Ponyville Noir

It was a few minutes after nine, a bleak Tuesday night in early spring. The rain beat against the far too thin window of my small office. The room was darker than the wet night outside. Cigarette smoke curled up from my latest butt in the far-too-full ashtray on my desk. No work for weeks and the tray's only companion was two empty bottles of some foul, cheap whisky.

I glanced at my horribly out-of-date telephone, half expectant of it to ring any moment, bringing some news. Ill or exhilarating did not even matter any more. I just wanted some kind of acknowledgement that my quiet island of misery wasn't forgotten by the world. I eyed my cigarette packet hungrily. I smoked too much when I drank.

I drank all the time. Holding one hoof out in front of my face, I tried to hold it steady and managed, if only for a moment. A small triumph, nothing to cheer for but in that moment, it was like a ray of sunshine. I scoffed at myself and pulled another cigarette for the tiny victory.

I managed to spark a match and was just about to light the cancer-stick when something stopped me. The clicking of hooves, right outside my door. No one ever comes into my hallway without looking for me. I knew something was going to happen. I just didn't know what.

I wasn't at all prepared for what came sauntering through my door. The frosted glass gave a bit of an idea before the knob on the door turned. As soon as it swung open, I nearly fell out of my chair.

Fashionable clothing, not wet from the rain. A deep purple mane in seductive curls. A perfect, ivory coat. Tasteful make-up and a walk that could charm the gods. Everything about her screamed class, good taste and bad decisions. Sprinkle some desperation on top of that and you had every mare that ever turned my head.

I steeled myself the best I could. Her every step was one closer to hell for me. This sort of trouble is what a man lives for and very often dies for. The population on my island of misery were all ready to hop on this lifeboat and double-time it out of there. Needless to say, even in my drunk mind, the small ray of sunshine from earlier just got a whole lot brighter.

She trotted up to my desk in silence and took a fairly risqué pose in one of my dilapidated office-chairs. Her blue eyes searching, perhaps evaluating both me and my meagre office. Finally, she focused on me. She tilted her head to the side and gave a sultry little smile, pronouncing a gold-trimmed cigarette on the end of a long, sleek mouthpiece.

Gentleman as I am, I quickly flicked alight two matches and extended my hoof to light her fancy tobacco. This started the conversation, poking little holes into the air of mystery.

“Detective O'Harrigan, I presume, seeing as you are in head-seat of this... Office.”

I nodded once and brought my hooves together soundlessly.

“Private eye, the one and only, how can I help you, doll?”

She raised a brow, then took a deep breath of her smoke, viewing me critically once more. Whatever she was seeing must have been enough for her, because she soon continued.

“Well, you see, I have this problem...”

If I had five bits every time I heard that, I'd be a rich man. I did my utmost not to interrupt her, I really wanted to know what brought a classy dame such as her to a hole like mine. Trying to read her was nearly impossible. On the other hoof, I was already certain she'd read me like an open book. Or perhaps done her homework. A dangerous trait in a good-looking woman.

“... I run... A certain caregiving business. Nothing too unsavoury, mind you. I am a lady after all.”

I grinned lazily at her words, she could dress it up all she wanted. The lady part was shining, honest truth though. At least I hoped to all things good it was. I casually leaned down to open one of my desk-drawers as she continued. Her words were soon accompanied by the satisfying sound of a cork leaving another bottle of whisky.

“Lately, my employees have run into more trouble than usual. I do not know if it is someone specifically targeting my business or if it is some kind of crime gang... Naturally, I would have a hard time explaining this conundrum to the authorities as my business is... What should I say... Confidential.”

I poured whisky while listening intently. When she was done explaining I offered her the cleanest glass. She took it but did not even look at nor smell it. Perhaps for the best, it was stuff to rot your guts.

“So you want me to do some surveillance... On your girls? On your regulars...? Perhaps play the muscle and dish out some well-deserved hoof sandwiches?”

Blunt, sure but I had to get a feel of the alabaster angel's intentions and perhaps what lay behind that beautiful, sculpted face. It was my time to read her. Her reaction spoke more than her words.

“Oh, heavens, no. All I would require is a strong male presence on a few... Business meetings. Your ability to observe and detect would be priceless in those situations, darling.”

I wasn't a random pick for her, that much was certain. Had she been told to go to me from some satisfied customer? Probably not. My clients didn't really go about discussing me too much, as far as I knew. Then how did she find me? I downed my whisky in a single mouthful and reached for the bottle, playing for time. She had come this late, was it for the cover of dark and rain or was it because this was her time of need?

I poured myself another and offered more to her, already knowing she would decline. It gave me a few more moments to think this all through. I couldn't even fool myself that it sounded like an opportunity and that I had time and time again accepted far worse work. There was just something with the perfect face before me that made warning bells go off in the far reaches of my mind.

“Alright, I'll play. What exactly does it entail to be the male presence around girls who should know how to play nice... And on top of that, what's the pay?”

She smiled, a full-on, satisfactory smirk that seemed a little out of place on her collected visage. She stubbed out her now ashen cigarette and shifted in her seat. Another little moment of predator-like observance and then she spoke, softly.

“Two hundred bits up front, seventy-five for each day and extra for overtime... When requested. I will be needing your undivided attention, Mr. O'Harrigan.”

A round-the-clock job. I couldn't even remember when I had one of those. It lit a fire in my whisky-laden belly. She had caught me. Appearance, style, a heavy wallet. She was danger all right. Danger more intoxicating than any cheap booze could provide.

“Pay is fair, what do I need to know and when do I start? Hell, what do I even call you, doll?”

She put on another kind of smile, this one even more satisfied and quickly gone. The same look she bore when she walked in crept back onto her delicate features.

“Well aren't you quite the eager one. I suppose it was terribly rude of me not to introduce myself when I walked in, especially as I already knew your name... Please, call me Rarity”

I raised my empty glass. Manners were never really too high on my agenda but if she wished to lavish me with some, I wasn't going to be picky about it.

“Rarity...”

I tasted the word, the name. It sounded like a lie but was too accurate not to be true. She nodded once, leaned over the desk and finally put her untouched whisky down.

“I'll be needing you... let's say two o' clock tomorrow.”

She opened her purse and pulled out a rather fancy card. She slid it across the desk with a graceful motion. I accepted it instantly and looked it over.

“That address is my office, we shall meet there every time I have tasks you. I am a busy lady, so don't be late, Mr. O'Harrigan.”

I slipped the card into my pocket and reached for the whisky to fill my glass once again. She slowly begun to rise and as I had a nice glassful, she was already on her way.

“Oh, right.”

She turned around and dug around in her purse again, soon pulling out a fancy-stitched sack of bits. One graceful step later, she placed it on my desk and smirked before turning to leave.

“That's the up-front payment. Again, don't be late.”

I watched her leave with more spinning in my head than just the whisky. She was a gift from above and she was the straight, well-kept road to hell. I spun around in my chair and looked out the crooked blinders hanging half-and-half over my only window. The rain had begun to let up. It seemed it had simply moved into my mind.

I was instantly head-over-heels involved with something I knew nothing about. Running to the aid of someone I had never heard of but also someone I could not place in any kind of mess I'd usually sort out. I felt alive again. Now I just had to prepare and do what I did best. Snoop around in someone's business. That someone being Rarity.

Can't do a job like this without knowing a bit more than a lot about all the players of the game. I sat in deep contemplation for quite some time. It was way too late to ring up some of my usual contacts. I did my best listing and evaluating the local gangs, ruffians and assorted scum that would bother a high-class provider of tail in these parts. There was always a veritable bouquet of ruffians that would hassle just about anyone for a quick profit. This did not sound like a game for them. Even with the extremely limited information I was given, my theories started to blossom, scribbled lazily on paper in my dark office.

I lit my last smoke and sat still and silent, just watching the smoke rise to the ceiling. Plenty on my mind, no answers and no plan. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.

-

I trotted swiftly down the street, happy enough with the chill wind of the dew-heavy morning. The rain had let up for once but I had to pull the collar of my coat close anyway. The short sleep in my office chair and sour coffee earlier in the morning had done little for my seemingly ever-present hangover.

Pure force of will piloted me forward towards the meeting with my most trustworthy informant. A high roller with emphasis on high and a real two-bit nutjob. I was one of the few ponies around that she actually trusted. That is why I liked her, her paranoia made her honest and perhaps even loyal.

Getting out of the wind was reason enough to stop and collect myself. Shaking a bit and taking a deep breath, I put on my game face. The run-down stairway up into the would-be abandoned apartment house was not as silent as it should be. Thumping, a shout. I hurried up the steps and into the hallway above.

Stopping to listen, I scanned the hallway with great care, nothing else was out of the ordinary. There was more of a tussle from up ahead and I disregarded stealth for speed . Rushing down the hallway, I located the sounds behind a slightly ajar door.

Bursting into the room, I had only the blink of an eye to react to what was happening within. A pink pile on the floor, long drag-marks of blood. A masked assailant standing over her. Pinkie! I shot forward to slam my hoof into the side of the masked pony.

“Messed with the wrong pony, punk!”

I roared as I let another hoof fly, knocking the masked one into a wild stagger. He turned to me with a grunt. Holy hells, he must have been nearly twice my size. It was too late to mend my bad choice of tactics. While his size was great, his speed wasn't.

More or less flailing thoughtlessly, he cam at me with the lumbering speed of a broken, runaway train. I dodged the best I could, dancing around his slugging hooves. Just too bad I hadn't had any dancing lessons. Ever.

A hard hit against the side of my head, knocking my hat off and having stars dance before my eyes. I spun and flung a desperate kick, hitting my mark with a big, fat load of pure luck. This slammed the ruffian on his butt and I attacked again with fury unbridled.

I slammed my hooves into his masked face with less grace than a drunk's pummelling of a lamp-post. It did the job though, he was soon out cold and bleeding worse than Pinkie on the floor.

I got up, lungs burning and surely, a vein pumping wildly on my forehead. I swept my hat up on the way over to Pinkie. Quickly kneeling down to hold her head, I rummaged around in my coat for anything to use to clean off some blood. A not-so-clean handkerchief helped with getting blood out of her eyes.

She coughed, spat some blood and blinked multiple times, trying to focus on this sudden soft touch.

“Bruce...? Bruce!”

She did her best to bounce up but regretted it soon after. With a pathetic groan, she yet again went limp in my arms.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, literally.”

She croaked out the words, more blood dribbling from her mouth. I gave her a pained grin and then sucked my lower lip for a brief moment, thinking of what to do with this. I had to get her out of here but I had nothing to tie her assailant up with. My eyes darted around the room for just a moment, then landed on the dirty bed in the corner.

“Hang on, Pinkie, I'm just gonna hog-tie that chunky bastard.”

I laid Pinkie down as careful as I could and then quickly made my way over to the bed. Not much to work with but after a while of ripping up sheets and tying them into knots, I had a decent set of disgusting ropes and cloth cuffs. When the need struck, I was quite the craftsman.

The easy part was tying up the bloodied hoodlum. I had done it before. I don't like to brag but no one had ever gotten out of my restraints, no matter how strong they were. When finally satisfied with my work, I topped the cake with unmasking the big thug.

He was a nobody, I had seen a thousand faces like his. Rough, scarred. Ugly as sin. Something did catch my eye though, a strange tattoo on his cheek, under his left eye. The number “42”. I had no idea what this meant but I did memorize it.

Forty-two more thugs like him? Some new gang trying to encroach on the old territories? Perhaps just some dumb, thug poetry? It mattered not at the moment. Perhaps Pinkie had some insight once I'd gotten her to safety, some bandages and a great deal of hooch.

I hated to admit it, but I was thankful for Pinkie's scrawny frame. Carrying her on my back was easier than any other pony. I made another mental note to get some burgers with the whisky. Couldn't have my only reliable source of information die from starvation.

The chill in the wind was less welcome now that I carried a bleeding pony on my back. The office wasn't too far off though and it wasn't like I hadn't done this kind of thing before. I was just bothered it'd be Pinkie to receive the wrong end of the beating-stick this time.

Bursting into my office, more out of breath than I'd like to be, I quickly arranged my squeaky pull-down bed into the softest state I could. Blood on my sheets wasn't even on my mind as I placed Pinkie on the surface that couldn't have been much softer than the junkie's mattress she was used to.

She coughed but did not speak. I went about examining her as she observed me through swollen eyelids. She even bore a crooked smile as I begun unbuttoning her shirt.

“After all this time, Bruce... I should have known you fancied me like that.”

She whispered the terrible joke, I just had to smile for her.

“A bath in whisky, a few bandages and a shirt that doesn't smell like the wrong end of a skunk might actually begin to make you look like a proper bachelorette, Ms. Pie.”

She gave me a trademark smile, then winced as I poked and prodded here and there on her mangled body. She'd live, that much I was sure of. I just knew I'd have to keep her in my office for some time. Usually, I wouldn't have minded but Rarity popped into my head. I had to suppress the memory of her clean, well-kept visage not to show Pinkie any of my dumbfounded dream-face. She would definitely have gotten the wrong idea.

I was never very good at caring for someone but I had patched myself up more times than I could count. Tearing around the office for a bit, I managed some clean water in a bowl, a few fresh bandages and quickly gave her the remaining whisky. I had never seen anyone chug such a foul liquid at such a pace. She stumped even me.

Perhaps having the junkie pony around for a while would put things into perspective. Either that, or I'd kill my liver even worse. It was a gamble I was willing to take.

After the drink, Pinkie seemed to relax greatly, even with her obvious agony.

“Thanks Brucie, you're a real pally-wally...”

I sighed deeply and bandaged in silence. I had to patch one of her eyes and could do little about her busted lip. When I was finished, large portions of her torso were wrapped in clean, white bandages. Only a few spots of crimson seeping through.

I absent-mindedly dragged my hoof over her clearly showing ribs with a grim look on my face. Perhaps a burger wouldn't live up to the task.

“Hey, Pinkie, don't snort anything when I'm gone, a'right? I wanna feed your scrawny plot some real food.”

Pinkie looked to me with her one eye, squirmed a little on the bed and giggled roughly.

“Want slice of this pie, hm?”

I grunted and got up.

“Perhaps after you've grown back into your skin, sugar.”

She wheezed out something resembling laughter and rolled over to her side. She never took her eye off me, just drifted off there on the spot. I waited for a moment, then carefully laid a blanket over her. The sweet wretch didn't deserve that beating, no matter who she ripped off.

Fuming at different problems, I decided that the lack of cigarettes was my main concern. Besides that, I hadn't picked up the new day's paper anyway. The nearest street-kiosk wasn't far anyway. The liquor store after that. I felt like I was going to burn through my new-found bits quite fast. For once, it actually felt kind of good.

Picking up three packs of smokes with my paper made Joe the paper guy look at me like I had just had a huge inheritance or something. I gave him a few extra bits for previous debts and told him to keep an eye out for a few things. He had no idea about the number “42” but its always good to have extra eyes on the street.

I had to haggle a bit with the booze guy, he didn't even believe me I could pay for a few bottles of the good stuff until I convinced him by showing him the cold, hard cash. He must have thought I murdered someone for it. Our relationship needs revising. I checked my trusty pocket watch, a good few hours to go before I had to babysit prime-time tail. One more step more till I could take care of an emaciated old friend first.

I didn't go to the fancy place I wanted, not enough trust in Pinkie to eat that kind of stuff as her first meal for what was probably days. I picked up some to-go things from the diner on the corner. This was the first clerk that didn't eye me like I was paying with stolen money.

The walk home was accented by the deliciously rough flavour of brand-name cigarettes. I was feeling surprisingly well. Beating on some nameless thug for breakfast works wonders for a man. The feeling lasted all the way back to the office, even for the first steps inside.

My heart froze, I narrowed my eyes to take a quick glance around the place. Not many signs of struggle, just an overturned waste-basket. No sign of Pinkie, only slight trails of blood on the messy bed.

Then I heard it. A soft noise coming from the adjacent room. I puffed out the last smoke from my lungs and shook my head. Singing. I was getting worked up over nothing. I made another mental note to go back to Pinkie's place and check if the thug was still there. Later, whisky and food first.

I wanted to check the small room but stopped myself, finding Pinkie in my shower wasn't something I'd like to deal with right now. I put the stuff on my desk and went to pick up the turned-over trash bin. Of course, just Pinkie's old shirt. Quickly filling the container with trash from the desk. The bin actually smelled better when littered with old whisky bottles and cigarette butts.

By the time Ms. Pie was done in the bathroom, I had set up lunch. I carefully hid the best bottles of whisky but I wasn't going to feed her rotgut drink with the chow. I sat down in my chair, eyeing my dirty glass and taking in the moment. Peace, at least until Pinkie comes out. Peace before the whisky. Peace before today's little mission.

Right now, life wasn't too bad.

I took the first sip of my drink, the dark amber liquid actually tasting like smoke and wood rather than nail-polish remover. Pinkie walked out of the bathroom, oblivious to the fact that I was already home. She stopped in the middle of the room and stared at me, still one-eyed. She had managed to get out of the some of the bandages. One towel wrapped around her head, containing her unruly mane, another around her unnaturally thin body.

I gave her the once-over and motioned for her to sit.

“Come get some chow. More whisky, too. You look like you need it.”

She put on a smile, kind of sweet, actually. Don't think I ever saw her clean before. Sure, it really accented her bruises and dark rings under her eyes. I topped up a glass for her and handed it over. She slouched in the chair across from me. Not the lovely visage that sat there just a few hours ago but what doesn't one do for a friend?

Pinkie drank the whisky like water, colour and a smile soon returned to her face. She didn't put the glass down until it was empty. I watched her close as she reached for some of the food. Truly, I was more concerned she would eat than me getting any at all. I felt like I'd gone soft over night.

Perhaps I had. Watching Pinkie eat was a certain kind of satisfaction. I decided to let her pick at the food for a while before I started asking a whole lot of questions. At least she did eat, I don't think I'd ever seen her eat before. Today was a long strings of firsts.

“So, can you spin a tale why you're beat, wet and naked in my office?”

I glanced at her from over the edge of my glass. She stopped in the middle of taking a bite and looked down. She was thinking, that didn't bode well. Meant I'd get some kind of half-truth. Right now, I didn't feel like fishing around Pinkie's scrambled brain so it'd have to do.

“The forty-twos are running rampant in downtown, they're taking over all the trades... Drug runnin', extortion, info...”

She finished whatever she was eating and, to my surprise, got more. I promptly topped up her glass again. Drinking with a junkie. The laughable part of it all is that it felt kinda good, not drinking alone. She smiled at me and grasped the glass, drinking slower this time. It was my time to pick at the food. I'm glad I got some eggs. Breakfast of champions, works well with whisky.

“That guy you hog-tied...”

Pinkie spoke without even moving the glass away from her face. I raised a brow and took another bite. My silence was answer enough. Pinkie continued.

“He's the main muscle of the drug runners, he'll remember your face... Should'a killed him.”

I huffed, then let out a short laugh.

“He'll have to get in line, sugar. At least we're in the same boat with all that crap...”

I raised my glass, extended it and Pinkie just stared at it for a while. Then a light went up for her. She clinked her own against mine and we drank. We drank and we drank. Success tasted kind of like the same as defeat. I must have said, thought and drunk whisky fifty times already and it wasn't even noon.

“You know, the fun part in all this is that I didn't come to your place just out of loneliness. I need other info, Pinkie... I need all and any words you have on a tail-merchant called Rarity.”

Pinkie almost spat out her latest mouthful of whisky. Then, to my surprise, laughed until I could see the pain on her face.

“You're... You seriously... Oh, golly, I'm eating and drinking stuff bought with that hussy's bits, eh? Oh, Brucie... I think I love you.”

I was caught completely off guard. At the same time, this was good, this meant little Ms. Pie knew something I just might be able to use.

“Oh, oh... And because I love you, I'm going to tell it straight and give some advice while I'm at it. First up, don't fall for the whole “lady” act... Then again, if you already shook hooves with her, you probably already did.”

She was insulting me, I think. The excitement in her voice was more than I'd heard from anyone in some time though. It added a foggy haze to the mystery. I just shook my head slowly and waited for Pinkie to continue.

“Oh, yeah... So...”

She waved her empty glass, the fire in her eyes obvious. I shrugged and topped her up again. She giggled before drinking, looking down and shaking her head like this was all the greatest joke ever.

“... She runs a cash-for-ass service, that's true. The sweet little lady-act though, It's all a facade. She's the queen of murdering psychos, she's just really, really good at hiding it.”

I lazily picked at my meal, not really eating. More intrigued by the supposed facts I was being told. I should have known I'd jumped in bed with the devil's daughter. Part of me wanted to rip this all open, part of me was kind of proud of myself. Something slowly went up for me, why would she need me if she was a murdering psychopath?

“Pinkie, why would she hire me if she's a hardcase herself?”

Pinkie finally set her glass down, then shrugged. She was looking a bit sauced up now, the strong alcohol punching straight through her thin little body. A cheap way to get drunk, never eating.

“She's probably got some diabolical scheme that ends up with you dead in a ditch... Either that or she wants your big, strong body around when the forty-two's come crashing into her business.”

I laughed, heartily too. I was a desirable walking corpse. I reached for a cigarette and pulled one for Pinkie as well. She gladly accepted and did not seem to be able to stop grinning when I lit hers first. She sure wasn't used to any manner of... well, manners.

“Well, I ain't planning on galloping off into the sunset just yet. You lay low and think up whatever you can remember to help me out in this little ordeal we're in, I gotta go smile pretty for lady Rarity.”

Pinkie sat back, cigarette hanging from her lip. She made a little dismissive waving motion with her hand. I rose from my seat slowly and stretched a bit.

“My old revolver's in the top drawer, there's a shotgun on the hat-rack. Hm... There's a baseball-bat behind the door and brass hooves in the linen closet. Don't let anyone in... Just, try not to shoot me or the landlady.”

I donned my hat and stuffed a packet of smokes into the pocket of my coat.

“Eat the food, drink the drink... Don't snoop around too much and by all things holy, put some clothes on, sugar.”

Pinkie gave me a devilish look. I knew this place would be upside-down when I got back. I just didn't care.

• To be continued.