60 minutes to go.
Evan rose at 6:00 a.m. as he did every morning, turning over his hourglass as he got out of bed. Quickly donning his tracksuit and running shoes, he ran out the door to begin his morning run and PT session. Today was . . . what, Wednesday? No, Thursday. He'd worked in the copper mines the previous two days. Today and tomorrow, he'd head up to the lumber camp once his 'in-town' duties were finished. Three times he stopped to drink from the stream that ran beside the trail, two times too many.
Last time I ever get into a drinking game with Lightning Dust, he thought bitterly. 30 minutes to go.
As short on time as he was, Evan couldn't help but stop and admire his little cottage. At 10 by 16 feet with a stove, bed, table, desk and three chairs, it wasn't the greatest thing he'd ever built with his own two hands. But it was probably his favorite.
15 minutes to go.
Cooking up a dish of Tex-Mex migas, Evan ate quickly, washed it down with a mug of apple juice, and heated water so he could wash and shave.
5 minutes to go.
Evan scraped the last bit of stubble from his chin. Satisfied that he looked at least halfway respectable, he dressed in his usual clothes; blue jeans, white t-shirt, work boots, Boss of the Plains hat, and leather A-2 flight jacket.
And . . . time's up.
Evan watched as the last grain of sand fell into the bottom of the hourglass. He prided himself on finishing his entire morning routine in an hour, and that he'd been able to do so even when hung-over was a testament to his self-discipline.
Okay, enough with sucking your own dick, he thought to himself. It's time to go to work.
Pinning his silver sheriff's star to his shirt, Evan locked the cabin door behind him as he walked toward the town.
"Twilight, are you almost finished with that thing? Your lunch is getting cold!"
"In a minute, Spike," she replied. "This budget and personnel report from Marshal Range Rider contains some worrying irregularities that I'm trying to make sense of."
"Marshal who?"
Twilight rolled her eyes. "You know, the Equestria Marshal Service's representative in the northwest? We met him at that function in Canterlot."
Spike shrugged. That really didn't narrow it down much.
"The one who beat the stuffing out of Blueblood with his 'chair-leg of truth?'"
Spike burst out laughing as the memory came back to him. Blueblood, who had been the worse for drink, expressed several opinions on the marshal's ancestry, hygiene, and education in an extremely colorful manner. Rider had responded by tearing the leg off of a wooden chair and striking Blueblood with it repeatedly, claiming that said leg was "wise and terrible."
"Three years ago, the council of select-ponies for the town of Rebirth appointed a new sheriff in lieu of holding an election, citing an insufficient number of suitable candidates. Range Rider approved the appointment and has been headquartered in Rebirth ever since."
"So? Twilight, Rebirth is a mining and lumber town with a highly transient population, it makes sense that they'd snap up and keep any-pony who was actually qualified."
"Yes, but the sheriff is NEVER mentioned by name. All of the alder-pony's correspondence with the marshal refers to him or her as simply 'the sheriff.' Furthermore, look at these statements from the First Bank of Rebirth."
Spike skimmed through the various deeds and statements, and had to admit that what he read was a little suspicious. The bank had given a number of loans that were ostensibly for public works and the building of new homes, with more than half of said projects being completed ahead of schedule and under budget. Furthermore, the deposits into the sheriff's bank account were often in excess of his monthly salary, and very little was being taken out on a monthly basis.
"It looks like the bank gave out of the loans at interest of only two percent," said Spike. "And they seem to be accepting awfully small monthly payments."
"Exactly," said Twilight.
"So, what?" asked Spike. "You think the the marshal and the alder-pony are building new homes on the cheap, keeping the rest of the money in a slush fund, and the bank president is in on it?"
"That's my current hypothesis," said Twilight.
