The Tip

     "Ok, make sure you get all of this." Soarin turned to Spitfire who was driving the "Blueberry" as they liked to call it. She had the grey seat up as far as it would go, and the steering wheel was adjusted to its upmost setting.

     "Eighteen months ago, Lightning Waters ran his father's cigarette boat into the Lakeland Lodge Aquarium. That was right after he was caught with that  baseball player's wife. The blonde mare."

     "Yeah, I remember that."

     "Guy hadn't been out of the paper in five years. Since that happened, nothing. Not one news story. Not so much as a dented motorcycle."

     Spitfire stared at the road ahead of her. They were still in the busier part of town. She glanced over at Soarin. "What do you think about it?"

     "I think Lightning Waters is too good at the stuff he does to just stop. At least, not cold turkey. Hot mares, fast cars, it doesn't add up." He shook his head and squinted over the glare of the midday sun. He turned to Spitfire. "Something happened to him."

     "That's good stuff Soarin. Where did you get all of that?"

     Soarin thought of a response. He picked is brain for the perfect one. "Nowhere, I can not reveal my sources." He pushed some papers to the side. Spitfire gave him and irritable expression and snatched the papers. She set them in her lap and glanced at them while still keeping most of her attention to the road ahead.

     "National Questions Magazine? The Local Gossip News? A cat show magazine, really?" She turned to him with an "are you an idiot" look.

     "Spitty, these guys are cowponies. They hide in bushes and sit on cactuses. They know what's going on."

     "First off, do you mean cacti? And second, you think the cat show ponies had to do with it?"

     "No! I didn't mention one thing about cat show ponies." Soarin threw up his forehooves. He glared at his fiery friend.

     "But you have a magazine about cat shows."

     "FORGET THE CAT MAGAZINE!" Soarin shouted. His fearsome glare intensified.

     "Lemme tell you something. I'm not going to go in there with you making accusations based off evidence you found in Pony Magazine."

     "Oh please, would you give me some credit?" He turned back to the sun scorched road. "It was Us Weekly."

     Spitfire studied him with a frown.

How is that supposed to be much better?

     Spitfire clamped her wing over a silver briefcase. She leered at the trunk door above her head. With a slam, she shoved it into its proper position. The briefcase slipped from her grip, causing the metal edge to scrape against her right hock.

     "Dammit!"

     Instead of scraping herself constantly by putting the case under her wing, she took the rubber handle in her mouth. She made haste and trotted over to the slowly retreating Soarin.

     "How should we introduce ourselves?" She huffed. "Don't say psychic. They will shut you off. You need something vague. Maybe.... "alternative tactics division" or something of that sort."

     "How about 'The Bureau of Magic and Spell Casting for Pegasi and Earth Ponies?'" Soarin looked back at her with a smirk.

     Spitfire's demeanor changed back to annoyance. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the building ahead of them. A black colt was pushing a teal garbage can to four other ones. He disappeared from sight as he walked through an archway leading to a gardening area. Soarin either didn't notice or didn't care as he crossed in front of Spitfire. He nosed his way over to another set of garbage cans. He flipped open the lid as Spitfire approached. Much to her dismay... and disgust, he started to take items out of the trash can.

     "You're rooting through the trash?"

     "Just for a second."

     "You are, without a doubt, the worst detective I've ever seen." Spitfire turned away from the spectacle. She would rather look at the tan mansion than see her friend root through somepony's garbage like a homeless pony.

     "Spitty, everything you need is right here. In front of you no less. You've gotta just pay attention."

     "Is that so?" Her gaze was still focused on the building. Soarin continued to dig into the confines of the plastic trash can. He pulled out a brown sack and studied what was previously hidden underneath it.

     "Look at this. Brilling's brand." Soarin gripped a shiny, silver bag in his hooves. "That is the highest quality dog food that you could buy. It's like, six hundred bits a bag."

     "Wonderful, they pamper their pets. The case is almost solved." Spitfire said with clear sarcasm.

     "This stuff is really expensive." Soarin began as he removed more silver bags. "No preservatives or additives in it." Soarin faced the yellow mare. "Why in Equestria would you open five bags simultaneously when you only have one dog to feed?"

     "They're rich." She deadpanned. "They waste stuff."

     Soarin turned back to the can. He was cheesed off by how Spitfire was derailing any chance of gaining clues. His manner changed when he saw a back item at the bottom of the can. He leaned the trash can over toward him. He plunged his head inside it and grabbed the object. When his head was visible again, he had a black CD case in his mouth. It was in pristine condition. He let go of the trash can and let the case fall into his hooves.

     "This CD case is totally neat! Why would somepony toss this in the trash?" He flipped through the empty CD slots. They were pale and flimsy, just as they were manufactured. He presented it to Spitfire. "Here, put it in the Blueberry."

     Spitfire grasped it and tossed it back to whence it came. "Inside. Now." She trotted to the tan mansions front doors. While she still had her back to him, he snatched to CD case back. He nestled it out of sight be hiding it under his right wing. He quickly joined Spitfire.

     "Is it too early to have a theory?"

     "Can you at least put that on hold till we see some evidence?"

     "I guess, if it would make little Spitty happy." Soarin began to make baby faces.

     Spitfire pondered many different things internally. Most of them came up to one summarized thought.

Why am I doing this?

     Spitfire and Soarin gazed at the miscellaneous items strewn about the room. They were all in an orderly fashion, but the item's grouping made absolutely no sense. Soarin didn't notice. He scanned the room and found a pineapple on a shelf. Next to it, a broken wind chime and a folded shower curtain lied. He faced the ceiling. It was tall, about sixteen feet high. Blood rushed to his head, causing a slightly spinny effect to the objects around him.

     "Woah."

     The duo continued down the corridor. They passed several ponies who were speaking among each other.

     "Just, act natural." Soarin spoke as he gave the walkway a once over. They turned a corner into what looked like a huge living room. Inside, Rapidfire and the midnight colored mare stood over a opened file. Both pairs froze. Spitfire, who was already tired of this nonsense, ushered Soarin back around the corner.

     "They know."

     "How could they know?" He's questioned her.

     "They know." Spitfire repeated.

     "We haven't said anything yet." Soarin's voice grew an octave or two higher.

     "I can feel it."

     "Oh, so you're a psychic now too?" He sneered.

     "Let me remind you that you're not a psychic!"

     Soarin pushed her further down the wide hallway.

     "Spitty, let's be clear one one little thing. The only way that the could prove that I am not a psychic, is if I tell them myself. I can guarantee you that that isn't going to happen. Never in a million years am I going to give this up." Soarin peeked over Spitfire's shoulder.

     "Ooh, check this out." He nudged passed Spitfire to another room.

     "You got a lead?"

     "Nope. But look at this gal. She must be the sister." Spitfire approached the family portrait hanging on the wall. Four ponies were depicted in it, a goldenrod colored colt, a lilac mare, a pale green stallion, and the focus of his attention, an aquamarine mare. "She's incredible."

     "We have a few other things happening right now, Soarin."

     "Oh, Spitty, look." He grasped a small picture frame that was sitting on the desk.

     "Look how she went from this awkward stage with a really unfortunate perm, to this beautiful young mare. Like a late bloomer." Soarin began is own monologue. "But what does that mean? That means depth of character."

     He glimpsed at the other photographs sitting upon the mahogany desk. "Huh, she kayaks." He turned to his partner. She was breathing deeply.

     "What, are you Lamaze breathing?"

     "It helps. I cover some birthing places on my route."

     "Just lemme know when the contractions are two minute apart."

Why does he keep doing those jokes? I'm not pregnant.

     Soarin analyzed the other photos hanging on the wall. She was in one where she was posing in a plush, fabric chair. To her right, there was a coffee table that had a lamp and a small stack of books.

     "She reads Boniquen. Wow." Soarin was stunned by this. "She plays the piano, she is a aviatrix, Spitty, I bet she is spectacular."

     "Really now?"

     That was not Spitfire's voice.

     Soarin turned around. Standing on the lower steps on the carpeted staircase, stood the aquamarine mare. She slowly went down the rest of the steps.

     "I'm Wildfire Waters."

     Spitfire looked her over. He name was confusing to her since she was a blue mare, yet had a name that made one think that she was of a brighter color. After she analyzed Wildfire, she realized that they probably named her that because of her eyes. They faded from red to bright yellow.

     "And I'm..... thoroughly embarrassed."

     "I bet you are."

     "I'm sorry." Soarin closed the distance between them. He still left a comfortable space separating them. "I'm Soarin Skies. The chief called me in." He held up one of her forehooves and examined it. After a good ten seconds of staring at it, he looked back at her. "Everything is going to be okay."

     "Thank you for saying that. I have the same feeling. What makes you think so?" She politely asked.

     "I am a psychic."

     "They called in a psychic?" Wildfire raised an eyebrow.

     "I have very unique and special abilities that nopony else has."

     "Well, Soarin Skies, if you need to ask any questions--"

     "Just one. Do you, at the moment, have a coltfriend?"

     Spitfire rolled her eyes. Wildfire huffed.

     "Uh, is that pertinent?"

     "It very well could end up being so, yes." Spitfire scrunched her face in attempt to decipher what he said.

     "Yeah, I do. I'm sorta seeing somepony. Nothing serious though."

     "Nothing to serious. That's good. That's very good." He cocked his head towards the other mare in the room. "I think that's it for now. I'll be in touch."

     Wildfire nodded and left. Spitfire walked up to him.

     "How do you manage to luck into these mares all the time?"

     "Spitty, please, I'm a professional."