The Tip

by Those Kids In The Corner

Rating: teen
Tags: Mystery, Comedy, Romance, Random, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe
Length: 18062

When Soarin calls in a tip to the police department, they think the information is too good to be true. Therefore, he gets taken into custody. With Soarin's unusual skills, he worms his way out of it by becoming a psychic detective at the station.

When Soarin calls in a tip to the local police department, they thin the information is too good to be true. After being taken into custody, he worms out of the situation by falsely claiming to be a psychic.

Also based off of Psych.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-11-16 04:06:43 UTC

Prologue

FLASHBACK 1989

      A local diner diner was receiving some great business. Its two toned red and white walls were a stark contrast from the bright yellow booths. The neon signs around the room flickered; most had a letter in them that wasn't illuminated. The metallic gray floors enhanced the sound of the waitresses hooves. She bore an indigo apron fastened around her midsection. She busily hurried around the diner, taking orders and delivering plates of delicious delectables. She squeezed her way past a few customers conversing at a booth.

     "Did you finish your homework?" A tall, pale blue stallion inquired.

     "Yes." The young colt replied. He was a corn flower blue, a slightly different shade than the stallion, with a navy blue mane.

     "Finish those beets?" The stallion asked.

     The colt glanced down at the plate between his forehooves.

     "Yep."

     The colt's attention was caught by a tray of various sweets across the room. One in particular made his mouth water.

     "Can I have the fudge cake?"

     "Close your eyes."

     "Dad, I don't want to--" The colt tried to object.

     "Now."

     The colt reluctantly shut his emerald eyes.

     "Which letter is out in the exit sign?"

     "The 'X.'"

     "What color is the vinyl?"

     "What is vinyl?"

     "The stuff the seats are covered in." The father scratched the seats with an unused fork.

     "Light orange."

     "Yellow. Close enough. What is the manager's name?"

     The colt thought back to when her first saw her when they walked in. She turned around, leaned down to his level, and..."

     "Rose. Can I have the cake now?"

     The father leaned inwards over the oak table.

     "How many hats?"

     "Seriously, dad?"

     "Soarin, if you want a piece of cake then tell me how many hats there are in this room."

     He thought back when he scanned the room. There was the pony with a biker hat with a coat of arms, the chef hat, a green and yellow beanie, and an elderly mare's sun hat.

     "Does a beanie count?"

     "What do you think?"

     After Soarin gave it a few seconds of thought, he choose his answer.

     "Three."

     "You didn't describe them."

     "That's not fair." Soarin pouted.

     The stallion saw the waitress approaching.

     "Time is almost up."

     "One has a flower, the one that the older mare is wearing. One has a picture of some kind of lion on the weird guy with the crooked teeth. The last one is on the chef."

     "What about the beanie?"

     "A beanie is a cap, not a hat."

     "Alright, open your eyes." Soarin cracked his eyes open. He smiled at the waitress patiently waiting at their table.

     "Thank you." Soarin mumbled under his breath.

     "Wow, that is amazing." The mare commented.

     "It's adequate." Soarin's smile dropped.

     "Get him his cake."

      "I guess I know what you will be when you grow up." She gave him a sly smirk.

     "Oh, I'm never going to grow up, ma'am." Soarin said with genuine confidence.

     In the present, Soarin was now engaging is some more adult activities, making out with a mare he saw in a bar five minutes ago. The dark room he was in added to the mood of the two individuals. They briefly moaned in each other's grasp.

      He desperately tried to toss his keys onto the countertop. It failed, but he didn't bother to pick them up. The mare shoved him against the back of the couch in his apartment. She pushed a little too hard, and it caused them to be leaning over the couch's back edge. Soarin's wings fired outwards in response. His left wing accidentally hitting the tv remote, turning the 42 inch flat screen on. It displayed the weather channel.

     All the while, Soarin and the mare made out. They dragged themselves onto the couch.

     "I knew you were going to be my best table." The mare said seductively, pulling out the hair the holding her long blue and white mane together. She pounced back onto Soarin like a hungry tiger. While in the mare's grasp, he studied the news commuting up unto the television. The news reporter on the screen began to speak.

     "Dune, are the police aware of anything that is a lead at this point?"

     "We're at a loss." The fidgety, overweight stallion said. "We really don't know w-what else to do."

     Soarin analyzed the scene. "Dune" was clearly nervous. He brow glistened with sweat. His wings continuously ruffled.

     "It has been a tough few weeks. We hope that the police will be able to crack this one for us." The stallion's eyes darted around, looking everywhere were the reporter wasn't standing.

     "They are closing the book on the Visions break-ins could be just what the olive branch needed to see things in the wrong direction."

     Soarin scooted over to the right side of the couch and reached for the phone. He grasped it, and the mare halted her smooching.

     "What are you doing?"

     "I'm calling in the police."

     "Is there a particular reason?"

     "I think I just closed a case." Soarin motioned to the TV in front of him.

     "You don't tell me that you were a cop."

     "I'm not actually."

     "Oh...." She sighed.

     "What? You sound disappointed."

     "I just thought, you would have hoofcuffs..."

     "Oh, I have some cuffs." Soarin chuckled as the phone dialed the number.

     "Hello?"

     A voice on the other end of the call spoke to him.

"This is the police department of-"

     "It's the manager. He did it."

"Pardon me?"

     "Uh, the stereo robberies. At the Visions chain store. He is on Channel 8 news right now. His wings are rustling and he is sweating like he was just trekking through the desert. Dead giveaway. And he won't look the reporter in the eyes."

"And your name is?"

     "My name? My name is Soarin... Soarin Skies."

"Is there anything else?"

     "Nope, that's gonna do it." Soarin looked at the TV once more. "Actually the tags on the news van are expired, but that is completely unrelated."

     Soarin abruptly hung up the phone. He grabbed the mare on top of him and flipped her over onto the couch. She gasped, but said nothing otherwise. The thought of the tip now ceased to catch his attention as he made out with the mare.

Who is this girl anyway?

Chapter 1

     Soarin arrived at the police station on a black motorcycle. He set his helmet on the handlebars and made his way to the door. He pushed open the red door, which closed faster than expected. It managed to clip his tail in between the doorway. Without noticing, he continued walking forward, only to go too far and make his rear feel like somepony was pulling on his backbone. He grunted painfully, and carefully opened the door and took his tail out from between it.

Dammit, I hope nopony saw that.

     He walked over to the desk by the door. It had thick glass protecting the mare inside.She wore a navy blue uniform with a golden badge on the left. She was speaking on her phone to somepony else.

     "Hello, officer."

     She failed to acknowledge him and continued talking.

     "Oh, it was awesome. Yes, yes it was. Don't beat yourself up about it." She replied to some unknown pony.

     Soarin scanned the items situated around the apricot mare. He saw something that looked like quartz, a dream catcher, and strange charms.

     "Hi."

     "Like I said, it was absolutely amazing." she said to the other pony over the phone.

     "I'm Soarin Skies."

     The mare spread her left wing and pointed it to a bench across the room. There was a stallion sitting there, cuffed to the armrest.

     "Oh-- oh, no, that's not for me. I'm here for a commendation. I called in a tip." Soarin spoke of his usual cheerful attitude.

     The mare, who was smiling about the conversation with other pony, turned to him. She still bore the smile, but it was obviously not directed to him. The apricot colored mare the pointed to the bench again.

     Soarin turned his head back towards the bench. The criminal still sat at it.

     "Oh, you must be crazy if you think I'm going to pay for that."

     "Here's the thing, I just--"

     The mare pointed back towards the bench. He attitude grew some annoyance.

     "Clearly, you feel very strongly about this."

     Soarin turned around slowly, stalling to see if somepony was going to take the criminal somewhere else. Since that didn't happen, he slowly walked to it and sat down. He continued to watch the mare at the counter.

     "It was weird, she new all about granny's childhood curios that she left for our cousins. I could feel her spirit in the room."

     Soarin grinned at his newfound information. He would put that to use later. He looked toward the yellow stallion on the other end of the bench. Soarin leaned forward to see the rest of his face. The stallion slowly, with a scowl, turned to him, inadvertently showing Soarin the rest of his face.

     He was a light yellow in color, with a bright green mane and tail. Across his forehead, the word "bloodthirsty" was tattooed. He also had teardrop tattoos under his eyes.

     "Get out of here. I have the same tattoo. But the spelled it wrong on mine." Soarin lied. "Can you believe that? You would think somepony, anypony would develop a spell checker for the ink guys."

     The stallion's short temper was then shown because he tried to reach over to Soarin to most likely strangle him. We he realized that it wasn't going to be possible having cuffs around his forehooves, he settled down. Soarin, however, bore a smirk the entire time.

     "I cannot believe that you haven't already tried to do that."

     The stallion simply turned away from him. Soarin looked over the space. A tan mare opened a door carrying several faxes. Soarin got a look inside it, and saw another colt reading from other printed documents. He was moving his hooves in a synchronized pattern. He then looked back to the criminal that he was sitting near. The criminal had bright red shards on his ear.

     "What did you do? Busy up your ex-wife's car?"

     The stallion looked at him in surprise. "Her new coltfriend's."

     "That will teach her."

     The stallion glanced side to side to check for any cops who might be listening in on their conversation. "They have no witnesses."

     "Sweeeeet. You might want to get the shards of broken taillight off your ear."

     The colt went cross eyed and flicked his ear thrill the red shards were cleared.

     "Thanks guy."

     "Sure." Soarin looked at the stallion's midsection. There were now small red specks all over his wing. He was about to say something about it, but then decided that it was for the best.

     "Right this way Mr. Skies." An officer said as he ushered him down a narrow hallway.

     "Sooo, when do I get my money?"

     A door was opened ahead of them. A dark blue mare had her hoof on the doorknob.

     "Money?" She scoffed.

     "Yeah, the reward. You arrested the store manager. Am on right?"

     He fully entered the room where her saw a bright orange stallion leaning against a slate gray table.

     "Why don't you let us ask the questions for awhile?" He motioned to a chair on one side of the table while he and the mare walked over to the two seats across from it.

     "Okay." Soarin side as he got comfortable. He put his hooves on the table. In the reflection of the one way mirror, he saw the large colt rub his wing across the mare's back.

     "So, what questions are you going to ask me?"

     "Oh I don't know, where were you on the night of the last robbery?" The orange stallion asked with narrowed eyes.

If they're going to be like this, then I'm just going to throw them in to a loop.

     "I was robbing a stereo ship." They gave him nothing but raised eyebrows. "Hehe, I wasn't. I don't know. I think is was doing the same thing you were doing. Not solving crimes."

     "Your not helping your case here."

     "My case?" He analyzed the serious faces. "Wait, I'm a actually a suspect?"

     "Oh, your our lead suspect."

     "I gave you the guy." Soarin hastily answered.

     The orange colt shrugged. "He had a partner."

     "Do I have to find him to? I'm confused. When are you going to start doing something?" Soarin inquired.

     "See, that info you dropped was good. So good that it had to come from the inside."

     "Inside of what? Look I have called in dozens of tips. Just check it out."

     "Oh I did. I saw a lot of stuff in your file." The colt flipped the cover of a folder resting on the table. "Like that you are currently unemployed. You have never held a job for more than a few months. On top of that, you have a criminal record."

     "I was eighteen."

     "Oh you were eighteen? Well that makes it all okay. Let me just scratch this out." His words dripped with sarcasm.

     "I borrowed a car."

     "You stole a car."

     "To impress a mare."

     "Was she?" The midnight colored mare cut in.

     "Very, at least until the cops came and cuffed her. Then she isn't the so called, wild filly she claimed to be."

     "Forgive us Mr. Skies, but this seemed a bit far fetched."

     "Would it help that it told you that she had a.... reputation, and I was 0 for..... high school?"

     The midnight mare swayed her head downward all to the side. The orange colt gave him the "Are you serious?" look.

     "Ok fine. The were extenuating circumstances. The officer that was arresting us was my father. He was trying to teach me some stupid lesson."

     "Did you learn it?" The colt said snarkily.

     "I learned that I hated my father. So sure, I learned it."

     "Well pardon me, but I'm still skeptical even as believable that you committed all of these crimes by..." he began to flip through the folder. "I'm sorry what was it? Watching the Channel 8 news reports."

     "I confess. That is false. I watch Channel 5 too. I actually prefer Channel 8 because the weather mare is adorable." Soarin locked eyes with the glaring pegasus colt.

     "So your saying that you can read guilt off of TV interviews."

     "Can't you?"

     "Don't try to trivialize police work." He growled.

     "I think you doing a bang up job of that yourself." Soarin grinned. "You can't keep me here. I know my rights." Soarin started rising to his hooves. He trotted back over to the red door he came in through. He swung it open.

     "Good. Then you know that you have the right to remain silent. you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you." The police duo rose from there seats.

     "Wait, wait, wait. You're serious?"

     "A few hours in a holding cell might not you memory."

     Soarin looked down the hallway into a cell. A black colt looked up at him with a vacant expression. There was an airplane-like toilet without a lid in the middle of the room. Another stallion that was chewing on a toothpick evily grinned in his direction.

     "Just  give us a reason Mr. Skies. That is all we need. How did you get this information?" The midnight mare spoke once more.

     "No, it is to late for that." Her partner answered. "Officer Bright Clouds, book him." The apricot mare from the front desk grabbed him and put began to put cuffs around his hooves.

     "Really, for the walk down the hallway?"

     "Or you could give us a plausible explanation." The dark blue mare asked again.

     Soarin looked frantically around him. He saw the green mare had a crystal necklace and some of those weird charms from earlier. The stallion that saw in the copy room was also there.

     "Okay, okay. Fine. You win. I got the information because... I'm a psychic." As soon as the words left his mouth, the apricot mare fumbled with the hoofcuffs and dropped them.

     "Get him out of here." The orange colt demanded.

I better sell it if I'm going with this shtick.

     Soarin threw himself at the door frame. He put a wing tip to his temple.

     "Oh, boy. I'm getting something."

     Everypony paused and faced him, including the green mare, referred to as Bright Clouds, who was crouching on the floor. The mare that Soarin turned to.

     "Your grandma would be proud."

     She looked at him in disbelief.

     "You spoke to her?" Bright Clouds said with hope evident in her voice.

     "I did, she's... safe, comfortable. She wants you to stop spending all of your money on those charlatans."

     "The fortune tellers?" She nodded at her words.

     "Yes, the fortune tellers."

     "Just to be clear, your claiming be a psychic Mr. Skies." The midnight mare interrupted.

     "Ahhahah..." Soarin put out his front hooves while he balanced himself with his wings. He spun on his heels and faced the police duo.

     "How else would I know that you two are sleeping together?"

     The orange colt, who was rubbing his lips together, froze as his eyes widened. The blue mare glanced at him. Bright Clouds and the other colt simply looked at each other and then back to the events unfolding before them.

    "One, two, three. One, two, three." Soarin's hooves swayed with each word. He turned around and faced the colt. "One, two, three. One, two, three. One... When's the wedding?"

     "May 3rd." He grinned. "Wait, how did you know?"

     "I'm getting dance lessons at a wedding reception. And you... are getting good."

     "Wow, that amazing." The colt goofily smiled.

     "Oh come on! Who is buying this?!" The orange colt exclaimed.

     Bright Clouds, the bright yellow colt, and a pony in the adjacent cell all braised a hoof, with an exception if the pony in the cell since he had to stick it outside the bars in order to do so.

     "I got it!" Soarin put a wing tip to his head again. "Go to detention room number three. Shake down the vandal. You will find all the evidence you need..." Soarin shook the wing still folded at his side. Bright Clouds, the colt, the blue mare, and the angry stallion all gazed at his wing. "on his left wing."

     The midnight coated mare rolled her eyes. The orange colt pointed at Soarin with his right forehoof.

     "I will be back here in 2 minutes." He pushed through the ponies in the doorway. He faced the green mare. "With my own cuffs."

     Soarin exhaled deeply.

     "Woah."

     The mustard yellow colt was being arrested. Ponies worked at their various desk nouns within the small space. The room's sky blue walls glowed in the sunlight. While this was happening, Soarin "divining" something at the front desk with Bright Clouds.

     "I'm getting.... I'm getting.... the letter L."

     "Yes, yes! Her cute little kitten Lulu! Did she say anything else?"

     "Uh, I'm getting a very negative presence here. It's blocking me." Bright Clouds looked behind Soarin to the Detective duo.

     "It was a lucky guess."

     "Lucky guess?"

     "He planted it! I don't know." The orange colt growled.

     "His alibi checks." The midnight mare tilted her head to the front desk. Soarin was still speaking with the green mare.

     "Question. Do I pay taxes on reward money?"

     "I will find out. Please, feel free to come back anytime." The mare had a bright, happy smile.

     "You know I will. Magic poke." Soarin put his wing up to the circular hole in the glass. Bright Clouds slowly did the same.

     "Boop." Soarin trotted off. Bright Clouds attended to her work, still bearing her smile. The orange colt walked over to the desk and plopped down a stack of faxes. Her smile dropped into a scowl.

     Outside, Soarin hovered over the stairs. He randomly said "Doctor" to a pony climbing them. The doors at the top of the concrete stairs opened, revealing a pregnant, pale yellow mare with an icy blue mane.

     "Not so fast Mr. Skies. Misty Fly, Interim Police Chief."

     "I know."

     "Heard about what you did in there." She carefully took a few steps down.

     "Oh, you're welcome."

     "That wasn't the phrase that I was going to use. I was going to say... improbable. Possible, yet unlikely."

     "Look, it's hard to explain. I'm gifted. I was born that way."

     "I knew your father. He was a good cop. You are nothing like him."

     "I take that a a compliment. Really I do, ma'am."

     "Don't you ever call me ma'am again."

     Soarin grew an expression of confusion. "Am I still free to go?"

     "Not exactly. Are you familiar with the Waters family?"

     "Waters? Yeah the own like, half the hill." he jeered.

     "Well there has been a kidnapping."

     "Oh come on. I had nothing to do with that." Soarin insisted.

     "Would you like to?"

     Soarin raised his eyebrows. Misty took a few steps down towards Soarin.

     "The Fed's are itching to get in this case. I need to make some progress. What I need is a miracle. Or in this case, a facsimile of one."

     A dawn of realization washed over Soarin.

     "Oh, I see, I see. Well I make $12,000 bits a day."

     "It's a tryout."

     "That's what I meant to say. Yep tryout. It's all pro bono. Just a little gift for ya. I'll take it."

     "To be very clear Mr. Skies, your case is still open and it stays that way until I see a reasonable demonstration on the ability that you claim to have utilized to solve these numerous crimes. And if this psychic thing is a scam, we will prosecute. You know rendering a police investigation is a criminal offence." Misty Fly started climbing back up the stairs.

     "Sounds good. We're on the same team now. Kidnappers beware!" Soarin said with his voice raised. He chuckled nervously as he contemplated what just unraveled before him.

     At the Southeast Pharmaceuticals Company, Soarin trotted quickly down the bright passageway. The room was huge, which made sense since it had to have many ponies stationed within it. There were windows across every wall, bringing in lots of natural lighting. The white walls reflected this light to make it seem ever brighter. Several phones were ringing in a cacophony that could somepony a if they were around it for extensive periods of time. Soarin opened a door with a name writes on it in formal, gold letters. Inside the room, a fiery maned mare looked up from her computer.

     "I have a job for you." Soarin pointed at her.

     "I already have a job."

     "Playing video games?"

     Like the many ponies earlier that day, she looked at him with surprise.

     "How do you do that?"

     "C'mon, your left wing is on the space bar, and your other is on the arrow keys. Spitty, you should ask me a challenging question. At least every once in awhile. Just for kicks maybe."

     Spitfire logged out of the gaming website she was on. She stood up from her chair.

     "I can't go anywhere. I am behind on my route. I have new samples of methylprednisolone sodium succinate." Soarin reached over to Spitfire's desk and pulled out the bottom left drawer. It was filled to the brim with suckers and hard candy. He scooped some up.

     "Oops, sorry. I didn't know that the new butt cream had came in. So you are not interested in hearing about doing the thing that we have dreamed about doing since we were eight."

     Spitfire trotted over to the coffee machine in the far corner of the room.

     "I have gotten us the last job that we will ever need buddy."

     Spitfire laughed. "Soarin, you have had 62 different occupations since we left high school."

     "Indeed, and they were all fun. Except for the one where I had to clean up monkey dung. But this one takes the cake. And the pie. Definitely takes the pie."

     "What about that acupuncture clinic?"

     "I didn't know that experience was necessary."

     "What about the summer you spent driving the wiener mobile?"

     "I did that for the veggie dogs. And they were delicious. Anyway, I took those jobs for the experience. Then I mastered it. And guess what, I moved on. However, this job has a little bit of everything." Soarin spread a wing to her. She lounged in her black chair. "Come with me."

     "Uh, no. I'm never doing anything blindly with you again. I learned that at the Saddle Arabian border. Twice." She said with a pseudo grin.

     "Okay, this so hard to explain. But I guess I will try and give it a shot. You and I.... are opening are own private detective agency." Soarin went hushed halfway through the sentence and had spread his wings for emphasis.

     Spitfire started at him blankly for a few seconds. "Oh, see? No exclamation necessary. Let me get my coat." She turned back to her computer.

     "But you not getting your coat. You don't even have a coat."

     "Exactly."

     "Alright, you want to sweat the details? Fine. The cops think that I am a psychic, and now we are investigating a kidnapping."

     "What did you say?" Spitfire inquired.

     "You are investigating a kidnapping!" Soarin said in a hushed manner again.

     "That's what I thought." She looked back at him. He didn't look like he was kidding.

     "You're serious?"

     "Yes! I am 100% serious! A week ago, Lightning Waters, aka Lightning Chaser, the sole male heir to Waters tiles, was seen being forced into his Range Rover at a dog park. Nopony has seen him or the dog since." Soarin ranted. During the duration of his mini speech, he was hovering while waving her legs every which way.

     "They took the dog?"

     "You see what I mean?" Soarin did useless wing motions toward... everything. "I need you. I need you to write stuff down. You know that I zone out when other ponies start talking."

     "Just for today?"

     "Just today. You know what? Bring your samples case cause some of those forensic guys--"

      "Woah, woah, wait." Spitfire leaned over the desk with a grin and wide, shining eyes. "There's going to be forensic ponies there?"

Chapter 2

     "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."

Chapter 3

     Soarin flipped through a baby blue photo album. He said "Ooh" on each page he flipped.

     "What are we looking at exactly?" Spitfire leaned against the marble countertop.

     "Pictures of Wildfire. Preferably at the beach." Soarin began to fantasize, "Just getting out of the water... completely soaked with her mane pressed against her head in a totally sexy way...  Or maybe in the middle of doing some yoga...." Soarin began to drool on the photo album.

     "Soarin!"

     "Oh, uh, right." He chuckled nervously as he wiped his mouth.

     Spitfire shook out her mane. A tick tack, a feather, three pens, a straw, and a box of pills scattered about the floor. She searched the area for one of the items. She grasped the pill box that fell underneath the overhanging countertop. She fumbled with it for a few seconds as she tried to pry it open.

     "What are those for?" Soarin asked as she finally opened the box with her mouth.

     "They're for-" she paused as a purple gumdrop tumbled out of her mane. It halted directly on her nose. She went crossed for a moment, the ignored it. "-anxiety."

     "Dude, when we go home today, you need to jump in the shower and clean that." Soarin circled his hoof around her mane.

     "Well, I need to have stuff handy when I need them."

     "It's called a saddlebag." he deadpanned.

     "I don't want to carry lumpy bags on me all the time. End of conversation."

     "Ok then, is it ethical to sample your own samples?" He implored as she popped a pill into her mouth.

     Before she could answer, a new voice pipped up.

     "Mr. Skies, the sketch artist is here to see you." It was the midnight colored mare from earlier. She came walking up from behind them and continued on her way without saying a word.

     "The sketch artist?"

     "Mhm. The chief requested it." She called over her shoulder.

     Soarin thought for a second. He glanced at the mare to his side.

     "I'll be right back." He turned and left through the passage that the midnight mare came through.

     "Oh yeah, that's nice." Soarin was leaning over a stallion who was sketching a familiar face. At least, to the residents of the home it was. The room was a dark purple hue. It lacked any windows, but it's open doorway let in plenty of light. That accompanied by the ceiling fan above them, made it a very bright room.

     "Yeah, the shading looks pretty good. Maybe just a little more by his ears... yep there ya go. Could you tilt an ear down, just to make him look more inquisitive?"

     Spitfire was searching the halls after Soarin's disappearance. She glanced in several rooms, bugged a few officers by asking where he was, and tripped over a bean bag. She listened for his voice to locate him. After a good few seconds of listening with no results. She went back to the bean bag that she tripped over. Her body plopped down into it.

Ugh, what happened to "be right back"? Seriously Soarin, you really need to keep true to your word. Well, I might as well get comfortable.

     Spitfire leaned back fully into the plush bean bag.  She sighed as her back muscles relaxed. She closed her eyes.

     However, that was short lived. A pony, like her before, tripped over the bean bag. They fell directly onto her. She grunted painfully as the pony situated itself. A eye cracked open to behold what was before her, Soarin sitting on her with a wide grin.

     "Hiya, Spitty!" He cocked his head to the left. "I was just about to look for you."

     Spitfire ignored his statement.

     "Can you get off me?" She squeaked.

     "Oh! Sure! Lemme just..." He pushed himself to his hooves, which were pressing down on Spitfire's stomach. Her face began to resemble a puffer fish. He quickly stepped off her. "There we go." He shook his entire body side-to-side, causing dust to drift over to the flattened mare.

And he said that I need to take a shower.

     She tried to roll over, but the bean bag's grip wouldn't give way. After trying a few more times, Soarin offered of hoof to help her up.

     "Hehe, sorry bout that."

     "Just-- never mind. Why were you looking for me?"

     "Oh yeah! Follow me." Soarin began to trot off down another bright hallway. Spitfire dizzily followed. After a good five minutes of walking, they arrived at the room Soarin was in earlier. He pointed at the sketch artist who was still editing the pony  depicted on the white sheet of paper. Spitfire was unmasked and poked him.

     "I need to ask you a question."

     Soarin, already knowing what she was going to say, answered her. "Just-- hang with me here."

     "Tell them your blocked or something." She urged.

     "I will need to use that later." Soarin turned away from his uneasy partner and took a few steps towards the sketch artist.

     "How are we doing over there?"

     The stallion levitated to pad into Soarin's face. He took a step back from it's close proximity to his muzzle.

     "Oh, that's nice. Look how good that is." He pointed to the picture behinds the sketch artist. "I like how his ear is tilted, like he is confused about something. As far as the mEn goes, it could be better. Make it a bit wispier on the right. Like he might be trying to compensate for a-- I don't know..." As Soarin continued rambling, a lilac mare was drawn to the room. She glanced at Soarin, whom she ignored, then looked at the picture in the sketch artist's magical grip. She shrieked loudly and threw a hoof to her mouth.

     "Oh my gosh! It's Skylar! Oh, it's Skylar!"

     Her cry attracted a few police officers to the room. They came in behind the older mare.

     "Oh, honey, come here! Skylar is the kidnapper!" Wildfire came up to her side, her expression a mix of alarm and confusion.

     "Uh, uh..." Soarin started. He nimbly weaved his way over to the other side of the sketch artist.

     "That's the exact cap I gave him." Wildfire eyes were the size of soccer balls.

     "Okay, everypony. Stop." Soarin closed his eyes he put a wing tip to his temple. He spread each of his legs away from his core. "Skylar... is not the kidnapper." Wildfire and the lilac mare breathed sighs of relief. "Okay, not the kidnapper. He is just so horrible pony."

     Wildfire snapped her attention back to the cornflower colored stallion.

     "Who is Skylar? I'm getting... many different mares. Is he a bigamist?" The police ponies went back to their former business. One in particular rolled her eyes at him.

     "Does he sell foals on the black market?"

     Wildfire looked horrified.

     "Would he, oh."

     "Astounding." The midnight mare directed them down a spiral staircase as she spewed sarcastic comments.

     "Please, we are just getting started."

     "Oh, I can't wait."

     "Since we're on the topic, I'm gonna need that case file. I will need all of these statements and all of the evidence." Soarin flicked her nose, which she growled at him.

     "Your a psychic. Why do you need it?"

     "I need the vibrations too."

     "From the paperwork?" She mused. They reached the bottom of the steps and rounded a corner into a bright, sunny room.

     "Look, detective... I don't pretend to understand exactly how the spirit world works, and I really don't think that you should know either." Soarin glanced at the folder tucked under her wing. He put on his best "cute" face. "I need that folder."

     "Go ahead, give him a copy of it." Another speaker voiced. Misty Fly walked down a hallway to join up with them. She stopped between the midnight mare and Soarin.

     "Thank you, Misty." She glared at him. All he did was bounce his eyebrows once and he left to the front door. The aggregation of ponies scattered away. Spitfire expeditiously ran to the double doors to catch up with him. Just as they both trotted out the doors, Soarin recognized an old stallion climbing up the steps. He was goldenrod in color, with an orange mane and tail.

     "Mr. Waters," Soarin halted and turned to the older stallion. "I'm Soarin Skies. The psychic." He held a hoof out to him.

     "Well, thank you for coming here. If there is anything I can do..."

     "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you, sir."

     "Nothing can prepare you for something if this caliber. Just knowing that you can't do anything is enough." He scrunched his face together a few times. "Call me if you have any questions." He turned around to go inside his home.

     "Uh, actually, I do have a question." Mr. Waters faced him again. Soarin put his left wing tip near the side of his head. Be cocked his head towards the old stallion. "How did he feel about... Fido?"

     "Who, the dog? He loved that damn thing. He wouldn't leave the house without him."

     Soarin stood, seemingly frozen for a few seconds. "Yeah, that will be all. Thanks."

     Mr. Waters nodded and closed the door behind him.

     Soarin hovered down the steps with the CD case in his mouth. Spitfire joined him.

     "Does he like his dog? That's how you investigate cases?" She questioned.

     "I thought that I made great progress today." Soarin said after he dropped the black case into his hooves.

     "Since we have been here, all you have done is root through their trash cans, hit on the victim's little sister, and falsely cause her coltfriend of being the kidnapper."

     "Spitty, he is not her coltfriend! She said that they are free to see other ponies if they wish to."

     "Whatever you say Soarin. Have a blast. I quit." Spitfire indignantly looked ahead of her. She surpassed Soarin.

     "You can't quit, we just started." Soarin pressed.

     "Watch me." She opened the back car door and tossed her case inside. She slammed the door shut. All the while, she kept eye contact with him.

     "Spitty, your gonna miss everything!"

     She held a flat expression as she steeped herself into the driver's seat.

     "Its gonna be fun!" Soarin shouted. Spitfire started the engine.

     "Spitty! Get back here!"

     She pulled the seatbelt over her and clicked it into place. She then backed out of the Water's driveway. Soarin watched as she did.

     "Fine." He huffed. " I will just solve this case all by my lonesome." He looked too his left. After noticing something, he hurriedly glanced between the departing Blueberry and it. After she was gone, he bolted for the gate that the gardener had went through. Taking a few swerved in his path, he made it to the gate. He silently unmatched it and cantered inside. He took no heed as he raced along the short trail leading into the backyard.

     The mansion's back yard had a 30 foot long pool and Palm trees around it. A few wooden patio chairs were situated around a table in the short grass. On tall poles, birdhouses rested. Bluebird sang as they fluttered around the area.

     Soarin took a brick path leading downwards to a single door. He looked in each of the two windows before approaching it. He jostled the knob, but it wouldn't open. He glanced back towards the top of the sloped walkway. Seeing nopony three he continued what he was doing.

     Soarin got a "bright" idea. He shoved is shoulder against the door. In response to his action, he yelped and rubbed it. Once again, he looked back up the pathway. Still, nopony was there.

     He tried again, this time with the knob turned. It worked for a few seconds that a shrieking alarm filled the air.

    "Dammit."

     Police galloped to his position. All of their guns were out in their hooks or auras, safety off.

     Thinking that it might actually do something, Soarin tried closing the door to see if the alarm would turn off. Nothing happened when he did. He tried again. Still nothing. He threw out his hooves in frustration. To his left, there was a clicking sound. He turned and saw Detective Rapidfire and the midnight colored mare. They slowly lowered their guns as they realised that it was him.

     A few other officers pointed their guns at him from over the guardrail. The Chief, Mr. Waters, and Wildfire joined them. Neither of them had weapons of any sort. Mr. Waters turned to Misty and they exchanged unspoken words. She looked back down to him slowly with her lips pressed together.

     Soarin, without any other ideas, simply waved at them. He gazed at the wall.

Well, whoops.

Chapter 4

     A pony was laying on a soft, white bed. Upon that bed, there were several octagonal pillows scattered across it. There was a nightstand directly at the bed's left side. A silver alarm clock with the time 6:02 A.M. was rested on its surface. The walls were beige in color, with a white trim on the top and bottom. The floor was auburn brown.

     Spitfire's eyes snapped open as a creak echoed through her house. A few metallic objects clashed together. The sound was coming from her kitchen. She silently scrambled out of her bed. Her back right hoof was wrapped in the blankets now taught fabric. She fell on her face. Spitfire carefully unwrapped herself and rose to her full height. She ran out into her hallway and hid behind a part of the wall that butted out just enough to hide her. Her hooves nimbly took her to the other side of the hallway, to the corner that lead to her bathroom. She peeked over the corner and slowly scuttled down the short hallway. She picked up her pharmaceuticals case in her hooves and hovered the rest of the way.

     The sound of cabinets opening and closing filled Spitfire's ears. Taking a deep breath, she hurled herself into the kitchen with a battle cry.

     "Yaaah!"

     Soarin stood in directly in front of her. In his hooves, he looked at his cup of coffee. Even when the case was an inch from his muzzle, he didn't flinch. He seemed more confused if anything.

     Spitfire stopped the case before it slammed into his face. She snarled and shook her head slowly.

     "I really hate imagine what the rest of your plan was." He set his coffee on the table to his right.

     "How did you get in here?"

     Soarin picked a rock up off the countertop. He held into in on hoof and smacked the bottom of it. It clicked and opened, revealing a small, golden colored key.

     "It's not very effective on a second floor landing."

     "I have an alarm!"

     "You sure do." Soarin turned around and opened the double door refrigerator. He then turned around. "And the code is your birthday. You would be better off if you put everything that had any kind of value on the front lawn."

     Spitfire set the silver pharmaceuticals case down in the floor.

     "What do you want Soarin?"

     "I need to ask you something about the a case."

     "No."

     "That wasn't a question."

     "It's still no."

     Soarin ignored her no's and continued.

     "I was right."

     "I'm done Soarin." She still kept a straight face. Soarin glared at her. "I don't want to commit felonies and perjury and pretend to be--"

     "You're dying to know what happened to him. I know that because I have known you my entire life." Soarin kicked off the floor and hovered. He crossed his forelegs.

     "Nope. I really don't think that you can solve a case that the cops can't by waltzing through a house."

     "Fine, you know what? Just-- fine."

     "Fine!" Spitfire grabbed her case and walked back into the hallway.

     Soarin took his cup of coffee and gulped it down. He thought for a few seconds as Spitfire returned. He decided to put on his best sly face.

     Spitfire returned with nothing in her hooves. She leaned against the wall.

     "Fine, who kidnapped him?"

     "Nopony."

     "Nopony! Excellent! Call the chief and tell her that the case is solved." Spitfire mocked. "Apparently, we just made up the whole thing."

     "Spitty, nopony kidnapped the guy because... he did it himself."

     Spitfire raised an eyebrow. Soarin ushered her to the mahogany table.

     "C'mon you need to see it yourself." Soarin grabbed the coffee pot and a fresh cup of Joe and set it one the table. He pushed the cup over to her while he took the pot.

     "Here's the thing," He started off quickly. "Lightning didn't offer to clean up his act voluntarily. Oh, no. Daddy threatened to cut him off permanently." Spitfire held her cup up and drank some. She raised an eyebrow as Soarin continued. "This was about nineteen or so months ago."

     "Nineteen months?"

     "But wait, there's a whole lot more. He had help."

     "Who?"

     Soarin pulled out the file he had earlier and dumped its contents on the table. Several pictures fluttered about when he did. He flipped the ones that were upside down so they could be seen properly. His hooves messily spread them in a line. Soarin pointed to a colt on a picnic table with some other ponies.

     "This dude on the end. He was the only one in his little crew that didn't go on to fame and fortune. Or rehab I guess."

     Spitfire slid the picture over to her. She gazed at the photo.

     "The cops must have brought him in for questioning, right?"

     "Nope. This guy, Dark Dusk, but for the sake of time, Dusk, hasn't been seen with Lightning for a long time. To be exact..."

     "Nineteen months?" Spitfire offered. She drank the rest of her coffee.

     "Almost to the day. Spitty, he has been planning this since then. That was over a year ago."

     Spitfire looked back to the picture and then slid river some documents that were also on the table. She scanned over a few paragraphs, and then she deciphered what Soarin's sloppy writing said.

     "Soarin, this is good stuff." Spitfire commented as she looked back over the documents. She went to take a gulp of her coffee, but found that she had already gulped it all down. She reached over to the coffee pot, but Soarin smacked her hoof away.

     "That's mine." He picked up the pot and took a long sip from it.

     Spitfire decided to ignore that.

     "Sooo, where did you get this?" She said with an accusing tone.

     "Wildfire Waters' room."

     "For the love of-- you didn't go into her room."

     "Spitty, I needed a ride. She hadn't eaten anything yet. One thing lead to another, and then we were drinking a milkshake together. I also got a hayburger, but that isn't important."

     "Whoa, hold it. Your dating her?"

     "No. I'm not 'dating' her."

     "Yes you are!"

     "It's... not exclusive."

     Spitfire rolled her eyes and stood up from the chair. She walked away from Soarin.

     "Spitty, come on! Fix that rat's nest you call a mane. This is gonna be fun." Soarin hovered up over the table. He rapidly clapped his hooves together.

     "Let's go! I'm driving. Where are your keys?" Soarin searched within several cabinets and drawers. "Are they in your mane?" He shouted to her general vicinity. He looked over at the rack beside his head. "Never mind, I found em'. Ooh!" Soarin found something that caught his attention. He picked it up with both hooves. The fruit, a pineapple, sat there.

     "Should I slice this up for the road?" He shouted to her again.

     Soarin speed down a desolate street in the Blueberry. He was going twenty miles over the speed limit. The thick trees rush past the car, always replaced by new ones. The humidity outside caused the darker undergrowth plants to glisten with water.

     A police car's sirens went off behind the blue vehicle. He pulled over onto the grass bordering the old road. An overweight stallion stepped out. He was purple with black hair.

     "Well, we're of to a fantastic start." Spitfire said sarcastically.

     "Just let me do the talking." Soarin pulled several cards out from the glove box as the officer approached diver side window. Soarin continued shuffling the small business cards as he began to speak.

     "Good morning, gentlecolts."

     "Hello officer." Soarin found what he needed and gave it to the overweight police officer.

     "What's this?"

     "Whoops. It's my dad's old police business card. It must have gotten stuck to the bottom of my drivers license. I've carried that in my wallet for ages. You can't be too careful when you come from a family of cops." He said wistfully.

     "Ice Storm is your dad?" The officer asked as he analyzed the card.

     "Yep, he sure is."

     "How's old Storm doin'?"

     "Oh, he's, uh, great. Retired. Living in Winneapolis." Soarin stuttered.

     "I saw Storm two weeks ago at Bed, Bath, and Beyond."

Wait, he is back?!

     "Yeah. yeah, that sound about right. He popped into town for a few days--"

     "He said that he had been back for over a year now." The officer interrupted. Soarin simply nodded with him.

     "Yeah, and he's back now. Runnin' around town. Doing his thing."

     The officer looked at both sides of the card. One side was his drivers license, the other was Ice Storm's business card. After an agonizing fifteen seconds of this, he came to a decision. He handed both of the cards back to Soarin.

     "Tell your dad that the Allycat says hello." The 'Allycat' returned to his cruiser.

     "Your dad is back at the old house?" Spitfire finally spoke up.

     "Apparently." Soarin and Spitfire shared a glance. The turned back to the road.

     "Well, that happened."

     "Dude, I'm so excited. This will be my first use of spy technology." He motioned to some black binoculars. Soarin and Spitfire trudged through the dense undergrowth. Trees of all shapes and sides surrounded them. Sweat clung to both of their brows. Soarin found a clear bit where he could scamper further into the forest.

     "It would be a lot cooler if it didn't say Pink Panties on the side."

     "Eh, it came with the description."

     "What stallion subscribes to Victoria's Secret?"

     "A guy who likes sexy ladies, that who." Soarin replied with a smirk.

     Soarin stumbled over to the edge of a small pond. He slid over to a nearby bush to shied himself from any potential passerbys. He held the small binoculars to his eyes.

     "Oh, these work pretty well."

     "Are you going to tell be why you dragged me into this forest?" Spitfire hovered .a few feet behind Soarin with her forelegs crossed. She leered at him.

     "This is the Dusk family cabin where little Lightning and Dusk used to play together." Soarin said, still holding up the binoculars.

     "Wouldn't the police have checked this out?" Spitfire inquired.

     Soarin shook his head. "Dusk is so far out of the periphery of Lightning life, that he isn't on the witness list. Really, he isn't on anypony's list." Soarin stood up straight and focused on the brown cabin. "This is a great plan."

     "Excuse me?"

     "Lightning Waters deserves to be commended."

     "Psh, maybe you should date him to." Spitfire turned back to the little cabin.

     "Maybe I will." Soarin joked.

     Spitfire snatched the binoculars from Soarin with a hasty, "gimme this" and looked out to the red El Camino. A bright yellow Golden Retriever ran out from behind it and began sniffing the ground along the side if the pond.

     "No way..."

     "What? What is it?"

     "It's Lightning's dog." Spitfire turned to Soarin and gave him the binoculars.

     "Get-- Dude! Dude!" Soarin shouted as he began to hop in place.

     "I can't believe this. This is unbelievable!"

     They both turned to each other and hoof bumped.

     "Whaaaaaaat?" They both sang simultaneously as they both hopped in place.

     "Okay, okay, okay. Wait, okay wait. Let's call the cops." Spitfire squealed. "No, no, no. Let's call the Chief. Yeah, call the Chief." She nodded to herself.

     "Nope, Nope, nope. When can't do that Spitty."

     "What?!"

     "We go home. Then we will go to the headquarters and I will miraculously have a vision about where they are." He explained. His emerald eyes kept peering over at the cabin.

     "A vision?"

     "Yeah! A vision! Like the sign with the two bullet holes in it and the red and yellow kayaks. Even the shoe hanging off that scarecrow's head. We could do the highway. With all I'd the numbers. Like, uh, uh, I'm seeing," Soarin put his wing tips up to his temples. "I'm seeing... 7-3-9."

     "We are on Highway 937." Spitfire held an uncertain expression.

     "Exactly! In the spirit world, this get jumbled up and out of order. But it will all become clear when we pile into a squad car. Note to self, sit next to that junior detective..."

     "Soarin, please."

     "Then alas, we lead them here. Up and over the mossy logs, over the decaying ceiling fan, and then right here. On this very spot, we will slap on our surprise faces as I guide them to the cabin for the 'first time.'" Soarin finished it all off with wing quotes.

     "Here, here, this is mine." Soarin feigned a gasp. "What do you got?"

     Spitfire held an irritated expression. She turned away and went back throughout the forest.

     "Spitty, that was horrible!" Soarin called out to her. "It doesn't convey surprise at all. Spitty!"

     "Where the hell is the car?!"

     After wasting twenty minutes putting down markers as they found their way back to their car, they arrived just down the road from the station.

     "Alright, just let me do all of the talking."

     "Was there another option for me to do otherwise?"

     "I need to have a lot of witnesses when I have my vision."

     They turned a corner. The busy street was filled with cars containing ponies with their own personal destination. A few quaint restaurants dotted the sides of the road. A floral shop had vines creeping up the front wall by the window. Their purple flowers were being plucked by a gaggle of little fillies. One stood on another's back to read a big pink one near the top.

     A few street vendors turned to their stands. A line lead up to them, ecclesial from the hayfry stand. Ponies trotted down the street, chatting among themselves. Two in particular caught their eye.

     "There they are. Let's go." Spitfire turned to Soarin, who nodded. "Detectives!"

     Soarin and Spitfire took of from their previous spot and galloped towards them.

     "Detectives!"

     Rapidfire and the midnight mare turned to face them. One bore a look of annoyance, the other curiosity.

     "We have a breakthrough."

     "It is very important." Soarin added.

      Rapidfire growled. "I also have something important. It's called lunch. Make an appointment."

     "But this is--"

     Rapidfire yanked his shades of his head. He twisted around and glared at the duo. "You don't have my interest. You don't have my ear. Find a bear cop and tell them your story. Maybe, just maybe, I'll read the report. Good day." He turned back around and set his shades back down on his nose. "After you." He said to the midnight mare. As they both walked in the restaurant, Soarin shared a glance with Spitfire.

     "Detective!" He called out to them. They both turned to him.

     Soarin put his right wing tip to his head and twitched it around. He grabbed his own shaded off the top of his head and pulled them off. "Don't eat the celery." Spitfire looked at him with disbelief. The two detectives rolled their eyes and entered the establishment.

     "Don't eat the celery?" Spitfire gave him her 'really' face.

     The midnight mare and Rapidfire both settled down at a small table.

     "He's got your number." The mare began.

     "He has nothing." Rapidfire insisted. A waitress approached to table. Before she could hand him a menu, he told her what he wanted.

     "I want the celery enchilada. Extra celery." The waitress replied with a simple nod.

     "I would like the cheese quesadilla." The waitress nodded again and trotted off into the kitchen.

     "Coward." Rapidfire spoke once she was put of earshot.

     "You just mad that he pegged us as a couple."

     Rapidfire leaned back into his seat. "He was tipped off." He hastily replied. He turned serious. "Did you tell anypony?" He demanded.

     "Why would I tell anypony? Let everyone think I am working myself up the ladder the hard way? You're barely separated."

     "It's been six months." Rapidfire replied indignantly.

      She re-situated herself in her chair. The waitress came over with two glasses of water in her magical aura. She set them down to their respective owners.

     "Your food will be right out."

     "So you made the plan to where we have to annoy them into believing you?" Spitfire didn't like the sound of this.

     "Midnight Flare is working the grill."

     "So?"

     "So? Midnight Flare has the worst hay fever I have ever seen."

     Rapidfire drank from his glass of water with a straw. He glanced into the kitchen where an azure colt with orange eyes sneezed repeatedly. In one aura, he held a piece of celery, in the other, he held a rag to sneeze in. After he finished, he used the rag he just sneezed in to wipe off the celery stalk.

     Rapidfire turned around. His face showed complete horror. After swallowing his pride and what was left of his breakfast, he stood up. "I will be right back."

     "Soarin and Spitfire watched him stand from his seat and leave out of the restaurant through the large, bay window.

     "Here we go. Act natural." Soarin leaned against a parking meter, nearly striking a pose as he looked up out at the clouds. Spitfire looked at him, completely nonplussed.

     Rapidfire walked a few steps and shouted at them from across the street. "Okay! What is it?!"

    CA vermilion car sped down the desolate road that Soarin and Spitfire went down and hour and a half ago. The midnight mare tapped a pen against the window. Soarin kept practicing surprise faces in the backseat with Spitfire being as confused as ever. Finally, she had enough and smacked him. He turned to her and me put a wing tip to his mouth and nodded vigorously.

     "STOP!"

     Rapidfire's eyes widened and he slammed in the breaks. Soarin's head hit the headrest on Rapidfire's seat. He went wall eyed, but continued nonetheless.

     "That road sign, it keeps going... this is it. Go slowly."

     Rapidfire's left eye twitched.

    "If I cut him open and leave him out here, you can't testify against ne." He continued leering at the road ahead.

     "Just focus on the satisfaction goodwill get when this leads nowhere." The midnight mare shared with him and continued tapping in the window.

     Soarin started making barking noises. He growled and whipped his head back and forth, as if he was playing with a rubber toy.

     "A dog! There is a dog! What kind of dog did he have?" He addresses the question to the fiery mare beside him. She didn't answer him.

     "What about the dog?" The midnight mare asked.

     "He had a ..  very particular diet?" Soarin said. His eyes were now closed.

     "Yes!" She turned to her partner. "I told you that those empty bags were strange."

     "Bob, Bolly, Billing, Brilling! Brilling's Brand!"

      "Yeah, you saw it to?" The midnight mare swivels her head to meet his now open eyes.

     "I sure did. In a dream."

     "I think it is very peculiar that the dog hasn't been found yet."

     "That is very intuitive detective, but--"

     "Hey Karnak, where the hell am I supposed to be going?" Rapidfire looked at them through the mirror hanging of the windshield.

     "Uh, um, 7... 3... 8."

     Spitfire smacked his leg.

     "937!" She whispered to him.

     "Oh! 739, 937! Highway 937! That's what I said. Earlier. To Spitfire." Soarin cut through the middle of his sentences.

     They filed out of the car. Spitfire stepped out and covered her chest to the ground, but kept her rear in the air to pop her aching back. Rapidfire walked to the front of the vehicle.

     "Great, what do we do now?"

     "Does anypony have any binoculars?" Soarin asked.

     "No, no. You see, nopony just randomly carries binoculars with them everyw--"

     Soarin stuck his hoof into Spitfire's mane. "Oh look, we can use these." He said as he untangled a few orange hairs from its crevices. He held the up to his face and set the on his nose. The rubber strap on the back kept them from falling off his face. He trotted up a few yards and focused on the area across the pond. He was almost in the same space as earlier.

     "There it is! Just like I saw it." He used as much pseudo surprise as he could muster. He took a few steps over a small hill and hovered down the rest of the way, nearly getting his wings tangled in t the vines that were hanging from the trees. The detectives interest piked, and they followed close behind him.

     Soarin reached the exact spot that they were at before they retrieved the detectives. Rapidfire pulled the binoculars off of Soarin's head and held then to his eyes.

     Soarin looked at the midnight mare. He liked the soft glint of a golden object hanging from her ear.

     "Those are nice earrings. Who got you those?" She quickly look away when realized exactly what he was referring to by "who."

     "What am I supposed to be looking for exactly?" Rapidfire scanned the beach with the optical device still over his eyes.

     "I'm-- I'm not sure." He  waved his wing tips in circles. "I'm seeing.... a bone?"

      "What, a pony bone?" The orange colt asked as he adjusted the binoculars. He smirked when he saw the words plastered across the side.

     "No, no. I also see... rawhide? And a ball." He continued swirling his wings in circles, but this time, it was around the sides of his head. "Filled with... peanut butter!"

     "Creamy or chunky?" The midnight mare faced him once more.

     While Soarin thought of an answer, Rapidfire spotted the dog running around the patch of grass by the house.

     "Holy crap." The midnight mare looked at him in alarm. "Call for backup." She quickly scampered back to the car.

     "What?" Soarin asked, with no answer.

     "What do you see detective!"

     Black vans rushed onto the front lawn or the cabin. Their back doors swing open, smacking loudly against the metal surrounding the cab of it. Numerous ponies wearing dark camouflage consisting if black and gray jumped or flew out of it. They carried large guns.

     They lined up at the edge of the vehicle. When the coast was clear, the pony in front lead them up to the cabin. One sat at a distance as a sniper, just if it was needed. The fog cleared her from view.

     Several detectives and the chief marched down the road towards the house. Soarin and Spitfire were behind them, engaged in their own conversation.

     "I can't believe that they won't let us in there! This is lame!" Soarin threw out his wings and looked up to the sky. He sighed and turned to the mare beside him.

     "And you were so polite when you asked the SWAT team to issue you the Luger."

     "Just make sure that you act very in awe of me when the come to say that I was right. Maybe even a little afraid that my powers could be used for evil."

     "Watch out!"

     The Golden Retriever ran up to Soarin. He leaned down as it started licking his hooves.

     "For what? His tongue?" He said as he petted the dog.

     "For all you know, it could be viscous."

     "Yes, it's so diabolical with its calculated decoy tail wagging." The do jumped up and lightly wrestled against Soarin.

     "There's blood on his whiskers!" Spitfire's pupils contracted until they looked like golf balls. She took a step back.

     "That's not blood. That's Snausages!" Soarin scratched it behind the ears.

     "Are you sure?"

     "Yes, I am sure. That or he mauled a mountain lion."

      Spitfire shook her head. An indigo stallion trotted up from the cabin. He looked very serious.

     "Mr. Skies, come with me." He began walking off through the fog. Soarin left the dog behind and walked after the stallion. Spitfire came up to his right.

     "Now, if there is any press, make sure that you mention the agency." Soarin lectured.

     "We don't have an agency."

     "We do now. I applied for a DBA online. We are going to need a name. Mind masters was already taken!" Soarin bore a look of confusion. He let it slip as he continued. "Also tell them that we do private cases. I bet the department will only be useful for a few months."

     "Why don't you tell them?" Spitfire dug around in her mane and pulled out a wrapped sucker. She popped it in her mouth.

     "I'm secretive, mysterious, enigmatic."

     "Delusional." She added.

     They neared the front steps of the cabin. Soarin turned around and backpedaled as he reminded Spitfire to act surprised.

     Spitfire didn't need to act surprised though. As Soarin exclaimed that it was, "Just like I saw it before," she saw what was in the kitchen. Two dead bodies. One was Lightning, the other was Dusk.

     "Excuse me. Ladies, Gentlecolts." Spitfire calmly walked out of the cabin and then ran away while screaming in a very high pitch.

Chapter 5

     Soarin examined the room. He saw Lightning laying lifelessly on the hardwood floor, with Dusk sitting on a nearby chair in a similar fashion. Dusk's right wing lied beside a cobalt black pistol.

     Soarin scanned the scene with an analytical eye. He noted that Dusk didn't have a feather on the trigger. He saw that a white China teacup was on the floor, intact.

     He peered out into the kitchen. A coffee pot rested on the stove top, with the side of it covered in dried, brown stain that trailed to the tile floor.

     Looking back to Dusk, he noticed that one of the table's edges had a thine layer of blood and small traces of hair. He met the gaze of the detectives in the room. Some raised an eyebrow, others wanted an explanation.

     "The department must call on you again, Mr. Skies. Even though this didn't turn out they way we wanted, the department thanks you for your services. You were invaluable." Misty Fly shook the hooves of the psychic duo.

     They were once again in her quaint little office. She sat down into the luxurious fabric of her rolling chair. Soarin and Spitfire took a seat on the less plush chairs on the other side of her desk.

     "This case isn't closed." Soarin interjected as he squirmed to find a comfortable position on the chair

     "Pardon me?" The Chief spoke.

     "Murder, suicide?" Soarin scoffed. "Come on, are you seriously buying that?"

     "I am not buying anything. I am stating the facts." She retorted.

     "I'll buy it." Spitfire stood up and flicked her tail at Soarin.

     "I get it. I really do. You want to shut the book on this case. ASAP. That's all fine and dandy." Soarin shot a glare at Spitfire. With an eye roll, she settled herself back down on the maroon chair.

     "What, do you think they had a falling out before they got their hooves on the ransom money? What would they possible have to fight about before they got a load of cash?" Soarin inquired. His inquiring slightly irritated Misty Fly.

     "I will remind you that you are not a detective."

     "All I need is to just speak with the witnesses again." Soarin leaned back onto the chair's back.

     "The Waters family has had enough to deal with. This conversation," Misty Fly leaned forward. "Is over."

     "Thank you." Spitfire stood up from her chair again. "We parked in a parking structure. Do you validate?"

     Soarin spoke up again and locked eyes with the Chief. "Would it make a difference if I said that Lightning Waters spoke to me..." the two mares have him an inquisitive look. "From beyond the grave?" Misty Fly pointed to the glass door.

     "Shut it on the way out." The chief continued to hold a slight glare. Spitfire smacked him with her wing, and he reluctantly stood up while muttering a few swears.

     The briskly excited the office and headed for the front doors. Soarin took the lead ahead of Spitfire.

     "What were you doing? You do know that that is the Chief of Police, right?" She prodded as she speed up to trot alongside him.

     "Interim Chief." Soarin corrected. "Have you ever considered that Lightning Waters may have been a breathing pony when we arrived there the first time?"

     "Nope."

     Soarin spun around in front of her. "Well, I have."

     While he was still turned around, he saw Mr. Waters shaking hooves with Rapidfire. Underneath his thin long sleeve shirt, he saw a bandage wrapped around his wrist. Before he could further annualized him, he swirled around to greet Misty Fly.

     "I need to talk to that guy."

     "Whoa, whoa. No." Spitfire tried to block him from moving any further.

     "Come on, Spitty, just a second or two. He is almost my father-in-law you know." Soarin jeered.

     Spitfire's choleric attitude slightly arose. "Don't make a mistake, Soarin. I will kill you."

     Soarin brought his head back slightly and raised an eyebrow.

     "Okay, I appreciate the fact that you think you can beat me up." Spitfire's eyes narrowed. "But I think our last little scuffle proves otherwise."

     "Are you talking about the Apple Festival?" She briefly thought about a few of the small instances that lead up to the scuffle itself.

This doofus is seriously bringing up something that happened years ago. He had an unfair advantage anyway.

     "Yes! You do remember!" Soarin hoof-pumped the air.

     "First of all, I was six. Second, I had a cast!" The mare rose her voice enough to where Misty Fly and Mr. Waters heard them. They turned around and watched the unfolding spectacle.

     "Many would say that it was a clear advantage. It's like having a sledgehammer attached to your arm." Soarin glanced slightly to the left of Spitfire. The chief was talking to Me. Waters and was mentioning to him. She then told the midnight mare to leave the room. "Fantastic, now the Chief is staring at us."

     Soarin pushed past Spitfire and rushed up to the door. The midnight mare closed it behind her and confronted them.

     "The Chief wants them to be left alone." She stuck out a wing and held it to them to make them stop.

     "Some more than others." Spitfire mumbled under her breath.

     "What's with his wrist?" Soarin blurted out.

     "I am not going to discuss this case with you any more." She looked about ready to shove them out of the police station.

     Soarin threw a hoof up. "Fine, we won't talk about the case." He looked at Spitfire. She seemed like she wanted to sock him in the mouth. "Lets talk about fashion! You know what's hot this season? I mean really hot."

     Spitfire and the midnight mare exchanges glances. They both were both quizzical on the subject change. Deciding to go along with it, the mare replied with a simple nod.

    "Bandages. On the wrist. What are your thoughts in the particular subject?"

     "You don't give up, do you?"

     "Oh, I do give up. All the time actually. But not until the moment is right. Now come on. I know that you think that this doesn't add up either."

     She paused for a moment and began speaking again. "Look, even if I did agree with you, it wouldn't matter because it isn't my decision. The ponies who run this place want the case solved." She his her solemn attitude behind an inscrutable face.

     Soarin sighed and continued. "Anypony could see that you are a good cop. That would be visible to any fool. They don't listen to you around here do they?"

     "Psychic insight?" She offered.

     "Shameless, ass kissing, come on! What's with the bandage?" Spitfire remained silent.

     "Rumour is.... he tried to off himself." The midnight mare's tone softened to a whisper.

     "Off himself?" Soarin repeated. "The war hero? The pony who has seen everything? No. That's wrong. That is definitely wrong."

     "You know everything don't you?" The midnight mare's wings ruffled. Her gaze became steely.

     "Yep. Scary, isn't it?" With a glance to the right and left, he spoke quieter than he was before. "Something is going on. And I'm going to figure out who it is."

     Rapidfire listened carefully to the speaking pair of ponies. Even though the case was closed, it didn't hurt to get an extra bit of information from them.

     He closed his eyes and sighed. Those two numbskulls running about the place were driving him mad.

They are more like foals than adults. How they manage to care for themselves, I will never know.

     He focused his attention back to the Chief and Mr. Waters. They were finishing up any details left out of whatever they were talking about.

Great, while I was dwelling on the subject of those morons, I didn't hear anything they said.

     Rapidfire looked about the room. He noticed that a certain pony wasn't there.

What's taking her so long?

     Rapidfire left the room after the Chief and Mr. Waters disbanded. He saw that his partner was still talking to the "detectives" that lead them to the cabin. Overhearing a small tidbit of their conversation, he pushed a wing into Soarin, causing him to step back and face him. They continued walking in the other direction.

     "You're not going anywhere near him. In fact, I'm gonna make sure that you will never hear from the department again." Rapidfire growled.

     "Whoa!" Soarin throw a hoof up and stopped himself. "I'm getting some serious vibrations here that say that you are wrong."

     "I'm on you." Rapidfire narrowed his eyes. "You have a source somewhere, and I'm going to find it. You think this is some kind of arcade game? I'm not going to let you waltz around here like a foal in a candy store."

     "Or Spitfire in a sex shop." Soarin smirked.

     Spitfire, who was drinking a water bottle from her saddlebag, promptly sprayed the water in her mouth into Rapidfire's face.

"WHAT?!" Her shriek filled the room. Everypony turned and stared at her.

     Rapidfire slowly brought a hoof up and wiped the liquid off his face. He wore the largest frown either of them had ever seen. Soarin turned around and faced Spitfire, his cheeky grin still plastered his face. He only spoke two words.

     "Suck it."

     Rapidfire added a menacing glare to his impossibly growing frown.

     Soarin kept his grin as Spitfire nearly tackled him to the floor. He ran out of the station with her hot on his heels, waving a stapler at him that she planed to put to good use when she caught him.

     Rapidfire still stood in the middle of the room. Several other officers and detectives tried to suppress their laughter. Many failed. A red pegasus recorded it on her small phone while sticking the tip of her hoof in her mouth to subdue her giggling.

     Misty Fly stood in her now vacant office. She looked through the large windows and saw that everypony was looking at the same spot across the space, which was blocked from her view because of the door.

     She scooched a few feet to her left and burst out laughing. It was loud enough that a few officers outside the room turned and looked at her. Misty Fly ignored them. Her obnoxious laughter faded into chuckles.

     "It's about time that something happened to that prick."

Chapter 6

     Soarin arrived alone at familiar white house with red trimmings. For a few brief seconds, he paused to gaze at it and dwell in the few good memories that the house caused to arise. Breaking out of his stupor, he sauntered up to the door and pounded his hoof onto it. Instead of the polite three knocks that anypony else would do, he continued past seven and didn't stop.

     A shout came from within the house. Soarin couldn't make out the words, but he guessed that it said, "I'm coming."

     He stood impatiently at the door as the house's occupant undid the locks. The pony opened the door, revealing itself to be an older stallion.

     "Hi Dad."

     "Soarin." the stallion sighed.

     After a few seconds of silent shifting, Soarin spoke up again. "You didn't tell me that you moved back to the old house."

     "You didn't tell me that you moved away." he countered.

     "That was different."

     "Was it?"

     "Yeah. I was helping my mom through her divorce."

     Ice Storm rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too, son."

     "Can I come in?"

     His father stared at him for a moment before backing up. "No." He grabbed a cap off of the nearby countertop and trotted past Soarin.

     "I was on my way out to lunch. You can come with me if you don't bring this death trap on wheels." He nudged the motorcycle as he walked past it.

     Soarin looked reluctant at first, but joined his father in the old, tan truck. He sat in the passenger seat, propping his back hooves on the dashboard.

This is going to be a long ride.

     "When I was still back at the department, there were two things that absolutely despised. Private investigators and psychics. Congratulations, son. You just hit the disappointment exacta."

     Ice Storm and Soarin sat in a quaint restaurant. The walls were beige in color and the floors and ceiling were a dark wood. A thin cloth hung over their table, which looked much like what you would use at a picnic with its plaid pattern on red stripes.

     A mare wearing a maroon apron trotted up to the table with scarlet mitts on her wings. With surprising ease, she slid the white plates of food in front of their owners. Soarin had a daisy sandwich with a side of hayfries, and Ice Storm with a platter of celery stalks, carrots, apple slices, and pickles with ranch.

     "Thanks." Soarin said with a polite nod to the waitress.

     "Thank you."

     After she left, Soarin retorted, "It sorta happened by accident. I would rather not be tossed in the nearest jail cell."

     "So tell me, what are you going to do when you get caught? Move outta town again?"

     "Simple, I won't get caught." He held a straight face.

     "Soarin, this will end the same way as everything else does. In three months, you're going to be on a danky bus to Whinnyapolis because you found your calling as a weather guy."

     "It's not gonna be like that this time. Have you even been listening to me? I finally found a way to use this gift that you bestowed me. You should be thrilled! Your the one who made me this way." Ice Storm hardened his gaze. "I'm good at this."

     "Oh. Oh. I see. If your so good at it, then what are you doing knocking at my door?"

     "You think I came here for help." Soarin expressing became blank as he mulled the words over. "Okay. There wasn't a random drop." he pointed out.

     "I'm not going to be a part of this." Ice Storm began to lift himself up off the seat.

     "Come on! Would you hear me out for once?"

     With an annoyed sigh, he plopped back down in his seat. "Fine. No ransom drop. So what? Big deal."

     "So six days? Absolutely nothing? Not even a demand?" Soarin questioned him, leaning forward on the scratchy tablecloth.

     "I does happen. More than you think. It's not unprecedented. They use that method to create panic in the family."

     "Yeah, I know. But not this guy. This guy wanted it done quickly. I know that." Soarin insisted.

     "Then you must have missed something. You've been driving that motorcycle across the country, working your bungee cord jumping expeditions. You've gone soft. It happens."

     "I'm not soft. I'm sharper than I've ever been before."

     "Close your eyes."

     Soarin began to chuckle. "No way. I'm not seven."

     "Close your eyes. Any longer and I will think you're cheating." Ice Storm said determinedly.

I can't believe that I'm about to do this.

     He slowly shut his eyes, taking on the boredest expression he could muster.

     After a quick scan of the room, the older stallion thought of a question. "How many hats are in the room?"

     Soarin's mouth opened and he threw out his forehooves.

     "What?! No?! No. Look. This was a fun little game, when I was--"

     "This isn't a game Soarin. It's to sharpen your skills. I repeat, how many hats are in the room?"

     Soarin shut his eyes again, withholding an indignant sigh. Before starting, he mentioned that he wasn't going to count the one in his father's pocket.

     With a wing tip to his temple, he thought back to when he looked over the room when they walked in. He briefly saw a picture of a fishing hat flash into his mind, along with with a bright yellow cap on the drunk guy sitting on the floor.

     Squinting his closed eyes, he thought back further. He saw saw two other caps. One with the logo "Workhorse Foundations" and the other one had a illustration of a mustache with the words, "free rides".

     Right as the brief vision passed, another took its place. It was another cap with a mare's purple locks pulled out the back. Shifting to the stallion in front of her, the vision showed that he wore a cap as well.

     "Nylon fishing hat on the loner in the corner." Soarin quickly spewed out, pointing to his general vicinity which he did to the other ones as well.

     "Foam cap on the kid who is too young to know that they were lame when they came out and that they're lame now. Both truckers. Once from a company I've never heard of and the other featuring free mustache rides. I'm fairly certain that I won't take him up on that offer." Soarin declared, now pointing to his father.

     "Prench girl. Ponytail pulled out the back. Unfortunately, she's married. And then our friendly bartender wearing the official hat of the restaurant. Six hats."

     "And?"

     "That's it."

     "Sorry, pal. There are seven hats, not six. Can't help ya. You missed something."

     "I didn't miss anything." Soarin replied with his eyes still shut.

     "There are seven hats, Soarin."

     "Were." Soarin opened his eyes, finally letting his emeralds irises into view. "Before I closed my eyes. Cowboy hat walked out when I was ridiculing mustache rides."

     Ice Storm optically searched the room. Not spotting the hat, he saw that Soarin was indeed, correct.

     "C'mon, I heard her boots."

     His father allowed a smirk to form on his face. "Alright. Close enough."

     "Close enough? I nailed it."

     "Yeah, but you changed the rules. But hey, if it makes you happy." Ice Storm stood up and grabbed his jacket. He trotted away from the table to the clear double doors at the front of the restaurant. Soarin stood up and quickly caught up to him.

     "I did not change the rules. What I did was nail it and you know it."

     "Soarin, if you you want my advice, go out and get yourself a real job, grow up. In the meantime, go ahead and ask yourself who your trusting in this case that you probably shouldn't. Cause obviously, you're overlooking somepony. Thanks for lunch." Ice Storm tossed him the receipt. The total plus tax was 33 bits. His sandwich was only 14 bits. Soarin looked back at him in confusion, but he continued on out the doors.

I guess that's why he bought one of the most expensive dishes on the menu.

Chapter 7

"How did you find me this time?"

Spitfire trotted out of a brick walked store with a sign above the door. The sign, once brightly colored, was faded and its paint was chipping. The language written in it was not Equish, but the griffin holding a mug of cider made one make a usually correct assumption on what the store was for.

Soarin trailed behind her with a cocky smile. He slipped right past the closing door and cantered up to his friend.

"It isn't very difficult. You are not a ninja. That would be awesome though. Do you happen to have a katana?" Soarin chuckled to himself.

"No, I don't. And I would never give you one. I do value my life." Spitfire strolled towards the parking lot, partially spreading a song to keep the familiar silver case on her back.

"Oh, I'm sure you have one. Somewhere. It's just waiting to be uncovered from your hidden basment." the duo approached the Blueberry. Spitfire looked at the hood of the car, and explained it to see every detail. "How excited are you to finally quit the pharmaceuticals business?"

She rose her head, rolling her eyes at him. "I'm not quitting my job."

"C'mon Spitty! We have something much awesomer to do now!" Soarin pleaded, resting a hoof on the car.

Spitfire smacked his hoof off the car. The hoof scraped over until Soarin firmly planted it in the ground. Spitfire frowned over the scrape that removed a bit of the paint. "One, awesomer isn't a word. Two, no."

"You make such compelling arguements." the stallion said before opening the passenger side door. As he plopped down on the seat, he said, "Picasso would be proud."

Spitfire's more wrinkled in confusion. "I don't think Picasso--Never mind." the orange mare eat on her own dear, starting up the Blueberry. She smiled at the satisfying purr of the engine. "What do you want?"

"I need to follow somepony."

"Use your motercycle, dingus." Spitfire deadpanned.

"Great idea, they can watch me every step of the way. C'mon Spitty, I thought you could figure that out." Soarin took a sip of coffee from the cup he had earlier, neither pony knowing how it got there.

"Do you think that is my problem? Hint, hint, it's not. I'm sick of your shennangians, and will no longer have any part in this train wreck. She reversed o it of her door, and carried on down to the street. "The coroner's report said that they were dear long before we arrived at the cabin."

"Are! You are still tracking the case! How else would you know that?" Soarin gossipy snakes her shoulder at the end of his sentence.

Spitfire rolled her eyes

He sighed in exasperation. "C'mon Spitty, were so close! Just a few more loose ends to tie up and, if my hunch is correct, the truth would be released!"

She merely glanced at him as she turned sharply up another street.

"I will by you as many tacos as you want." Spitfire raised an eyebrow. Soarin relented, and made an adjustment to his offer. "At the new place you like downtown."

Spitfire glanced back at him, then swerved to the right. "Deal."

Soarin sighed in relief and adjusted his seat till it was nearly horizontal. He idly wished the Blueberry had a sunroof. "Where are we going anyway?"

Without hesitation, Spitfire answered. "The bank."

"Why?"

"Cause you don't have nearly enough bits on you for my dinner."

About fifteen minutes After their bank trip, they drove through the market section of town, passing an older stallion angrily lecturing about, "When life gives you lemons."

Soarin rummaged about a box he found in the backseat. The back of his own seat was raised back to normal after a scold from Spitfire. He pulled out a neon orange shirt, holding it up with both hooves. "What is this?"

"A shirt the company gave us. I have to wear it when I meet the sponsors." The mare scratched her cheek.

"It says, "Drugs!" in huge letters with happy pill bottles dancing around it."

"It's better than the ones that had Meds written on them in Comic Sans."

"Why would some--how does--Why!?" Soarin tossed the shirt back down in the box. He set the box on the backseat floorboards.

"I dunno." She looked to him curiously. "Why would I?"

"You work there." he said simply.

"Ok then." Spitfire's face hardened. "Soarin logic. Never to be understood."

After a few seconds of silence, Soarin instructed her to take a left.

I need to burn that shirt. For the sake of Ponydom. Not because I feel like having a nightmare when so look at it for too long.

Driving up one of the paved, curving streets around Water's Tiles, Soarin pulled out his binoculars, the phrase, "Pink Panties" still proudly emblazoned on the sides.

"Why are we here?" Spitfire hesitantly asked. Not getting an answer, she asked another question. "What is the magnification of those?"

"It said 2X on the box." Soarin lifted the off his face an tapped the side.

"You need to got to Walmare of the way home." she turned the engine off but left the keys in the ignition.

"Ooh, There she is!" Soarin exclaimed, bringing the small optical instrument up to his face.

Spitfire's eye twitched. Her face scrunched up and she glared at Soarin. "Oh hell no. I did not drove all over the countryside for you to stalk Mr. Waters daughter!"

Soarin, oblivious to his friend's rant, leered through the binoculars. "What's he doing here?" Through the them, he saw a chunky stallion looking about nervously with Spitfire Waters his side. "What's up with his hair? It's terrible. Does he not own shampoo?" Soarin pondered for a moment. "I knew I should have taken him in for questioning." The stallion nodded to Wildfire before cantering off.

Wildfire, now on her own, looked warily around her, picking up a large, black duffle bag in her mouth.

Why does she look so nervous?

Soarin examined the bag as closely as one could with crummy binoculars.

"Oh dear. Is it me, or does that bag look like it's filled to the brim with random money?"

He passed the binoculars off to Spifire, who's eyes widened at the sight. "Sweet Celestia. It was her." Spitfire returned the binoculars before looking him straight in the eyes. "You're dating a murderer."

"Not exclusively."

"Wow." Spitfire laughed, and continued as she followed Wildfire through the streets. "I knew there was a reason she went for you so easily!"

"Wildfire." Soarin whined, shaking his head. He sighed. "She wasn't lying to me Spitty. I know when ponies lie."

Spitfire snorted and smirked at him. "Apparently not. You got played." she began to chuckle again.

She cleared her throat and smiles innocently at him. "I'm sorry. This is the happiest I've felt in awhile. It feels good to be on this side of it."

Maybe the demon shirt put you in a "happy" mood.

Wildfire finally stopped in a back alley skilled with trash, mostly consisting of ruined clothes and other fabrics. A hefty stallion opened the back door to a store, walking out and greeting her.

"You could always pretend that you had a vision of being minupulated." Spitfire suggested smugly.

"You could always shut up." Soarin growled under his breath. He stopped lie in his seat and watched the two outside. He smacked her side and gestures for her to look out the window.

"What do we do?"

Soarin rubbed his forehooves together. "There is only one thing we can do." He stared a moment longer before unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door. He ignored Spitfire's exclanation and crept forward.

Soarin's eyes locked in the black bag. After bobbing his head, he lunged over the trashcans in front of him and sidestepped a pole. He sprinted forward, making very audible noise as he galloped toward the two talking equines. He leaped over a heap of broken metal and wood before snatching the duffle bag in his mouth. He barely registered Wildfire's cry of protest when he made a sharp U turn, heading back for the Blueberry.

"Ha!"

Soarin looked through a cracked mirror to see both ponies giving a chase.

His brief distraction lead to him running straight into Spitfire who almost lost her footing.

Soarin eyeballed her before exclaiming, "You were supposed to stay in the car!" he muttered through the strap in his mouth. He galloped over to the car and used the handle, but the door wouldn't open. "You locked the car?!"

"It's a bad neighborhood." She calmly replied.

Wildfire and the stallion rounded the bend.

Wildfire skidded to a halt. "What is going on, Soarin?" she demanded.

Spitting out the strap and tucking the bag to his chest, he looked at Spitfire before addressing her. "I know what's in the bag."

Her head jerked back in surprise and confusion. "You do?"

"Yes. I didn't think about the sole heir to the Waters' fortune if Lightning was out of the picture."

The stallion wearing the blue uniform took a step towards him, but was held back by Wildfire's hoof. "You think I want my family's money?"

Soarin tilted his head, but his gaze never left her own. "I guess you don't really need it, do you." He began to smile devilishly and unzipped the bag. "Not when you have this money!" he reached into the bag and yanked out its contents, her laundry. A pure white scarf fell to the ground.

Soarin eyes ogled the clothes draped on his hoof.

Spitfire's hoof hit her face.

The stallion cracked his neck side to side.

"Really?"