Even compered to all the beautiful architecture the elegant and gentle Pegasus architects had produced in their majestic floating city’s the Celestia tower hotel was something to behold. Its smooth white walls and expert design reflecting the gentle sunlight that shone down on the far and wide Los Pegasus skyline. But, like many things, this beautiful landmarks appearance was deceptive.
Throughout the city every detective, beat officer and informant was looking for one pony, and it was that pony that looked out of the panorama window of his favorite room in the hotel in the middle of the second floor, Princess Celestia gradually setting the sun cast shadows across his already dark coat to the point where the sobbing jet black tragedy mask on his flank was almost invisible.
Since it was traditional for crime lords with un-intimidating birth names to adopt one that was a little more fitting he was referred to by his underlings, the media and the police as Mr. Coffin. He had settled on this particular pseudonym because if anypony was to investigate exactly how he made his way in the world they would find that that was the perfectly ordinary business he was in, the design, manufacture and distribution of high quality burial caskets.
“I never professed to be a good pony” he said, talking to the room in general “From the day Professor Akita first ushered me into this wonderful life of organized crime to the day I put my gun to the back of that old relics head and pulled the trigger. But at the same time I never felt this life needed me or that I needed this life. I stayed in this business because it made sense. You work for a day, get business for a year. But like every business sometimes some blood has to be spilled. But then again, you’d know all about that last one, wouldn’t you Jimmy?” He dramatically kept his back to the room but pictured the bloody young Pegasus he had recently trusted with an important matter, he had found his trust to be misplaced and as a result the over ambitious protégé found himself tied to an ornate chair with two of the more aggressive piles of muscle under Mr. Coffins employ relieving the stress of whatever childhood trauma had prompted them into their current profession on his skeletal structure.
“There’s a kind of beautiful simplicity to what’s going to happen tonight. I’m going to make back the money you lost me, you’re going to receive your final beating and the LPPD will never find what’s left of you”
He expected some kind of plea for mercy, maybe a heaving gasp if any of the several ribs he’d heard brake in the last 20 minutes had punctured a lung. But instead the voice that answered him was healthy and much clearer than the accented grunt most of his employees communicated in “Then how lucky for them they won’t have to.”
It was a familiar voice, a voice that stirred many memorable occurrences in the crime lords’ treacherous heart. That sort of voice only belongs to two kinds of creatures, old friends and old enemies. The Pegasus that this voice belonged to was most definitely the latter.
Slowly, Mr. Coffin turned to take in the quietly altered surroundings of his room. While he had been enjoying his monologue the newcomer had incapacitated both of the henchmen, released Jimmy and now occupied the seat that had a thick trail of blood and feathers smeared from it to where Jimmy was still truing to drag himself to the door that led into the corridor.
Every nerve in his body screamed at him that he should be enraged, that the revolver strapped to his hip should have been leveled and unloaded at the inturders head the moment he heard that all too familiar voice. But in the interest of keeping the noise level to a minimum he instead tried to keep his face bland an walked over to a table with various bottles and glasses carefully arranged on it.
“Well good evening, what brings the great and Infamous Mikael Hackney to my hotel room at this late hour?”
“We don’t have time for the usual screwing around, Coffin” he said through gritted teath “We need to get out of here and do it now” It had been unbelievably tedious to infiltrate the building so his considerably problamatic short fuse had already been burned to its final millimeters.
“Oh come now Mikle, just because we’re on separate sides of the law doesn’t mean we have to rush through our little meetings, how long has it been since we last saw each other?”
“Last week” Mikle growled “at the wardens trial. You, I and at least one of these foals” he motioned to the groaning thugs on either side of him “Were in the… audience.”
“Ah yes” Mr. Coffin replied, this time not being able to suppress a smirk “How is he by the way?”
“Six hooves under, a messy accident on his way home, according to witnesses.”
“Oh how tragic, isn’t it such a shame how unreliable the police are? But then again, isn’t that how fillies and gentlecolts like yourself earn a living?”
“Same goes for you, you slimy foal. But like I said, we don’t have much time.”
“May I ask why, out of all our other encounters, this one is at particular risk of being cut short? Finally stalioned up and had a tracker implanted, did you?”
“You know me too well, but no. It’s not the police I’m worried about, it’s literally every merc and crook in the city. I tracked you from the docks to this part of town to this hotel solely through the mess your new salescolt made. I would have cleaned up a bit but I was interrupted by the ponies I think are gunning for us.” He threw a scratched and dirty plastic card onto the carpet that bore the hotels familiar logo.
“Interesting” said Mr. Coffin, slowly pouring his drink “but you seem to be forgetting one important detail, the ponies you’re referring to are at best inexperienced underlings and at worst hired guns at those louts caliber” the two goons on the floor looked like they might wake up soon and Mikle was ready to casually give them another muzzle full of hoof “If you took that card with you and didn’t have time to put a shadow on you I seriously doubt they would be able to find us-.”
The bullet ripped through the glass shattering it into deadly splinters. Giving Mr. Coffin and Mikle just enough warning to turn away. Pegasus wings were never meant to bhe used as shields, but the thick feathers did have their advantages. It kept going until is slammed into Jimmy’s un-moving body, if he wasn’t dead before he definitely was now.
Realizing that noise was no longer a problem Mr. Coffin and Mikle each drew a gun. Something that most ponies would have thought impossible occurred. The two Pegasi surrounded their weapons with glittering levitation fields.
There were several reasons that firearms were practically non-existent among pony society. The levitation fields were sustained through unicorn horns donated after the original owners died, which didn’t happen often in Equestria. This resulted in guns being owned mainly by three areas of society. The rich, their protectors at least; Law enforcement, though only in the more dangerous areas; and finally, the more influential criminals.
With some mental gymnastics the bullets started flying. Mr. Coffin’s revolver was bulky and silver. Usually reserved for the higher-ranking members of the Royal Guard, designed more for form than function. Mikel had only been able to sneak in a smaller Detective Special but both had the range to send their six and seven shot loads to the snipers vantage point and send him plummeting to the streets bellow.
“Well” growled Mr. Coffin, reloading his revolver and pulling back the hammer, “I can say goodbye to my deposit.” Mikle was clearly taking the situation a little more seriously
“We need to get out of here now! They probably have a-” the explosion ripped through the floor from somewhere near the door sending all five pegasi hurtling towards the empty window frame, the wall of scolding air and flame quickly closing on them.
Mikle fully expected himself to be burned alive but after it was blown from its position on the carpet the body of one of the thugs collided with him and acted as a kind of macabre shield. His ears told him that Mr. Coffin wasn’t so lucky. His final scream was abruptly cut off just as the flames started to envelop them. As they began to fall Mikle and his unwilling shield separated.
He couldn’t think, found it impossible to think of any way to get out of his current situation alive so he did the only thing he could and shut his eyes, preparing himself to connect with the pavement rushing towards him. Instead he felt himself crashing into a crude pillow of paper, wood and cloth. His vision was blearing; he could just barely feel blood streaming down his muzzle, his broken bones pushed up against the underside of his skin. As his head fell to the side the last thing he saw was the face of the newsvendor who’s stand had saved his life. A paper cup of steaming hot coffee had tumbled from his saddlebag and was forming a steaming puddle over the curb. With the sun now fully set the only light in front of the hotel were the dim street lamps and the distant glow of the fire that had started somewhere after the explosion. He tried to check any damage but he could tell he wouldn’t have the strength. As the last of his awareness left him he saw the wide-eyed pony turn and run as the sound of panicked cries and beating wings faded into nothing.