Everyday it's the same. The concrete jungle with the smokey gray sky. You pass the hookers on the street, with their cigarette smiles and sob stories. Dirty orphans and broken homes on every corner and dreams that die in the gutters like rats.
Welcome to Manehatten where innocence is a legend among single mothers and justice is a joke.
Me? Names Lulamoon, Beatrix Lulamoon and even though I said justice is a joke; I'm one of those ponies searching for the punch line. I'm a private eye. Well, thats what the chipped paint on the door says. In truth, we haven't had a case in weeks and rent is due. Our office is a sad little run down apartment on the top of a beat up old building and it's barely large enough for me, let alone the purple mare in the corner, flicking playing cards into an upturned fedora.
Thats Twilight, my partner in more ways than one. Used to be a big shot on the force. Up and coming detective, with a rookie partner named Spike. Twilight tried to take on east sides mob boss. Some real hard ass by the name of Sombra. Sombra controls the crystal, you know, that new drug the filles and foals do, turning them into 'crystal ponies.' Yeah, Twilight took out the meeting place, arrested those she caught and sent the shipment to the bottom of the harbor. Claimed Sombra would be next, and she promised to clean up the streets. Poor kid didn't know the rules. Got home that evening, feelin pretty good about herself until she got the call. Someone had turned Spike into swiss cheese. Fed him a lead sandwich and sent him up the river. When Twilight tried to rally a retaliation, the force declined. Sombra was too strong, and they weren't about to end up in a box. She quit the force and what was once a loving, compassionate pony, has been turned into a cold, calculating bitch.
Thats what this city does to ponies. It takes you in, and turns you into something you hate. Soon enough, every pony here runs into their own worst nightmare- the mare in the mirror. Then it's drugs and booze until you finally give yourself a 50. caliber aspirin to stop the pain. But I digress. We have a case.
Normally when a dame walks into the office, I sit her down and tell her whats what. It's gonna be rough tough and tumble from the get go. We don't deal with I.O.U.s or 'favors' for our services. You pay us, we deliver. Thats normally how it works, but not this dame. This dame walks in with this jaded strut, and a face sour enough to make my lips pucker. Chief commissioner Applejack of the MNPD. One of the only honest cops left in the city. Twilight says she's not on the take, but I don't buy it. Still, her arrival is even enough to rouse Twilight from whatever dark place she's dancing around in her head. I frown. The police and us are not friends, so this is not exactly a welcome sight to see.
Commissioner Applejack is about as pleased to see us, as we are to see her. She strolls right in and stops in front of my desk, pausing for a few moments to peer at the messy display of unsolved cases, whiskey bottles, and lovingly kissed coffee cups. She tosses down a folder and a few pictures spill out. I stare at them. Photo of a kid I know. Scootaloo. Paper girl down the street. Rough little so-and-so but had a heart of gold. Spunky little thing went and got her head blown clean off. I winced and glanced up at Applejack.
"Who?" Twilight asked, stepping over to glare at the pictures. I could hear it in her tone. She was going to find the son of a bitch who did this, and return the favor. It dawned on me that this was a hit job. Not what was done to Scootaloo- no, it was us. That was the plan.
"We don't know. Some of the boys think she found out something she wasn't supposed to know. Who would take a shotgun to a kid? Maybe she crossed the Diamond Dogs in the south. They like to use a lot of force. Doubt it was Chrysalis; her gangs been quiet for the last few weeks. Most of my ponies don't wanna touch this case. They know better than to stick their noses in it. Bunch of fucking cowards. Can't trust any of them anyway." Applejack spit, She tosses me a meaningful look.
Yeah yeah. Find out who did it. Pay 'em back. Applejack gets to keep a clean conscience, we do the grunt work. She can trust Twilight, not her own. Find out what happened, what Scootaloo knew, find the bastards that did this to her, make them pay. Applejack looks the other way. It's a hit for revenge, and Applejack knew we were hurting for bits. The force doesn't take any casualties if theres retaliation. Just two private eyes with a hoof-ful of bullets, and half a bottle of whiskey. Who would suspect we were hired assassins pretending we wanted justice. Applejack had it all planned out.
That bitch.
Twilight made the decision for us though. Applejack knew she would. Anything to help relieve her conscience of failing to protect Spike. Revenge was just as good as therapy in some cases and ever since that fateful evening, Twilight had an itchy trigger hoof. Me? I didn't like it. Whole thing stinks like yesterdays garbage, but as far as I knew, Applejack was an honest cop. That means we were gonna get paid, and that meant keeping the lights on a little while longer.
If I knew then, what I know now, I'd have told Applejack I didn't want any part of her crazy scheme. To take a long walk off a short pier. To hit the pavement, and never turn back. But instead I simply say: "Fifty bits up front."
Author's Note
Insomnia story. It's 4:03. Something stupid to try and rid myself of this accursed Writer's block!
I'll edit this in the morning, I'm sure it's hardly readable now, but ugh...insomnia...
