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                 Dets Sleuth: Private Eye                  
                    -by SomeRoyalGuard-                    
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                    Opportunity Knocks                     
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Opportunity Knocks
            My name’s Dets Sleuth. I’m thirty two years old, and I’m a private investigator. As you can guess my special talent is finding and solving problems as evident with my cutie mark; it's a magnifying glass over a notepad. I used to work for the Haygas police department as a detective, but… well, I got laid off because I've gotten a bit too hot with my involvement in a certain case that I just couldn’t let go. First, I was without a partner, then I was without a husband and now without a job; I’m just a widow hardly making ends meet in a cheap second rate apartment that reeks of musk and alcohol. Though honestly, I prefer the latter. It’s been two years since I was fired and I still couldn’t rest over the case. I’ve been staying up late every night going over the case files, checking in with my informants, trying to find the killer responsible for the death of my friend, my husband, and several other victims in the city.
I’ve gotten used to hardships before, but lately I’ve been feeling like everything I’m doing amounts to nothing. Even my behavior is no help; I keep on turning down clients, which is a stupid thing for me to do. I’ve been wasting whatever bits I’ve had on hard cider or the usual liquor and I’ve been rutting left and right with one colt after another. Well I'm off to a great start in this story aren't I? I can hardly justify this behavior. Yet when I get through the day and lay my head on the pillow at night, I just sleep those faults away rather than face them. Pretty terrible role model I am.I keep on digging myself deeper in the situation... not what you can call professional.
This night though, this night I had said to myself that it’ll be different. I’ve found a lead, at least I think I do. Similar killings have been happening in Shetcago that matches my guy’s MO. It’s a long shot, but I am finally gonna catch that monster. Then he came into my apartment.
I pull my head from my desk to get a good look at him. He is a tall colt, probably in his late twenties. He had a cream cheese colored coat, a nice shade of brown mane, brown eyes and a cutie mark with what I can assume was a car. He had a large brown jacket and a hat to boot, soaked to the brim. At first I thought he had fallen in a swimming pool or something on the way here, until I look out my window behind me to see it is raining. Why didn't I hear the drops anyways? Ignoring the rain I turn back to him, twisting a toothpick in my mouth with my tongue as I take a good look at him.
                “Welcome to Dets Sleuth’s home and office. I’m Dets Sleuth, private eye. Is there something you need, Sir?” I ask him.
The colt says nothing as he just stares at me. I assume he’s checking me out, examining every part of me and looking quite surprised. From my chocolate coat to my black mane, he just stared. Then I saw his eyes lock onto mine as he hesitates to pop the question.
                “N-no offense, Miss… err, Miss Sleuth, but… you… are quite young to be a private eye, aren’t you?” I crack a smirk but quickly retract it to look and act as professionally as a half-drunken, sleep-deprived mare can manage while trying to ignore that phrase 'Miss.' It shouldn't bother me but I just found the phrase as bad as being called a widow..
                “Yes I am, though not as young as you, kid. I’m only thirty two. I’ve had experience in the Haygas police department, so let me assure you, I’m more than capable of handling whatever problem you have. Now… what is your problem?”
The colt relaxes himself, letting a sigh of relief as he takes the first seat in front of the desk. At first he says nothing, only observing my apartment. Case files and papers litter the floor around the desk and the trash bin; several empty bottles of the finest hard drinks are scattered around the counters in the kitchen next to us; the roof leaking with water, which I had previously assumed was due to a plumbing problem, is now a structural problem.
                “Errr… right… Miss. Sleuth, the problem I have… involves my profession. I… I’m a racecar driver, self-appointed mechanic, and a colt trying to make ends meet. I had a shot in the Grand Prix in the next two weeks in Shetcago. But a few days ago, during the qualification rounds my car went up into flames and I… well, crashed. Miss Sleuth, I’m good at what I do, I’m no amateur. I’ve always been fixing things on my own since I was five. My car was in tip-top shape since day one! There was no overheat in the vents, no misconnection in the engine or components or anything! Since the accident I took a look into my car and found it's been sabotaged. I’ve looked over and found parts that were completely missing, the engine vents clogged and the brakes… err, broken.” There was that phrase again. I take the toothpick I've been chewing for an hour out of my mouth and fling it into the bin. I raise my hooves to push myself out of my seat with a tired moan.
                “First off… call me ‘Mrs.’ Just because there’s no ring on my hoof or my tail doesn’t mean I am dropping the title of being Mrs. Sleuth. Okay?”
Maybe I was a bit too rough on him. The way he cringes from my little burst kinda made me feel a bit guilty. But being called by ‘Miss’ after my husband’s death just never sat well with me at all. Of all the times I’ve slept with other males I still can’t stop thinking about him and those memories I had of him. I bit my lip and shook my head, trying to get out of the past once more.
“Alright… lets get back on track. do you have any enemies? Did any dirty dealings? Messed with the local mobs?” I ask.
                “W-what? Mobs? No! No, I haven’t! But… the race is headed by Don Shoulder Chip. B-but I don’t understand why they would wreck my car! I don’t have any connections with the other crime families, nothing! I wanted to win the tournament and get the grand prize. Fifty thousand bits. It’d be enough for me and my brothers to make it through the years. We've been struggling since our father passed away and... being the oldest I am the only one capable of getting a job and paying taxes.”
                “Alright. And this Don… Shoulder Chip? Has he ever contacted you at all?” The colt’s eyes slowly drift to the top right, muttering to himself. I take a good long look at the colt for a while, licking my teeth to expect an answer. If he’s paying, I sure as heck need the cash.
                “N-no… no he didn’t,” he says finally. “But... I did receive a letter in the mail a few days after the race. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.” The colt places a package on my table and opens the box, showing me gleaming coin bits and bills. My jaw almost falls out of my mouth as I took a gander at the organized, even set of cash. “Th-the package had about… twenty thousand bits in total. It was enough for my family to get back on our hooves but… I just… couldn’t help but worry that this meant something. I wanted to approach someone with this but I couldn't go to the police for fear of retribution… so I picked you.”
I’m amazed more by the amount rather than the fact he came to me at all with this. I want to take the entire damn thing and run! Get to Shetcago and finish what I started! Then I stop to realize that if I did, I’d just be hurting the colt. I’ve always been desperate, desperate enough to do anything to get back on my hooves myself. When I look at this kid though, I would have ended up like those other ponies in my life.
So I ask the obvious question; “How… err… sorry. How much are you willing to pay? I do have a set price myself, but considering the circumstances, I’d like to know before I make a decision.”
The colt is a bit hesitant about that demand. I just hope I didn't make it out like I was gonna milk him of all that cash. But he spoke up with a clear, calm voice. “Ten thousand bits. I’ll pay five thousand in advance and the rest after you finished the job,” he said.
Now that’s something I didn’t expect to hear. He is willing to split half with me, even giving me a fraction of that in advance. I don’t know whether to kiss him or cry. It is exactly what I need to straighten everything out at home. Honestly, I’m also touched. Few ponies in the world have ever been this nice to me with the exception of my husband and my partner. Whether or not he is doing it just because I was expecting a payment, or it was because he saw the deplorable condition I am living in, it doesn’t matter. I can almost feel the burden of debts flying off my shoulders. I pop out a cigarette from the cabinet next to me and light it with a match.
                “Alright, kid,” I start, “you got yourself a detective. I’ll head down in the district and take a look there, possibly start with some locals before I head to the track first. Also, make sure you aren’t followed by anyone. Stick close to home, don’t talk about where you’ve been and what you’ve done today just keep your head down.  Call me if you need anything.” I reach my hoof into my jacked that hung on the rack next to me, pull out my business card and hand it to the colt. “What’s your name anyway?” I ask.
                “Its Swift Wheels, Mi-err I mean, Mrs. Sleuth,” he responds.
                “Nice name. And hey hon, call me Dets.”
 ***
Before I head to the district the race track was in, I had decided to pay a visit downtown. I have a lot of contacts in these parts since my time off the force. Getting connected with folks earns you eyes and ears. Sometimes they do it for a price. In Haygas, everything has a price; from the big top casinos to the lowly bars and clubs, everything has a price. I’ve gotten around into this gig hoping it would nab me that killer before he jetted off to Shetcago. I doubt any of them would want to involve themselves with the mob, though. Doesn’t hurt to try!
The rain is terrible, so  good thing I’m sensible enough to take my jacket instead of trotting around without decent protection from the weather. Judging by the condition of the streets I say there is a flash flood in effect. Not a lot of rides out this evening, so thankfully no accidents. I take a turn into the local bar for cover though, just to get out of this dreadful weather. The place is warm, bustling with ponies of all kinds. Hot cocoas are passed around to the shivering patrons who had to endure the cold rainy weather. Some have had their fair share of liquor and cider for the occasion, though the bar reeks of chocolate more than liquor. The perfect pass-time for a weather like this. But it’s not like they are gonna drive home anytime soon anyways so might as well crack a hard one open. I look around the room to find anypony out of the ordinary who could give me some juicy info when this grey coated stallion with bangs in his mane brushes up against my side.
                “Hey, Dets, baby! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? What brings you to The Sweep anyways? Come for a bit of hot drinks for the cold night or… did you come to have another taste of the Stud-ly?” he says… in that same annoying tone as ever.
Studly Bangs is a local musician… if you can call him that. He’s been quite the companion, easy to rely on at times. Terrible liar though. Always gets me the information that I need. And oh… remember that price I mentioned? The payment involves them brushing against my hips, a nibble on my ear with the whispers of sweet pleasures in exchange for information. Every encounter ends in their bedroom with the lights off, the covers over and the males mounting me from behind. It got annoying because they always expected seconds or thirds when I seek new info. Buuuut I can’t complain really; I’ve been sleeping with other guys at random.  The rush always gets to me when I think about it and I can’t help but flow with it. One look at a guy and the cravings just get to me. It started a month or two after my husband died; since his death I’ve been choked up with liquor day after day. When it comes to colts and stallions approaching you well... err… well, you can assume what happens when you got a drunk grieving angry widow around your forelegs. Who knew sex and drinks make a good combination? The other nights though, the drinks are absent, and the sex is still damn good. At the end of the day though I wallow in regret, hoping he didn't think less of me for these things I do.
                “Studly… one more flat joke like that and I’ll break your teeth,” I say flatly. I don’t even want to humor him at the moment. I should be in a good mood considering I got paid in advanced but I want info.
                “Dets girl, you know you love my jokes. Why else do you crawl back downtown for more of the Stud? He always finds a way to make the fillies smile!” he responds.
                “Because every time I come to you for info you pester me into sex for it. Everyone gets one, you know.” I lied about that last part.
                “That’s not what I experienced last month, babe. You were practically moaning and screaming for more of the Stud-ly.” I reel up my hoof and smash him square across the jaw. Luckily for him it isn’t my strongest punch ever.
                “What did I say? Also, keep that mouth of yours shut about what we do. Now are you gonna help me or do I have to shove a hoof up that dumb ass of yours?”
Studly shifts his jaw side to side, letting out a slight painful moan before closing and opening it. I don’t see him get angry about it, but damn do I feel bad, considering he’s still smiling and looking at me.
                “No need to get violent, Dets! We’re in public after all. Besides, who'd care about our social lives? If you wanted some sincere help all you had to do was just ask! Now come on, let’s just take a seat and order ourselves some drinks. Got cash on you this time? I’ll pay for it if not.” I lift my hoof up after that last statement.
                “No,” I say, “I’m paying this time. Got news for ya, Studly. So you keep those cheap rock n’ roll bits in your pocket, because Celestia knows how badly you need ‘em.”
                “Hey, my profession pays well! Don’t hurt a stallion’s pride, Dets. Rock is the soul of one's youth, as well as his passion!” I just roll my eyes. Turning aside I wave for the waiter while Studly just… does his thing by pointing in the air.
                “You’re thirty years old. You’re hardly considered to be in your youth. Well, you don’t need pay for the drinks either way. I got a job, Studly. Got paid in advanced. Five thousand bits.” Studly almost falls off his seat when I mentioned five thousand bits.
                “W-what?! Y-you got paid five thousand bits?!” I smack him in the head and told him to shut up. I look around the bar, seeing if anypony heard that, then I just sink back into my seat and sigh.
                “Please keep your voice down, idiot. That’s not even the total. It’s ten thousand. I was paid five in advanced and five thousand more when I get this case done.” Studly blinks and looks at me for a bit. Then he rubs his eyes and looks back as if dumbstruck.
                “Five thousand in advance? A job? Wait, Dets, you got a case this time? You didn’t reject it?” Studly, despite all his amorous and perverted behavior, has a soft spot on me. Which… is kind of odd to say the least. Can’t say I don’t enjoy his time either; it’s nice to just be around a few ponies that can just talk with you. If Studly’s mind isn’t set on sex, it’s set on flirting or just plain chatting. To think I used to lock guys like Studly up back then.
                “Ahhh y-yeah. Yeah, I took the job. I w-was planning to go to Shetcago before this colt came in. I found a lead, Studly. The killer, I believe, went to Shetcago. A few murders over there fit his MO.”
                “Well… I may not be the economic kind of pony but… I say it’s a good thing you didn’t go. You wouldn’t have this cash to make it there either way.”
He has a point. In fact, even if I did pay for a train ride over to Shetcago, I’d be stuck without a home and without a means to pay for even a room in a motel. In fact, I doubt ten thousand alone would be able to sustain me even for a little while in Shetcago. I just don’t want to lose this trail though. Yet… I’m glad I took this case. I need that money badly.
                “Nor would I be able to keep my house. Speaking of which, I paid those debts. Got about a few thousand left so I’ve got enough to spend. Plus, with the rest coming in after I finish, I may be able to set myself straight in the next few years until I get more cash rolling again.” Then Studly leans over and smiles, giving me a wink with his bright green eyes.
                “Does that mean no more fun nights between us?” he asks.
                “Hah! I wish,” I tease. “Still need informants in case I run into big jobs like the one I got.”
                “Well, just as long as those other fellows you hang out with don’t steal ya from me, I’m okay with it! Anyways, what’s this job you got? And why come downtown for information?”
Then the real purpose of my being here comes into play. I look around side to side, just as a precaution. I’ve always been paranoid folks might listen in. It’s happened a few times before already.
                “One of the racers' car has been sabotaged, and it’s possible that the tournament is fixed. Don Shoulder Chip runs it, yes? Do you or anypony you know have any information regarding to the local mob? I’d like to learn about Mr. S.C. too, if that’s not too much trouble. The chief back in the station hardly keeps me in the loop of things before I got fired.”
I swear I almost see the poor guy choke. The Adam’s apple in his throat bounces up and down at the mere mention of Shoulder Chip. I guess he does know him then? Well this is going accordingly well. Before we continue on, though, our waiter comes to the table to take our orders. Just the usual hard apple cider. I need to go light for this case and keep my head in the game. When he leaves, Studly starts talking.
“Well… honestly? I never liked the guy. I mean… I’ve been with mobs before but Shoulder Chip is bad news, babe. I wouldn’t go messing with him. He’s the kind of guy who has that… likes-to-screw-you-over-until-you’re-dead kind of habit. Guy’s a big money-grubbing stallion. Practically gets a hard-on by just looking at money. This racetrack he owns? Biiig money opportunity for him. Its why he shifted from drug trafficking to gambling and racketeering there. You know the Grand Prix in Shetcago in the next two weeks, right? Word has it that some of his races are rigged. No one can prove it, but he’s got a system to make certain racers win the race. He bets on the cars with little to no odds while the rest that have a shot of winning are heavily betted on by the populace. Some of those big time racers get into accidents, some died, nasty stuff. Those who do survive… well, no one heard from ‘em the day after the race.”
When the drinks came I lift one right up and start guzzling it down. The sweet taste of apples sends a pleasuring jolt up my tongue. Hot, rich and delicious; the Apple family’s brands were nice, but I preferred the homebrew drinks myself. Plus Haygas drinks always brings out the peace of mind in me. After taking a moment to process Studly’s words I think back on the colt who came into my office. I pondered and pondered, taking little sips before I start speaking again. “If that’s true, Stud, then that kid shouldn’t have been in my office tonight.” Studly blinks and looks at me, confused.
                “Excuse me?” he asks.
                “A racer came in. And no, I did not have sex with him, and no, I won’t tell you his name either. I prefer he stays anonymous,” I reply and take another swig. “The kid came in with a package a few days after his car was sabotaged and losing the race. Someone sent him twenty thousand bits. If what you told me about Don Shoulder Chip is true, then there would be no way he’d give a racer who was marked for failure twenty thousand bits. Especially if that kid is smarter than the mob thinks he is.”
                “Do... uhh, do you suspect him?”
                “Honestly? No. I don’t. His story doesn’t add up now but I know he isn't the type to lie.”
                “How can you tell?”
                “Because, Stud, their eyes tell the story. I give everyone hell because I read what their eyes tell me. His eyes were subconsciously telling me the truth about that package. His behavior also contains shades of truth in him. Why the inconsistencies then? Hmmm…” I take a minute or two to stare at my glass. The steam rising from the cider carries the aroma with it; just looking at it and smelling it gave me a bit of peace of mind. I try to think, wondering if whatever Stud heard had any contradictions in it. Maybe somepony was just gossiping with him. But he does seem to know about mobsters having been around with a few himself. That part is no lie; I’ve seen him with them before. This stallion never, not even once, had a good idea that didn’t involve the local crime families.
“Studly, one question; is the information you just said accurate enough?” I ask.
                “Errr… I think so. I mean… I know for a fact that those races are rigged, and Shoulder Chip had something to do with it. It’s his kind of thing, after all. He runs the track. But the word always carries a few changes in the story with it.”
I say nothing and just stare at the glass. I decide to drop it for now and consider following the next lead---The track. Might not be a bad idea to rest, though, especially in this weather. No one would be caught dead in this kind of environment. So I down the rest of my cider until there is nothing left at the bottom. Reaching for my coat pocket, I pull out several bits and placed them on the table, paying for his drinks and mine.
                “Well… I might as well check up on that lead tomorrow. Can’t do it with this weather. I doubt I’ll get in anyways considering what time it is. Hey, see ya, Studly. I actually had a nice time,” I say as I get up. As I make my way to the door, the grey stallion calls out my name as I open it.
                “Wait, wait!” he exclaims. “Dets! Hey! M-maybe I can walk ya home? Can’t be too careful this time of night in Haygas. Especially with weather this bad.”
                “I used to be a detective in the police, Studly. I’m pretty sure I can handle a crook or flood with my hooves tied behind my back.” No, I couldn’t.
                “Come oooon, babe! I wanna make sure you’re safe! Can’t help it if a guy like me has to do his civil duty to look after a lady!” It’s also this guy’s civil duty to get under my tail as soon as possible. I turn around to face him and give him a big warm smile.
                “Well… alright. Just for the night.” I say. Knowing him he’ll probably stick around my apartment for quite a while.
                “Don’t mind if I do! And by the way, did you get that apartment of yours cleaned up yet?”
                “Since I got that cash I just had the room service handle it for me. Wasn’t pricey. But yeah, I cleaned it. Just dust your hooves when you get in.”

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           Vodka, sex, and the murder of fashion           
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Vodka, sex, and the murder of fashion
                       I remembered waking up with the scent of coffee in the air. The morning light struck my eyes, prompting me to open them. It seemed that Celestia once again greets her fellow ponies with a morning kiss of the sun’s warm rays. I was going to greet my fair hairy colt a good morning kiss myself.
I hopped out of bed, slipped on some slippers for my hooves and made my way into the kitchen. The scent of coffee grew stronger and stronger with each step I took. From the bedroom to the living room, I turned around into the next to see that hunk of a colt singing to himself, shaking that flank of his as he uses his magic to whip up his finest home brewed coffee. Lazy unicorns always using that horn of theirs to do the work for em. I smirked and crept up behind that black coated handsome bastard and raised my hooves, ready to tackle.
                                “Don’t think I don’t know you are there!” he exclaimed in a sing-song like tone. Then he turned around and pounced when I let my guard down. I let out a squeal and fell to the floor; that laughing goofball kissed me all over my face while he tickled my ribs.
                                “Stop stop stooooop! Hahahha! Stop it! Stop it! I can’t breathe, Vash! Haahahha!” I was hysterically laughing. I couldn’t stop moving around as he brushed those hooves against my sides swiftly. We were both laughing; my hooves reached towards his sides and I returned the same treatment. He laughed as well, rolled around with me in his grasp as we continued to tickle each other. Then we stopped; I found myself atop of his soft warm chest. I took a few breaths of air and heaved, my cheeks red like a cherry. I must have looked like a kid and not the standard cop he always praised me as.
Our eyes locked together after that. I could see those strong, handsome, fiery red eyes peer into mines. Passion and delight filled his heavenly eyes as he looked at me. You can say ‘I love you’ a thousand times and they never amount to the love I saw in those eyes. They looked so longing, drooped, intimate… it was the most wonderful feeling seeing those eyes look at me the way they did. I gave that colt a big fat kiss on his lips, moaned loudly into his maw as we shared tongue and cheek together. His forehooves wrapped around my waist, pulling me close till our bodies touched and brushed against each other.
                                “How can a beautiful filly like you ever fall for an ugly raggedy looking colt like me?” he asked. I just smiled and ran my hooves through his bushy beard.
                                “Whaaat? You ugly? Please, why would anypony think that?” I responded.
                                “Well… we’ve been in high-school together. You know exactly why.”
                                “Poor lonely Vash Canvas; he reflects beauty into his portraits yet he can’t find beauty in himself.” He blushed bright red and grinned sheepishly.
                                “Didn’t think the most popular and beautiful girl in school would pick up for a colt like me either.”
                                “Beauty isn’t always based on looks ya know. The expression is what counts. Like that portrait you painted. I still keep it in my office. I even snapped a little photo of it just to take it to work with me, admiring that awe inspiring vision of yours whenever I hit a snag. Because every time I see that portrait, I think of all the effort you put into it, how you’ve never gave up.”
                                “Why, Officer Sleuth, I didn’t know you thought that highly of me! And here I thought you was just being nice.”
I stared deep into his eyes, drinking in that beautiful red gaze of his as I gave him another big loving kiss on his mouth. The taste of his lips were so sweet, so fresh, so warm… I wanted this feeling to last forever. The passion of his embrace, the love in his gaze, the warmth of his body against mines. Canvas… how I never stopped loving you.
                                “I hope you can forgive me.” I said.
                                “For what?” he asked.
                                “For messing up this kitchen floor. Surely you didn’t want to clean all that hair do you?”
                                “HAH! I may look after the house but I’m no housemaid! Clean it up yourself!” he said and laughed. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed… then he popped the question I thought I’d never hear him ask. “Dets… let’s make a foal.” My heart nearly skipped a beat. I was flustered, happiness overwhelmed me. I didn’t think any colt would be the type to start a family. Yet when I looked into his eyes, I saw a bit of fear in him. I saw hope too, but it was overshadowed by an agonizing, worrying feeling.
                                “Canvas…” I said as I caressed his face. “You want this? Are you sure?”
                                “I do.” And boy he was never surer of it.
                                “Then I do too.” I said. Then he smiled. And then he kissed me again. He was happy, he was hoping, and yet he was scared. I wondered why he was scared; maybe he wasn’t really ready for it. Maybe he was afraid it might not happen. It was possible though; the idea of us starting a family wasn’t impossible. I told him if not, then we’ll still have each other, and that made him smile again.
Oh Canvas… how I’ve never forgot that smile of yours. Why did you have to go? Why didn’t you stay? Why did fate thrust you into that situation? I already lost my partner that night… but to lose you? My heart aches still.
***
                                I wake up in the passenger seat of a car. I look to my left to see Studly at the wheel, driving me home. The scent of liquor fills my nostril and beckons me to rise. I forgot we hit traffic coming out of the bar. I thought the streets were clear of cars due to the flood. Apparently I was wrong. I look ahead of me, still seeing cars about a mile long ahead of me. Rain continues to splash against the windshield of our vehicle with the wipers working their magic to clear Studly’s vision. He looks irritable; I can clearly see why.
                                “Thirty minutes and we’re still in this crap,” he says. “Might not make it home till midnight. Ahhh sorry I had to bother ya with my driving babe. If I didn’t pull ya in the car we wouldn’t be in this mess. We should had walked.”
                                “Hey Studly, its fine. I wouldn’t want to walk an hour back home in this weather anyways. So what if were in traffic? At least were warm, cozy and awake.”
                                “‘Cept for you. You hardly had much to drink. One hard cider; not even enough to get a foal drunk! Yet already you were asleep for thirty minutes and woke up like you’re hung over,” he says with a laugh.
                                “Laugh it up, ass. Anyways how far are we from the complex?” I ask.
                                “Errr… still an hour to go. I’ve only moved about half a mile.”
I really want a cigarette right about now. I look to the side of my window, observing the streets; community volunteers were sticking around in their raincoats doing their civil duty. They reach up to light the lampposts, some were replacing the candles, and others were picking up trash or cleaning up messes the flood made on the streets and inside buildings, which were unlucky enough to have their floors invaded by water. I look around more, hoping to find an upcoming lane we can turn to. As luck would have it I find one just as a van cuts in front of the car to its left.
                                “Oh, turn here! We’ll take these streets and make our way around the traffic. Best we stay away from the main roads for now,” I spoke.
                                “Good eye darling! Now let’s get ourselves out of this mess.” Before any other cars would drive up, Studly sharply turns and hits the breaks, heading right into the lane while the driver behind us cusses in dismay.
                                “You know if I was still a cop I would have locked that stupid ass of yours up for making that turn.”
                                “Dets, Dets, Dets… you worry too much! It’s not like I was being careless! Besides if I let that car drove ahead of us we wouldn’t have turned here.” I’ve heard stories like this one alllll too many times. They are never safe, always sorry when they find themselves in the hospital the next day. So to save myself the frustration, I changed the subject.
                                “Let’s talk for a bit though. Know anypony from the other mobs? Any where I can find and how?”
                                “Baby you gotta stop with all these loaded questions. It isn’t good for my health, and it sure as hell isn’t good for your health either. If you are gonna pick a fight with the wrong crowd, that’s your problem!”
                                “Why would I bother with the other crime syndicates? It’s not them I am after. But I do want their word on this matter. Don Shoulder Chip is the one I want my answers to be about.”
                                “Dets, babe, listen; even if you don’t got any beef with them, they’ll find you to be a problem. You do realize these crime families are in a council, right? If you mess with one of them, you mess with the rest of them. Besides, these guys aren’t here to make the situation worse as it is.”
                                I reply, “so I guess I should thank S.C. for his contribution in making things better? A few racers rubbed out helps us?” He doesn’t say anything else and just bites his lip. The colt looks at me and then back on the road. “Right, yeah, so are you going to give me any names or what?” And this is the first time I see Studly become frustrated. Nothing ever frustrates this guy and even with me, he keeps it shut. He makes an agitated groan and gives me a dirty look.
                                “Fine… there’s one guy I know who actually knows more about Don S.C. than I do. Purple Jacket is his name. Biiig fashion artist. Likes the old style clothes from... twenty... thirty or something years ago. Definitely not your traditional mobster type. Don’t know how he gets his information, but if you want anyone, you talk to him. He hangs out at the Cocoa Bonanza club near the track. He’ll be there tomorrow at twelve.”
                                “Thanks. And hey… sorry about this.”
                                “Everyone gets one.” Huh… ironic echo. Though I think this time he means to look out for me. Studly isn’t the type of guy who would send me into a situation that he would find dangerous rather than helpful.
                                “Right… ehhh… so how’s the band coming along?” I ask, trying to ease him off the subject. Though I think he sees right through my bullshit interest in his band. He just laughs though. It looks like he feels better after that.
***
                                We arrive home after an hour of dodging traffic and taking turns. I had fallen asleep during the ride again and woke up to find Studly opening the passenger door with an umbrella overhead. I step out and thank him; closing the car door we make our way through the doors, leaving behind the heavy loud rain. Soon our bodies begin adjusting to the temperature, adapting to the warmth of the indoors. Mrs. Crunch is still asleep in the lobby, the poor ol’ goat. Hardly gets a wink of sleep these days after taking over for her husband in the night shift. She is never an evening person. I take over for her to cover my rent when I couldn’t pay up. Though as much as she appreciates my help, she always expects me to pay my rents overdue. You should have seen the look on her face that day when I gave her my rent.
We left her to sleep, ascending the stairs quietly, making our way to the seventh floor without much of a creak in the floorboards. The apartment is old as the dirt itself and yet hardly makes a noise if you walk slowly. Whipping out my key-ring, I make my way to the door and fit the room key in the lock, twisting and opening the door with my hoof.
                                “How do you say? Me casla es yu casla?” I ask.
                                “Ooohhh… I think you should be arrested Dets,” he responds.
                                “And why exactly?”
                                “Because you’ve successfully murdered the Spanish language. How did you ever become a cop?”
                                “Coming from a guy who makes his living doing music instead of going to college.”
He laughs and tells me to shut up as he walks into the room pass me. He looks rather impressed though. The room was spotless, clean and clear and without a splotch of alcohol stains, crumpled papers and dirty clothing on the floor. All my case files were stacked on the desk, the rest in the bin, the counters in the kitchen clean of all empty bottles and everything smells great. Of course I’ll miss the alcohol smell though.
                                “How much did you pay for room service again?” he asks.
                                “I didn’t say. Took me a few hundred bits for it though, considering I never cleaned up since… last January.” I respond.
                                “Dets… that’s a whole year ago...”
I just shrug and trot my way into the kitchen. Instead of drowning out yet another uneventful night, I am celebrating. This time the floors will be clean and the counters will be empty! Aside from the condiments and other appliances I keep on there. I return to the living room with two bottles of the finest Stalliongrad Vodka in my foreleg.
                                “We’ll just get something to drink! I feel good tonight and I need to celebrate.”
                                “And afterwards we can celebrate in your bedroom.” Studly gives me a sleazy look and winks to me. That didn’t take too long to come back. It would be too much for this colt to go on without a piece of tail! Still I just laugh and brush against his hips in affirmation.
                                “Drink with me and yes we’ll celebrate in the bedroom.” I reply.
                                When I drink, those cravings that I spoke of before; they get stronger. Luckily I didn’t drink as much as Studly did. I meant that I was going light. But I just want a couple or more sips to celebrate. I can hold my alcohol but Studly there is hardly the type to drink. You think for a rock n’ roll musician he’d be used to those things. Then again I am just stereotyping. I place my bottle back in the fridge while Studly guzzles down his. By the time he reaches the half-mark he was already smashed. Prying the bottle away, I push the young stallion into the bedroom, placing the bottle on top of the drawer as we walk inside.
                                “Nnnhhh don’t push baby…” he mutters and licks my ear. “Ain’t nice wh-when a g-girl,” he hiccups “when a girl p-pushes a guy like that.” I was hardly pushing him that hard though!
                                “Boy you are drunk Studly,” I reply. “You going to be up for this? I don’t want to have you throwing up all over my back you stupid ass. Remember last time you touched a drink that strong? One lawsuit and restraining order meld into one nasty scandal.”
                                “N-noo… d-don’t bring that,” he hiccups again, “bring that up babe. I-I was already s-sore over that ord-ord… uhhh thing… l-le-let’s just get down to the g-gooooood stuff.”
I laugh and pull him along in by bedroom. I turn around and spend a good few minutes or so just looking at it. It was the one place the maid didn’t touch. Because… well its already clean. It’s been clean for quite some time. Out of every room in my apartment that was trashed, this room never was. Every step I take I feel the soft grey carpet beneath my hooves, easing me down the road to memory lane, thinking back on the days I took my husband into my home. Before it was always clean… by my hooves. Canvas always teases me and calls me lazy because I shirk on my chores. Hehe… well I sure showed him. While Studly is trying to undo his jacket, keyword ‘trying,’ I spend more time observing the bedroom. Normally I sleep on my desk in the living room after going through previous case files on the killer. Rarely do I spend any time in here. I miss it.
I examine the drawers, cabinets and the mirror on my vanity. My eyes are terrible… a sign I should sleep more. Then I turn around and look up at the walls, noticing the same portrait of me that my husband painted. Canvas’ masterpiece I call it. It is a reflection he painted of what beauty that he saw through his eyes. And he saw me. The portrait had me on the left, tending to a withered dandelion while I was sitting in a field of the most gorgeous sunflowers. Although I must admit, my looks do seem to be exaggerated… but then again I never saw myself as beautiful or perfect. My eyes had a deep ocean blue color to it, my mane was longer than it originally is now and I looked more slender, but defined in bodily proportions. Canvas… you could have expressed your talent to the best of your ability, you had so much potential. I am so sorry it was taken away from you…
Studly finishes with his jacket and stands before me high and proud. He has a big goofy drunken smirk on his face. And his words couldn’t be anymore cheaper than they already are. “The Stud-ly is r-ready my fair maiden!”
Quickly I wipe the tears from my eyes before they could drop and turn to face him. I keep my face as calm and happy as possible. I want to stay happy, I want to. So why do I feel so damn sick in my stomach? I look at his half empty bottle on the drawer. I dash over and swiped it in my hoof and guzzle it down until there was nothing left on the bottom. Studly looks at me dumbfounded as he pops the obvious question, “You said you didn’t want to drink heavily; why are you doing it now?”
I let out a huge burp and hiccup; having just downed vodka in one sitting I feel dizzier than I do drunk. Looks like I'm not gonna keep my word tonight. But slowly the irritation in my stomach dies away and I turn to speak to him. “S-shut up and f-fuck me you drunken idiot…”
                                “Hahha y-you you’re calling me dru-drunk? Look at you! A-and that was h-ah... half a-a bottle ya drank!” he replies. He didn’t say anything else as he wraps his forelegs around my waist, lifting me up and gently throwing me right on the bed. I let out a yelp and a hiccup, bouncing on the mattrass while Studly climbs after. “N-now turn a-” he hiccups again. “Turn around and lemme see that flank!”
I did just that. Turning around and putting all four of my legs down, I lift my flank up and wag my tail for him. The stallion lets out a deep, heavenly shudder as he stares at me. He is quite excited from the tone in his voice. He stares at my moist folds, taking in the scent of it and drooling. He didn’t bother with any condoms, it wasn’t the season after all, lucky for me. Boy though, from the look of it, it almost seems like he is about to attack me. Wouldn’t be too far from it actually considering how amorous we are now thanks to the drinks.
He wasn’t wasting time though. I could see his cock growing from his loins, hardening and throbbing with each passing second. I bit my lip anxiously, the cravings were growing more and more. Sweat drips from my hide as I stare at him. Like so many others before him I whine and beg for him to take me. I start to heave and pant; my body temperatures were soaring! Feeling more amorous and hungry, my heart starts to race, wanting that proud cock of his plunging into me.
                                “What are you waiting for?” I ask. “Fuck me Stud… please fuck me…” The shamelessness of that remark is enough to motivate him to make the first move. Studly drives that throbbing fat cock into me; he lets out a heavy hungry moan as the walls within my depths clench around his meat firmly. Feeling the sensation myself I let out a heavy whimpering moan in return. My hooves dig into the sheets of the bed, curling them up as I brush my hips against Studly, feeling his cock push until he stops at the base. Every inch of him is in me now; his cock is coated with juices, throbbing and pulsing with excitement, massaging my walls. A chill runs up my spine, making me shudder tremendously; the feeling of Studly’s cock just staying in me is enough to make me cum. The pleasure only grew though as he starts sliding out and pushing his mast back into me. I let out a squeal and buck forward then back into his hips, feeling his thrusts pacing in slow rhythmic motions. In and out, in and out, I could feel that cock in me, pleasuring me and massaging me; my stomach churns, adjusting to the excitement and the stallion’s motions.
“Oh fuck… ohh fffuck Studly…” I moan. “Yes… yes…. J-just… just like that…” I roll my tongue off the side of my mouth, panting heavily, feeling my body growing warmer. Trying to keep myself calm and cool, I breathe through my mouth and nose. It worked a little bit but I can still feel sweat dripping from my body. I bat my tail playfully against Studly, teasing him for more; I turn around to give him a wink. He could see my face blushing bright red and chuckles. His pace starts to pick up. “Ahhh…. Studly…” I moan again. Soon his hips start to collide against mines and our flesh rubbing firmly against one another; my walls around his cock, the friction would have been slightly painful if his cock wasn’t wet.
The sensation leaves me breathless; the cravings take over and now the real fun starts. Studly stops balls deep into me, slowly grinding and rolling his hips around, brushing that cock against my tightening walls as I moan and heave. He’s teasing me, but damn I love it. That strange pleasurable yet tickling sensation just makes me wetter and more anxious. I grind my hips in return, syncing up with his while he presses his hooves against my flank. He leans over and moans into my ear, “ooohhh fuck baby you feel so damn good…” I let out a chuckle, batting my tail against his leg playfully.
                                “Studly…” I moan back. “Can’t say you don’t feel good... nnnffhhh… fuck… please give me more.” And more he did. Studly laughs and reaches up, grabbing my ear in his teeth he starts nibbling on it. I squeal louder, feeling my ear twitching in his mouth as those teeth grind against my soft flash. My ears were sensitive, rarely have I let anyone touch them. The feeling was so ticklish and delightful. Then he bites harder; positioning his hips back until he was halfway out of me, he slams back hard into my cunt. I let out a scream; sweat sprays in the air as I buck up in response. Then Studly pulls back, slams into me again, repeating the process five or more times before he starts speeding up. His swift, humping motions were already adding to the pleasuring experience. I could feel his cock ramming harder, faster, deeper in me. The room begins to echo as the bed creaks, the floorboards squeaks and our wet slick hips and genitals smacking together. Even his balls were making slight audible sounds as they beat against my flank.
                                “Fffuuuck… Dets baby… how I wish I could keep you… ahhhh… you feel so damn good!” he exclaims. The day he keeps me would be the day I stop looking for that killer. His chances are not looking good. Still I couldn’t help but feel flustered; as perverted as that sounds he sure is enjoying his time with me at least.
 I squeal louder and buck my hips against his as I respond, “Gahh! Gonna have to try really hard to make that a reality! Nnnfhh…. Ohhh fuck… S-Studly! Fucking more baby!” He laughs and grunts; releasing from me ear he buries his head behind my head, covering his face with my mane to distract himself while he pounds deeper and faster in my cunt. Pre begins to dribble from his tip and in my depths; it was liquid-like, warm and so very soothing. I close my eyes, cringe and bite my teeth together, blowing air through my nose.
The feeling of sex was like an addiction. It just felt so good… so distracting. It was a means for my escape when drinks wouldn’t cut it. Normally I use it as a skill, a strength to get what I need from the informed, sometimes to get me in where I want to go. Every other day though when I get the cravings, I just delve into the sweet release of pleasure. Sweet glorious Luna did I need release.
Sweat drips from Studly’s hide; I can feel the heat in his body rising. His cock throbs and twitches, I wasn’t sure if he is close to release but he isn’t stopping. The claps of our hips grows louder the more Studly thrusts. His entire body is shivering, lost in the bliss of desires. His tongue rolls out of his mouth now as he starts to pant and heave. His breathing grows rapidly, his chest inflating and deflating with each breath. That look on his face is so mesmerizing. I forgot how much my partners got carried away enjoying me. It looks like Studly was nearing that point. Even I am getting lost to the pleasure of his cock. Despite how sore I am feeling now, how loose and soft my cunt is now I want more. I start screaming “Ahhhh! Harder!! Fucking harder! Ahhh!! Ahhh!!!” My face feels like it is hot to the touch. I could feel the pressure and delight of sex knocking the chill out of my body. Still I cry for more. “Fuck me harder baby! Ahh! OOhhh fuck! It’s so damn good!! Ahhh!! Please fuck me harder!” Studly doesn’t hesitate as he hears my screams for more. He lets out a stuttering moan that almost sounds like a shrill. In an instant I could feel him slamming as fast and deep as he could manage. The creaks of the bed grew louder, with its frame ramming against the wall that was so loud I nearly forgotten about the neighbors in the other room. I’m too preoccupied to care about it though, and so was Studly.
The stallion’s hooves reaches around my waist, hugging close as he rises on his hind legs, leaning over me with my rump high in the air. Then he rams into me once more, resuming his speed in his new position, slamming me down into the bed. He starts yelling “Ahhhh! Ahhh yeeess!! Fuck! Dets baby you are so fucking warm! I can’t stop! Ahhh!! Ahhh holy shit you feel so fucking glorious!!! I’m so close!” Soon both of us start screaming and moaning loud in ecstasy.
I feel my body growing weak, aches crawled up my legs the longer we fuck. Everything, the excitement, the heat and the pleasure, all of it building up in me, feeling close to release. Studly’s pretty close himself; I can feel the vibrations of his body against mines, the heat and twitch in his cock increasing. I start to count the number of times our hips collide; the motions, the pace, the strength… fuck it’s so good. Then come the climax; I feel a sudden burst of speed from Studly as he rams his cock into me. I let out a scream; my body quivers and shakes as I feel myself orgasm. A wave of juice splashes over Studly’s waist, my bed and down my legs. It wasn’t the only thing I could feel though. From my release, my cunt walls grips his cock firmly, pushing him to his release as well. He lets out a heavy heated moan and bucks his hips up one last time, flooding my depths with his thick, copious seed. I shudder in the sweet sensation of release, from mines and Studly’s. I’ve nearly forgotten how good the climaxes were.
I didn’t count how long we were rutting. All I can count was the number of times he came in me. I believe it’s five times now. Either he’s blueballed to all hell or he’s drunk enough to keep on going. I half expected him to pass out during his fourth time. I got sober beyond this point though, and tired. Studly and I were huddled together; me against his chest and his arms around my waist. We were exhausted; my legs feel sore, his groin numb, and the cold chill returns to our bodies. I was about to fall asleep until I hear the doorbell. Leaving Studly to fall asleep, I got up and stretch my legs, trying to work out the soreness before making my way into the living room.
My eyes were half closed; I reach for the doorknob, only to find my hooves randomly hitting the door itself instead. Looking down, I reach to grab the doorknob, twisting and pulling it opened. To my shame I forgot about my neighbor… again. Only this time, I’m not horny enough to not care. Before me is Mixer Matcher, a caramel coated stallion with a five o’clock shadow next door; he does not have a pretty looking face this night. His eyes were bloodshot, as though they’ve eaten the color of his brown iris; bags formed beneath his eyes, and his brow furrowed with extreme agitation. I laugh nervously and start to speak “H-hey hey! Mixer Matcher! What are you doing up this… early…?” I didn’t even know what time it is. It only made him angrier looking though.
                                 “Early? Early?! Depends on which early you mean! Early at night? Early in the morning? Do you know what time it is?  It’s THREE THIRTY! In. The. Morning! Do you know how long you kept me up? Do you!?” he exclaims. Then he reaches into his pajama pockets and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. “Sweet Luna’s glorious flank, Dets, if you wanted to bring guys home with you don’t fucking let the whole damn complex know! I got work in five hours and I can't get back to sleep!”
                                “R-right right! I-I’m so sorry Mr. Matcher I-I didn’t mean to keep you up! I…” I try to apologize. But he just lifts his hoof and shakes his head.
                                “No. No no no. Don’t be sorry. Next time, take your fun elsewhere. Bad enough I have to smell that alcohol infested apartment of yours. It reeks a mile away!” And just like that he goes back into his apartment. I just stand there, blushing shamefully and embarrassingly. Didn’t think I’d let it get this crazy. I retreat back in my apartment and crawl into my wet messy bed next to Studly, who is snoring like a damn steamboat. Karma’s a fair but terrible bitch alright.
                                The sun greets my face once again. My eyes fluttered to adjust to the ray of the light. Did I leave the shutters open again? I looked behind me to see that I did. Guess it’s a sign that I should get to work. I did plan to meet this Purple Jacket at the Cocoa Bonanza club after all. Huh… ya know, thinking about it now, it sounds almost similar to that one song I heard my mom and dad sing together. I never can recall what it was though.
I checked my watch while making my way to the bathroom. It reads 10:35. Good, I didn’t sleep late. Even better, I didn’t feel tired at all since last night. Good heavy drinking always keeps me in a deep sleep after all. Too bad for the Stud though; looks like he may be sleeping for a while. I didn’t want to shoo him out of my house, I figure I’d let the housekeeping service do that for me. They do have keys for our rooms after all and I can always expect them to lock the door when I’m gone. Nothing in here is worth stealing. I stand in the shower stall, turned the knob and let the rushing hot water crash into my face and my back. With soap in my tail, which is pretty hard to use instead of your hooves at times, I scrub myself from my weak depths, in and out. I worked around my flank, my pucker, then my legs and my sides. Then I pass the soap into my right hoof and start scrubbing my neck, head, back, face and my mane. I’ve been counting the seconds as I am washing myself; it took me about fifteen or so minutes. I wanted to make time so I can meet up this Purple pony guy, whatever his last name was.
After I finish washing I tear a piece of paper from the desk, writing a note on the scrap and walk back into my bedroom to set it besides Stud on the nightstand. Then I dash for my closet, still counting the seconds while I slipped on my jacket. I look out the window again, zippering up to prepare myself for the cold. Fortunately it looks sunny and without a breeze in the air. The trees were calm, the leaves blowing gently in the soft tender morning air. I take a deep breath and smile; now my head’s in the game. I pick up my gadgets and my keys, even my shock gun just in case, and stroll out the door, letting it close behind me.
                                There’s a saying that every Diamond Dog has its day. Except I don’t see Diamond Dogs in places like these. Stupid expressions. It’d be easier if they just said dog and left out the diamond in it. Here where the stakes run high, the drinks were served fresh and cold, and one out of a thousand ponies are a winner each day, the Cocoa Bonanza was the best place for all your socializing needs. Unlike your typical big tops like Gomorrah, Four Seasons and Mairbian Nights that are farther in the city, the Cocoa Bonanza is where friends meet, the losers become winners and the winners… well stay winners. Not as big as the other casinos or clubs, but it has its own charm to it. You think the ponies here would be crapping the floor whenever they win. The Cocoa Bonanza IS being run by the mob after all. You don’t want to win too much with these kind of guys. Oddly enough, I find it cute that these mobsters that stick around the public areas are nice. Charming, funny, odd, down to earth kind of ponies just looking out for us. Despite how traditional and cold they appear on the outside, the way they act tells me they are definitely the type who has a good heart in them. If only I had them as my friends back then instead of those phonies I knew back in school. I always hated that term but it’s what I can best describe them as.
During my time in the department I always steered clear of these kind of folks. They aren’t as bad as they were back then, but the main reason was because I didn’t want to get involved in the nonsense of stepping on the wrong hooves, and having my husband pay for my mess-ups. Though seeing them now, I don’t think I’m afraid of them then I had previously felt. Even so, I still have to be careful when I get around to questioning Purple Jacket. I didn’t want to make the wrong enemies. That is… if I can find him first.
I search the floors, top to bottom; from the poker tables to the blackjacks; the slot machines and roulettes; the bar and dance club; then the betting tables. Instinct tells me that this would be the most likely spot to find. Then again not all ponies are that obvious; it’s not like I’m going to find betting on the racecars right? Wait… I spoke too soon. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand I can clearly see how much he likes to stick to that name of his. Imagine a stallion twice your size wearing a large, sparkly, fur-hooded purple jacket decorated in glitter, with some depraved gaudy, cardboard-cutout-looking designer’s glasses, baggy pink pants that touches the floor and shoes that would make even the gayest pony say how much this guy will be responsible for the death of the entire fashion Industry. It’s so cringe worthy  just looking at him. Then again, it couldn’t be Purple Jacket. There is no way it would be this painfully obvious.
                                “Heeeeey Purple Jacket!!!!” a ‘fan’ screams from the audience. And then another calls out “looking good there Purp!” Were these ponies serious? They couldn’t be. But they were. I just stare in amazement, my ears twitching as I hear this awfully high pitched voice that… ya know what? I’m going to stop with the gay jokes right now because this is ridiculous. This stallion is a walking talking stereotype whose very existence is in question at the moment. I can’t believe this would be the day where I think Justin Neighber or that stupid vampony novel are less ridiculous than he is.
                                “Heellllooooooo fillies and gentlecolts! It is I, the Underboss! PURPLE JACKET! Everypony lift your hooves up! Come on give me a bit of love! That goes for you gryphon cuties too! Don Blu Bluth loves you all… and so do I!” he exclaims. I swear how is it that this Cosa Nostra is around? I don’t care if they own a club but really do they have to make their presence known to the public in here? Especially if it’s being represented by this guy? I’m surprised how the others back at the station didn’t shut them down. They look a helluva lot vulnerable than they make themselves out to be. I just hope this Don Blu Bluth guy isn’t as bad as Purple is.
Then I realize how much my plan just changed the instant he said ‘underboss.’ Am I seriously going to muscle my way on this guy? And why in the fuck didn’t Studly tell me about this?! If I see him next time… I’m really going to smash his teeth in. Everything’s ten times more difficult than I imagined.
Well no time like the present! After Purple was finished with all his showers of praise and love I make my way over to the betting table where I find him already betting high on the next racecar. I could warn him of the potentiality of the races being rigged by Shoulder Chip… but then, I want to see him lose all his money, let him blow it up in smoke.
                                “Quite the entrance there. I must admit I didn’t realize organized crime was so open these days,” I say to him. At first I expected some hoity toity remark or some sort of smug response without so much as giving me a glance. But he turns to face me and smiles, lifting up his horrible horrible glasses.
                                “And who are you my little hunny?” he replies… oh sweet Celestia, it hurts just to have him talk with me. I hope I get whacked by these goons. Anything that will save me from this torment. “Never saw a pretty face like you before and I really, really, really want to get to know you!” he continues. For once in my life I don’t think I want to sleep for information. I might go the hard-broiled route; cut his wrist and squeeze lemon on that wound. He’ll probably scream and shatter every glass within a ten block radius of the area. Might not be healthy for me. Fuck. do I need a cigarette.
                                “Dets. Dets Sleuth. Private Eye.”
                                “Former detective of the Haygas Police Department. Thirty two years old and still quite the looker! Bet you’ll keep that figure in the next thirty or more years even! Also a widow, yes a widow and… a record about a kilometer and a half long. Sure are having a hard time finding that killer. Aren’t ya?”
Well if that wasn’t creepy. I don’t know what is! I assume the reason he knew so much is because of course, connections and informants. They are pretty damn aware of me alright. I didn’t like that.
                                “For your good health, Mr. Jacket, you keep all that to yourself. I don’t mind being on your shit list if I put you in a body bag and send it to your boss. How do you know about me?” Stupid of me to take that route. But I couldn’t help it. He didn’t seem all that bothered though. He just smiles and waves to the receptionist in front of us.
                                “Oh how fresh of you hunny! But do not worry, you are as safe as Fort Mustang. We just like to keep tabs on the blues for good measure.”
                                “Blues as in…?”
                                “You ponies, yes. The good ol stallions and mares of the suit, doing their civil duty of protecting the city! Or so you thought when they removed you from the case. Sorry to hear about their deaths darling. Losing a friend and a husband must have been pretty hard on you. But I assume you didn’t want to chat with me right?”
The smug son of a bitch just looks at me like he’s gotten under my skin. What’s his game? He doesn’t look like he’s baiting me into something I’m not gonna like, but you can never really tell with these guys.
“Let’s see… you don’t want to chat with me… but you do want a taste of the fabulous Purple Jacket no? All the colts and fillies want a taste! Fashion is always on their eyes and they fall head over hooves for me.”
…Err… I’m not going to humor him this time. I say, “listen bud, I’m not going sugarcoat this. My tastes are more refined than yours will ever be. I could arrest you for the attempted murder of fashion and I doubt your boss would bat an eyelash over that. Now you listen and you listen well; I want info, I’ve got questions, questions that you are going to answer Mr. ‘Fabulous.’ Don Shoulder Chip owns the track across the street from this place. He makes his cash off of the races and I have every reason to believe it’s rigged. The deaths and the disappearances of expert drivers caught my attention quite well. In fact, I dug into the case files and news to find a connection. Boy, did I ever. A little canary told me you know of Don Shoulder Chip and his operations; you are going to tell me what you know or I swear I will tear off those clothes and burn them right in front of you!!” I didn’t realize my hooves were around his collar. He sure has a frightened look in his eyes now. None of the other ponies paid any attention to us except for the nearby mobsters. They weren’t so inclined to jump in though.
                                “Aiii! Dets, sweetie pie, please! Don’t! Not the fashion! Anything but the fashion! Hoity Toity is coming to Haygas this month and I must prepare for the fashion show! Have mercy on these fine garments!!” Ouch… my ears. At least I got his weakness. He continues on, “I kn- I know n-nothing! Honest, pumpkin! Honest as my career as a fashion designer! Cadence forgive me I wish I could help you, but it’s true! I don’t know about the race! N-neither does my boss! I-I don’t know about those other racers and-” I catch the word ‘other races.’ A slip up?
                                “Wait what do you mean others?” I start to ask.
The stallion hesitates, swallows the lump in his chest and begins to sweat. Before he gets the chance to speak, an old, withered, gray stallion with a white mane and a bit of a bald spot on his forehead appears behind us with two other mobsters. I drop the excuse for an artist and turn to face the stallion.
                                “Don Bluth, I presume?” I ask.
                                “You presume correctly, Mrs. Sleuth,” he replies. He lifts his hoof and waves it to dismiss his boys and looks back at me. His light blue eyes peers into mine; I feel as though he’s reading me. To be honest I was starting to feel nervous. I caused too much of a scene and now I might face retribution. Yet he smiles, and there was no falseness to it.
“Honestly as much as I loved that little scene, I will have to ask you to refrain from touching my friends.”
                                “That guy was your friend?”
                                “… Hahahah.” He continues to laugh, but not so hard. As much as he liked that remark, he looks as though the laugh will strain his calm voice. “Good one. Yes he… is. It’s a long story. Would you like to come by my office? As much as I hate violating the commandments, I must ensure responsibility for the safety and well-being of my family. Even if it means breaking those commandments.”
Well that explains why I saw several violations of the commandments. Except for the club part. I didn’t bother with it and just kept it smooth. I follow behind Bluth as he gestures me to follow him; we walk towards the far end of the club where I assume his office was. And it was there actually. There was a plaque that read his name: Mr. Bluth. Very conspicuous if you ask me.
We enter his office, it looks quite homely. He has such fine mahogany crafts and furnishing. His desk could fetch a pretty large sum of bits. Even his chairs, his cabinets, the fireplace. Wait… a fireplace? In here? Ahh well… never mind. He also has a couple fairly large bookcases on his side and a nice red luxury carpet on the floor. Classy… very classy. And then there were large stacks of paper on his desk; they kind of look like drawings to me. I turn my attention to him as he starts to speak. “Mrs. Sleuth, a mare of your status should know by now not to make herself a target. You’re brashness and ‘hard-broiled’ attitude would have surely killed you if it wasn’t me in this seat. Now… tell me what brings you here?”
He sure is quite polite I’ll give him that; his advice also comes quite a surprise to me. I didn’t really expect that from a Don. But should I really tell him about my purpose considering it involves the safety of my client? I bite my lip, unsure of whether or not I should chance that. Though looking in his eyes, he’s waiting for me to ask the right question.
Maybe he knows…
                    “The better question is… what do you already know?” I reply.
                    “What I know is you’ve been referred to Purple by my big mouthed friend Mr. Studly.”
Well I didn’t see that coming! I flinch when he mentioned him and bow my head, replying, “Please Mr. Bluth, don’t rub off Studly. I wanted him to tell me about…”
                    “Don Shoulder Chip?”
Again I flinch. Guess there’s no stopping it now. Mr. Bluth’s quite informed.
                    “Yes.” I reply.
                    “Hmmm… Studly’s always kept his mouth shut. I wonder what persuaded him to tell you. After all, you’re no longer part of the Haygas Police Department, continuing on as a PI. You are not exactly off our watch list. Though I am curious as to why you are after Shoulder Chip.”
                    “I’m that obvious huh? Well… I hope you guys aren’t close or anything… right?”
He scrunches his face, narrows his brow and turns his gaze away. For a moment, he look as though he’s about to kill the nearest living being. I hope it isn’t me. I continue, “Guess not huh? Well… I have a friend who came to me, said he survived a crash and believed that the tournament is rigged. He’s a self-appointed mechanic and…”
                    “The only male to survive as far as I recalled.”
It didn’t surprise me that Bluth would know Swift considering he knows so much. I guess he also knows that Swift visited me that night too. Slowly he turns back to look at me and nods his head, expecting me to realize the importance of that statement.
                    “Wait… what do you mean the only male survivor?”
Guess I asked the right question because he stands up and starts to speak, “Ten racers: six are female, four are male; over the past couple months there were talks about Shoulder Chip setting up a tournament that would settle the economic situation in Haygas. Before he delved into gambling and racketeering, S.C. was an arms trafficker. And no I don’t mean the kind of equipment you are used to seeing such as your Shock Pistol for example. He sold the hard kind of stuff that is illegal; guns, swords, maces, spears, even poison and cursed magical items, all of it. It was a pretty dangerous business that would have had us killed by the Blues. Not wanting to lose him on the council nor wanting to lose the money he funnels to us, we decided to shift his attention towards the vices of Haygas. Casinos, race tracks, clubs and loans.
“Of course it wasn’t enough… so he says. Indeed it wasn’t as profitable as arms trafficking was, but we didn’t want to take that risk. Yet he benefits when he cheats, when he cuts corners and shakes down exploited ponies. It would make sense for him to create a tournament and scam those who betted against the racers with the most odds of winning while the low ranking racers win,” he explains.
                    “But the cops surely would have caught the signs. How did they not?”
                “Simple; the cops and reporters were bribed: reporters, to tell a different story; the cops, to divert attention away from the deaths and threaten anypony smart enough to question the details. These ‘accidents’ though happen under different circumstances so no one would bat an eyelash when one racer breaks down and another crashes into the one next to him… or her. As such, these accidents were orchestrated for another purpose other than just cheating. Three males and one female racer died. The other racers ‘disappeared.’ The exception is Swift Wheels. Rumor has it he made quite a bit of bits despite his loss. I assume you know the intentions behind this?”
I nod and start, “Of course. Last night he believed it was Don Shoulder Chip. He knew he ran the tournament and he knew what twenty thousand bits in a suitcase meant.”
                “Right. He wants to buy his silence. Of course he knows where he lives but for the sake of his cover, he bribes instead of killing him.” He leans over, his fore hooves sit squarely on his desk, lifting himself up. “Mrs. Sleuth, my granddaughter’s a racer… I refuse to believe she died as the reports say. I know within the fiber of my bones that Don Shoulder Chip is responsible for her disappearance. If I had the authority I would send my men with the arms I stole from him during his setup  and give the Don and his men a taste of irony. My granddaughter means the world to me Mrs. Sleuth… I want you to find out what happened to her and those other racers. Whatever Swift paid you, I’ll double it. No… triple it. I’m a pony of retribution and justice; I will see this done.”
No sane pony would refuse an offer like that. Then again, hearing this, I’ll accept it either way. I knew something was fishy with Shoulder Chip. I didn’t think it would get deep. Crooked cops, immoral reporters, extortion, bribery and threats? Haygas sure has its fair share of depravity in its early days, and this is a prime example of that. I would gladly do it for free to see this stopped.
                “Well I’m already investigating the matter… so why not?” I reply. He smiles and chuckles warmly from my response. He seems quite pleased with my answer.
                “Good. That’s good. Now… Studly advised you to speak with Purple Jacket, correct?”
I nod in response. Though I doubt I’ll get anything out from a stallion like that. Probably not anymore thanks to Mr. Bluth.
                “Err… yeah.”
                “Studly may think with his cock more than his brain, but he is right on this. Purple Jacket, my Underboss, has done more than flaunting his terrible attire in front of everypony. Lately he’s been hanging around with the other mobsters, primarily S.C. in what he would describe as ‘an evaluation of goods.’ Honestly, I think Purple Jacket knows more than what he is telling me. That is something I don’t like. Purple Jacket always has his ear to the ground but never does he relay it back to me. So, what I want you to do is talk to PJ again. This time, cut the hard-broiled approach. Appease to him and, Celestia forbid, appeal to his lifestyle.”
                “I rather you just kill me now. Its torture enough just looking at him.”
He laughs again and waves his hoof with a joke, “Well, I do use PJ to make my rivals spill the beans in the past. He’s sharper than any scalpel or blade I’ve used to make ponies talk.”
Ok, that was something I wouldn’t mind forgetting. I shudder and respond to him, “well… I’ll have to endure it. Thanks Mr. Bluth.”
                “No, thank you, Mrs. Sleuth. And oh, I am glad we have this talk.”
                I am led out by Mr. Bluth after our little conversation. Right away I make my way to the betting tables where I see Mr. Jacket, once again making his rounds around the table showing off. I swallow whatever insult I can hold and approach him. I tap his shoulder and say, “Hey Purple Jacket.”
And he instantly recognizes my voice without having to take a look at me.
                “Ahhh!! Oh no, not you again! Please, please, please, pumpkin, no more ruffling of my outfit! Remember the fashion show! Please I can’t stress it enough! Do whatever you wish to me, but the fashion, dearie, the fashion! Leave it be!” he exclaims. Hoity Toity would have a heart attack. I don’t think Jacket has a chance. But I let it go and shape up to try and become the gentle mare that I could be.
                “I am… sorry Mr. Jacket. Truly, I am just in a bad mood. Thanks to Mr. Bluth I feel better now.” No I don’t. I feel sicker just listening to this metrosexual wannabe. “I… appreciate your fashion sense, and I know you’ve put a lot of effort into the outfits that you make for these shows. I…” I have to swallow this reeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaal hard. “I dare say you could become the next… Rarity…”
Somehow, in Ponyville, Rarity must have felt a dreadful shudder after I finished that statement. Though PJ looks happier than usual.
                “Oh, you mean it, darling? I knew you’d wanted the taste of the Jacket! Gaze, gaze in awe and amazement at this glamorous beauty that is my outfit!”
                “Errr… yeah, it’s really breathtaking I gotta admit. So… about Shoulder Chip?”
It’s funny how Purple Jacket can be so dumb as much as he is prideful. He knows I’ve seen Mr. Bluth, he knows I talked with him. What comes next though would be a great treat for the ears.
                “Oh darling, heheh! Breathtaking is hardly the word for it! But yes… Mr. Chip. His name certainly carries meaning. He always looks like he’s got a huge chip on his shoulder. I’ve even talked with him a few times in person! Grew up in poverty, never much made a name for himself after school, always going for get-rich-quick schemes and nonsense before he took up the criminal life. And in fact…”
                “I… err, no offense but I don’t care about his personal life. I mean what is he doing now?”
                “Well, he says he wants to get back into the trafficking business. So many corrupted cops these days; he feels it will be quite easy to start it all up again. The track is a front for the new business. Not sure where or how he gets his crude material from, but let me tell you, cupcake, nothing in there is worth the hassle. Hence why I stick with fashion! Don’t want to get dirty too much.”
I feel as though he knows more than he is telling me. Black market goods again? Illegal weapons and cursed magical items? I have to know. More importantly, I have to know of the other racers.
                “That’s interesting. Alright, what exactly is his trafficking business? Illegal arms again? Also one more question; what happened to the other racers?”

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                 I love me some espionage                  
//-------------------------------------------------------//
I love me some espionage
I did say I gotten used to hardships didn’t I? Well to be frank, I had a very happy childhood. Yeah things were bad for me and my family but we always stuck through. My parents often neglected me however; they were so caught up in work, trying to make ends meet, ensuring we keep our home for the next three months; it always pulled them further and further away from me. I may have been a kid but I’ve learned how difficult life was and I didn’t blame them for it. I just wished I’d spent a little bit more time with them, especially my dad.
Speaking of, my dad was Ink Dipped. A lot of ponies say I look a lot like him; he was considered the most handsome pony in Haygas. Of course it was exaggerated but they said there was quite the resemblance. Everypony said I was beautiful, everypony said he was handsome. But beauty can only take you so far. My dad knew that. He was a failed novelist who dropped the writing gig after he married to my mother. He was fine with it, but even though he stopped writing, he always found another way to support us. Writing’s always been his talent though; it was a surprise to hear that despite his cutie mark representing his greatest talent that he didn’t do so well attempting it. None of his works were published, hardly even finished, and I don’t think I’ve read any of them myself.
He noticed my knack for reading though, especially in the mystery and detective novels. And yes I do mean novels; big books with big words. Over the years I’ve read books from Neighncy Drew and Shetlock Hooves, fascinated with the idea of being a detective, discovering the impossible, solving mysteries and the likes. Every Friday when he came home from work, my dad would carry with him a new detective book he bought from the local bookstore. It always made me happy to see that I was still provided the wants in my life, even when I’ve never asked for it in the first place. It made me sad that I could never return such kindness.
I’d go through page after page a day; from school, to the park and in my bedroom I always carried my book around to read. Once in a while I get the chance to snuggle against my mom and dad in their bed at night, reading my book before I fell asleep in their hooves. Though it wouldn’t be long until I found myself a pair of hooves short around me.
My dad came home early one day with the news that he quit his job. It came to a shock to my mother, she didn’t take it so kindly. Though after a private session, I’ve watched my mother leave the room with pain and dread in her eyes. Mom and dad never fought, I assumed it must have been something else. My hunches were right though. One time I’ve heard my dad over the phone talking with this doctor he saw. There was a new incurable disease my father contracted; cancer they called it. He had about one month to live.
I didn’t understand it at the time, but I got the implications when my father decided to spend the next thirty days playing and spending time with me. On the days that my mother was free we spent those times together. It was a blessing though to see my father live for two more months, making the best of those days by spending them with me. Even the most mundane things felt fun with him; one time he took me down to the subway, to watch the trains. We sat bench and spent four hours counting them before I fell asleep next to him. Those were the best four hours I’ve had with him.
The days went on, and slowly the miracle died away. The third month I was treated to a movie with my mom and dad; we watched the new Shetlock Hooves movie. It wasn’t as creative as the books but it was still clever and fun to watch. I marked that movie as the best move I’ve seen, because it was the last night I spent with my father. The next morning he died in his sleep; I remembered the sheets drawn over his body, the paramedic ponies lifting him onto a bed looking thing and rolling him out of the house. I cried and cried and cried until my eyes were red, sore and dry. What was even more painful about that was the fact that I can hardly remember his face anymore without a picture of him.
My mother and I were at our lowest point. We weren’t sure if we were going to make it through the years without my father… until the life insurance check came in. Some time ago my father set himself up for life insurance in case the worst case scenario happened. And it did. Because of this we were able to get back on our hooves. It didn’t last long as it should had but it gave us much needed time to recuperate for our loss. We never stopped crying.
I would no longer get to see that great big smile on his face; no longer would I see those bright blue eyes of his; no longer would I get to count the trains in the subway with him; no longer would his words comfort me into slumber. It hurts, it hurts so much. My heart throbbed and ached in pain, it cried out for him, it cried out for mother too. She suffered as much as I did and I could do nothing to comfort her. I was suffering too, but I was too weak to be there for my mother.
We had lost faith and purpose in our life, distancing from the outside world that didn’t bat an eye at our misery. There was literally nothing left for us to cling onto. It only took one trip to the attic to realize my father was still looking out for us. I ascended the ladder into the attic to pawn off some junk I kept in my earlier years. I wanted to take initiative over our lives, pick up where my father left off from. My curious grieving mind made me wander in the direction where his older stuff was kept. They’ve been here since before I was born. Everything was covered in dust except for one large, manuscript. It had over a thousand pages, even more! It was the largest book I’ve ever seen! In fact it was the largest book ever written as we know it.
And it was written by my father. The first page was written out to me, an acknowledgement, on how my passion for reading inspired him to finally draft his first book, and was nearly finished. Unfortunately it would be his last. I wasn’t sure how long he worked on it, but considering how recent this was put up here, I assumed it was finished about a month or two ago. Why did he never publish it? I’ve looked through the end pages and saw that there was an epilogue page… and it was blank. He never got around to finishing it.
I took the manuscript downstairs with me, trotted into my bedroom to give it a good long read. I was amazed by the amount of effort that went into this. To top it off, it was a detective novel, my favorite kind. The character was a representation of my dad… a hard working stallion, a father and husband whom rarely sees his family. He had the personality and history of my father, but with the mind of a great detective. I read through page after page, seeing much of my father in the book rather than his character. It brought me to tears when I’ve read segments where he was always ashamed for being so distant with his family, so distant from his loving daughter. I’ve read the regrets he’s confessed, the love he held and the joy of spending every minute with them, treasuring them in his heart and mind.
The story goes as you expect; the hero wins in the end, stops the bad guy, goes back to his family and lived happily ever after. Only the last part wasn’t there. I didn’t know why, but I felt a surge of determination and passion pump through my veins. I took several pencils, papers, erasers that I could find, and my mother’s dictionary and started to finish the ending that would best suit him.
It ended with him, his wife and his daughter visiting the train station. He and his wife cuddled together while the daughter leans her head against his belly, counting the trains that passed by them. It went on for four hours. His last words before the story came to a close finally were: ‘best four hours I’ve ever had in my life.’
Being young I didn’t know a whole deal about contracts, businesses and other hubbub. When I insisted on my mother to take me with her, to publish dad’s book in his name, she just shooed me away. She finally gave in one night when I forced her to read the book. After spending a few good solid minutes crying, my mother decided to take me to the publishing office. It was a long, boring, tedious process; they tried to cut us out of the shares and even tried to own whatever IP meant at the time, as their own. I wanted it under my dad’s name, regardless whether or not he died. My mother pushed, and they caved.
The book became #1 best seller in Equestria. It was thanks to that book I was able to get into high school, we were able to pay off our loans and debts, move to a new home and live happily ever after. I spent much of my teen years with my mother as opposed to my childhood years, but we didn’t get to do things I normally did as a child. I was happy regardless; I was thankful to have one parent in my life, as well as thankful for my dad, for bringing me in in this world and cherishing the moments we had together, no matter how short it was.
***
I snap out of my dream; I look at my right hoof to see myself holding an empty bottle of cider. The regular kind not the hard kind. I guess I was so lost in my memory I blanked out everything that’s been happening recently. Though I do remember my conversation with Purple Jacket. As hard as it was to listen to him, I learned a great deal about what Shoulder Chip is doing.
S.C. did indeed went back into trafficking. Jacket showed me a great deal of such merchandise he was able to pry off one of the goods in a warehouse. He never specified where though, or the number of the warehouse for that matter. One cursed item, in all its glory. A magic mirror that is said to make you beautiful, but the darkness inside will switch places with you, inhabiting your body while leaving your soul trapped in the mirror. Nasty thing that’s for sure. Purple Jacket had it wrapped up in cloth, tied around in a fierce knot. Even for an egotistical fashion freak like him could tell of the dangers a cursed item brings.
Most ponies who have cursed items usually send them to an enemy of theirs. They create a whole lot of mischief and chaos that would make Discord squee in sheer delight. Very few are life threatening but the rest are just as bad, if not worse. I wondered why Purple Jacket even has the mirror in the first place.
He still didn’t tell me a lot about the rest of the trafficking, nor how it was related to the tournament really. I’m thinking I hit another dead end here. But curiosity got the better of me, and thus, I pressed him for more info. Apparently, he made some arrangements with a few ponies of his in Shetcago who wanted to start up said scamming operation and trafficking. Kind of odd how Shetcago always appears in these conversations. I didn’t plan to going to Shetcago since I got this job and it may be that it might be the next destination I would inevitably end up in. Win/win for me I’d say.
So here I am, thinking over my next move. After that little flashback I ponder the leads that I should try and follow. PJ did mention a few ponies who work for Bluth also has a connection with Don Chip; they even have access to his establishment. Although one of them is mainly there on Bluth’s behalf. It would be a good idea to check him out, see if he could get me inside the track.
I pay the bartender for the drink and thank him before making my way to one of the mobsters. The stallion didn’t tell me who or what he looks like so best to ask each of them at random. The Cocoa Bonanza is pretty crowded; I wonder if they would have the time to help me. Before I could reach one of them, I feel a hoof grabbing me from behind.
“A little birdy told me you were speaking to Purple Jacket about S.C. Were you looking for me?” the voice says. I turn around and look to see a dark blue coated stallion in a rather refined overcoat and hat. His hazel eyes shine as he stares at me with burning curiosity. Though he sure did have such a cute smile.
“I assume this is the part where you tell me to lay off?” I ask.
The stallion playfully scoffs and responds, “Whaaat? Nooooo. My loyalties are to Bluth and Bluth alone.”
He reaches one hoof down, grasps mine gently and pulls me into the dance floor. Well this certainly is unexpected.
“Whoa cowpony! Ask a girl to dinner first before you take her to a dance.” I joke.
“Charming. Though I’d like that dinner either way. But since I have you in my grasp…”
My mind must have been in the gutter because I could have sworn he was going to do something… err… un-family friendly. But as he reaches over my shoulder he whispers into my ear, “Don’t trust Purple Jacket.”
I blink and look at him curiously. Don’t trust Purple Jacket? I hardly trusted him since the moment I laid eyes on him. Horrible fashion sense.
“And who are you that you are so kind enough to give me this message?”
“Name’s Sly, Sly Cider. I’m as sly as the name implies! I can rhyme even when I don’t have the time. I drink a great and many apple cider drinks! But not enough that I can’t think.”
“That sounds rehearsed.”
“It was. Was it good though?”
He pulls back, hoof in hoof, forcing me to dance with him on the floor. Few other ponies were dancing, not really caring about what we were doing. But I always have a terrible phobia of dancing in public. I try to pull away from him but he’s insistent.
“Errr… it was good. C-can we stop? I… err… am not one to be out in the open… like this.”
“What, afraid of wandering eyes? Don’t worry about it. Now listen; keep your voice down. Don’t want PJ to know of me.”
“What do you mean?”
The stallion says nothing as he just continues to dance with me. One hoof over the other; they move so fluidly and precise. My hooves were hardly handling all this movement. My legs feel like jelly, trembling with each step. Then he dips me over and looks into my eyes.
“Someone let slip that I’m… well in lack of a better term… ‘Double Agent.’ No pony can prove it, but they suspect me to be a mole. Purple Jacket got the word and is trying to root me out. My guess is you’d run into me at the warehouse at night. No doubt he’ll have us killed so…” I feel something slide into the pocket of my jacket. Then he pulls me back up into his arms. “Best you sneak in on your own. This here’s a skeleton key. Not literally. It lets us in all the rooms in the warehouse. The structure will have the number eight. Can’t miss it. Big white letters. You can find the place in the North East; big storage area.”
I look down at my coat then back up at the blue stallion. All he did was smile. Normally when guys like these smile, it’s not a good sign. But his is a genuine smile; it’s big, warm, almost concerned like. He didn’t even know me for this long aside from the fact that I’m an ex-cop and a stranger; already he is showing great concern for a former officer in blue. Kind of sweet actually.
“Thanks Sly. Still want that dinner later?” I ask him with a sly smile of my own.
“Only if you come bearing gifts. I hear the warehouse is filled with such goodies. I’ll be paying you later though. Ciao!” and with that he trots off. I’m going to need a lot of friends if I am going to pull this one off. Luckily I have the Don and his group on my side. Well half of his group that is. I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the skeleton key. Well it did have a small pony looking skeleton head at the top. Pretty darn fake, but the key itself is genuine. What a sense of humor this pony has. Time to head to the warehouse.
Now that I think about it… I realize that I’ve paced myself quite swiftly through my investigation. To think I like to take the time to piece this thing together little by little like in the books. I guess I’m too anxious to get this done and get that cash. It wasn’t until I arrive at the warehouse did I realize things were only going to get a lot more difficulty. My instincts were telling me that I’m being watched from the shadows. Sure enough they were right. As I’m analyzing the situation, I look over the gates leading towards the warehouses. I spot the number eight on the right side of the area. From a distance, this was looking to be a cakewalk. Luckily I know better. All I have to do is get rid of the eyes on me. I’d have to blend in the shadows and stick to it as I make my way. Backing out into the streets, I take a detour around the compound until I reach the far right of the area. The wall wasn’t too high, but I doubt I could climb with my hooves. Man do Pegasuses have it easy.
The wall is of brick and stone, solid and smooth that not even claws could cling onto it. The damn thing is granite! Why do I have to struggle like this so? I did the next best thing and climb up the lamppost beside me. Darkness is everywhere, my sole ally for this night. The light in the post was extinguished not too long ago, making it easy for me to ascend to the top. The giddy feeling of being a type of spy pony tickles my back. I couldn’t stop giggling to myself. Of course, this is a real life situation and like all other situations, there are dangers to it. But hey, I’m a detective. I go after dangers all the time. This is just a moment for me to relish in my little foal fantasies. It kind of helps me in this kind of scenario; it makes me light on my hooves. Though relaxation was the key to every action we make, just like the times when I had to use a gun during my time on the force. Unicorns have it easy, they have more focus through their magic than their physical prowess, even in difficult situations. This however, is more my style.
Dashing through the shadows, hiding behind every crate, I make my way towards Warehouse eight. The warehouse itself isn’t too overly protected than the pathway leading to it. But I realize that once their little ambush isn’t going the way they were imagining it would go, they’d corner me faster than you can say Sonic Rainboom. I’m going to have to get in and out fast if I want to find any connection to the missing ponies. I gaze up to see the moon nearing its New Moon phase. If I were a pious pony, and I am sure I’m not, I’d think that I have Luna looking out for my well-being. I love nights like these though; when everything is dark, I just feel so at ease. With the lack of moonlight illuminating the area, I dash for the warehouse, whipping out the key that kind young stallion handed to me.
I didn’t doubt it wouldn’t work, but anything could go wrong at the WORST possible moment. The key sure did have a skeletal look to it. Well the handle of it anyways. Shaped like the skull of a pony, white and tough like one, but it’s definitely fake. Someone sure has good craftsmanship. I thrust the key into the keyhole, gave it a twist and thrust myself in when I found the chance. I shut and lock the door behind me quickly, assuring myself that nopony saw me. I take a breath of air and chuckles. I hold up the key to my face and spoke, “Damn Cider… I’m definitely going to treat you to that dinner. It will be a feast to remember.” And no I do not mean that in the sexual regards. Seriously, who would use feast as a sort of sexual innuendo?
I pocket the key in my coat pocket and take a gander at the inside. Everything looks packed! Crates, containers and compartments were stacked on top of one another. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect bodies to appear in them. Since I’m looking for the other racers anyways, I think my chances start with one of these babies. Nopony were in here, very little lights were left on and nothing but golden silence. Creeps me out just thinking about it. With this much silence however, it be easy for me to hear trouble coming. I look around the area to find whatever I can use as a tool. A crowbar sounds convenient enough; it’s a warehouse after all. I take a quick run around before finding something close to what I was expecting.
“Great!” I exclaim in silence. “This is definitely what I needed. Pry bar don’t fail me now.” I made my way back near the entrance to search for the right crate… well… the right crate with the right label. I might not even find what I am looking for. But if there was any importance here that Cider wanted me to check out, I’m going to act accordingly.
I shove that mother under the lid as hard and deep as I could go. Ooohhh… innuendo! With the bar firmly in place, I push against the pry bar using the force of my body against my arms, driving down and snapping the lid right off. I land on the ground with a heavy thud and groan. I climb up to look inside the box and… well I didn’t like what I saw. I feel compelled to open the next crate just to be sure. I did just that; I went to the next crate, crack open its lid and found the same thing: junk. Junk, junk, junk. I open another crate, junk. I open another, again junk. I could feel my stomach churning in agitation and concern as I open the next crate and the next crate.
“No… no no no what the fuck…” I mutter to myself. “Where’s the swords? The guns? The drugs? The cursed items? What the fuck Purple Jacket!” I could just feel the anger boiling my blood. I clench my teeth firmly in absolute frustration as I kick the crate aside. I just hope this feeling I have wasn’t true. I gotta be sure about this. I look up at the second floor at the end of the room where the offices are. I can get my information there. To calm myself, I slid my hoof up in my coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. I pop a cig in my mouth, then lit it up as I grumble and mutter.
Times like these make me wish I stayed home. I never forget how dangerous my work can get but there are… well complications that can royally fuck up whatever stability my mind has left. Fun, am I right? What makes it worse is there are ponies willing to do whatever they can do to make a cheap bit easy. Gambling? Cheating? Racketeering? Loans? Trafficking? Rigs? The process to these are just as ugly on the inside. I fear I am about to witness it.
Well… I don’t believe I found it though. I trot up the stairs in the far right of the warehouse, make my way over to the office area and check each room for any incriminating paperwork. There were details about interests, bets, debts, revenues, even some bills but that’s about it. Every nook and cranny, that’s what I always believed in the books. Search every nook and cranny in the room until there is something that shouldn’t be there. Oh if I had Shetlock Hooves’ mind I’d definitely would spot one. Yet I continue to underestimate my own talent at getting the shit I need.
I thrash against the table in the last office I checked, bash the cabinets with my forehooves constantly spouting profanities like a drunken sailor until I notice something odd from the cracks at the bottom edge of the table. I guess my pounding knocked something loose. Kneeling down, I peer into the gaps of the crack and find more papers caught inside. Luck be a lady this must be it! That motivation was souring through me! Though the feeling of dread never left, I was actually onto something. That something… sure as hell came in the worst forms. It’s not enough to be incriminating either, but boy oh boy, Shoulder Chip is making a hell lot more off of whatever he is doing than this racing gig. There were products labeled in old numerical values, clients of both the pony and non-pony variety… and an income of over five thousand bits for each one. The total adds up to thirty thousand. Whoa. That’s enough to own half a dozen acres of land. And it isn’t the only paper. I look at the others, and there were unfamiliar numbers here too. A lot more than this report. Varying amounts of bit income though, but this is still a lot for a mob pony to have. I fold the papers up nicely and stuff them into my pocket. I got what I came for at least, I best hightail it and fast before those guys outside realize I didn’t come in the conventional way.
***
I can only imagine what those numbers mean. It may be an overreaction on my part, but it is concerning nonetheless. Six racers… I thought only one of the females died? Could be some cover ups going around.  Don Bluth certainly didn’t believe his granddaughter had died during the race.
Red lights were going off in my head, but I took it easy by downing a nice shot of hard cider. Nothing says ‘relax’ like The Sweeps. I just have to take deep breaths and think. Didn’t think this spot would open early this morning. Hopefully, tonight when I do get to see Sly Cider, I can share what I found out and he can help me. I doubt he’ll know a lot, since this is economic stuff. You can put a price on just about anything these days though, that’s for sure.
Speak of the devil, here he comes. This time he’s wearing something casual than that trendy looking overcoat. Not sure what I liked more; the coat or his outwear. But he’s still pretty damn cute regardless of what he’s dressed in. And he sure didn’t act like the type that would show off.
“Evening my lady. Care for a drink?” he asks as he takes a seat on the other side.
“Whisky or hard cider will do me just fine Sly,” I respond.
“Oh good! I think I might have some with you. I’m a big fan of Cider.”
I smile and lean over the table, cocking my head to the side as I say to him, “is that why your last name is Cider?”
“Hah! You wish. No I got that from my step dad’s side when mom decided to re-marry. The ol’ Stallion sure knows his drinks.”
I pull out the file I recovered from the warehouse and set it on the table in front of him. I spoke up again, “And I sure know my detective skills. Got you the file from Shoulder Chip’s warehouse. It was guarded. You were right about not trusting Purple Jacket; they looked like they were expecting somepony.”
“Knew I could count on you darling. Now let us see what we got.”
I hand over the file to the male. As he takes his time reading through the paperwork I collected, I call for a waitress to get us two hard ciders, cold and on the rocks. Then I look back over at Cider and peer through his face. I swear I see a bit of my dad in him. Of course he didn’t have his coat or his mane, but he did have his eyes and his smile. It wasn’t one of those phony kinds the Mafioso uses though; Cider had a warm and gentle look to it. Too bad he isn’t smiling now than he was before. His brows narrow as he continues reading through the papers.
The waitress returns with our drinks, setting each in front of us. He didn’t even look up to see his drink; he reaches over, grabs the rim by his hoof and starts to chug it down. After he finishes, he sets it back down with a sigh. We order our meals and send her off before he finally speaks.
“I really hate it when I’m right.”
“Cider? Something the matter?”
“Err… if you were to describe what you read, what would it be?”
I didn’t understand what he is asking at first, until it dawns on me. I knew I wasn’t overreacting when I read that paperwork.
“Export and income,” I reply.
“Exactly. And what do you think Shoulder Chip is exporting?”
Oh sweet Celestia how two minds think alike. And I never wanted to think about THAT.
“Mares.”
“Mares, and a gryphon at that too. Turns out our little troublemaker of a mob is a part of illegal pony trafficking. And if I may be so bold, I think it to be the sexual kind.”
A lump finds its way into my throat, lodging itself in there as I hear the word ‘pony trafficking.’ Well at least there’s signs of trafficking involved. To think it is THIS kind of trafficking. Cider hands me the paper and I re-examine it again, but in finer detail.
“That’s not even the worse part; the deals he makes are with some cult way in the countryside of Haygas. Brainwashed stallions and colts following some sort of sexual cult headed by a bunch of patriarchal Caribous.”
“Oh wait I think I heard about this before. Back when I was still in the PD, I heard from my cop buddies about a hidden sect in Haygas that enslaved and raped a bunch of poor fillies and young mares. When they bailed the girls out, they were all found chained to the beds of their ‘respective mates’ seven months into pregnancy.”
“Uh huh. Same group. Caribou twisted these guys’ minds something fierce. With all the misandry that’s been going about out here in Western Equestria, the Caribou tribes gave those who had their lives ruined by false claims of gender bias, misogyny, rape into actual misogynistic rapists following a patriarchal sex cult dedicated to female subjugation. Played upon their hate and their despair. Why? I guess the Caribou wanted to stir shit and cause chaos. Though I’ve never expected the group to become bigger than what I was lead to believe.”
“Believe me Cider, it’s not surprising. A lot of folks got their lives ruined by false claims. While I can’t say I forgive those who did what they did, I can’t forgive those Caribou either. And it’s also why I hate today’s generation of females. But I think this is going too far.”
“Right. Now before we talk anymore stupid boring political yakcrap, let’s get down to what we are going to do?”
Our dinner arrives as we were speaking. We take a few minutes to get settled with our meals before we continue as we eat.
“Obviously tell Don Bluth right?”
“Right and Shoulder Chip can just take the time he needs to clean up when Bluth gets the delegations rolling with him. We are going to need a bit more than this file if we are going to get them to act immediately.”
“Cider!” I shake the file in my hoof. “This is a trafficking list of living sentient beings! You are telling me this isn’t enough?”
“You know how easy a bullshitter can craft a bullshit explanation for everything? S.C.’s got con men beat by a hundred years. Not that he’s actually a hundred years old. You gotta get at least a victim of the ordeal, testimony and physical evidence.”
“Wait… I’m sorry but what fucking age are we living in? You guys are the MAFIOSO! Why do this democratic legality nonsense!?”
“Cause the last time a mob family acted out of hearsay, and this was before your time and mines, it ended with Shetcago being a warzone. It  was bad enough to get the royal sun princess of CANTERLOT to intervene. So yeah, acting is EXACTLY what we need to avoid.”
“Well… at least can we get this sent to Don Bluth?”
Cider thinks for a moment, tapping his chin with his hoof before responding, “Yeah we can. Though we’ll have to get him to keep quiet until we are ready to present. I just hope nopony notices their file missing.”
In that case, I feel it is better if Cider kept the file. I push it in front of him and then lift my glass to down my cider. As soon as I finish it, I lay it on the table, stood up and tossed several bits on the table for the waitress to pick up.
“Then take this with you. Chances are, I may be a target so we have to make sure anything that would implicate me and my involvement stays incognito. But I think you need to lay low too for a bit.”
“If you think that’s best. Darling, please be careful.”
“I will.”
And after that, I leave the bar and make my way back home. I think about what to do for the remainder of the night but somepony has other plans in store. The last thing I remember, or rather, remembered in this case was having a bag thrown over my head half way across the block to my home, screaming before I felt a hard blunt metal object struck the side of my head.
And… I passed out. Pretty anti-climactic cliffhanger there isn’t it? Well considering that I am still telling this story, I think you guys are safe to assume I’ll make it out alive.