A Case of the Cold |Part One/Two|

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The night simmered with activity, the bar was very kind to allow free drinks for that one night only. It was the grand reopening, and how else can anyone celebrate without a good drink and nice music supplied by the local Canterlot talent?

In exchange for their service, they were allowed access into the VIP room. The VIP room was just a lounge, a room filled with technology (a luxury that some ponies would kill for) with its owner being the bartender up there.

The neon sign glowed blue, cyan, which clashed with the orange hue of the newly installed street-lights. It created a dazing effect in the night air, but it didn’t stop this bumbling mare from stepping away from the bar. The mare looked dazed, confused, as if something was wrong with her, but it didn’t take a fool’s naked glance to detect that she was drunk.

The soft purr of the engine was the only warning the mare gotten before being struck by the bigger automatic wagon, it was one of those new cars that not every-pony could afford but your average hard worker has already issued. The model was unknown, because the neon lights effected any witnesses’ eyes.

The mare was frozen in the headlights like a deer, before being slammed into by the car. The mare cries of pain were much like her after the event short-lived. She rolled under the wheels limply as the sheer weight of the car probably crushed her bones while the tires ripped her wings apart.

It was appalling.

This story, if I told you, would be the reason I’d be in a mental health facility with my arms tied around my body in a loony suit. Placed in a mask, only movement would be a trolley, and they’d completely skip sedation and go straight towards electroshock treatment instead. What a lovely day to be Equestrian Royal Investigation Beau, everybody hates detectives but everyone loves the colts in gold.

Yes, that’s what the patrolmen are called. The Colts in Gold—not the Boys in Blue, I find it strange that such a name would be given to a rather common trainee instead of those who earn our spots in the E.R.I.B.

My name is Detective Cole Phelps, badge Twelve-Forty-Seven, Traffic Desk. Oh, did you think this was a usual Noire story you find in the movies? Nope, because mine pretty much required me to completely kick the bucket to get where I am. Death, for me, was more or less the same as sleeping in my bed that happens to be in a flood. However, no one would suspect me of actually waking up in my bed.

Like it was just a nightmare.

No, I don’t buy that bologna. I want an explanation that makes sense, instead of the usual sleeping on the other side of the bed-nonsense. I went from a human wearing a brown suit and a fedora to match, to a brown equine (later learned unicorn) with a grey fedora donning my head. I had a tie around my neck, the color didn’t matter because I hated it. No matter the color, it clashed against my fur color and my fedora.

Where I live? 213, Apartment 3A on Weston Drill RD. It wasn’t as glamorous as the rest of Canterlot, but it’ll have to do for now, perhaps if I was promoted to Homicide or Vice Admin: I could afford a better home without holes in the walls or prostitutes visiting my next door neighbors, or the constant rats that I somehow made friends with.

Two rats, actually. I know—I’m a sad stallion, but I can’t exactly afford a dog on the budget I’m currently on. Hell, I might have to work double shifts to keep rent up and I refuse to live in some village only to ride on a train back to Canterlot, only to go back on said train back home. Too much traveling, I’d rather just suck it up and keep it simple.

Scott and Pippin, yes I gave those varmints names. They both were black and white broken hooded rats, both of them identical except for their heads being colored differently. Scott had his black fur color stretched to his head with a white underbelly, whilst Pippin’s white fur color stopped at the nape of his neck.

I’d rather talk to rats and look crazy, rather than sit here silently and become crazy.

The book that I was reading was a novel about Mare-Do-Well, which I knew was a nod to the actual meaning to the words “Ne’er Do Well”. The story started out fine; it wasn’t raining outside, which is unusual for every detective story I’ve read. Equestria was very through with their story-telling, even though the clichés were just over-bearing. Seriously, this Twilight Velvet author is quite the author but she doesn’t shy from clichés. There’s attention to detail, I noticed as I casually skimmed over the sections of paragraphs.

I was sitting at my desk, reading the detective novel that I “borrowed” from a library that I never gave back. My desk contained a type-writer for writing reasons, a cup with some sort of liquid in it, and a notepad with sketching of many different ponies (also used as a note book for me to write down important clues). There were many crumbled pages on my desk, I’ll call it an organized mess because that’s what it is.

I looked up, my ears twitched at the sound of hooves clipping and then knocking on my door sporadically. Did my ears play a trick on me, or did someone other than a patrolman knocked on my door?

I stood up and walked towards the door, keeping special attention to the details of the knock. It was a sturdy knock, so the hoof must be hard or the pony behind it must be athletic. There was no rhythm to the knock, so the pony wasn’t caring much for patterns so that meant OCD was out of the bloody window.

I looked through the peephole, and instead of the sturdy face of a pale white Royal Guard, I found the frantic face of a blue mare with rainbow colored hair—excuse me mane as everyone and their mother has to correct me every-so often.

Turning the bolt lock, I opened the door carefully. It was early morning, so there’s no way a female like this should be up this morning without a reason. I sense this news would be bad, if I hadn’t realized that this mare was a civilian. Why would she be wasting my time for petty things, or maybe she’s a mare of the night looking to cash in.

No thank you.

“I’m not interested in what you’re selling, ma’am.” I flatly said, hoping she’d get the hint and move on to some other stallion with money and rent to barely pay.

“Can it, blockhead.” The mare groaned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “You’re the only good detective for miles, and this absolutely can’t wait!”

I rolled my eyes, this is going to take a while. I leaned on my door way. “I’m not a Private Eye, I’m hired by the state to do actual police work instead of finding where your grandmother’s cat is.”

“It’s a hit and run from that Vanilla Oasis bar!” The mare shouted, before stuffing her hoof into her mouth to silence herself. “Some-pony’s hurt—erm—dead, and the local police department is ruling it an accident.”

“What’s the problem in that? She was probably drunk off of the sidewalk and was unfortunate enough to walk onto the street?” I shrugged my shoulders cynically. “That’s pretty much how it works, the DA makes a decision, and it usually stays like that.”

“I know Derpy! She doesn’t drink!” The mare half-shouted at me, I raised an eyebrow at the mare before she ducked her head. “I’m sorry—it’s just been really hard.”

“You’re saying that this Derpy character doesn’t drink?” I narrowed my eyes at her, not yet deciding if I should call that a lie or should I press her further. “At all?”

“Equestria bless you for being dense!” The mare growled, as if she was telling me for the third time that Two plus Two equals Four. “Not alcohol! She hates alcohol!”

“I hate alcohol too, that means I don’t go to bars.” I think that was a dirty lie, all of the claims she’s yelling at me were too quick to find any flaw in her voice. “I hate liars, Skittles, you better cough up something worth my time or the next help you’ll be getting from me is a detox cell.”

“Why do you got to be such a wise-guy, huh!?” Skittle’s eye twitched in frustration. “I’m not lying, and my name isn’t Skittles! It’s Rainbow Dash!”

I raised my eyebrow, Rainbow Dash, how could you make an even more tomboyish name even if you try? “Why was this Derpy at a bar?”

“Only for a reunion! She was meeting up with Time Turner—that clockwork dude from down the block!” Rainbow Dash started to rub her eyes again, a yawn stumbling up her throat. I found myself interested now, the more I piece together this story of hers.

“That’s not it, though.” Rainbow Dash coughed into her hoof, beckoning me to come closer. I leaned in, both my ears turned towards the mare. “I think some-pony splashed a bit of moon-dust into Derpy’s club-soda.”

“Alright, you got my attention.” I closed the door, reaching for my fedora and red tie. Every tie that I have come across came with a cuff collar so it didn’t look too off. For a pony, rather, because I still believe firmly that I am still human with human traits. I’ll hold onto that as firmly as I tied my tie around my neck, I loosened it before tightening it to a comfortable squeeze. I placed my fedora down, onto my head and neat mane-cut.

I slipped on a brown suit top, which acted as my holster for my pistol and my badge. The gun was standard issue Browning High Power, I actually never questioned how Equestria managed to filter the same technology as Earth. However, if it works in my favor: I won’t look a gift gun in the barrel.

I opened the door again and locked it behind me, I found a sleeping Rainbow Dash leaned against the hallway wall. I forced a loud cough, which woke her up with a snort.

“Very lady-like.” I mused, sarcasm always a good source of humor even though it makes me look like the worst person to ever touch the earth of this new land.

“Take that badge and shove it up your—”

It was a hit and run, a major felony in Equestrian Law. I didn’t find these cases all that boring, well how can I call traffic cases boring? How can I call any of my cases boring? I either get to chase suspects down the street, chase their wagons, or very frequently end up in a firefight that usually does not end well for them.

The victim was a mare, this is obviously easy to solve. From the reports of the Detective, whom I had to give a nice chunk of my dwindling wealth to transfer me the case, the mare’s name is Ditzy-Do. Nicknamed Derpy because of her eyes because of her eye being prone to roll around in its socket. Ponies talk negatively about something that’s different, so this might have been a purification assault?

That claim Rainbow Dash gave me, that she suspected someone of slipping something a little special into Ditzy’s non-alcoholic drink. It begs the question: what kind of sex-fiend would prey on the mares who are in a social interaction? Maybe it was more than one rapist trying to get between the grey Pegasus’s hind-legs? Who knows, this town’s shady twin sister-side is something I have to deal with to keep the rich snobs from having to buy protection.

The body?

Ditzy’s body told me naught a thing except for blood spatter and the kind of wheels that were used, tires. This was a car she was hit by, and finding cars were a breeze now. Except they needed a license plate to track whom the car belongs to, and unless somepony was out here stalking Ditzy; no one’s going to see the plate.

Rainbow was made my voluntary partner in this case, as she knows more about this mare than anyone in that bar last night and I very much doubt I’ll get any truthful answers from Time Turner. What about the bartender? The bartender is the first to see anything that happens behind the front door, which is made of glass with only one poster for a hiring ad.

I wrote down all of my observations to be used as questions.

“Rainbow, no one leaves.” I looked over my shoulder to see her closing the front door and locking it, I blocked the back entrance so no one tried any funny business. I looked to the left, behind the bar, to find a set of stairs that lead up to the “VIP longue” that every newspaper and ad spoke about.

“Want me to go up?” Rainbow asked, I nodded my response.

“Excuse me! What is going on here?” The bartender looked up fiercely, he was a cream colored pony with reddish mane and a reddish tail. He bore a mustache, which I found humoring on a pony to have such a manly feature. “I’ll call the police.”

“We are the police, CPD.” I calmly flashed my badge, which only seemed to make the stallion even more nervous. “Cole Phelps, Traffic. This is my partner, Rainbow Dash. We’re investigating a hit and run, and a possible attempted assault and rape of Ditzy-Do.”

“If you got somethin’ to say: you better cough it up, buster!” Rainbow Dash pulled on the collar cuff that was the bartender. “Let’s say I’m not in the best mood today, Flim, so you better spill it before we show you whose bad cop…”

“And whose worst cop.” I finished for Rainbow, which only added to the tense uneasiness that atmosphere the bar has. Ponies murmured among themselves, some of them stayed quiet, while the others just kept their silence by downing their drinks.

“Alright, alright! I get it, no games!” Flim smiled at me, his smile was genuine as far as I can tell but something about the way he flashed his teeth at me made me want to bash him right in the gums. He smiled at me like I’ve got nothing on him, oh boy do I have some questions for him in a second. “I promise!”

“Rainbow, go ruffle the peeps upstairs.” I wasn’t against Rainbow’s method of physical contact against the suspect, but if this guy was smart: he’ll cry for a lawyer and null any charge we can bring onto him with Assault and Battery. I’ll rather go down for battery.

“If you got to twist his foreleg, Cole, make sure you break it. I don’t like him or his brother.” Rainbow Dash turned her head towards me and then nodded. Rainbow Dash rolled over the bar like an action hero cop; she held a banana like a pistol as she traveled up the stairs, checking her corners, and all that sort of jazz.

“Nice partner.” Flim bemused, and I could already feel the irritation building on my nerves now. Even after pressed with the reasons for investigating his bar: which is rape and a hit and run. He still remained calm, only allowing a brief moment of fear to cross his eyes every time I sic Rainbow Dash on him. What is he hiding?

I opened up my notebook and picked the first question I had for Flim. “What can you tell me last night?”

“Not much, really. I wasn’t even working here last night, it was that other fellow…” This guy is lying to my face, with the voice of a confident show-pony, but the estimation of my intelligence absolutely zero. “What was his name…? Ah yes, Time Tuner was his name!”

There’s no bloody way I believe that at all, no way. I very much doubt that, in fact: I’m calling him on his bollocks but I don’t have circumstantial evidence to back up my claim. All I have is Rainbow Dash’s word, and even then I’m not too trusting on her judgement. However, this guy is so full of bologna he’s practically a sandwich.

“You better come up with the truth quickly and it better be true, otherwise I’m going to make sure you’re sweeping your teeth off of the ground after Rainbow takes you into the back alley and bucks the hell out of you!” I glared into the pony’s eyes which only made his frown drop slightly.

“Or I can charge you on suspicion of attempted rape, why stop there, I’ll make sure you actually get the rape charge.” There’s the fear, it splashed across Flim’s face. It’s a legal nightmare for any stallion to get accused with rape, I’d feel bad about it if he wasn’t still smiling.

“Let’s see how far you’ll go in this legal system with the whole town knowing you’re a stallion who slips a little Wacky-Jacky in filly’s drinks?” Flim quickly shook his head, the entire bar was looking at our one-sided discussion. “So are we going have to play rough, or will you work with me to find the real perp?”

“Alright, alright!” Flim coughed into his hoof, I finally cracked him on the first question. That’s a personal record that I shouldn’t be proud of but whatever. “It was the grand reopening last night, and it was a party. We had the local talent playing some cool tunes, the bar was open—meaning that the drinks were on the house.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to slip something into someone’s drinks.” I remarked dryly. “I wonder who it was, Flim.”

“Look, I have nothing to do with that. I’m not responsible for what some crazy pony does, I’m no rapist—okay?” His answer is straightforward his eyes never divert to the side of his eye sockets. I got the feeling he’s telling the truth.

“Fine, humor me.” I beckoned him to continue with the story.

“So the party goes on, cool, but Ditzy starts to act a little funny.” Flim grabbed a rag and wiped the desk of dust that keeps forming somehow, honestly—I don’t even know what these bartenders even wipe at their bars. “Like she’s drunk, so I assumed she was.”

“Did you ring her a taxi?” I quizzed.

“Of course,” Flim furrowed his brow at me, I found his facial movements more prominent when he’s under stress. I don’t think he’s lying, however. “I’ll lose my license if I didn’t.”

“At what time?”

“Around Twelve-Thirteen… or Twelve-Fifteen…” I waved my hoof dismissively, I understood what he meant. “After we learnt she got offed, party was pretty much canceled.”

I crossed off the first question on my list.

“This Time Turner character, what can you tell me about him?” I saw his lips curl into a snarl. “I’m guessing he’s not your biggest fan?”

“He’s a selfish critic, he treats mares like garbage, and thinks he can just slap around a mare whenever he finds fit.” Flim looked disgusted, I would too if I’d actually cared. “No way how to treat a lady.”

“I’ve been told they reunited, was Turner off somewhere?”

“Playing army, when in actuality: he was in Jamaneca smoking reefers.”

“Don’t let your hate for him cloud your judgement on that, because that’s a very big claim.” I warned, raising an eyebrow at him. “That’s enough for the Princess to get involved with, Absence without Leave and drugs is very big no-no.”

“It might as well be true.” Flim spoke sourly of Time Turner. Did Time Turner screw his wife or something like that? I’m sure it must be personal, and I quickly added that into my notebook. I can ask Time Turner about their beef with each other later.

I crossed off the second question.

“Could you make out the license plate, by any chance?” I pondered, looking up at him from my notebook. I didn’t use my magic to use my pencil, magic is way too tiring and stressful.

“Only the first two, sadly.”

“Yeah…?”

“Erm… 3B1, that’s all I could have saw.” Flim pointed at the streetlamp, “That blasted thing always gets caught in the hue of our neon sign. I can’t see past it, like a flash bang.”

There was a rumble, and a crash of glass. Rainbow shot down the stairs and literally pulled me off of the barstool and dragging me out the back door.

“Time Turner, he was hiding in the bathroom!”

“They have a bathroom upstairs?! That’s cruel and unusual punishment!”

“Shut up, wise guy, and get him! I’ll take to the skies!”

Rainbow Dash shot upwards with a flap of her wings, she gained altitude high above the air and the yonders of the clouds. I wondered how she could see that far up, but that thought didn’t last long in my mind as I caught the tail of Time Turner turning a corner.

“Time Turner, Stop! CPD!” I raced after him, turning the alleyway. The brown pony was an Earth Pony, so he had more strength to kick off of the ground: which means he’s much faster than me. However, I have the wonderful gift of endurance. I won’t run out of stamina long before I draw my gun, and if I do: It’s my last resort to catching Time Turner.

╔╝

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The alley was a definite test of endurance, it had one sharp turn and then a few yards of running. I kept my voice trained onto Time Turner, yelling and screaming at him to stop and put his hooves on his head but he didn’t listen.

“Time Turner! Stop! CPD, you’re under arrest!” I screamed as I pushed myself to my limit, my muscles now beginning to sting just a tiny bit. I think I heard a tear in my suit, I growled: this suit wasn’t cheap and this cheeky dastard thought he can run forever.

“Don’t add felony evading to your charges!”

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