probably buy the saloon we were in for that much money.

His horn flickered and wrote something on the back of a napkin. “That is where the scum is hiding. All you need to do is show up, beat him 'till he is senseless, and then call me. No matter what you decide, remember this. This time tomorrow, you can be rich. If you get smart, as I know you will, call me.”

He got up and walked away. I just stared at the napkin he wrote the address and phone number on. I could buy a lot of chardonnay for 80,000 bits. I could get a much better apartment, maybe even on Sunset Boulevard. I could probably retire on that amount, if I just stuck to my routine of drinking ten glasses of chardonnay a day and not doing much else.

But then I would have to deliver somepony to his death sentence. I wouldn’t kill him myself, but it would add up to the same thing. The estranged father would probably pull out his eyeballs and make Clockwork eat them. The images of Clockwork’s inevitable torture kept sticking in my mind. I knew that Clockwork probably deserved whatever he had coming his way, but I didn’t want to be the executioner or even the guard escorting him to his death. I never killed anypony in my life.

I was afraid. I was afraid because I didn’t know if I could trust myself to make the right decision. The stuff I've done and seen, I know I’m not innocent. But I’m not a murderer. Still, 80,000 bits was tempting. By this time tomorrow, I could be living in luxury. By this time tomorrow, I can hire a thousand prostitutes and have the greatest night of my life. By this time tomorrow, I could be nothing but a murderer.

I left the Drunken Horse and made my way downtown. I had to see an old friend, and her name was Midnight.

Author's Note

This was another fun one to write. If things don't make a whole lot of sense right now, don't worry.

A Midnight Meeting

I woke up from my foggy state, thinking of nothing and everything at once. I didn’t quite understand the grimace on the waitress’s face as I slowly rubbed my sore eyes. What was she so pissed off about? It probably wasn’t the first time a customer took a nap in his french fries.

The truth of the matter was that it was 2 A.M in Los Pegasus and I was late. Not for a very important date, but late nevertheless. Reality was increasingly painful as it flew past me. It rebounded and hit me straight in the face. Now awakened and facing a very angry restaurant owner with a butcher knife heading my way, I threw a hoof-full of bits onto the counter and ran to the nearest taxi drop-off. I could hear the cussing from three blocks away.

In a city that never sleeps, my poor soul passed out after only two Bloody Mary’s last night. A pony half my age could drink more than I did. I should just stick to chardonnay. Instead of being energized by the drinks, the only consolation prize is my loss of memory of what I’ve actually done. I don't even remember entering the establishment! If you think this is a common occurrence, you’d be wrong. Although this was the first time this was the first time I’ve woken up to a half-eaten hay burger, I’ve had many other occurrences, including this weird story about a little baby dragon who was so drunk, he made out with a lamp.

I got into a taxi and told the driver to take me to the Wailing Crybaby. The cab stunk of moldy pizza and burned cigars. I felt sick as soon as the ride started. That’s when I noticed I didn’t have my wallet on me, which I must have dropped at the restaurant. Since taxis don’t make money off of generosity, I had a sinking feeling that my next meal would be mystery meat at the city jail. As soon as the driver stopped for a red light, I jumped out and ran as fast as I could. He hesitated for a second, then also jumped off and tried to pursue me. I can run fast in my sober state, but drunk Ponetti is unmanageable and pathetic. Luckily, the driver realized my sorry butt wasn’t worth the trouble and headed back to his taxi.

Exhausted, broke, and not exactly in the best state of mind, I collapsed on the sidewalk.

Several hours later, I woke up to the feeling of my face being stepped on. My eyes darted to the perpetrator, a dark brown pony with corn for his Cutie Mark. His blue eyes turned almost amber from fury as to being disturbed by such a lowlife as myself. I screamed profanities at him and he started a shoving match. I would have beaten Celestia's fury out of him when a fat LPPD pony walked around the corner. Giving no time to explain the situation, I did my default mode: RUN! Corny attempted to chase me alongside the police-pony, but acting on my hooves, I ducked into a garbage can. Smelling the garbage reminded me of the taxi and I wondered if the driver was still looking for me too. More enemies then friends. Just like Baltimare...

I slowly crawled out of the garbage. I needed some gum, so I reached into my saddle and surprisingly found my wallet, seemingly unharmed. Sometimes life is funny. This time it was just aggravating. Disgusted at pony kind, I trotted to the Wailing Crybaby.

The Wailing Crybaby was a famous jazz club in Los Pegasus. Once inside, you were welcomed to a large dining area, where cheap plastic chairs placed around oak wood tables covered the majority of the space. To the left, there was the only bar in town where you can add cocaine to your drink. I’ve never had the pleasure of trying out their "special", but it couldn’t taste all that bad since it's their number one product.

A well lit stage to the right was currently uninhabited, with only a single microphone. The speakers were obnoxiously hanging over a few of the booths and were considered one of the worst places to be seated. I would have suggested moving the speakers, but Emma Crybaby, the owner, was a notorious killer who claimed her husband’s life with a machete. The rumors were that she drank his blood and ate his intestines (I don’t believe them either). The only reason why she wasn’t sent to Grenade Prison was because an idiot somewhere in the LPPD office misfiled her paperwork and she got off scot-free. So, I keep my mouth shut about the speakers.

Dawning was probably on a smoke break, as everypony who isn’t working is smoking their lungs out. Me, I never cared for it, mostly because it’s too expensive. The food was dreadful to say the least. Sometimes you might have even found a lock of hair in your hay burger. And I’m pretty sure the waitresses spit in your chardonnay, as mine so clearly did.

I waited for the only reason why I was in a hellhole like this. Suddenly, the lights went off, a darkened figure appeared on the stage, and musical delight filled my ears. Midnight's voice was magnificent, like a billion birds chirping the same song in unstressed harmony. There were no instruments, just this one mare singing. The drunken bastards who were yelling a second ago, instantly shut up to hear beauty in the form of compressed air waves. After she was done, a loud cheer from the audience was enough to make her blush.

Midnight approached as I ordered my fifth glass of chardonnay. “Serendipity Eggstrum, how are you?”

I cringed at the sound of my birth name. “You know that name bothers me. How can anyone respect some pony who has a ridiculous name like that?”

“It would be very hard.” Midnight took the place adjacent to me and stared at me. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. At least nothing important. I didn’t come here to talk about my problems; I wanted to see you.”

I first met her when she was a bank teller at Los Pegasus Bank. During my criminal youth, I strolled in one afternoon casing the joint out so I could rob it the next day, when I saw her trying to come up with the interest rates. Her beauty caught me off guard and not thinking straight. I knew that she couldn't be there when the shit hit the fan or I'll be losing my mind.

My partner, whom I’ll refer to as K, agreed to make sure Dawning was out of the area when we did the job. We arranged for someone in the organization to kidnap her for a few hours. K was a unicorn, so his destruction magic was the best weapon we had. We stormed the place and looted the money. We made a clean getaway and I ordered the kidnapper to let her go. But for some reason, he refused and I had to go over to his apartment and beat the living crap out of him until he told me where he stashed Midnight. I found her located in the closet and ever since, she believes I saved her.

She thinks I'm an insurance adjuster, not a puppet for "The Organization". The bank shut down (she was so surprised to learn it was robbed coincidentally when she was kidnapped), and she decided to take voice lessons. Her instructor recommended her to Crybaby, and Midnight has been here ever since. I never told her about my role in her kidnapping, but I’ve come close a couple of times. I can usually handle the guilt, but when she says something like, "You're my hero", my eyes only portray shame. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks and now her appearance was soaking into my soul.

“What?” she said, her face trying to read my inner thoughts.

“Actually, I have a sort of moral dilemma. Someone has asked me to do something that I feel I shouldn’t do, but he is offering a lot of money, more money than I ever had at one time, and I just feel lost.”

“What is he asking you to do?”

“He wants me to liquidize an asset.”

Midnight closed her eyes and rubbed her head, trying to portray a great deal of thought. It annoyed me that she was trying to use such a cliché move to express her emotions.

“You never cared about money. Why start now?”

“Well, it could make a lot of things easier. I could get a new apartment, buy you diamond rings every day, and pretty much do anything. Besides, this…asset is causing a lot of problems for a lot of ponies. Maybe I’ll be doing the world a favor by eliminating it.”

Midnight frowned. “You told me that it was a moral dilemma. How could it be a dilemma when you already made your decision?”

I was confused. “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you did.”

I had no clever comeback, no downright denial. She was right. I knew what I had to do. It might not be orthodox, but at least I knew it was a solution.

“Okay. I’m off to deal with the problem. I’ll try to stop by more. And tell Crybaby to move those damned speakers. They make my ears bleed every time someone farts near the microphone.”

“See you, S.E. I will always love you, forever.”

I didn’t bother telling her that there was no such thing as forever. Things happened and they happened now, as any future was inconceivable in this city, where the living become dead overnight.

“I love you too. Goodnight, Midnight.”

Razzmatazz Road

It was very early in the morning when I arrived at the shabby building, Celestia wasn't even thinking about raising the sun. Still snug warm in her bed, I bet. With a sigh at what lay before me, I paid the fare, getting a mumbled response from the cabby who had told me of his conspiracy theory about the invention of donuts. He muttered a farewell as I stepped out of the cab, my hooves clicking on the sorry excuse for a street.
While the street was littered with broken glass from discarded bottles and loose asphalt from where the road started to crumble, my attention was drawn to the the apartment complex. My jaw went slack at what I saw, disbelieving my eyes.

The building in front of me made my own home look like a palace that had angels dancing on top of it. It had the aroma of being repeatedly broken into by squatters, although I’m sure even they could've found someplace better than this. Broken windows, the top floor ceiling collapsing, smashed wallboards. And that was just the outside.

I checked the napkin with the address on it and concluded I was in the right place. 1010 Razzmatazz Road, famous for being so utterly unfamous. What a stupid name, Razzmatazz. I feel sorry for the poor son of a bitch who had to live life with that name and even sorrier that he had the indecency to become famous enough to warrant a street of his own. My heart goes out to him.

In my mouth, I held a shopping bag filled with my tools for tonight. I’ve recently spent the past several hours galloping from bars to pharmacies to porn shops and back to bars again. My only complaint I had was that the bags were pink. All of them. If I felt stupid being out on that street at 4 A.M, then multiply that experience by a hundred when you add anything pink. I contemplated walking home and forgetting about the job, but I had a hundred thousand reasons not to. I trudged my way inside.

The building's security consisted entirely of a junkie laying in the hallway, covering his face with a ducky blanket so he wouldn’t be disturbed. I quietly jumped over him and climbed up the hazardous stairs. Apartment 2010 was the only one with the door still attached. You probably have to pay extra for that privilege.

I put my ear to the door and heard mild snoring coming from the other side. It sounded like the kind of deep sleep only whiskey could afford you, so I figured he would forget to lock the door. I was right.

Quietly, I went inside and took a look at the surroundings. There wasn’t much outside of a small television that used a metal hanger to get reception, a mini-fridge that smelled like death, some questionable substance on what used to be a sink, and the fat bastard himself sleeping on beer cans and heroin needles.

Clockwork was one of the grossest ponies I’ve ever seen. He was extremely fat and his reddish beard contrasted nicely with his vomit-colored fur, which made him look like the physical embodiment of sludge. I have no idea how his special talent had anything to do with clock. The universe works in mysterious ways.

I closed the main door. I knew that my dear old friend wouldn’t wake up for awhile, so I didn’t have to be as quiet. I have never been as nervous in my life as when I picked up the needles with my teeth, as one puncture would kill me. After avoiding the deadly virus, I checked every nook and kranny to make sure there wasn’t any hidden money. Shame I didn’t find any. But what was I expecting? Ponies don’t make millions of bits and choose to live in a moldy apartment.

I spent forty minutes throwing out the mini fridge and television set and started to clean the ungodly substance off the remains of the sink. I barricaded the door to keep Razzmatazz Road outside, although I doubt I’d have needed to. Clockwork’s neighbors weren’t exactly philanthropists. After there was nothing else left to throw out, I decided it was finally time to wake our little friend. Snoring away peacefully, I smiled at him and gave him a good kick in old belly. He didn’t even stop snoring. If anything, all I did was add more gas to the buzzsaw, which as you might imagine, didn’t make me too happy. I kicked him harder and harder, all the while making myself even more frustrated and the little angel snored away, like a helpless little baby. My hooves were extremely sore, but I was finally making leeway into his whisky-filled stomach.

It must have been around noon when I finally saw his eyes flickering, his body shaking ever so slightly, and he made a loud burp. He turned over, saw me, and without moving, said “Shit. I hoped I’d be dead by the time one of you guys came. Extremely unlucky, that is the story of my life.”
“Good morning, sunshine.” I smiled at him. He shrugged, his eyes still glassy, and he probably had a killer headache. Slogging upwards, he sat on the floor and looked up at me.

“Well, can we make this quick? My head isn’t feeling so good, but maybe it will block out the gunshot. I don’t have any weapons or knives on me, so just go ahead. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, Clockwork, I’ve been hired to take you somewhere. Somewhere where the sun don’t shine and all your dreams evaporate. You see, you almost killed a very well connected mare not too long ago and it’s your turn to be punished. Today is your last day in Las Pegasus.”
Hearing that last statement, instead of crying or begging for mercy as I was expecting, he made a loud burp and a shrug. He acted like I was telling him he forgot to turn off the lights.

“Aren’t you even a little bit sorry or regretful for your actions? You could have killed her.”

“What is the difference between being sorry and regretful? Sure, I’m sorry her family wants me dead, but I don’t regret fucking her. She was one fine mare. Does that answer your question?

I was starting to get pissed off, seeing this lowlife talking about emotionally scarring and blinding a mare as if he was ordering a pizza. “I think you don’t give a damn about life. Especially yours.”

The fat bastard started giggling, his gasping noises sounding like gunshots. “Ain’t that the truth. But what about you? Do you think it’s justifiable killing me? Are my screams of agony going to make her family any happier? What you are hoping to accomplish is just extra proof that all lives are worthless. So, now that we established what a poor, wretched soul I am, are you doing to kill me or what?”

An eternity passed as we looked at each other, daring the other to make the first move. I knew I would win the staring contest because I would stare at a glass of chardonnay for hours without blinking if I felt like it. His eyes hit upon the pink bags I carried inside. “What’s in those bags?”
“Well, one of those bags are for you. Here, let me get it.” I grabbed the bag and set it in front of it. I grinned and said, “Should you open it or shall I?”

“Just tell me, for Celestia's sake.” I could tell he was getting nervous, his breathing was getting deeper and his forelegs started shaking ever so slightly.

“Fine, if you have to be so rude. It’s a cake. Lemon cake, I believe. I apologize if you don’t care for lemon, but it was the last one they had. I had to run over there after taking care of some business and just barely made it inside the bakery before they closed. I was surprised they were open that late.

“The mare was extremely nice. She even slipped a chocolate cookie inside the bag when she thought I didn’t notice. I’m sure she would have done that even if it was you. I have to remember to go back there again, the cookie was absolutely delicious.” I nodded at the thought, then got back to the task at hoof. “Anyway, the cake is yours. There is a plastic fork and knife inside if you want it. Do you happen to have a restroom inside the building or shall I do your approach, peeing outside the window onto innocent bystanders?”

He looked confused and even more paranoid, trying to sense if I was joking or not. He opened the pink bag (I still can’t get over it. I mean, really?) and found the cake. “Uh, yeah, the bathroom is down the hall. You might want to cover your nose, the toilet doesn’t flush.”

After surviving the epic journey to the bathroom and back, the lemon cake was gone and a satisfied grin on his face appeared. “Thanks. That was probably the best meal I ever had.”

“It was my pleasure. What’s her name?”

His eyes flopped and his nose twitched. “Whose name?”

“The mare you almost bludgeoned to death. What’s her name?”

“You mean, you don’t know? Wouldn’t they tell you that?”

“They don’t tell me everything, only the essentials. I’m just curious, I have an interest in names.”

“Hell, I don’t know. I went to meet up with my dealer, you know, on the corner and she was walking around on the street. I gathered she tasted real nice and she was real marelike, only wearing a fashionista hat, you know, the one with all the ribbons and shit. I had my pocketknife, she was there for the taking, and that was that. It’s not like we went on a dinner date or anything.”

“So, it was a crime of opportunity. She was there and looked nice and why not? I don’t entirely blame you for wanting her or hell, even acting on those impulses, but why did you have to beat her with a rusty pipe?”

“I was afraid she’d ID me to someone. Screaming and shit, she was starting to be a nuisance.

I’ve hit her multiple times, trying to kill the bitch, but she just wouldn’t die. You know? I heard a voice or two down the street and I just bolted out of there. I woulda sworn she was dead because her eyes were out of there sockets and bleeding on the ground.” He paused. “I guess I do deserve to go with you. Look, it was very nice of you to get me a cake and let me ramble a bit. But I think we should both stop wasting each other’s time. Let’s go.”

I looked at him thoughtfully, as if contemplating to accept his offer. Instead, I reached inside one of the other pink bags and pulled out a pill bottle. I threw it at him, he reached for it, but it hit him on the head and fell on the floor. He rubbed his head and picked up the bottle. “What’s this?”

“Look, I don’t like the idea of you roaming around and beating up mares and being a general nuisance. I also don’t like the idea of murder and I’m not going to commit one because of you. If I’m going to go against everything I ever stood for, it will be more of a reason than just money. Do you understand?”

He looked a bit hopeful. “Yeah, I think I do. I’m not worth the price of your morality, however loose that is.”
“Exactly. What you got in your hoof are sleeping pills. They cost me quite a packet, but whatever. There are twenty pills in there, more than enough to make you fall asleep and never wake up again.”

He looked at me. “You expect me to end my own life.”

“Your life is over, Clockwork. It’s just a matter of how it ends.”

“And if I take these pills?”

“Everything works out. You’ll die without any pain. The mare’s family might not like it, but they can’t do anything to stop it.”

“You are forcing me to kill myself.” He sounded a scared, but in a way, somehow relieved. As if he didn’t have to make the decision himself.

“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m allowing you to kill yourself. I think you’re an even bigger fool if you don’t, but I’m not forcing you to do anything.” I grabbed the empty cake box, put it inside the pink bags, and left. We didn’t say anything else. There wasn’t much point.

There was something else I didn’t tell him. I’d just say I found him dead, comatose in La La Land and I’ll collect some money. Not all of it, surely, but I expect at least something. They always give me something.

It didn’t matter to me if he died by his own hoof or through his excessive use of alcohol and drugs, or, as far as that goes, the poor mare’s family found him instead of me and killed him. But I didn’t want to be a part of it. What I did want to be a part of was the act of drinking. Now that sounded real nice.