//------------------------------//
// Case Two, Prologue: Night Run 
// Story: Ponyville Noire: Tails of Two Private Eyes 
// by PonyJosiah13 
//------------------------------//

The taste of autumn was in the night air, cool and crisp on the tongues of the ponies that walked through the rough, half-paved streets that were lit by the unevenly spaced flickering street lamps and the twinkling stars far above. At this hour of the night, a walk through the smelly eastern slums of Ponyville was almost as dangerous as playing with an angry manticore cub. Every shadowed alley potentially held death; every rustle or foreign hoofstep might be the last thing that one heard. 
 
But there were treasures here that made the risk well worth it to those who knew how to navigate the dark labyrinths. 
 
A tall blue-gray earth pony walked down the sidewalk of a wide street, the echoes of his hoofsteps mixing with the fluttering of trash blown about in the wind. His brown mane and tail danced in the breezes as he walked, his dark blue eyes panning from side to side. In his mouth, the stallion clutched a black briefcase. As he walked, his loose dark red rain jacket bounced up and down; beneath it, he could feel the weight of the .45 Colt in the pocket slapping against his side. 
 
A pony with a wild gray mane and beard staggered out of an alleyway, mumbling pleas and half-hearted threats in a voice that reeked of cheap alcohol. The stallion with the briefcase shrugged him off and left him lying against the brick wall, mumbling to himself. 
 
He continued down the street until he reached an intersection. The street to his left was lit up like a Hearth's Warming tree. Flashing neon lights violently dispelled the darkness of night; billboards displayed young mares of every color and race smirking down invitingly at the few ponies that passed beneath. Laughter and catcalls sounded from the street. A zebra mare adorned with several golden bands on her forelegs and neck and a pale blue thestral mare with pink eyes both winked at the stallion as he passed by. Ignoring them, the stallion with the briefcase continued another block, then paused before a small liquor store. 
 
The one-story building was nondescript; the white paint on the walls was peeling and faded, and the red neon sign over the glass door that advertised “Liquor” flickered on and off randomly. The stallion with the suitcase walked up to the door and pushed through. A bell jingled over his head as he entered. The interior of the store was well-cared for, the tile floor clean and swept, and the shelves were neatly organized, displaying a rainbow assortment of spirits for selection. The clerk on duty, a young unicorn with a blonde beard, was sweeping the floors as the stallion entered. 
 
“Hi, can I help you?” the bearded stallion asked, looking up at his entry. 
 
The jacketed pony set the briefcase down on the ground. “I’m looking for a rare drink,” he declared in a flat tone. “Something to give a little tingle.” 
 
The bearded unicorn nodded and walked over behind the counter. He reached underneath the countertop and pressed a small button. With a faint click, an outline of a trapdoor appeared in the floor next to the counter. Taking up the suitcase, the earth pony walked up and lifted up the door, revealing a set of shadowed stairs. He descended down the creaking stairs. The bearded unicorn closed the door behind him, plunging him into darkness. The only light for him came from the bottom of the stairs, faintly illuminating the final steps. 
 
The visitor descended carefully down the stairs and reached the bottom. He walked down a short hallway lit by a line of bare lightbulbs on the ceiling to a door. A sleepy griffon stood next to the door, twirling a pearl-handled revolver around his claw. The visitor walked up to the griffon, who glanced him over, then stood aside and opened the door. The earth pony walked through and entered a large room that was alive with light and noise. Crystalline chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating every corner of the underground chamber. Ponies were crowded around several tables scattered across the room, chatting noisily and occasionally cheering or letting out groans of disappointment. The sound of clattering chips and clinking coins mixed with the overlapping voices. Each of the tables was manned by a pony wearing a red vest, who called out for bets and relayed information. A well-equipped bar sat in one corner of the underground casino, manned by a thestral in a red vest; several more griffons stood around the edge of the room, their claws on their weapons as they scanned for any troublemakers or cheaters.
 
The stallion with the briefcase walked down the center aisle of the casino, his eyes wandering over the gamblers. His gaze held for a few seconds on a light pink unicorn with ink black hair adorned with scarlet highlights, grinning cockily as she pushed a large pile of chips over to the dealer. His mind wandered for a moment, but then he shook himself back to earth: there would be time for such pursuits later. For now, business. 
 
One of the casino employees, a tall green unicorn with a black mustache and a grim expression, was waiting for him in the center of the room. The earth pony walked up to him and held out the briefcase. The unicorn glared at him for a moment, then grabbed the briefcase in an aura of lime green magic and tugged it towards him. He opened up the briefcase to reveal its contents: a collection of files stuffed into manila folders. With a grunt, the unicorn brushed the folders aside to reveal a small switch set into the briefcase. He pushed the switch, and the false bottom moved aside to reveal the true contents: several plastic bags of white powder. 
 
The unicorn considered the packages for a few moments, then pulled them out of the briefcase and set them into the satchel he wore around one shoulder. He then extracted a small pouch that jingled as it moved from the satchel. He opened up the pouch and spilled the contents into the secret compartment: mounds of golden bits. The courier resisted the instinct to count his pay: the casino employees knew full well what would happen if they shortchanged their suppliers. 
 
The unicorn handed the briefcase back to the courier and trotted off. Clicking the compartment shut, the earth pony turned and walked out of the casino. As he passed by the poker table, he heard a chorus of shocked cries and groans rise up, mixing with the laughter of the mare he had spotted earlier as she scooped up her winnings. The courier paused for a moment, then glanced at his watch. Ah, too bad: such things would have to wait. 
 
Trotting out the door and up the dimly lit hallway, he pressed a button on the wall at the bottom of the stairs. A few moments later, the trapdoor at the top of the stairs opened. He climbed up the stairs and up into the liquor store. Nodding good night to the proprietor, he exited out the door and into the night.
 
Turning up his collar against the frigid air, the courier turned and started up the street, passing by the red-light district with its bright lights and wild sounds and into the quieter, narrower streets of the slums. He shook the briefcase a bit and smiled at the music of the jingling bits inside. He would’ve liked to stay at the casino a bit, perhaps make the acquaintance of the lucky lady, but his boss wouldn't have appreciated it if he’d lost all of his cut gambling. Maybe he’d come back, and they—
 
The screeching of tires arrested his attention. He turned around to see a black four-door speeding around a corner and headed up the street towards him. The passenger side window rolled down. In the darkness, he could not see inside the car, but he did see something sliding out the window: a black and brown tube of wood and metal, pointed directly, accusingly at him. 
 
He recognized what the object was too late. Fire and brimstone burst from the gun barrel with a staccato mechanical rattling, thunderous cracks screaming through the night air. Every bullet found its mark, tearing right through the red rain jacket and into the pony’s chest, carving tunnels into his flesh as easily as a hot knife going through butter. He fell back onto the sidewalk, his briefcase clattering beside him. He was dead before he hit the ground; his dark red blood slowly began to spread across the stones.
 
The car screeched away from the curb and disappeared into the night as the last echoes of the brass cartridges striking the sidewalk faded away. Then, once again, the night was quiet.