Diner Shop
Smoke rose from the near by ash tray, filling the already smoggy air with a fragrance of burnt tobacco that mixed nauseously with the stench of burnt oil, bread, and coffee from the diners early morning kitchen.
I looked down at the small coffee cup in front of me on the table, the remains of the dark liquid stuck in the round corner at the bottom, un-reachable without making a fool of myself in front of the one other patron who also seemed to have no early morning life.
This had been my third coffee for the night, not that I needed the coffee to stay awake; the doctor called it insomnia, said I needed a break from my work, something I could not permit myself. I had been on the move all night, somepony had leaked information on a suspected Zebra safe house in the area, but with most of these cases I had been cornered in a series of blocks and dead ends.
After a few moments I realised I was still staring at the coffee cup so I panned my head left to look out of the large glass window; around its edges frost hung, soon to be melted by the sun upon its arrival. Outside the Manehatten street was empty, no pony in their right mind would get up at this time unless they were heading out to set up for their daily business.
The clinking of ceramic took my attention from the street to the other pony in the diner; he was sitting at a table against the wall near the entrance. In the middle of his table here was a small stand with the number two on it.
A folded news paper appeared in front of my face, shaking my nerves up a little and causing me to gasp with surprise. “Inspector, would you like some more coffee to drink while you read?”
I slowly turned my head to look at the spotty waitresses’ dress that had appeared next to the table; there was a stain of coffee on it near the bottom, from an earlier accident or maybe they had forgotten to wash it. Following the dress upwards I looked over the face of the pretty young waitress that had brought me my first coffee.
“Yes... please.” I replied, with as much kindness I could muster after a few days with no sleep.
As she poured my coffee I drifted my eyes to the large black and white picture on the front of the paper. As the paper was folded I could only see half of it, but I had seen it on every newspaper for the past three days and could easily make out the eight pony chain team that had shocked the Equestrian public with their Shattered Hoof Re-education Facility break out.
“It’s dreadful, Sir, those poor ponies.” The waitress had obviously followed my gaze, “I mean they are war criminals, but no pony should be treated the way they are treated in that awful place.”
“Y-yes, dreadful,” I replied. I did not agree with the pretty young thing, but I didn’t really want to start a conversation with her either, “Quite dreadful.”
I ignored my steaming coffee and continued to stare at the paper, waiting for the pretty young thing to walk away before I made a move to read it. Thankfully the pony at table two wanted his morning refill, and she left with a smile.
When she was clearly out of my area I quickly floated up the paper and unfolded it, the picture opened up to the familiar picture I had seen so many times before. Eight ponies caught on a grainy piece of film, all chained together and running through a hole in the SHRF wall, but it was old news and some other detectives case so I quickly flicked through the pages trying to find the section on recent war casualties.
“I am so sorry Sir. Let me get that for you.” I heard the waitress say as I found a page I wanted. I lowered the paper a little to look at what she was sorry for. After putting down the man’s paper she had spilt some hot coffee on his leg and was now desperately trying to dry it off with a towel. “I am so sorry, please forgive me.”
“That’s quite alright.” The pony assured, but the visible anger in his face could not be hidden so easily. As the waitress tried desperately to dry the pony’s pants with a towel I noticed him nudge the brief case next to him further away from her. “Please, stop, it’s fine my dear.”
I returned to my newspaper and quickly scanned through the deaths section, looking for friends and family, but thankfully no names stuck out. As I closed the paper and looked back to the pony at table two something about him made me uneasy. His attire was suitable for downtown Manehatten; a blue jacket over a white shirt with a smart tie and hat to match, although maybe a little over the top for a five in the morning coffee stop, but what grabbed my attention was his posture. He sat tall and proud, almost military like; on his flank I noticed the very common, farm like cutie mark of a pair of hoes crossed over behind a bright orange carrot.
As the waitress came past again I floated out a cigarette and placed it in my mouth while pretending to skim over the article on the front page; I didn’t intend on lighting the cigarette, I was trying to cut down.
“Inspector?”
My heart almost stopped as again the spotty dress appeared at my table-side, more coffee had stained it now from the incident with the pony at table two.
“Is there something wrong with your coffee?”
I looked quickly to my cup; the dark liquid inside had stopped steaming. I magically grasped it and brought it closer to my muzzle; it had cooled quickly in the short time since it was poured. As I stared at the swirling dark liquid my thoughts drifted back to the pony at table two. Something else was wrong.
I quickly remembered the waitresses’ question as the diner’s door chimes brought me out of my thoughts. “N-no, nothing’s wrong with my…” As I looked up I noticed a vacant seat at table two, looking out the window I glimpsed the pony crossing the street outside, disappearing quickly into the darkness.
“Oh that silly Stallion, he forgot his briefcase.” The waitress said, trotting back over to table two, the empty coffee pot floating at her side.
As the waitress walked off I looked over table two, the recently delivered newspaper looked untouched and was lying across the table, front page up and un-folded; the coffee still sat there steaming away and tucked neatly against the wall was the brief case. As the waitress reached the table my mind clicked into place. I dropped my coffee and simultaneously picked up the paper, one of the ponies on the front cover, his flank clear as day although a bit grainy was identical to the pony’s who used to occupy table two this very morning.
For the second time that day I slowly lowered the paper and looked over to table two, the waitress was leaning forward to pick up the briefcase, the cigarette fell from my mouth, and as time slowed down to a halt the last thing I saw what that spotty waitresses’ dress.
