Horsigan Noir

"Irrationality is common in fear, and drives most to do unreasonable things. Those things may create trouble, big or small, for others, and could simply be called an inconvenience. For example you're scared right now. Aren't you detective?"

15 years earlier...

"C'mon Olly," Windsor giggled as she dashed through the woods.

Windsor was fast for a filly, and neither of us could fly. Our parents couldn't afford to send us to flight camp let alone keep the farms they owned, for we were in the midst of a great depression. It didn't stop Windsor and I from playing hide and seek with Banana Cream, our friend.

"Hold on I think I forgot my lung," I pant. I got back up and chased after Windsor, but stopped when I heard a scream.

I caught up and saw Windsor, whose white coat and mane were spattered with mud. I laughed as she sat in the muck, and she gave me a look that could melt souls, and I stopped laughing, and walked over to help her out of the muck.

"Are you ok," I asked.

"Yeah, but I scraped my knee," she said, sheepishly raising her foreleg.

It was a normal skinned knee, but I reached into my saddle bags, and took out a roll of bandages. I dusted off the muck gently, and wrapped the wound before letting it go.

"Can you kiss it," she asked sheepishly.

"It feels better when you kiss it," she said, looking down, but holding out her foreleg.

I nodded, and kissed it gently when-, "Aw, that's cute," the cream yellow unicorn filly squeeled from her perch on an oak tree.

I could only blush and stutter nonsense as she laughed.

"Found you," Windsor shouted.

"Aw, dang it," Cream yelled before Windsor giggled.

I chuckled as we walked over.

"Can you get down," we shouted.

"I don't know," she shouted back before climbing down to the first branch, and saying, "Nevermind."

We giggled on the way back home, and something stunk as we reached the farm house.

"That reeks," Cream complained.

Windsor nodded in agreement, and so did I. We opened the door to the sound of flies, and the smell was worse. On the floor were hoof prints that looked like wine, but I knew it was, "Blood," I said softly.

I was panicking, but I calmly said, "Windsor, here's one bit. Call the sheriff at the pay phone by the farm gate.

She nodded, and right when she left, Cream and I puked. We stepped further into the house, and when we reached the living room, there was blood soaking the wall and carpet, but at the center of it was my mom, eyes wide open, guts blown with buck shot. I started to cry, and Cream screamed.

"She deserved it son," my dad said from behind us.

We both turned to see him on his hind legs with a pump action shotgun pointed at me.

"So do you," he said, but as he pulled the trigger, Cream dove in the way, and was dead before she hit the floor.

"Damn," he said as he racked another shell into the chamber, "I missed."

I kicked the barrel up, and it fired a round, blowing his head into chunks, and deafening me as I screamed. I picked up Cream, and shook her.

"Cream, please wake up," I pleaded as my tears fell.

"Wake up," I sobbed.

"Please. Don't leave Windsor and I. Wake up," I cried

"No," I screamed.

I was there, hugging her body as I cried for Celestia knows how long, until the sheriff came in and said slowly, "Son, she's. Gone."

"No, she can't be. She's just sleeping. She's gotta be," I said, still crying.

They took me by the forelegs, kicking and screaming, before putting me outside, covered in blood. Windsor cried and hugged me as I too cried, as we sat on the back steps.

I was sent to the Port City orphanage, and I was never adopted, and stopped seeing windsor after 9th grade. I was never the same after I lost Cream, but I was devastated when I lost them both. After high school, and being drafted into the military for the great war, I went and joined the police, and made detective at age 21, abut was fired for public intoxication. Since then, I've been a private investigator. I may not be the best, but with the mob being as big as it is, they might as well own the police detectives. They don't own me, nor will they.
It was a cold night in September when there was a knock at my office door. I had fallen asleep, but was jerked awake. There was a power outage, so the lights were out, and it was raining hard outside.

"Come in," I said, and in walked a pegasus mare with an overcoat.

She took a seat and I asked, "You got a name miss?"

"You got a light," she asked as she withdrew a pack of smokes from her coat.

"Yeah," I said, holding up a Zippo flip lighter with my initials scratched into the side.

"Good, cause these are yours," she said as she tossed me the pack.

I caught them and asked, "You got a name miss?"

"Windsor," she said with a smile.

"It's good to see you again old friend," she said.

I couldn't believe it, but it was her.

"What are you doing in a place like this," I exclaimed.

"I need your help," she said as she reached into her coat.

"This girl is missing," she said before putting the black and white photo of a wavy maned filly on the desk.

"She's the daughter of the police commissioner, and was taken by someone," she said.

"I'll do it for two hundred bits," I said before reaching into my desk and pulling out a glass, and a bottle of whiskey.

"Done," she said.

"But I'm coming with you," she said.

I nearly dropped the bottle as I yelled, "What?!"

"I want to be your partner Olly. Like old times," she said sheepishly.

I could only shake my head, but I couldn't refuse.

"Fine, but do you have a gun," I asked.

"I got a Colt Defender," she said before drawing the gray gun.

I nodded, and said, "Let's go to the crime scene."

Etta James At Last

Horsigan Noir

Credit to my friend and the help he/she gave.
Thanks to my readers.