The Shroud of Manehattan

by Violet Mist

Rating: teen
Tags: Drama, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mystery, Thriller, Violence, Death, Narcotics
Length: 8754

It's 1950's Manehattan, and everything is going smoothly for Detective Dennis Parker. But, when's he tasked with a case he isn't too confident about, everything goes haywire.

Dennis Parker is a detective within the investigation branch of the Manehattan Police Department, but he's mostly tasked with cases that aren't too serious, such as buzzed driving or domestic dispute investigations. However, things are about to change when his boss, Chief Bill Kingsbury assigns him to the biggest case of the year. How will Detective Parker solve this case... if he even finishes it?

Published 2019-06-11 05:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-09-29 01:18:51 UTC

Chapter 1 - The Case

It all started with a novice rushing into my office.

“Detective!...” the young stallion panted as the door swung open, prompting me to drop some papers I was sorting. The papers fell onto the carpeted floor below, and I flashed an angry glance at the new pony as all my work became undone. However, unlike most newbies of the office that shrink in my gaze of wraith, this stallion didn’t flinch.

“You’ve been assigned a new case! Chief Kingsbury wants you at this address as soon as possible!” The newbie quickly floated a small note with writing on it with his magic, and I quickly snatched it up in my hooves. The paper was a bit crumbled, but I was still able to understand it without question.

1833 S Hayford Street. Be there and be prepared.

-Bill

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, gazing up at the pale ceiling. I had just finished a grueling case about a distressed mare who thought his husband was cheating on her, only to find out that it was actually the mare who cheated on HIM. It was incredibly dumb and incredibly long. As in, as a result of that, I lost a few brain cells. If anything was true, however, it was that I was in no ideal mood to be taking up a case. The fact that Kingsbury assigned it to me meant it was serious.

As I put on my brown jacket and shoo away the newbie that delivered the message, I suppose now would be a great time to introduce myself.

My name is Dennis Parker, but most in the business call me Detective Parker or Mr. Parker. Everyone else calls my Dennis. I was born on November 23, 1923. I have an interesting job solving cases in Manehattan through the Island Investigation Agency (IIA), which is a branch of the MPD (Manehattan Police Department). Actually, ‘interesting’ isn’t quite the right word to describe it; more like DOWNRIGHT BIZARRE. But it’s not like I’m not used to crazy Manehattan ponies.

I leave the three-story building in which we work and head down the block in the direction of 1833 S Hayford Street.

You see, my “ancestors” first arrived at the island many, many years before I was born; in fact, they were among the first actual citizens of Equestria’s largest city. On December 2, 1845, the original settlement that stood on this island was established as Equestria experienced a massive boom in urban development. Several generations have come and gone before we got to my generation of Manehattaners. And by Celestia, this has been one hell of a generation. That’s not particularly a good thing, either.

Finally, I arrived at the destination. In the lobby of the residential building, ponies gathered in confusion. It was definitely looking like a crime scene now. I took the stairs up, as I had an unspeakable fear of entering an elevator… especially after my uncle died from an incident involving the machine. I haven’t been in one since.

I soon realized that walking 18 stories up was not a great idea. I panted heavily as I climbed up the last step, sweat drops abundant on my forehead. The bland walls and dim lighting of the stairway didn’t aid my thoughts any more; I needed to get out of that condensed area, so I quickly navigated to the door to the floor and swung it open.

The floor was swarming with curious citizens, photographers, reporters, and officials alike, but it wasn’t crowded to a point where it was impossible to get through. I put my head down and turned on my Manehattan instincts—I managed to weave through the corridor of ponies with relative ease, occasionally slightly bumping into a pony or two but not paying them any mind. In Manehattan I had plenty of experience with this, especially on weekends, where younger foals would take to the streets of the city with their families and wind down the day.

Soon, the numbers on the surrounding apartments counting down to 1833 grew smaller and smaller. I was only a few apartments away when I was able to hear music among the voices. Then, a strong stench of some illegal drug and alcohol filled my nostrils, forcing me to gag a little. I rolled my eyes.

What was so important about an underage drinking case?

I assumed it would be nothing new and something I dealt with almost daily, but as the faces I passed to reach the door of the apartment were mostly those of sadness and a disturbed nature, I started to wonder. I finally got to the doorway, and I gasped.

First, I saw the blood. There was a pool of it sitting right next to the door, and many police photographer ponies were taking photos of it. Next, I saw the body. It was a young stallion, probably early 20’s, with several gunshot wounds in his back. I slipped through the doorway, totally in shock. Never had I ever investigated nor been at the scene of a murder. Right after I recounted my thoughts, I saw two more bodies, each of them stallions with similar gunshot wounds.

Scratch that; MULTIPLE homicides.

The rest of the time was a blur, as I quickly found myself taking out my quill and notepad, ready to take notes on the scene.

“I’m looking for…”

I forgot the name, so I took a look at my notes again. There it was, written at the top right, with a big circle around it.

Charlene Smart.

“...a Miss Charlene Smart?”

I gazed down the hallway. There were still several ponies muttering to themselves and others, but at that second, it seemed dead silent. Finally, a pale white hoof shot up from the crowd, followed by a feminine voice.

“That’s me! Excuse me!” The mare answered. After a few seconds of moving ponies in order to make way for the mare, she was finally in front of me.

This was the first time I had ever seen the earth pony Charlene Smart, and she was a gorgeous mare. Her white fur seemed to reflect in the hallway as she was perfectly cleaned and polished, and her curly yet tidy burgundy hair shined and glistened like a well-kept diamond. Her deep purple eyes burned into mine as I stared down at her, unable to deny the fact that this was probably the cleanest mare I had ever seen up to this point.

“Is… there anything you need, Detective?” She said uncomfortably in her slight Manehattan accent, as I basically stared right into her soul. Suddenly, I snapped out of it and chuckled nervously, shoving the notepad in the pocket of my trench coat.

“I was wondering if my boss and I could use your apartment to discuss this case? It needs to be done privately and it doesn’t seem like the other neighbor of these once fine gentlecolts seems to be home,” I asked as polite as I could. Charlene blinked through her thick eyelashes, simply staring at me as if I was crazy, or unaware of something I should’ve been. Nevertheless, she shook her head and chuckled, pushing aside that strange exchange.

“Well, sir, you should know that that apartment next door to theirs has been vacant for quite some time. However, I doubt that information will benefit your case… and of course you can use my apartment,” Charlene answered, smiling. “It’s only fair of me to assist you two gentlecolts whenever needed, so just let me know.”

I nodded in return and she led me to her apartment next door, telling me that she would get my boss as I waited. Only a couple minutes passed until the door opened to the dimly lit space, revealing him.

Chief Bill Kingsbury was somepony I had known for nearly a decade, when I was studying at law school here in Manehattan. Back then, he was a less-aged normal detective but held the same sleazy, blunt, sleepy personality he had presently. As far as I was aware, he was spouse-less. If he wasn’t, I had never met his wife. However, with rumors hinting at his approaching retirement, you couldn’t help but focus on the small details. Still, I had massive respect for the stallion, even after the rare moments where we disagreed on something.

As he walked into the apartment, I couldn’t help but notice that his colors seemed even more dull on this day; his light red-orange fur was reduced to a grayish-orange, and there seemed to be more graying in his slicked back black hair than usual. His eyelids, often drooping, were left even lower over his piercing sky blue eyes. He sighed as he shut the door, taking out some files as he walked towards me.

“Y’know, you didn’t have to kick that nice mare out of her apartment just because of this talk…” Bill said, placing the files on the coffee table and taking a seat in a nice recliner. I preferred to stand, but I too sat down to look over the files. He took out a cigar and instinctively, I grabbed my lighter and lit it for him.

“Well, Miss Smart didn’t seem to have a problem with it, so I don’t see the issue either,” I answered, flipping through the files. Bill grumbled something I couldn’t hear, and we spent about a minute in complete silence. By the time I was done reading through the files, I closed them and looked at my boss. “A few Manehattan City College kids, huh?”

Bill nodded and sighed, folding his legs in the chair. I shook my head.

“Why me? You know I don’t do these.”

“Well, this is your first and I expect you to devote your time into justifying these murders.”

“Has there ever been a time where I’ve NOT put all my effort in a case?”

“That’s not what I meant, Dennis.”

“Then what did you mean?” I clapped back. He was silent, gathering his thoughts as he stared at a painting on the wall.

“Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Apparently, I don’t understand anything.”

Bill sighed again, shaking his head and taking the cigar out of his mouth. I smelled the stench of his smoking habits on a daily basis, but I was used to it because I, too, was a smoker. And even though I regretted it, it was addicting and helped ease the stress I felt daily. At least by a little bit.

“Got anything else to say?” I said after a few moments of silence, already picking myself off the chair. My boss remained silent, but just as I peeled myself off the chair, it seemed that a spark went off in his head.

“What if I told you…” he said with a smirk. “...that you could bring a partner along with you?”

“Sweet Celestia. I knew you were going to say that.” I groaned and walked over to the window of the apartment, gazing down at the gray city below. The weather remained overcast, and it was getting late. Ponies, bundled in their lavish jackets, trotted through the streets, hopeful to get home before the weather potentially turned wet. I heard Bill slowly pick himself off the chair and grab the file.

“That’s because I know it’s the only way I’m going to get you to do this case, Mr. Parker.” He replied. I turned to face him again, biting my lower lip as I thought to myself.

Up until that moment, I never had the possibility of bringing a partner along to do a case. As I’ve repeated time and time again, I only handled the small, usual cases. This was by far the biggest I had ever been tasked with completing, so it only made sense that I could bring along my best friend, Philip Schafer, who was basically in the same position I was in.

“So… are you in?”

I smiled.

“Mr. Kingsbury… let me handle this.”

Author's Note

Apologies for any historical inaccuracies. I did the best research I could do, but I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2 - The Questioning

“Heh… wow, Dennis…” Philip exclaimed, astonished, as he put down his coffee cup and glazed his turquoise eyes over the file. “They really assigned you to do THIS?”

Philip and I were held up in our favorite bar to hang out, the Waltzing Horseshoe. It was a nice place, tucked in between a couple old restaurants. It was in a relatively old part of the city, but the bar itself was quite new. Its bright lights stuck out like a sore hoof but was nevertheless accepted by the mostly older residents.

Philip Schafer, despite loving this bar, never drank, nor did he smoke. Here was a stallion I had known for years, ever since high school, and he was nothing like the other ponies around us. I thought that a short stint in the military would toughen him up a bit, during the Second Great Pony War, but that did little to turn the colt into a stallion. Still, he was a friend and a great partner for this kind of case. This was because he was incredibly smart.

He was the kind of pony to put down a gun in favor of a book and quill. He let his imagination run wild right in front of my eyes. Philip could draw, and he could write, both at an elite level. And while he may not have been the most athletic Pegasus in the city, he was definitely one of the most intelligent.

Besides, he was just a pleasure to be around; the ultimate goof-off.

I grinned my widest grin, and he rolled his eyes. “Yep. But, here’s one thing old Bill ACTUALLY allowed me to do…” I said, trailing off at the end, preparing the surprise. But Philip kept a straight face as he looked away from the file.

“He’s letting you bring another pony along, correct?”

“Actually, yes,” I replied, not TOO surprised he got that right on the first guess. He had been waiting for one of these moments for a long time beforehand, and now that it was finally his chance to solve a case alongside me, I’m sure he was ready. “You done with the file yet?”

He wasn’t finished. “Felix Fritz, 21… Kyle Lewis, 20… Scott Nelson, 21,” He read off the names of the victims slowly, biting his lower lip as he got to the last one. “All juniors, huh? Look like nice kids, too.”

He passed the file over to me, and I took another look at it. As I glanced over the images of the three friends, I realized that I hadn’t really took the time to find out which one is which. And Philip was right; they looked like nice kids, with wide smiles on each of their faces as they took a picture of themselves in front of the Empire Stallion Building. I shrugged, closing the file and putting it on the counter. I grabbed my cup of cider and took a sip.

“From what I read, it looks like this case is a real mess for you to deal with, Dennis,” Philip pointed out, finishing off his coffee. “No suspects. No motives. Hell, not even how it happened. At least you got the weapon that was probably used.”

“Yeah. An old .38 revolver. The murderer dropped it fleeing the scene, I bet.” I responded, finishing my cider. Philip noticed this, and quickly motioned over the bartender, who speedily walked over to us from the other side of the counter.

I expected to see the same young mare who had been doing the bartending for the past couple of years, but I was surprised to see a new face. In her place was a slightly older mare, but no more than thirty years of age. She had sharp light purple hair to go with a duller light gray coat, but maybe her most astonishing feature was a pair of magenta eyes that were straight-up burning with other colors.

It was a unique sight, to say the least.

“I’ll have another coffee,” Philip told her, and they both turned to face me. This is when I finally got a good look at her face.

Normally, I wouldn’t see much in somepony I had just met, but this was different. She wasn’t that kind of pony. Somehow…

She looked familiar.

I think she noticed it too, because I could tell that she was a bit taken aback to see me. But, she recovered quickly, and I was greeted with the warm smile of a mare treating me as any other customer.

“What can I get you today, sir?” She asked, holding a notepad in her magical grip. I thought for a moment, before finally answering the familiar mare.

“Cider, please.” I replied. I was about to ask her a question from a place and time I couldn’t remember, but I was cut off by Philip seated next to me.

“On my tab.” He announced, smiling at the mare. She nodded and walked away, but I caught her taking one last glance at me before turning the other way. I slumped in my barstool, sighing, trying to remember why she was familiar to me.

“...sorry I cut in when you were going to ask her out, Dennis, but you know you can’t trust new mare—“

“Now hold on for just a moment, PHIL.” I practically yelled out. I called him by his nickname, Phil, because he didn’t like it and knew perfectly well that I knew he didn’t enjoy it. Sure enough, his face scrunched together, wincing. I put my hooves in the air. “The thought never crossed my mind!”

“I’m sure it did, buddy.” He said, crossing his arms and crossing his legs, holding his head high in the air as he looked down at me in disgust. “And don’t call me Phil. It’s embarrassing.” He whispered that last part. I sighed and rolled my eyes, waiting for my refilled mug of cider.

Philip and I didn’t talk until the mare came back, and I tried to scan her face one last time without making it awkward. I was really, really sure that I had seen her somewhere before... I just couldn’t place my hoof on it. I rubbed my chin and sipped my mug as I watched the mare walk to the other side of the counter. She was walking with a pep in her step, as if she wanted to get from one place to the other as soon as she could.

This is when I figured I could ask her some questions about the case. If she was acting so strangely around me, I assumed it wouldn’t hurt to question her about what was going on.

I placed my hoof on the counter, took a quick drink of my cider, and turned to Philip. “I’m going to ask her.”

“Ask her out on a date?” This was Philip’s obvious response, as his ears perked up and eyes widened.

“No. Questions about this case. The mare seems… nervous, around us.” I revealed. Philip’s hopes fell.

“Aw. I thought you were finally going to go out in the world of mares, Dennis.”

“Shut it, Philip. You can’t talk because you don’t have the guts to either.”

He did as I intended, and I was finally alone with my thoughts. Time passed, and I remained in the same spot. My mug was empty after about a half hour, and since it was getting late, Philip was standing up to leave.

“It’s getting dark, D. I’m going to head out for the night… Chief might call me later about the case, so I should probably be home for it.” He said, adjusting his trenchcoat and putting on a cap. I nodded and stuck out my hoof, and he gave it one of his signature hoofshakes.

“I understand. Have a good one, buddy.” I replied.

“Good night, old pal. I wish you the best with that mare.”

Then, he was gone.

Not long after, I ordered another cup of cider, this time placing it on my tab. But before the mare could walk away, I made sure to capture her attention just once.

“Hey. When does the bar close tonight? Not too late, right?” I asked, placing my hoof on the counter and watching her movements attentively, looking for any kind of jerk in her movements that could lead to a suspicion. But, she acted as normal as she could be.

“11, sir. We just don’t want some buzzed stallions waltzing around this older neighborhood and disturbing the living folks’ peace, right? Thanks for the consideration, though.” Immediately after finishing her sentence, she rushed over to the other side of the counter to get me my mug of cider. After that was done, she offered me the mug with no issue, and soon enough, she was also gone.

I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the bar counter. It read 9:47, which meant it would be another hour or so before everypony was gone. I sighed and took a drink from my 4th cider of the day.

I’ll admit; those last 60 minutes went by in a blur. And honestly, it was probably because I had a little too much cider.

So, here I was, slightly buzzed and dizzy as the last pony in the bar besides us left, leaving me alone with some random bartender that I kind of recognized. The mare unbuttoned her bartender’s shirt, revealing a white undershirt underneath, and gave me the evil eye.

“Well? Aren’t you going to leave? I have to close this place up, so…” she mentioned in a soothing voice that had somewhat of a Manehattan accent. I shoved my last empty cup of cider away from me and whipped out my quill and notepad, smiling.

“I will leave. Just gotta ask you some questions before I do.” I reassured, but she groaned and facehoofed.

“Oh, sweet Celestia… is this another one of those ‘door-to-door salespony’ pitches again? If so, I’m not interested, and you can defer your—“

“What is your name?” I asked, cutting her off, which wasn’t too kind of me, but she didn’t complain. She simply rolled her eyes and started cleaning some glasses. Funny thing is, she had cleaned those same glasses just minutes ago, which indicated that she was nervous, if anything.

“Joyce. That’s my name.”

“Joyce…?” I asked, indicating for her to finish.

“McMillan. Joyce McMillan.” She finished, placing the glasses upside down for optimal drying. I scribbled this down at the top of my notes, nodding, with a hiccup.

“I recognize you but don’t remember you.” I explained, watching her turn away from me and wipe down the counter across from me. “How about you? What do you feel?”

“I feel like... you may be reaching a bit. I’m single but I’m not looking to… ‘get together,’ if you get what I’m saying.” Joyce answered, flashing me a bit of her evil glare again. I dropped my notepad and quill on the counter and raised my hooves defensively, as she was accusing me of something that I wasn’t doing.

“I’m not trying to flirt with you, Miss Joyce,” I said with a slight chuckle. “I genuinely recognize you from somewhere… and that might help me on my case.”

Joyce immediately stopped what she was doing and looked at me with wide eyes, her expression bare. “First off, don’t address me formally, because I think that’s silly,”

I nodded. With a hiccup.

“But… you’re a cop?”

“No, not a cop. A detective. I examine cases—“ I tried explaining my profession, but Joyce quickly cut me off.

“I know what a detective does, mister. I just can’t tell the difference sometimes.”

“Aw, well that’s just offensive.” I replied with a friendly smile, but just as I thought the mare was about to crack a real smile, she shut her mouth and rolled her eyes.

“...whatever. If you’re a detective, shouldn’t you be elsewhere trying to solve this ‘case’?” She pointed out, finishing cleaning the last of the glasses. I once again picked up my notepad and quill and scribbled down a few things before putting it down again.

“Like I said, I’m just here to ask a few questions relating to my case…” I claimed, tapping the notepad with my quill. “...and then I’ll be out of that lavish mane of yours.”

Joyce groaned and shook her head, kneeling down to empty out the ice container. “If it doesn’t take too long…

“Ask away.”

“Where were you at approximately 11 this morning?” I started right away. She gave this question some thought, which was understandable. I was sure it had been a long day for her.

“I believe I was discussing my hours with my manager. Over the phone, of course.” She recalled, letting the remaining ice flow into a bucket from the container.

I wrote her answer on my notepad.

“Joyce, has the thought of murdering another pony ever crossed your mind?”

“Not that I recall.” She answered.

“Has the thought ever enticed you, in some sort of way?”

“Of course not. Anypony with some kind of moral sense knows that it’s wrong.” She scoffed after her reply, which had me a bit suspicious, so I marked that down on my notepad as well.

“Are you sure?” I asked. She went dead quiet, so I continued with my questions.

“What were you employed in before accepting this job?”

“I had brief stints working as a clerk in several different department stores.” Joyce revealed, wiping the counters with a wet tissue. “That could be a reason why you recognize me. A lot of ponies recognize me, honestly.”

I rubbed my chin as I wrote that last bit down. It wasn’t awfully important to the case; Tartarus, none of what I wrote was crucial at all. I was, although I was afraid to admit it, struggling with this mare. She was difficult to understand or read, and she was ferociously stubborn at times. There was only one occasion where I was able to break her skin, and I was quickly turned away.

I tossed the case file on the table, and she stared at it for a couple seconds. I nudged it and asked her if she ever was going to open it, so she sighed and walked over and looked through it.

“Go on page 11 and stop there. There’s something important I need to ask you.” I told her, putting down my notepad and quill for a moment. Joyce hesitated.

“Aren’t all of your questions supposed to be important?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Now it was my time to roll my eyes, which I did.

“Just do what I say. Please.”

Joyce flipped through the file and stopped at page 11, just like I had said. I could tell right away that something had caught her eye, and that was the exact thing I was going to ask her about. “Do you recognize these three stallions?”

It was the photograph of the victims. She stared down at the photo for a second, her eyes becoming glazed over. It was obvious that she had seen them somewhere.

“Yeah, I know those stallions… are they who you’re investigating?” She asked, but before I could answer, her jaw flew open again. “They didn’t do anything wrong, detective. I can assure you…”

I sighed and tapped the photograph. I admit, I was a bit touched by Joyce pleading their cases, despite the fact that I knew they didn’t commit any crimes. But I always have had trouble breaking bad news to ponies who are already in despair.

“...well, unfortunately, they were, uh… murdered.” I revealed, wincing, with a hiccup afterwards.

“Oh, dear Celestia…” Joyce said softly.

“But since you seem to have known them, I was hoping you could provide some details about ponies they were affiliated with? Their connection with you? Things like that?” I questioned, trying to talk softly and comfortably for her as possible while I picked up my notepad and quill. Joyce rubbed her chin for a moment while she rested her arm on the counter, likely recounting the times she met with the three gentlecolts.

“Alright. Well, all three of them—Felix, Scott, Kyle...—started showing up here at the bar about 3 months ago. It was around the same time I was hired as the bartender. Essentially, they would show up every Friday night after university and every Saturday night to get their last shots in before going to school on Monday. And they would occasionally show up in the middle of the week, sometimes alone, sometimes only two… anyways, they were always very respectful. Polite. Even when they were… buzzed, I guess.” She explained. I wrote down most of it in my notepad, and she continued.

“...I related to them, you know. When I was their age, going through the whole university process, I drank a lot too. And I thought it was good for me because it supposedly dealt with stress. But, it wasn’t good for me, so I advised them to tone it down just as I did. So, soon, they were managing their alcohol consumption and going home safely and soundly. I didn’t have to worry. Because, y’know, I liked these kids.

“Anywho, it was around a couple of weeks ago when they started to show up less often. Sometimes they would sit down at the counter, order a few drinks, and we would talk a bit, just like old times. But that was becoming less common, and I was getting a bit worried about them. I was aware that school was starting back up for them soon, and I knew they were busy getting ready for that, but it was unlike them to just not show up. They always found time for this place, y’know?”

I nodded in response, documenting the rest of her explanation on my notepad. When I was done, I hiccuped as I gazed down at my hoofwriting. Everything seemed to be in order, so I was ready to begin the next part of my questioning of Miss McMillan.

“Were the three of them ever accompanied by other ponies?” I asked, tapping my chin with the end of the quill. Joyce pursed her lips for a second as she thought, but her eyes soon fluttered wide open.

“Besides the occasional outside friend tagging along with the trio, there was this one time where a few well-dressed stallions showed up with them… I guess I should note that this was really, really recent, perhaps one of the last times I ever saw them.

“I’m going to be honest with you… I can trust you, right?” She asked.

I nodded. She glanced around for a second before continuing. I could tell she was disturbed by this whole thing. So, I probably would have to visit another day.

“They… well, the stallions that came with Felix and the boys were… aggressive, to say the least. They demanded drinks, and they wanted them fast. I don’t know what they said to the boys while I was busy… but I could tell they were uncomfortable with it.

“The stallions must’ve been there for about a half hour. Felix and the rest left about 20 minutes in, and the stallions just ordered a couple more drinks and then THEY left. So, that was that. I’m pretty sure that was the last time I saw those three alive…”

Now, for this next part, I don’t think I heard Joyce correctly. I was either too buzzed or was just focusing on writing down her account. But I believe I got the main point down.

“Hell, they didn’t even leave a tip… but they did leave something I don’t think they intended to forget.” She said.

My ears perked, and I immediately stopped what I was doing. I put my notepad and quill down and stared at her for a few seconds, during which she shifted uncomfortably in her spot, before I shook it off with a hiccup.

“So you’re saying… that the stallions left something here? On accident?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Joyce hesitated for the tenth time of the hour, before pulling something out from one of the drawers in the counter.

It was a small, folded piece of paper that was no larger than a coaster. She tossed it to me, and I flipped it open. In it was an address, an address to a place I had no familiarity with. At least, that was until I looked a little closer.

“...this is the address to one of the abandoned war seaports, right?” I asked, showing Joyce the address. She squinted at the hoofwriting, which was quite sloppy, before shrugging. She then started to put on her jacket, indicating that she was about to close up for the night.

“I don’t know. I don’t really go down there at all…” she replied, moving out from the counter to turn off the lights in the restaurant. I shoved the paper in my trench coat pocket and got off my stool, taking a cigar out of my pocket.

“Just a couple things before I go,” I told Joyce, who was walking to the door as I was. When we both got there, I took out an $8 bill from my pocket and handed it to her, and instantly a wide smile crossed her face.

“Wow… this is a nice tip, Detective…?”

“Parker. Dennis Parker.” I cut her off with a wink. “Most of that money I gave you was because of your cooperation in this case… and I think I might be coming here more often. I see why Philip hangs around here more than I do.”

Joyce nodded and opened the door with me, and as I walked out, I lit my cigar. We both said our goodbyes and good nights and walked our separate ways.

I have to say, it was so quiet on that street, you could hear my hiccups for miles all through the night.

Chapter 3 - The Threshold

Philip was standing in front of the seaport warehouse when I arrived a bit late, but it didn’t matter to the case. After all, I was allowed the opportunity to work at the pace I desired, as it was my case to solve.

I still wanted to get it done as soon as I could, though.

“So this is the place?” I asked as I approached. My friend and colleague noticeably jumped, startled, as I came from behind, though it was subtle and he quickly recovered.

“Yep, that’s right, Dennis… it’s a beauty, too.” He replied sarcastically, gazing up at the old structure. I won’t deny, it was enormous; the front of the place probably stood about 40 feet high, good enough for about 4 stories of factory workers, and measured 150 feet in length. However, a combination of wood, bricks, and steel that was required to make this warehouse had taken a toll on the building, forcing it to be abandoned years ago. The gray early morning hours didn’t exactly shower it in beauty either... the whole thing was very sad. I rolled my eyes in response to this statement and started trotting up to the door.

“Yeah, every damn inch of it speaks to me like a beautiful mare on a Sunday afternoon…” I responded as I passed him, also in a sarcastic tone. I swear I could hear the creak of the place and see it sway while I approached the lock on the door. The lock that was meant to keep workers and naive teenagers from entering. “I expect it to be all locked up, yeah?”

Philip trotted behind me and he took a look at the thing that stopped us from entering. My friend was a certified code breaker; he was known throughout the department as somepony you could rely on to get inside a place you weren’t supposed to be inside of. Everywhere he went, it seemed like he brought along an assortment of devices that could’ve been used as lockpicks or even explosives to bust open an entryway. That’s why his presence came in handy in this situation.

“...I’ll see what I can do. Worst case scenario is that I’ll have to blow through the door, which could alert any ponies inside of our arrival… we wouldn’t want that to happen, Dennis.” Philip explained, kneeling down and looking through his saddlebag. I peeked over his shoulder as he took out many of the things previously mentioned, including a stick of dynamite and a lighter. For a moment I thought he was actually going to use it despite his own say so, but it was clear that he was just taking it out in order to get to the bottom of the bag. A few seconds later, my partner was digging his lockpick into the lock seen in front of him, twisting and turning, trying his best to get it to go. I guess this is a good time to set the scene.

As stated before, it was yet another overcast day in Manehattan. It had been just a few days since I was assigned the case, and I hadn’t seen the sun since. It was as if all the color was sapped from this world, and all that remained was a grayscale universe in which I lived and worked in. But, at the same time, it was as if nothing had changed at all. Mares and stallions look at me the same way, and everypony else goes along their day like it’s nothing. Perhaps the case had created such a draft in my mind that was only unique to me. Nevertheless, it was an odd occasion.

I heard the lock click and the door open, followed by a successful grunt from my partner. Immediately once I saw a crack in the door, I switched on my flashlight and shined through it. Philip slowly opened the door all the way. As it turned out, I didn’t need my flashlight; the gray light from outside shined plenty through some of the broken windows of the warehouse, revealing a long, narrow, and blank room that stood in front of us. It worked like any other warehouse I had been to, and I knew warehouses; I used to visit them almost daily with my mother when my father was a storage officer. And even though this wasn’t the actual warehouse my father worked at, I still gained a sense of familiarity with the place, almost like I never left…

But maybe that was because every warehouse was virtually the same.

I stepped in first, and my partner followed me once he put his lockpick back in his saddlebag. Despite the light that was apparent in the building, it was erratic in some darker locations, so I always had my flashlight equipped and illuminating the place. The faint yellow glow that came from it could be seen as far away as the back of the room… and that was a long way for a room that was about 40 feet long. The door shut quietly behind us, and here we were.

Hopefully, we would be alone inside an abandoned warehouse. This is an ideal situation for just about everyone in the police force. But we should’ve known this is never a good situation to be in, because you’re almost never alone. Anywhere.

“Hey, Dennis. Check this out.”

I was on the complete other side of the same room we had spent the last 30 minutes in. It was mostly just snooping around through some of the things that scattered the floor. Some old photographs we found in a folder dated back to 1943, during the Second Great Pony War. We even uncovered some old boots, including a pair with separate photographs of a mare and a young child, likely a wife without a husband and a kid without a father nowadays, considering the nature of this place. Being a worker in these hellhouses always seemed rough to me… and the stallion who owned these boots was certainly a victim. A very tragic thought to keep in mind, especially considering the fact that he left a young family.

I trotted over to my partner, making sure not to step on any loose nails and such, before looking at what he was pointing his flashlight at. It was…

A purse. Leaning against one of the walls.

“...oh. How terribly important.” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. I should’ve known Philip was going to joke around in this serious investigation, which is why I immediately regretted bringing him along to study this address. I was about to turn away and check out another part of the room when he tapped me on the shin, sighing.

“Don’t you want to see what’s inside? If it’s an old purse, the guy’s probably dead by now. He won’t care. If not, though…” Philip trailed off, raising an eyebrow. I nodded.

“...then we get a lead.” I finished, already grabbing the purse. The brown leather certainly didn’t feel old in my hooves; there was no dust whatsoever, no signs of age or deterioration. This had to be a potential lead, another thing to boost our ongoing investigation. After a deep breath, I opened the bag, my partner looking over my shoulder, silent, as he should be.

The first thing I encountered was an aerosol spray can coated in red, and honestly I wanted nothing to do with what was inside. It was very likely the can was to spray some kind of liquid drug with the purpose of sedating another pony or worse, blinding them completely. I shivered and gave the can to Philip, hoping he wouldn’t use its entire purpose and drug himself. “Why don’t you give it a little whiff, Phil? See what it is.”

I proceeded through the purse, mostly taking out useless items like a handkerchief, and… eyeshadow.

Interesting.

“Eugh… this shit’s chloroform, Dennis…” Philip groaned from behind me, gagging and putting the can on the floor. “I know it is, but… it smells a bit different. More putrid, bitter… you know?”

I nodded half-heartedly, examining the eyeshadow. It was a familiar type, a sky blue. And, now that I thought about it a little more, this purse was familiar as well, as if I saw it only a few days ago…

Suddenly, there were some hoofsteps approaching from the other side of the locked door, so I quickly rejuvenated my instincts and dove behind a broken desk. Philip did the same, sliding behind some crumbled cinder blocks. I shuddered as I heard the old steel door creak open, a long, whining sound emitting from it. My skin was crawling, my heart beating quickly. I was sure that, whoever was behind that door, they had bad intentions. Usually dangerous ponies resided in abandoned places, hence why the city puts up signs restricting ponies access to those areas. Still, it was impossible to prevent ponies from getting in.

The hoofsteps echoed through the room for a bit, getting closer to where my partner and I were hiding. I looked over at him, as he was several feet away. His expression was the same; a still, frozen face of shock and fear at the same time. This pony could easily blow our heads off if he found us, so it was crucial that we stayed quiet for as long as we could.

They suddenly stopped moving, and there was some ruffling and scraping of metal against the ground as the pony murdered something under their breath.

It was a female voice. I could tell.

My heart was pounding in my chest. It was one of the only things I could hear at the moment, along with some shuffling sounds from this mare in the room. I slowly moved myself over, turning my attention towards the complete other side of the desk. From here, I noticed a small hole that was punched into the old desk. I didn’t even want to know what caused that.

The hole was barely enough to see through, but I got by just fine. I just needed to see who was here, exactly… and where they were going afterwards.

I couldn’t make out any features in the dim room as I looked through the hole and at the source of the ruckus, however I was able to see the mare picking up the purse that we were just looking through and throwing it over her shoulder. I could see her form spin as she glanced around the quiet room, as if she heard or saw something in here, before walking over towards the door she came from.

Since her back was turned, I took this opportunity to peer at her from behind the broken desk, trying to see exactly who this mare was while she walked through the light emitting from the windows. Of course I saw the purse, but I was also able to see it resting against a pale dainty body. Her hoofsteps echoed through the room as she walked away from our hiding spots, so it was making it more difficult to see her in the light. However, I caught a glimpse of the curly burgundy hair that slung over her left shoulder, and by then I had a solid idea of who I was looking at. It was a mare I had met just a couple of days ago, but I couldn’t remember her name...

She suddenly stopped in front of the open doorway, and I sensed what she was about to do. I transitioned from the edge of the desk back to the tiny hole where I could make out her facial features right as she looked back to study the room. It was dead silent as I continued to analyze her appearance. I was fairly certain who it was.

And her strong purple eyes confirmed it.

What in Equestria was Charlene Smart doing in this warehouse? Especially since there were likely very dangerous ponies here?

Charlene shrugged and looked forward once again, stepping through the doorway. Philip and I stayed behind our hiding places until we heard some kind of confirmation she was gone, and that came in the form of the door locking and her hooves fading away. As soon as I heard absolutely nothing, I let out a long sigh of relief and leaned against the worn desk that had maybe saved my life. When I glanced over at Philip, he was slowly getting to his hooves again, breathing heavily.

He should know that you can still breathe when hiding, I thought to myself with a chuckle. My partner looked towards me and wore a questioning expression.

“What’s so funny?” His question.

“Nothing.” My reply.

Enough jokes aside, Philip and I headed over to where the purse was. There was absolutely nothing left, almost like it was never there in the first place. The things we put on the ground, upright, was a terrible mistake, as it alerted the mare to our presence. Somehow, some way, she didn’t look through the room to find us. But she probably knew we were there, just because of that mishap.

I sighed and ran a hoof through my dirty mane, glancing at the empty spot where the purse once was, and the closed door where Charlene departed through. We had to press forward if it meant continuing our investigation, since there was nothing else here for us. We got confirmation that somepony was here, and there may have been more. Now we just needed to understand what they were up to.

I trotted towards the door and bravely opened it. It led to a dimly lit, cramped hallway that extended for at least 20 feet towards another door that looked exactly the same as the one I just opened. Before I stepped through the doorway, I looked to my partner, who reluctantly followed me inside. We were immersing ourselves in a dangerous situation.

I don’t blame him for being worried.

Philip trailed behind me as I walked through the hallway. The amount of light that touched our coats was slim. Rusted pipes surrounded us and created a drowsy environment overall. It was disgusting yet I became used to it after a while. After all, my father literally forced me to come to his work at times. He didn’t care about how revolting everything was. Or the conditions he surrounded himself in, which he obviously shunned as it ended up being his demise.

I remember the day with an absurd amount of detail. The morning my father died, I was 11, riding my bicycle through my outer Manehattan neighborhood, tossing the day’s paper left and right. When I came home, my mother was a mess. She told me everything. She told me about the roof collapse, the deathly condition of the warehouse in the first place. She told me that the stallion who had helped my mother give birth to me was dead.

Of course I cared for my old man. I loved him like any son would for a father. But I didn’t shed a single tear that day. Why would I? The only times we had ever bonded or even seen each other was when he would bring me to work or show up at home late and drunk. But, he was a good stallion. There are times where I miss him. Most of the time I feel indifferent, however.

Philip and I reached the door on the other side of the hallway and I turned the rusted handle ever so slowly. The door opening created a loud, obnoxious screech that permeated through this newer, smaller room we found ourselves in. However, it was difficult to tell exactly how big it was, because it was incredibly dark and musty. I coughed slightly and activated the flashlight I had used to explore the previous room, its light providing a narrow escape from the darkness of the space. I swallowed my growing fear and stepped forward, my front hoof touching the cold, concrete ground below.

I briskly made my way through the room, letting the flashlight guide my way throughout. I was relieved to hear Philip following close behind, and since I didn’t want him to get lost in here, I glanced back at him several times, just in case.

It turned out that the room was far larger than I had initially imagined. We must have been walking on solid, empty ground for at least a minute, without the aid of the windows, since there were none. Soon after reaching a wall at the far end of the room, we were able to locate the door, which was noticeably significantly smaller than the previous two we walked through. I assumed we were in an older part of the warehouse and I placed my hoof where the handle would be.

Except, there was no handle.

Where is the handle?, I thought to myself.

Philip noticed my struggles and checked the rest of the door before shrugging and backing away a bit. He was clueless, and so was I. Nevertheless, I continued to search, hoping to find something that could lead us further on our investigation. It couldn’t end here, not now.

Eventually, I realized something. Upon further inspection of the cracks of the door, I discovered that it wasn’t a door at all. It was just a thick slab of wood designed to look like a door, as it definitely was blocking some kind of opening in the wall. Philip must have realized this at the same time I did, as we both nodded to each other and ran shoulder-first into the wood.

At first, I thought our effort was in vain, but our teamwork and strength was enough to completely knock over the slab. It landed on the ground with a loud, hollow thud, but since it was apparent there was nopony around us, it was okay. Still, I wanted to retain some sort of silence for the rest of our sneaking, so we kept quiet as we stepped through the narrow opening and into a world of darkness and mystery.

This was the threshold. We had just crossed it.