//------------------------------// // More than one pony can handle // Story: Bruce Wayne, dark knight of Ponyville // by ultronquake //------------------------------// Tracking down the stolen black car was not the hard part, the hard part was figuring out how to get it back. The Batman was perched high atop the fourth wall of a building adjacent to the one the car was being held in. From his vantage point he could see into the window, there was the car, cartloads of contraband and at the very least twenty different armed thugs. He counted five patrolling the roof, five unloading the car, five packing drugs and the last five were in a card game, likely the relief for the outside watch. If there were more inside his thermal vision goggles weren't picking them up. The obvious route of attack would be to take out the roof guard first in hoof to hoof combat then move on to the relaxing thugs. The only problem was what they were packing, from his point he could see at least three carrying heavily modified Fetlock's, or even custom built ones. Ones that dumped the revolving chamber in favor of a big round clip, a longer barrel for increased accuracy. If they had any decent aim than taking on five at a time would be a death sentence. Not to mention the likelihood of reinforcements, this hidden warehouse was only a few blocks away from more mafia owned interests. Bruce was flummoxed, go in figurative guns a blazing and hope things turn out in his favor. No, even if he were dumb enough to do that, the thought of Silver Spoon grieving over him was enough to halt that progress. Batman pulled out his grapple and pulled himself higher, onto one of the decorative gargoyles lining the roof. From up there he saw something he couldn't see before hoof, a small nondescript ventilation fan. A scheme started hatching in his brain, but it would still be near impossible on his own. In a carefree way Batman let himself fall off of his perch once he hit terminal velocity he flicked open his cape letting it catch the air. Silently he descended, until he hit the ground with a roll, Bruce stuck to the shadows carefully avoiding the rooftop guards line of sight. Stowed away from prying eyes he had parked his 'other car', a completely custom job he affectionately called his Batmobile. Using the chaise of a heavy duty truck, solid rubber tires that can't be shot out or punctured and an automatic armored shell that activates whenever anypony tries to pry their way inside. It was a bit of a passion project for Bruce, meticulously constructing it in the garage of the cave, purchasing the components separately through dummy companies so not to raise any suspicion. He liked to think it had all been worth it, it had cost a veritable fortune to make as well as requiring him to read numerous automotive manuals, but it granted him speed and safety in pursuit that he could never have on hoof. He fired up the prototype engine and let it fumble for a while, little trails of condensed magic spewing from the tailpipe as it idled. Bruce set the navigation computer to an alleyway not for from the Ponyville police headquarters and took off like a bat out of Tartarus. ***** It had been a wicked week for Commissioner Oats, ten homicides, more burglaries then he could count and this armored car robbery. To add to the sting, one of the pursuers, a rookie just out of the academy got shot and drove his car strait into a brick wall. Weather the pup would survive the night was up to the overworked staff in the 'Our Lady of Kindness' mercy hospital. About the only good news that Oats had received the entire week had come just the night before. A mare who had been the victim of a mugging came back into the station to report that her purse had been returned, with all its contents along with a heartfelt apology letter from the thieves. It wasn't very often that something like that happened, but on those rare occurrences it does it helps to rekindle some faith in the equine race. He was just returning from the decades old coffee percolator with a Styrofoam cup of the bitter beverage in hoof. Oats found himself relying more and more on coffee to help him get through the long nights. During the brief moments in between dispatch calls and interrogations to watch from behind the one way mirrors his mind would wander. Word on the street was Panamare was the place to be, hot tropical climate, white sandy beaches, exotic mares with beautiful plots - of land. Sometimes Oats would indulge his imagination, him lying down in that warm sand with one of those froofy fruity drinks you see in the menus but never end up trying. But life wouldn't afford him this luxury, in reality or fantasy, one of his lieutenants barged into his office, a dour expression occupying his face. "Wha'dya want?" "Sorry to interrupt your coffee boss, but I thought you should know. The doctors did all they could, but they couldn't stop the blood loss." Oats saw the police pony had his cap off, a gesture that carried with it a meaning they all knew. Respect for the dead. "Officer Glitter Glam was a good stallion." Oats said plainly. "Do you know if he had a family?" The lieutenant was getting choked up, "Just his mom and dad sir *Sniff* I met them at his graduation ceremony. Glitter was their only child." "Go, take a breather, let it all out." ordered Oats. The lieutenant thanked him and went outside, once more Oats' mind drifted off to his imaginary beach in Panamare, but he wasn't alone there. Glitter was there his mangled face staring at him with those sad puppy dog eyes. Others were there as well, every single officer that had died under his tenure as commissioner. 'Am I just marching these good ponies to an early grave?' Oats felt like a wartime general, ordered to send his platoon out of the trenches and into the noponies land, he felt sick. Oats shelved the depressing thoughts for a later time, he was on the clock and there was a mountain of paperwork piling up on his desk. As he went to grab the first folder a slip of paper fell out, a note in almost illegible scrawl, a dark brown coffee stain still wet obscured half the writing. It was from his chief detective Bulrush for sure. 'Hey boss, meet me up on the roof, I gotts somthin' to tell you about.' Oats mulled it over, and decided to go. Neglecting the alarm bell going off in his head, Bulrush's desk was just on the other side of the room and his door was always open. But he went anyways, taking along his still steaming cup of coffee and his holstered Fetlock. The police station roof was unbearably cold with little interesting up there, several four foot ventilation ducts and a disused searchlight. The alarm bells grew louder when Oats didn't immediately see the obese unicorn anywhere. "Bulrush? What was so important that you couldn't talk to me inside my office? I'm freezing my flank off out here!" No reply. He took two cautious steps out of the door and undid the clasp on the holster. "If this is some kind of prank you can expect a cut in your salary next paycheck." Still the warning tone brought no response, already Oats knew Bulrush wasn't up there. The stallion was about as stealthy as an elephant in a mouse convention, he drew the gun and held it close. "There's no need for that Fetlock commissioner," said an unfamiliar voice, it was male for sure and cartoonishly masculine at that. Thoughts raced through the middle aged horse's head, 'Whoever is up here can see me and I can’t see him. I can’t see Bulrush so he's either unconscious, dead or back downstairs. And finally, I didn't tell anypony I was coming up here, so I'm alone.' That last thought worried him the most. "I think I'll hold onto it just the same, who is it I'm talking too?" Oats tuned his ears, hoping to divine the unseen party's location. "I'm just a concerned citizen doing his civic duty. The bank car robbery, have you made any progress yet?" There was something off about the voice, but Oats couldn't put his hoof on it. Oats would play his game if it meant it kept him talking, "None so far, we lost eyes on the car after the pursuers went down." "What if I told you where you could find the car and something far more important?" The something Oats heard was more defined now, a certain tinny quality, almost as if... "I'd say that sounds too good to be true, it sounds like your setting me up for a trap." Oats was slowly maneuvering himself around the vents. "Nopony ever said it wasn't a trap, the armored car, and what I counted as twenty kilos of 'Joke' are all being guarded by a heavily armed group of mafia. I can tell you where to find the warehouse if you like." By now Oats was sure, the sound was the voice echoing off of the vent ducts, the only question was which one? "Well that's mighty kind of you, but why would you want to share this when you want even talk face to face?" Oats had systematically checked each vent access, all except one. He pulled down the hammer and rounded the last corner to find, nopony. All there that was there was a city map with a back alley circled in red and a two way radio. "Like I said commissioner, I'm a concerned citizen, I want Ponyville to be a crime free city just like you. The only difference is I'm a bit of a coward, I don't want to be showing my face all around. You're the brave one Oats, I know you'll do the right thing, for officer Glam." Crackled the radio. Oats snorted angrily, took the radio in hoof and tossed it off the roof to the street below. From his hidden vantage point on a nearby building Batman set down his own radio. He felt guilty over that comment, he had hoped it might have been a motivator but he'd only succeeded in pissing off the pony he hoped to make an ally. With no further way to communicate Batman took off for his ride, back to attempt the incursion on his own. "I shouldn't have tried to involve them in the first place." Oats was furious, furious and paranoid. This no life voyeur was trying to manipulate him, plain and simple. But he was paranoid all the same, "How did he know about Glam?" He had only just been notified himself a few minutes ago. Oats contemplated tossing the map off the edge as well, but he hesitated. The area highlighted, it was in known Melody territory. And the ponies in the neighborhood had been reporting suspicious behavior. It was a snap decision he knew, but he felt it was right, he felt it in his gut. 'It wouldn't hurt to send out a plainclothes pony to scout it out, would it? No, of course not. Oats reasoned to himself, "And nopony would bat an eye if I ordered the S.W.A.T team on standby, we've had a high profile incident." Oats made his way back to the stairwell, his coffee he had set down had already cooled to an icy chill. He poured it out and walked down the steps, seeking out his head detective for an assignment.