Bentgrass peered out the window of his hotel room at the sprawling mass of concrete, stone, and steel that made up the urban empire of Manehattan. His eyes traced the rows of flat rooftops from his lofty position. From a bird’s-eye view, the city didn’t seem different from any of the number of others in Equestria. Ponies scurried around on the streets below like busy ants. It was impossible to detect the lingering scent of danger and corruption hanging in the air.
The weather from Thatchholm must have followed him this far east. Monotonous gray clouds sat overhead, veiling the sun while simultaneously dropping a gentle rainfall across the city. The sound of water hitting the window reminded him of the bed and breakfast, and in turn reminded him of Dandridge. That smug grin on the face of that horse’s ass sent a twinge of anger through his tense muscles. He scowled and sipped at the glass of strong alcohol in his hoof, the lingering burn in his throat soothing his agitated nerves. Thank Celestia the rooms have minibars… he thought as he swallowed the smooth liquid.
Today was the day. Despite his enthusiasm, he remained cautiously optimistic on that point. Adamo Sarcidano would come for him today. Whatever background check he would have had his lackeys perform would turn up nothing on his persona. Not a single scrap of evidence, benign or otherwise. He would literally not exist. This would be his ace in the hole. If Sarcidano was anything like the Manehattan police made him out to be, no evidence would be the way Dandridge kept his company. He would blend in with the crowd of vagabonds well.
His mind drifted away from the gray city. Thoughts of his missing agents took to the forefront of his brain. He prayed to the sun and the moon for their safety while visions of every possible scenario they could be in played in his head. He would find them. He swore it.
A heavy-hoofed knock at the door interrupted that grim train of thought and reeled him back into the here and now. His eyes turned to the plain wooden door and lingered there. There was only one pony he was expecting. Setting his drink down and grabbing his gun, Bentgrass trotted over and pressed his eye to the peephole. Two gruff-looking ponies stood on the other side in cheap suits, glancing back and forth down the hall. Their image reeked of hired thug.
Bentgrass slipped his weapon inside his jacket and opened the door. The two ponies turned to look at him in perfect synchronization. “You Sure Bet?”
“I’m guessing you gentlecolts aren’t with the hotel,” Bentgrass quipped, looking the two ponies over. Detachment glazed over their humorless eyes. Something gave him the distinct impression that these stallions weren’t Oxford graduates. “Who’s asking?”
“Mister Sarcidano is ready for you.”
Finally.
“Excellent. Shall we?”
Bentgrass set off with the two stallions down the hall and down a short ride in the cramped elevator. He did his best to drown out the idyllic music playing on loop while keeping his two escorts in check out the corner of his eyes. The hotel was quiet this time of day, but the streets were another story. Stepping out into the cool rain, Bentgrass had to push his way past a crowd gathered out front under the hotel awnings. An elongated black carriage sat on the curb, shined to a flawless shimmer. The horses pulling the carriage were Saddle Arabians, standing tall and powerful in the weak light. This had to be his ride. Lightning Flash had been right; the Sarcidanos employed any creature looking to turn a profit.
“Well, let’s get goin’. We ain’t got all day.”
The ponies opened the door to the carriage for him. Bentgrass climbed into the back of the limousine and realized he was not the only one in there.
“Good afternoon, Mister Bet,” Adamo Sarcidano greeted with a nod of his head. “Good to see you again.”
Bentgrass was speechless at first. He had not anticipated to be picked up by Sarcidano himself. One by one, Adamo’s security detail climbed in behind them, securing them within the coach as it rocked and shifted away from the sidewalk. There was no going back now.
“Where are we going?” he asked while the carriage pulled away from the curb.
Adamo smiled at the agent in a manner that put Bentgrass on edge. “To the safe house, o’ course!”
Nothing could have prepared Bentgrass for the Sarcidano safe house. The trip down the labyrinthian city streets took almost an hour as they weaved through traffic and the different districts of Manehattan. Block by block, the everyday stores and businesses faded away into elegant brownstones and high-end neighborhoods. The limousine pulled up to one brownstone in particular and parked along the curb. Sarcidano’s bodyguards jumped out, allowing Adamo and Bentgrass slide out onto the sidewalk after.
Adamo walked up the steps to the front door and slipped a key out of his suit jacket to open the door with a firm push. He stepped in, followed closely by Bentgrass and his security detail. Bentgrass peered around the airy foyer, studying the fine pottery adorning the end tables by the door. The parquet floor was varnished to a mirror-like sheen and the crystal chandelier overhead threw welcoming white light around the entryway. The lavishness did not fail to impress Bentgrass. Between him and Clydesdale, organized crime certainly had a way of cleaning up nicely. It twisted his stomach with disgust and contempt.
“Your home?” he asked. Adamo smiled from ear-to-ear and gave a curt nod of his head. “You certainly spared no expense.”
“As Danny can attest to, this business is all about keepin’ up appearances.” He started for the stairs, waving back at Bentgrass to follow him. “We keep everythin’ important upstairs. C’mon.”
Bentgrass glanced back at the ponies closing in around him, forcing him to move up the stairs. He took each step in slow stride, tapping the gem hidden away in his pocket to activate the tracking beacon for the police. He stayed wary and alert at all times. Being surrounded by career criminals was not a situation he could say he reveled in. Still, he played his part and took Adamo’s lead up the staircase to the second level, and up another to the third. The stairs led straight to a door. Adamo paused to unlock it and then ushered Bentgrass in with a wave of his hoof.
Stepping through the doorway, Bentgrass admired the amount of detail the Sarcidanos had put into making their safe house resemble a typical home. The third floor consisted of two connected rooms: a lounge and an office. Plush furniture and elegant rugs that looked like they belonged in Canterlot Castle adorned the lounge. Large windows from Prance lined the walls and towered to the high ceiling of the room, providing an elevated view across the rows of brownstone homes in what Bentgrass assumed was part of the upper districts of Manehattan. The office resembled the one he had been in at the cabaret club, made up of dark wood and glass. Two Prench doors opened up to a balcony overlooking the street, facing towards the Manehattan Harbor. From its position, the Sarcidano house felt like a castle overlooking its kingdom.
“Have a seat, Mister Bet. It’ll take some time to gather the files you need.”
Bentgrass sat himself down in one of the armchairs with a polite smile. A variety of famous artworks hung from the walls. He assumed some must have been originals from the way they were framed and cared for. He observed the movements of Sarcidano’s security detail while he waited, ever vigilant of his environment. Two ponies stood beside the only exit while two took laps around the lounge, and another pair accompanying Adamo in his study. Bentgrass could hear an abundance of drawers and cabinets opening and closing, along with the shuffling of papers and the slamming of hardbound books.
A clock ticked in the stillness like a maddening metronome. Bentgrass’ eyes followed the pendulum for a few moments, counting each second that slipped by. One second, then two, three, and four… Each one was one more than he cared to be playing this charade. Each one meant one more second they had to sniff out his identity and blow his cover. Each one meant another moment his agents remained lost. Every nerve and muscle in Bentgrass’ body was wound tight, ready to spring if the situation demanded it, like a cat waiting to pounce.
Adamo reemerged after several minutes, a book clutched tightly in his teeth. He set it down on the coffee table in front of Bentgrass. “Is this what Danny was hopin’ for?”
Bentgrass stared at the unassuming book. The aged leather binding bore no name or markings on the cover and looked little more than a personal journal. Yet, peering at the modest book, he could feel his pulse pound slow and steady in his veins. All the information he needed to hang Dandridge Clydesdale lay within those pages.
He slid forward, his flank barely resting on the chair as he grasped the book and flipped the cover open. Inside was a collection of grainy black-and-white photographs of a family out in the countryside. The pictures took Bentgrass aback. The agent stared at each for a long while before turning the page, and then flipping past more and more photos. The book was nothing but a family photo album. It wasn’t meant to help him. It was to distract him.
“I don’t understand,” he spoke, trying to maintain his cover and hide his awareness amidst confusion. “I’m looking for the records Mister Clydesdale left with you. He assured me you had them. What is this?”
Another piece of paper fell to the table from over his shoulder. Bentgrass glanced up at it and felt his heart stop. His photograph was attached to the paper. A quick skim of the paper revealed it to be a letter to Adamo, warning him of government agents snooping about. It was signed from Dandridge Clydesdale.
It was then Bentgrass realized he had no hopes of salvaging his cover. He had been made. His head remained tipped down, but his eyes darted across the floor, locating every pair of hooves he could see. The Sarcidano thugs had tightened in a ring around him. He heard the sound of something slipping out of a pouch. Surrounded and outgunned, there was no way he could fight his way out of this situation.
The meeting was a setup.
Click!
Every muscle in Bentgrass’ body tensed up. The distinctive sound of a gun hammer locking into place behind his ear put his nerves on high alert.
His eyes darted up from the book, glowering at Adamo as he felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his head. A dark scowl had formed on the mobster’s face.
“Did you really think I’d just give up Danny like that? You must be denser than I thought, ‘specially if you believed a word I’ve been tellin’ you all this time… Not fun gettin’ played, is it?” Adamo spoke gravely. He loomed over the seated pony, taking the book from his grasp with slow grace. “Who are you really? And don’t tell me none o’ this investor for Danny bull crap, because I just got that letter from him this mornin’. Who do you really work for? The MPD? The feds?”
His tongue ran slowly over his dry lips as every synapse in his cerebrum fired. Bentgrass racked his brain for a plausible excuse. His life depended on it. Muscle couldn’t help him now. He had to rely on his wit and charisma if he hoped to live past the next few minutes.
“Listen fuck stick, you got about ten seconds before your brains recolor my carpet. Now talk.”
Bentgrass cleared his throat and dropped his faux accent. “Mister Sarcidano, I know you have your doubts—”
“Five seconds.”
“But there’s something you need to know about me.” Bentgrass lifted his hooves in surrender. “My name is Special Agent Bentgrass. I’m a member of the RIS, Division Six.”
Adamo huffed an indignant snort. “What the hell does that mean? You’re one o’ them spooks that chases paranormal crap? What does that have to do with Danny and me?”
“It means I’m a federal agent. It also means you have a large problem on your hooves.”
“Uh, boss, we got company…”
At the call of one of his ponies, Adamo trotted brusquely over to a window. Several police carriages had pulled up in front of the brownstone on the street below. Armed ponies leapt from within, charging for the front door. Adamo sneered and turned on Bentgrass.
“You led them here?”
“I’m not after you. I’m after Dandridge Clydesdale,” Bentgrass said, keeping his hooves held aloft. “It’s not too late, Mister Sarcidano. Cut a deal with me. Give me the records I can use against Dandridge and we all walk out of here unharmed. I know you have to have something for your own insurance. Nopony has to get hurt.”
Adamo scoffed and shook his head. A furious gleam burned in his eyes. “Oh no, buddy. It’s far too late for that. Get him up. Take his gun too.”
The pony holding a gun on Bentgrass slipped a hoof into his jacket, removing his pistol and tossing it onto the coffee table. Bentgrass flinched as he was pulled violently to his hooves and pushed across the room. A smashing from down below signaled the infiltration of the police, and the cacophony of hooves on stairs marked their approach. The mobsters turned to face the only way in, pistols drawn and ready to fight.
Bentgrass was ushered over to the windows by his captor. He perished to begin thinking what his intended fate was as he glanced out the glass at the pavement down below. The gun was jammed into his back again, pressing him closer to the thin sheets of glass keeping him from a three-story drop.
“Don’t worry about the cops, Mister Secret Agent. We’ll take good care o’ your friends.” Adamo drew his gun from within his jacket and racked the first round into the chamber, a murderous sneer on his face. “As for you… Let’s see if you’re an Earth pony that can fly.”
There was a heavy pounding on the door. “Manehattan Police! Open the door and keep your hooves up!”
It was just the distraction Bentgrass needed. He turned on his heels, grasping the hoof of the pony behind him and twisting it around. The stallion cried out and loosened his grip on his weapon. Adamo lifted his gun and fired twice at Bentgrass. Both bullets struck his own bodyguard square in the chest, killing him instantly. The other mobsters turned in response to the gunshots within the room. As soon as the shots were fired, Bentgrass dropped to the floor with the body just as the door was kicked in.
Gunfire started in force. The police shot at the startled gangsters while the criminals returned desperate fire from whatever cover they could find. The lounge was torn to shreds beneath the hailstorm of bullets. Bentgrass took cover while the gunfight ensued in ferocity and lethality. The seasoned police rushed the room, taking the last disoriented mobsters down fast and hard with practiced tactics.
Bentgrass stood up once the fight had ended and flashed his badge to the cops now drawing weapons on him. He grabbed his pistol from the table and observed the destroyed room. Adamo Sarcidano was nowhere in sight, nor did he lay among the bodies on the floor. Bentgrass kept his weapon at the ready as he moved into the adjoined office. There was nowhere else the mob boss could have gone to. But he couldn't see Adamo anywhere. Then he saw the doors to the balcony swung wide open.
Approaching the curtains swaying in the warm breeze, Bentgrass peered out the open doors. Adamo Sarcidano stood at the edge of the balcony, his gun pressed taut to his right temple. Bentgrass felt his heart fall into his stomach and lowered his weapon. Adamo leered at the pony, his hoof trembling while he kept the pistol held to his head.
“Put the gun down, Adamo,” Bentgrass ordered. His voice was calm and entreating, yet authoritative. “It’s over. It’s done. Now be clever and walk away from this with your life.”
Adamo gave a forlorn shake of his head. “There’s nothin’ left for me if I do. I’m finished. Danny’s gonna gut me like a fish when he finds out. And if his guardian angel finds out…”
“Guardian angel…? We can protect you from Dandridge and whoever else if you give them up. My deal still stands. Give me Dandridge and the justice system will take that into account at your trial. You’ll be put into protective services. Just help me catch him.”
“There ain’t gonna be a trial, fed, and nopony can protect me from them,” spat Adamo bitterly. “You ain’t gonna make me flip. I’m no snitch, not on Danny, and ‘specially not on his friends. I’m Adamo Sarcidano, and if I’m goin’ out, I’m goin’ out on my terms: with a bang.”
Bentgrass reacted on pure reflex alone. He dove for the gun. “Don’t!”
Adamo was faster. He squeezed the trigger. Bentgrass recoiled as he watched the pony’s head snap back with the gunshot. Something wet splattered against his face. The mob boss’s limp body slumped backwards over the railing of the balcony, tumbling to the ground below. Bentgrass rushed to the edge, staring down at the broken remains of the stallion splattered across the sidewalk in a mess of gore. Were he a weaker stallion, it would have turned his stomach. All Bentgrass felt instead was frustration reaching the breaking point as yet another lead on Dandridge faded away into nothingness.
Bentgrass stowed his weapon and slammed a hoof against the railing hard enough to rattle the wrought-iron. He turned on his heels and pushed past the police running to the balcony to investigate the gunshot. He looked around the office—at the stacks of books and papers. It would take him days, if not weeks, to find anything incriminating, and by then Dandridge would be long gone. He didn’t even know if any evidence existed here at all. It was a fool’s hope.
“Are you all right, Special Agent?” a familiar voice asked him. “Did you get anything useful?”
Lightning Flash stepped over to the crestfallen agent, frowning when he noted the sour grimace on his face. Bentgrass didn’t say a word. From the radio on Lightning Flash’s jacket, Adamo’s confirmation of death came through in a burst of static. It didn’t surprise Bentgrass. Nopony could have survived that.
“I guess he took his secrets to the grave…” Lightning Flash exhaled hard and shrugged his shoulders. “This pony you’re after must be one tough son of a bitch if he can make the head of a notorious crime family eat his own gun. Hot damn…”
“It doesn’t matter now. Sarcidano is dead. He won’t be a problem to you anymore,” Bentgrass said with a cold edge to his voice. “Send all information regarding black market transactions to the RIS headquarters in Canterlot. I’m finished here.”
He stormed out of the office and marched down the stairs for the front door. His one solid lead had slipped through his grasp again. He had failed, and just like that Dandridge had become that much more untouchable. Now everything rested on Fleethoof.