It's Always The Quiet Ones.

By the time I arrive back in Ponyville its late afternoon, and stepping off the train carriage I survey a scene of crammed luggage trollies boxing for position. Frustrated snooty owners, wishing to go courting up at the toff-shop I assumed, accompany them. I take an opportunity for a little release, lighting up another cigarette I make my way up the single platform, coat folds blustering about me as the out-going trains pick up speed.

Needlessly showy things. Behind every lick of the bright paint I knew there was just as much elbow grease from the ponies that weren't considered the crème de la crème. Walking across the red brick, I could see it in the dark looks of all those ponies on the platform, who themselves couldn't see beyond their wallets. At least my country had a leader that pretended everything was fair game.

First on the list was to question a bereaved owner, and from their sob story get a case together, a trail that would lead me right to furry critters and finally a little respect. All this flashes through my mind as I approach a wedding-cake of a shop, fitted with mock ponies stuck on poles, and spread around the edges of its multiple layers. 'Carousel Boutique' I mumble, leaning in close to read the miniature ivory sign.

"Where every garment is chique, unique, and... You gotta be kidding me..."

I didn't think that Rarity, A.K.A, the pompous mong had forgiven me since the other night, and with that in mind I crouched down, looking in through the oval windows to see if I was in luck, and her pet had returned in my absence. But what greeted me was worse. Twilight, all smiles and giggles seemed to be playing junior detective, a notebook and quill floating in the air, scrawling down what a melodramatic Rarity spoke.

It was obvious TS had taken the law into her own hands, and I suppose I couldn't blame her. Celestia had made the laws of her land so vague, the difference between law enforcer and vigilante was thin as my patience. I threw the door open with my palm, the novelty bell sounds off, and then again as it clatters to the ground. I filled up the whole of the door and looked TS in the eye. Wouldn't you know it, the notebook and quill disappear as if I'd said 'Abracadabra.' Twilight shuffles nervously away from the boutiques reception desk when she notices my advances.

"Ah,... H. ..hello detective..."

"Oh, I'm the detective now? If you could have just played 'detective', why did you try to waste my time with a bloody interview ?"

I get a little too flared up, and whip my hip-flask out of a brown pocket, draining it in the same breath.
"Princess Celestia did assign me to this case to you know, and, well,...despite your rudeness,... I think I'm more than qualified to take your place, let alone work for you!"

"Work for him!"

It's not the first time the gals have swooned for me, but the way Rarity had just done, lolling out onto the desk and wriggling in disgust...somewhere in my pocket, I heard the cracking of knuckles.

"You mean to say you work for this ruffian of a creature, this brute, this, this,this...

"This stuff aint half bad..." I butt in examining a one sequinned dress on particular.

Rarity flicks her elaborate purple hair and lowers her voice to a growl. She's seen through my attempt to change the subject, as much for her sake as it was for mine.

"Look I'm sorry, Rarity was it? It was 3-am and I hadn't put on my kiddy gloves yet, and I mean it this stuff is real easy on the eyes."

"Well that may the case you OAF! but whilst you stand in Carousel Boutique, you are required to treat me and it's customers with the utmost respect, do I make myself clear?"

I smile, deliberately bringing up a finger to flick a clear gem hanging from the neck of the Pony-garment to my left, letting the sound reverberate around the room.

"Crystal..."

But Rarity isn't looking at me, (never did know when to pay attention), something out the window has caught her eye.
"I wonder...is that..."

Suddenly, she daintily canters through the door, nudging me out of the way. I could have flipped her, from where I stood, but refrained.

Twilight goes to join her friend on the porch and I follow reluctantly.

"Well would you look at that, and you call yourself an officer. Why dear Opal has much more thinking power than yourself if she can return to mommy without a rescue party, Oh I say darling, are you alright, you must have caught your death."
Twilight smiles at her friend and I fold my arms, another habit I've adopted when trying not to curb-stomp certain annoying foals.

"That wouldn't be likely with the jacket you made for her Rarity, I'm sure she was just fine, pets need their breathing space, like all of us, and I guess that it's better to trust the ones we care about with some decisions, as opposed to smothering them with over-affection."

How neat. Another day wrapped up, with a cute little moral to boot.

I lower my hat to keep off the suns rays, and to get a better look at the cat, still about a hundred yards off. It was at that moment, I could tell something was wrong. I lent in and took a look at the creature, still far away. It was limping into a run. From what I could see... It looked terrified...blotchy red eyes, and small frothy teeth, sunken in a contorted face. I put my hands above my brow to get a better look. The thing looked half dead, as it made an exhausted run toward the boutique; its movements seemed to be clumsy, hugely restricted from wearing some kind of...

"I guess you're right Twilight, I may have been doting on my precious a little too much..."

With an genuinely guilty expression, the small white unicorn grabbed hold of Twilights' fore-hoof.

"Do you ever think Opal will forgive me?"

Twilight embraces her friend.

"Of course she will Rarity, why I'll bet you she's come back just to see how you are."
Rarity's eyes fill with elated tears, and she clasps her hooves together, turning to greet Opal, her arrival imminent.
"Hello dear, I... well mommy's sorry sweetie...why... Oh...I don't remember making you that little coat, it's...well very lumpy for one thing...certainly not one of mine..."

The breath sticks in my throat at the same moment my eyes silently widen. I had fought the urge to squint in surprise and succeeded. Everything feels heavy, the trench coat, my pinstripe trousers, and my stomach that's just gone off to lunch without me. But the conditioning takes over. I used to think I was the sickest thing in this make-believe land of bubbles and sunshine, that the career change I had taken on a whim unnaturally diluted Equestrian nature of care. I had,... but that was before I saw a cat turned into a bomb.

Satchel charges hung lopsidedly from a black belt and miniature sweater...but, Goddamn it's eyes! I could only imagine what must have been going through that poor bastards mind. But that came after the all too instinctual action. Lunging forward, I literally attack the two mares, thrusting the whole of my arm under their stomachs, one for each, to then hoist them up close to my own ribs, practically squeezing them into my thumping chest.

There was no time for them to speak, let alone to struggle, and in that fraction of a second, I was thankful. I squat, my back to the open door of the boutique, then with every ounce of this chain-smoking, thirty-seven year olds strength, I leap backwards through the stylistic doorframe. I feel weightless, my thighs burning, everything, the dresses, the mannequins, they all swim into nothing. I glance at the sprinting cat through my airborne legs, and realise its almost upon us. Then, just as I feel like my heart is going to give out, I hook the door with one foot and throw it closed. It crashes into its diamond-studded latch with a 'click', and then evaporates into splinters.

I could have heard screaming, and if so, it wouldn't have surprised me. My own propulsion multiples fourfold from the shockwave, and like the debris of glass, stone and painted wood, a mass of policeman and pony hurtle backward to join a dozen manikins, already plastered against the back wall. I feel something tear against my flesh, like a knife, and almost grit my teeth from the pain. If I had done, they would have shattered in my mouth. Some loose diamonds must have been blown away, and had become little less than bullets. I only hear the bang when my shoulders collide with manikin stuffing, and I'm instantly deafened. The pony's slip from my grasp, falling headlong, and are only cushioned by my arms coming to meet them. I black out, but when I come to, seconds later I here a faint whinnying, Twilight and Rarity attempt to get up, coursing with adrenaline, but their coloured forms fall down, their perception for the time being, destroyed. I fare little better. I raise a hand to my face; cradling my forehead I notice my trench-coat sleeves blackened. I strain my head to look down, at Twilight, then Rarity.

"Are you alright! "

"I..."
"we..."

"FOR CELESTIA'S SAKE ARE YOU O.K!

It just slipped out, and I regret it even now. Goddam, I'm becoming one of them, but I dare any man to spend a couple months in place and not pick up the local lingo.

"Y...yes...", they say together, more shell-shocked than a catatonic tortoise, poor dames. I struggle to stand up amidst the desolation of the boutique, it's entire north facing wall erased and resettled in the fine dust that covered everything. Looking back at the ponies, I could now see a gash across Rarity's face. Despite everything I hoped if wouldn't scar. In the regions of beauty, such a thing could ruin an image, and she deserve better than that. Rarity was unconscious for the time being; Twilight not much better, and I started thinking of a way to break her cat's death to her.

Taking painful steps forward my shaken arms flexed themselves. I could hear panic in the streets, a worried, bustling and screaming. But it was more than that. I dusted myself off, and searched for my fedora. These silly, dumb little creatures had never hurt anyone or anything in their lives, and now they were under attack, for the sole reason of causing emptiness and pain. My heart knocked against my ribs, but this time it wasn't from fear. They say home is where you hang your hat, I may not have liked my new home, but my hat (which I recover from underneath some destroyed wood board), well...I like my hat, but more so the sense of duty it represents. I stand astride on the rubble.

The son of a bitch who did this was going to pay. Reaching inside my innermost pocket, I firmly close my hand around a family heirloom, namely my fathers. I had picked it up from the station after my meeting with Celestia, and ever since my time in Brooklyn, it was customary I carry it from the start of each case. I draw out the 38. Calibre revolver and hold it to my side, arms splayed. The sun catches off its extended barrel and fortified hammer, as if Celestia herself is giving me permission. I start to walk out toward the town. It was my town now, and someone had blown a hole in it. I intended to bring this bastard in, or do him the same courtesy. Call 911, cos its always the guys in the shadows that are pulling the strings, and it's always guys like me who will cut them down. Yeah. It's always the quiet ones.