Turbo Jet's living room fell silent for a moment, as his bizarre confession sunk into the minds of those present. "Wait, what?" Rainbow Dash finally spoke up. "What do you mean, 'I got the money from Greased Lightning?' Are you saying the idiot paid for his own wipeout?"
"No!" Turbo Jet insisted. "It's... Complicated, okay?"
"Well, I packed two notepads and a whole box of pencils, so that shouldn't be a problem!" Sweetie Belle proclaimed. "We're here for the whole story!"
"Yeah!" Scootaloo agreed. "But only if you're going to tell the truth!"
Turbo sighed. "You got it, squirt," he said. "Remember what I said about never talking with gamblers?"
"Another lie?" Rainbow Dash shook her head. "It's a good thing you're not wearing pants, TJ, because they'd have set the carpet on fire by now."
"I wasn't lying," Turbo Jet declared. "I've never exchanged a single word with ponies like that. It's just that... I came awfully close once."
"Go on," Sweetie Belle encouraged.
"It was two weeks before the Preakness," Turbo Jet recalled. "I'd just crashed out of yet another race over in San Anponio, and wasn't really in the mood to hear my ex give me her 'get a real job' sermon at full volume, so I spent the evening at Tumbleweed's—you know, Dash, that watering hole right next to the track?"
"The one where Three Wide vomited all over that bouncer and spent the next month in traction?" Rainbow Dash recalled with a smile. "Never heard of it."
"Anyway," Turbo continued, "I was about two hard ciders into drowning my sorrows when this guy walks over to me wearing this crisp plaid suitcoat. I mean, I'm talking blindingly plaid, the kind of coat you remember even after an all-night bender. I suppose that should have been my first clue something was up, because he way too well-dressed for Tumbleweed's, but I was too young, dumb, and sloshed to realize it at the time."
"Now you're just dumb," Rainbow muttered to herself.
"So what did Mr. Plaid do?" Sweetie Belle asked. "Did he say anything to you?"
"He sits down next to me," Turbo Jet replied, "and starts talking to me like I'm some old friend. You know, 'hey, how are you doing, saw you in the race today, too bad about what happened, how's the wing doing, etc., etc.'"
"Did you say anything back?" Sweetie Belle pressed.
"Well, I was kind of hypnotized by his coat," Turbo Jet said with a chuckle, "but truthfully, I was just happy to have somepony to talk to, and he seemed genuinely interested in my well-being, so I just let it all out and gave him my whole sob story: The performance issues, the money issues, the marriage issues... Basically, the same story I've been telling you, only with more alcohol and less coherency."
"Did he say anything back?" Scootaloo inquired.
"He did a lot of nodding and 'uh-huh'ing, but he didn't really say anything until I finished," Turbo recalled. "He did offer to cover my tab, though, which I thought was awfully nice."
"And then what?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"He looked in me the eye," Turbo recounted, "and said something to the effect of 'gosh, that sounds like some real rough sledding, but you seem like a nice guy, and I'd really like to help you get back in the game, or at least back in your old lady's good graces.' He said he had some friends back in Los Pegasus that were interested in the racing business, and that they would jump at the chance to sponsor a pony like myself. The figure he quoted me just blew my mind, and he said the sponsorship obligations would be pretty minimal."
"And being the naive dimwit you are," Rainbow Dash concluded, "you took the deal."
"I'll admit, it wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done," Turbo Jet conceded, "but I was beyond desperate by that point. I didn't even think about the 'obligations.' All I could think of was how nice it would feel to eat decent meals and pay my bills on time, and how happy my wife would be—"
"It's good to know you're so concerned about your wife's feelings," Turbo's current wife deadpanned. "Perhaps you'd mop the floors and take out the garbage more often if you knew how happy that would make me."
"Oh... Right," Turbo replied, scratching the back of his head with his hoof as he turned to face the gray mare. "I, uh, knew I forgot something, heh heh."
"So what did Mr. Plaid's obligations turn out to be?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"I never found out," Turbo answered. "The guy started to reach over to shake my hoof, but before he could, some nasty-looking minotaur came up behind him, grabbed him by his coat, and yanked him off of his stool and into the air. I'm telling you, I had never seen a minotaur as big or as mean as this guy was. He had on this black leather jacket with the sleeves torn off, and his arms were just covered in scars and tattoos. Forget meeting this guy in a dark alley—you didn't want to meet this guy, period."
"What happened next?" Scootaloo demanded. "Did he work the plaid guy over?"
"Not immediately," Turbo Jet said. "He held the pony up so that their faces were inches apart, and asked him if he was making another 'business' deal."
"So they must have known each other," Sweetie Belle deduced.
"Oh yeah," Turbo Jet confirmed. "Anyway, this plaid pony... Dang, what was his name again? I'm sure he told me at some point."
"It was probably an alias anyway!" Scootaloo guessed. "I'll bet he was a frontpony for the unicorn mafia!"
"Gee..." Turbo Jet scratched his head and pondered Scootaloo's assertion. "I don't even remember if he was a unicorn or not. All I recall is plaid, lots and lots of plaid... Anyway, this plaid pony tells the minotaur to cut him some slack, and complains about not being able to have a drink with somepony without getting the third degree." Turbo tried to suppress a giggle, but failed. "He called the minotaur Tiny," he recalled. "Apparently it was his actual name, not some cute nickname or something. I can't imagine what that guy's mother was thinking."
"What did the minotaur say?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"Something about taking their conversation elsewhere," Turbo explained. "He threw the plaid pony over his shoulder and carried him out the front door. Of course, at Tumbleweed's ponies took their disagreements outside all the time, so nopony else paid much attention."
"I've got a question for you," Rainbow Dash interrupted. "What the hay were you doing this whole time? Sitting around like a lump on a stool?"
"Honestly," Turbo Jet admitted, "I was still trying to figure out whether any of this was actually happening, or whether I had just drank one too many ciders. About the time Mr. Plaid got the boot, though, I decided that either way, I'd probably had enough. I was reaching for some bits to pay the bartender when I heard somepony behind me say 'You goin' somewhere?' Next thing I know, I'm wrapped in a bear hug from behind by another minotaur, getting the life squeezed out of me."
"How did you know it was a minotaur?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"There was a mirror behind the bar that ran the entire length of the wall," Turbo revealed. "I looked into it as I was getting lifted off my seat, and saw the guy's face above my head." He stopped to take a breath. "This guy looked even nastier than the first minotaur, and all I could see was his head!" He continued. "He was missing half of one horn and at least six teeth, and he wore an eyepatch over his left eye. Or was it his right eye? Whichever it was, he looked like he had just stepped off a pirate ship."
"What happened next?" Scootaloo asked. "Did you get the same treatment as Mr. Plaid?"
"I don't know," Turbo Jet admitted. "I never found out what happened to the guy. Anyhow, this minotaur apparently knew I was a racer, and starts firing a bunch of questions at me—what I was doing talking to Mr. Plaid, was I working for him, had he offered me money, how much money, and on and on... By this point, I was in full 'yes sir, no sir' mode, and just hoping this guy didn't squash me into a pony pancake. Finally, the minotaur decided that I needed to have a word with 'the boss,' and carried me across the floor and into the back room of the bar."
Rainbow Dash smirked. "Gosh Turbo, I never though a blockhead like you would be let into Tumbleweed's VIP suites," she remarked.
"True," Turbo conceded. "You just don't appreciate those kinds of things when you're locked in a minotaur's death grip."
"So what did 'the boss' have to say to you?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"First, we had to find him," Turbo Jet explained. "There was a huge party going on when we walked in... Well, he walked in, anyway. We plowed through a bunch of ponies that were cutting a rug to some dubstep thing, and ended up at some dark corner booth next to the DJ. The minotaur yelled over the music for his boss, and somepony yelled back that he had just left to go back to his hotel, but that we might catch him before we left if we hurried."
"So... Did you hurry?" Scootaloo wondered.
"I humbly suggested that we not bother 'the boss' right now," Turbo Jet answered, "but apparently I didn't get a vote, because I got dragged back through the crowd and out through the back door into the alleyway behind the bar."
Rainbow winced at the mentioning of the alley. "Maybe you should skip over the alley part," she suggested. "Every story I've heard about ponies going back there..." She gestured towards the two fillies. "Let's just say those stories aren't meant for little fillies' ears."
"We're not little fillies!" Scootaloo objected. "We're tough, hard-nosed investigative journalists!"
"Yeah," Sweetie Belle agreed, although her voice gave off a hint of trepidation. "Please continue, Mr. Jet... I mean, as long as the story isn't too scary."
"It gets better," Turbo assured his interviewers. "Anyway, it was too dark for me to see anything when we got out there, but the minotaur yells out that he's got somepony who'd like to talk to the boss. The next thing I know, I'm surrounded by four of the scariest-looking shadows I've ever seen, and wondering if I should bought health insurance when I had the chance."
Sweetie Belle gulped, a little afraid of what was coming next. "Um... Maybe we should skip over this part," she suggested to Scootaloo.
"No way!" Scootaloo insisted. "We need to get this story! Besides, how bad could the ending be if this guy's still here to tell the tale?"
"Okay... If you say so," Sweetie Belle agreed hesitantly. "What happened next, Mr. Jet?"
"The guy holding me throws me on the ground and says, 'Look who I found swapping figures with a certain plaid lover,'" Turbo recalled. "The other shadows all close in around me, and one of them says something about 'teaching me not to hang with the wrong crowd.'"
"You... You must have been scared," Sweetie Belle posited, becoming a little nervous herself.
"Scared does not even begin to describe me by then," Turbo Jet admitted. "I was terrified! I was about to lose everything I held dear: My career, my good name, my family, and maybe... Maybe even my life." Turbo shook his head at the memory. "I didn't know what else to do, so... I snapped. I started bawling like a baby, and apologizing for every bad thing I'd ever done, and begging for forgiveness... It wasn't my proudest moment."
"And then... They worked you over?" Scootaloo guessed.
"Luckily, no," Turbo said. "All of a sudden, I hear this voice behind the shadows complaining about how they always made ponies cry, and wondering if he should have sent them to sensitivity training or something. The weird thing was... I recognized who was talking."
"Was it 'the boss?'" Sweetie Belle asked.
"Yes," Turbo Jet confirmed, "but more importantly, it was Greasy."
"Greased Lightning was the boss?" Scootaloo cried out in disbelief. "How could he be the boss? He's the one who got whacked!"
Rainbow Dash, in comparison, simply rolled her eyes at the revelation. "Of course that coward would have to roll with a bunch of minotaurs for protection," she muttered.
"Apparently he added them to his posse after his own close encounter with gamblers in Los Pegasus," Turbo explained to Scootaloo. "Anyway, Greased Lightning pushes his way past the shadows and gives me a funny look, then tells the minotaur that he'd grabbed 'Mr. Too-Uptight-To-Break-Any-Rules' and that maybe he should invest in a pair of eyeglasses."
"So you'd fed him your line of baloney before, I see," Rainbow commented.
"I guess so," Turbo said with a shrug. "Anyway, all the shadows back off, and Greasy apologizes for all the trouble, and says something about he can't believe his team thought me, of all ponies, would be trying to fix races."
"Do you think that was one of the obligations Mr. Plaid was talking about?" Sweetie Belle inquired.
"That's about when it hit me, yes," Turbo Jet answered. "Truthfully, though, I was more moved by what Greased Lightning said than by how stupid I'd been. I mean, I'd never had a real conversation with Greasy before—we'd always said hello when we passed each other on the street and stuff, but that was about it—so I had no idea what he really thought about me. I just kind of assumed I was another bug to squash on the way to victory, but... He actually kind of respected me. Granted, he may not have respected me as a competitor, but as a pony... It sounds cheesy, I know, but it meant a lot to me. Of course, it also made me feel like an idiot for nearly getting roped into doing what he thought I never would."
So when did you tell him that you were actually a pathetic fraud who consorted with plaid lowlifes?" Rainbow asked, her voice dripping with snark.
Turbo Jet sighed. "I tried to pull myself together," he explained, "but I wasn't any better at doing that than I was at racing, so... I came clean, right then and there. Everything came out—the injuries, the lack of money, the marital woes, the 'deal,' and above all else the plaid. The whole thing probably looked pretty pathetic, but by that point, I didn't figure I could look any worse."
"And how did Greased Lightning react?" Sweetie Belle inquired.
"He didn't say much," Turbo replied. "I think I kind of stunned him with my confession... I'm not sure he knew what to say. After I finished talking, he stood there quietly for a moment, then said 'we'd deal with this later,' and told one of his security guys to take me over to the train station and ship me back home. That was it—I got thrown over the shoulder of another minotaur, carried out of the alley, and in fifteen minutes, I was on a train headed east."
"But Greased Lightning sent somepony after you later, right?" Scootaloo hypothesized.
"Something, actually," Turbo corrected the small pegasus. He gestured towards the note still sitting on the table. "A few days after the scene at Tumbleweed's, that letter arrived in the mail, along with a check for 4,000 bits. He said to keep it on the down-low, so I told my wife it was from a new sponsorship deal, and never spoke about it again. Until now, anyway."
"That's it?" Scootaloo eyed Turbo Jet with suspicion. "That's all that happened? No mobsters? No conspiracy? No set of cement horseshoes?"
"Thankfully, no," Turbo confirmed.
"Awww..." Scootaloo pouted. "I thought we were going to get an exciting story, not some boring tale like this."
"It's still an exclusive story," Sweetie Belle reminded her friend. "Maybe a less-than-exciting exclusive story, but still an exclusive story."
"I don't get it," Rainbow Dash admitted, scratching her head in confusion. "I mean, a ham like Greasy deciding not to leak this story to the press and bask in the attention? That doesn't seem like his style."
"I wondered about that too, especially after the accident," Turbo revealed. "I mean, he had the story straight from the horse's mouth, and at least four witnesses. He could have dragged me before the Pegasus Racing Federation and ended my career just like I did his... But he didn't. I guess he still thought I was an okay guy."
"Even after the accident?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"That's the crazy thing!" Turbo said. "I went to visit him in the hospital a few days after the crash, feeling all guilty and awkward about the whole situation. I'd already gotten some unflattering mail by that point, plus a tomato in the kisser from an especially-upset fan, and figured Greasy would be livid for having wrecked him after taking his money."
"So... Did he call you a lowlife scum and throw a bedpan at you?" Scootaloo guessed.
"Nope!" Turbo exclaimed. "His room was filled with friends and family when I got there, and some of them had a few choice words for me, but Greasy? He defended me, even from his own mother! He kept telling them that it was an accident, and that I was a clean competitor who always raced on the level, and that he didn't blame me for anything!" Turbo paused for a moment to wipe his eyes as he recalled the moment. "I had lifelong friends who walked away from me because of that crash," he declared, "but Greased Lightning, a pony I barely knew, was always in my corner. He did a million interviews after he got out of the hospital, and never once said a bad word about me. I never understood it, but I was always grateful for it."
Rainbow Dash grimaced at Turbo's last sentence, and turned away from the conservation. "It's nice to know that moron was so considerate of other pony's feelings," she grumbled sarcastically.
Turbo shook his head. "Look, Rainbow," he offered, "I know you and Greased Lightning had your issues, but he wasn't the gutless coward you made him out to be. He would have killed to get back in the sky and compete against you. He just... He never really adjusted to being grounded."
"Hmph," Rainbow muttered, not even turning to look at Turbo.
"Did you keep in touch with Greased Lightning after the accident?" Sweetie Belle asked.
"Er... Sort of," Turbo Jet answered sheepishly. "He came to a few races in the beginning, and I'd always stop and see how he was doing. After he started going downhill, though, he became a tough pony to track down, never staying in one place for too long. The last time I saw him was... Six, eight years ago? He showed up at my house with a bottle of hard cider and nopony to share it with, so..."
"I met Lightning for the first time about eight hours later," Turbo's wife remarked. "He was passed out on the stairs wearing a lampshade."
"Yeah... He was full of life that night," Turbo remembered. "He said he was on his way to Canterlot to enter their summer marathon, and that Rainbow was going to be there, and that they were finally going to see who was the fastest pony in history, once and for all."
"Right," Rainbow said, as she rolled her eyes. "And we all know how that turned out."
"I don't know what happened," Turbo Jet offered with a shrug. "He left the next morning all pumped up about finally getting back into competition. I never saw or heard from him again."
"Good riddance, I say." Rainbow stomped her hoof for emphasis, then looked over at Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. "So are you two done with your interview yet, or what?"
"We're finished when our interviewee is finished," Sweetie Belle proclaimed. "Now then... Is there anything else you'd like to add, Mr. Jet?"
Turbo scratched his head and rifled through his brain for a few seconds. "I guess not," he finally decided. "That's my story, and I'm finally sticking to it."
"Then I have one last question for you," Sweetie Belle revealed. "If you could speak with Greased Lightning right now, what would you say?"
"Oh wow..." Turbo Jet sputtered, caught off guard by the question. "I don't know... I've already apologized so many times, it wouldn't mean a whole lot anymore." Suddenly, a light bulb went off in Turbo's brain. "If I were talking to him right now," he posited, "then that would mean he was still alive, and he would be out there somewhere doing... Heck, who knows? But if that were true... I'd tell him that I'd like to help him somehow, the same way he bailed me out all those years ago. I owe him at least that much."
"That much plus 4,000 bits," the gray mare reminded Turbo.
"Yeah," Turbo agreed. "That's what I'd tell him."
"Well," Sweetie Belle proposed, "we'll at least put that quote in our article, so that he can read it wherever he is."
"And if we find him," Scootaloo added, "we'll let him know!"
"I'd like that," Turbo Jet acknowledged. "Thanks, girls."
Turbo's wife glanced at a clock hanging on the wall. "It's getting late," the gray mare observed. "Would any of you like a cup of tea or something?"
"Nah," Rainbow declined. "I gotta get these two back home before their sisters start wondering where I took them. Thanks anyways, though."
The gray mare nodded. "I'll show you to the door," she said.
As Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo headed for the door, Turbo Jet reached out to stop Rainbow Dash for a moment. "It was good to see you, Rainbow," he offered. "You know, for what it's worth... You would have destroyed Greasy if you'd ever gotten to race him. He was fast, but I think you were faster."
Rainbow Dash smiled. "Maybe you aren't as dumb as you look after all." She sighed and shook her head. "I guess we'll never know, will we?"
As Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo prepared to return to Ponyville, their fellow crusader Apple Bloom continued her search through the archives of the Ponyville library, looking for information that might lead to Greased Lightning's whereabouts. Unfortunately, after two days of combing through newspapers, and long after giving up on ever cleaning up her mess to Twilight's satisfaction, the filly found that Lightning's trail had again gone cold.
"Great! Just flippin' great!" Apple Bloom shouted in frustration, glaring at the pages of notes she had scattered on the floor. "A bunch of police blotter reports, and a couple of articles wondering where Greased Lightnin' went! This stupid pony ain't been heard from in six years!" She slammed her hooves down in frustration. "I've been through these darn papers so many times, I probably know them better than Twilight," she lamented. "I hope Sweetie and Scoot and having more luck with that Turbo pony than I am—at this rate, I'll never find out what happened to Lightnin'."
"Apple Bloom?" Twilight's voice drifted down from the basement door. "I hate to say it, but I've double-checked the catalog, and we don't see to have any books about Greased Lightning."
"Oh, come on!" Apple Bloom shouted in disgust. "This guy was, like, some really awesome superstar, and nopony tried to write a book about him?"
"It doesn't look like it," Twilight acknowledged, as she started descending into the basement. "Look, sweetie," she began, "you've been down here for two days without much food or sleep. Maybe it's time you—"
"No!" Apple Bloom gruffly interrupted the unicorn. "I ain't got time for that!" The filly stood up and stomped over to the stairs, meeting Twilight at the bottom step. "Maybe you just don't have a book like that here," she huffed. "Can't you check with some other libraries about this?"
"You mean request an interlibrary loan?" Twilight pondered the idea for a moment. "I suppose we could try, as long as they have—"
"Don't just stand there, do it!" Apple Bloom demanded, turning and heading back to the newspapers. "And don't call me Sweetie Belle next time!"
Twilight sighed and trudged back upstairs. "I don't mind helping Apple Bloom with research," she said to herself as she reached the top of the stairs, "but I'd appreciate some appreciation, or at least a little less yelling. She needs to take a deep breath and not get so personally involved in her work."
"I see a pony that is tired and blue," a rhythmic voice behind Twilight spoke up. "Tell me, Twilight, what is bothering you?"
Twilight turned to see a familiar zebra standing in the library, sporting a mane mohawk and wearing a matching set of gold necklaces and earrings. "Zecora!" Twilight exclaimed. "It's nice to see you again! What brings you to town today?"
"A book on Elbonian herbs would be nice," Zecora replied, "but it seems that somepony could use some advice."
"Right as always," Twilight admitted. "It's about Apple Bloom. She's practically on a crusade, trying to figure out what happened to this old pegasus racer named Greased Lightning. I've tried to help, but—"
"She seeks the fallen pegasus?" Zecora turned and headed for the basement door. "Then I should speak to the little miss."
Zecora made quick work of the library's basement stairs, and found Apple Bloom face-down in a pile of newspapers. "A word with you, young Apple Bloom," she requested, "for your words cause others to fuss and fume. You put your heart into your work, but that does not mean you should act like a jerk."
"I know, I know!" Apple Bloom insisted, picking her head up to look at Zecora. "It's just... I need to know what happened to this Lightnin' feller. I know he sank awfully low after he lost his special talent, but... I have to know if he ever came back up! I mean, this guy was a strong, confident, successful pony! If he couldn't live without a special talent—"
"You fear what time will have in store," Zecora translated. "You fear his story will be yours."
"Well, I mean, look at me!" Apple Bloom sputtered, her eyes beginning to well up with tears. "I know ponies two grades below me who have their cutie marks! Me and the other crusaders have tried everything we could think of, and we're still blank flanks! At this rate, I'll never find my special talent, and I'm gonna end up a... A talentless, broken-down, good-for-nothing old mare!" The dam finally burst, and Apple Bloom smacked her face against the floor and began crying her eyes out.
Zecora watched Apple Bloom break down without expression, but the wheels were turning fast within her mind. "It seems, at last, the moment has come," she declared, "to tie the strings which have come undone. To ease the minds of you and your friends, you must know how this story ends."
"Exactly," Apple Bloom sniffled. "It's just that... Nopony knows what happened."
"No pony knows this, that is true," Zecora concurred. "But perhaps a zebra could tell you."
"Wait... Really?" Apple Bloom's eyes lit up. "You know where Greased Lighting is?"
"I do," Zecora confirmed, "for he rests near me, deep within the Everfree."
"What?" Apple Bloom bounced back up from the floor as a surge of new energy shot through her body. "Well, why didn't you say so? How far is he from your place? Can you give me directions?"
"Patience, young one," Zecora counseled, "for there is—"
"Aw, heck," Apple Bloom interrupted, "if he's near your place, how hard could he be to find?" With that, the filly took off like a rocket for the basement stairs. "Thanks, Zecora!" she called behind her. "You're the best!"
"Wait! Do not enter the forest blind!" Zecora cautioned, as Apple Bloom disappeared through the basement door. "You may not like what you will find!"
Zecora's warning fell on deaf ears, and within seconds Apple Bloom was clear of the library and charting a course for the Everfree Forest outside of town, unsure of exactly where she was going but making great time nonetheless. "Finally!" she said to herself. "Why the hay didn't I just talk to Zecora earlier? She knows everything!" She wondered for a moment if she should wait for her friends to return before embarking on her quest, but decided that she had been waiting for answers long enough, and that she needed to discover the truth about Greased Lightning once and for all.
Back at the library, a stunned Twilight met Zecora at the top of the basement stairs. "Wow!" the unicorn exclaimed. "I don't know what you said, Zecora, but it must have worked! I haven't seen Apple Bloom with a smile that big in a long time."
Zecora shook her head, and motioned for the unicorn to follow her. "Hurry!" she commanded. "We must give chase, for I fear Apple Bloom will pay for her haste. The truth she finds may lift her gloom, but what finds her could spell her doom."