High Crimes: Manehatten

One Week Ago

The sun's last rays faded in the hills to the west, slipping off the tips of glass towers. Night descended upon the landscape in a rush, tackling the coast.

A city spread along the valley. highrises and penthouses grew in a “forest” of buildings, few with less than five stories. Concrete jungle, ponies called it – and some even knew why. The clean streets of Canterlot had no place in a city like this, where a much harder life exists. Manehatten was a city of facades, lies, and the two-faced; Celestia herself had long since given up hope of redeeming it.

The end of the day meant rest for more more honest ponies; for the others, night began.

So the city never stopped at night – only picked up. A starless sky looked down upon the city streets, where the lights of clubs kept downtown bright. Music would spill out into the dark as ponies made their way home from a long night. Celebration, commiseration – many found these social hubs to release the pent up stress of the week.

Not everyone was here to unwind. At such hours, all kinds of business could be conducted if you knew who to ask. For this reason alone, a stallion sat alone on a Friday night. As the regular crowd filtered in and out, he watched. “Snakes”, as he was called, hunched at a corner table waiting for one such contact. He sipped at his cider as he cast a wary eye around.

Moody lighting obscured faces, but the quality of the suits seen told more. This was a club favored by wealthy business-ponies, city hall officials, and individuals with great connections. It was also the “gateway” to the dark underbelly of Manehatten. Money flowed along with the promises of favors and shifting alliances. Darting glances gave away a nervous energy that pulsed. Snakes could smell the paranoia.

After a while, a lanky colt with a slicked-back mane sauntered over. His ratty jacket pulled eyes where zuit suits made the standard. Underneath was a shirt that may have been white, once. The smell of sweat and his last meal clung to him. The newcomer made a point to ogle the mares as he passed – a measure of status. His very presence irked Snakes, but this city-rat had a web of ties to ponies who pulled strings. Dirk was as slimy as his appearance, but very useful.

Dirk looked around nonchalantly while picking his teeth with his tongue. Spotting Snakes, he slid onto the opposing stool. He motioned to the nearest waiter, who pulled a screen over for privacy. Dirk poked his head out to check, before turning back to Snakes with a wide grin.

“Look who it is? My new partner sits before me: how can I help you...”

It was less a question than a suggestion. Dirk had been the only pony to show interest. Snakes had little choice in the matter, and had to approach him. Dirk wasn't pleasant but he offered information, and silence, in exchange for bits.

“Dirk, I need the names.”

The other was already nodding, pulling a tattered scroll from his jacket. “Yeah, yeah, I got it right here. Ponies from all over the big city. Cost me a pretty bit to find them all...”

Snake nodded: he expected this. From his suit came a pouch that jingled unmistakeably with silver. This, he handed over in exchange for the scroll. Checking the inside, a list of names and contacts lay. All was in order, and it was just what he needed to carry out his plan. Some of the names were friends, others were services...

All of the targets were there, as well.

Snake finished his drink, then pulled away. A call from the table stopped him. He turned to see Dirk sitting with a bemused expression.

“Snakes, that list... what are you planning with that?”

Silence was the reply, and Dirk shrugged. “I guess that's up to you, now. Just do me a favor, and don't get bumped. Good luck – better yet, pack heat.”

“Same for you, Dirk. You'll have trouble when they find out”

The greasy little information broker chuckled at this, and waved the warning away. “I'm too useful – even protected by them. They know your coming, Snakes.”

Dirk looked up to see his client had already gone. His chuckle continued as he bounced the sack of bits in his hoof.

“I have a wager on you. Don't let me down, now”

Snakes pulled into the Manehatten night. Below the shadow of his Fedora, a widening grin spread across his features. He had a job to do.

He wouldn't be alone, either - there were plenty of good ponies on that list. Ponies with the same grudge against the other names...