//------------------------------// // Chapter 22: So We Come To It // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale // by Chessie //------------------------------// Starlight Over Detrot Chapter 22: So We Come To It What differences can we make with these single lives we live? I’ve never been sure. My cutie mark always seemed to mean there was a destiny for me somewhere out there, but I was never the kind of pony to succumb to happy stagnation, having ‘fulfilled my purpose.’ On top of that, Death seemed to always wait around every corner, ready to snap me up if I set one hoof poorly. Where do ponies go once their purpose is fulfilled? What if they fail to fulfill it? -Detective Hard “Hardy” Boiled, Detrot Police Department Blood Alcohol Content: 0.18%          Potholes and rattling axles gave way to a silky ride down richer streets. Scarlet had opted to sit in the front with Taxi at Swift’s insistence; she didn’t want anypony to bother ‘The Detective’ while he was gathering himself for the coming showdown.          My driver sank low in her seat, steering with one hoof while the other traced over the dashboard of her precious cab like she’d never seen it before. The engine was running noticeably smoother. Spurting lightning crawled underneath the hood with a vim and vigor it must have cost Stella a fortune to achieve, but to Sweet Shine, it was just barely worth letting Scarlet and Edina off the hook.   I’m fairly certain if she’d gotten her cutie mark just a few years later, it would have been burning rubber. It was unfortunate, then, that none of modifications to her car had preempted the argument that came when I laid out my intentions. It wasn’t until I threatened to get an actual cab, if I had to, that she backed off. There was still a sullen air about her, but she knew this had to be done. The rules of the game hadn’t changed since she put aside her badge and some deeper part of her knew that it could work. It had a chance to work. I’d expected Swift to join in berating me for being a macho headcase, but after the fight in Sunny Days, if I said I was going for a flight, she'd be sure I'd sprout wings. While that’s not unheard of in Equestria, those sorts of things happen rarely enough that the idiom still stands as a reminder not to put anypony on too high a pedestal. We drove on, passing baker’s shops setting out their wares for the morning hour and gifting the late night pedestrians with tantalizing whiffs. A few diners were still catering to the bar-closing crowd, as they stumbled home slaughtered on pints of the season’s first cider. I let down my window, peeled off my hat and gave the wind free reign to play in my mane. Swift rolled hers down as well. “Sir, do you mind if I go flying?” my partner asked. “It helps me relax.” “Go on, kid. Just don’t lose the car.” “I won’t, sir.” Tossing her wings out the window first, she let the air catch her and sweep her off the seat. I peered behind, seeing her coast off into darkness above us, beyond the avenues and into a sweet space of thermals and air-pockets, experiencing a purity of form and motion that I might never know. “Hardy? I know you’re set on this, but can I take my cannon?” Taxi asked, over one shoulder. “Yeah. We’re not walking in there unarmed,” I said, touching her seat back, reassuringly. “Put something good and loud in it. Stun the whole room if you have to and keep your trigger where you can get ahold of it.” Scarlet didn’t look back, but spoke from his place in the front with his chin on his crossed fore-knees. “Detective? I... I know you’re going to be alright, but I’m scared.” “You’re an idiot if you’re not. Wait in the car.” “I’m not afraid for me. I’m afraid for you.” He shifted in his seat, turning to face me. There were a few tears at the corners of his eyes. “I-I called our people and I’ve got six volunteers who can get you out if you can get to the roof or a window, but none of them are fighters.” “That’s what I thought.” I stretched out, rolling my shoulders a few times. “What about the Stilettos who came with us to the school?” “Miss After Glow recalled every able-bodied fighter to the Vivarium after I told her what you planned.” He shrugged and brushed his long mane back from his face. “If what you’re doing works, we won’t need fighters and if it doesn’t, everypony we send inside with you might die. You understand, right?” “I don’t intend to die and I’m not going in unarmed. If this turns foul, we just have to get to a window, right?” I asked and Scarlet bobbed his chin, uncertainly. “Have your people waiting.”          “They’ll be there.”          “Good. Now, give me the duct tape Taxi keeps in the glove box.” I tugged the heart box out of my inner pocket, setting it on the seat between my knees and giving it a gentle, comforting touch on the lid. Jingle Jangle’s brother’s heart was beating at the same familiar pulse as my own. I drew it close to myself, brushing the polished wood with my lips as I whispered, “It’ll be fine.” The box’s passenger thumped twice against me, then lay still. I should have been asking myself what in Luna’s name I was doing. It felt right. Just right. Monte Cheval was close. The road was coming to an end. **** Bells.          A clock-tower struck the hour as we turned down the final avenue between the stubby towers and office blocks surrounding the Monte Cheval. In the uneven darkness of the cityscape, against the backdrop of fractured stars, the buildings bore a disturbing resemblance to something, but I couldn’t remember what; it had me chewing on the strap of my gun bit, though.          I counted the strikes of the bell, breathing in between each one, then out as its counterpart rang. A hoof-tap on the window across from me signaled my partner’s return. I rolled down the glass and moved back, making room. Swift dropped very neatly into the car, bouncing over the seat cushion a couple of times. Her huge wings fluffed against her sides a few times as she adjusted her bulletproof vest a bit tighter in the chest, absentmindedly touching the pocket that had recently contained the ledger. A look of momentary panic passed over her face before she remembered the leather book was safe in Scarlet’s saddlebag. Despite the supposed relaxation properties of the flight, her shoulders were tightly wound. I expected her to say something, but she just sat and gathered her wings in close to her stomach. Part of me needed a few more minutes of silence, but a louder voice, always the louder voice, was curious. “Kid, you mind if I ask what you’re going to tell Chief Jade when she comes calling about what we’ve been up to?” I cracked the breach and checked the cartridge in my revolver, counting the bullets for the sixth time before I set it back in place. “I somehow doubt you’re going to have a nice, clean lie you can tell her.”          Swift tilted her head towards me, then puffed a breath through pursed lips. “Sir, I don’t even know what I think about what we’ve been ‘up to.’ I just saw you do the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen anypony do in my whole life outside of a comic book and I almost wet myself when I shot that pony’s gun.”          “You’re still here, though,” I replied. “Could always head to Jade, throw yourself at her hooves, and spill the beans. Your family is safe and I’m doing this one way or the other. She might even toss you another partner. Maybe some bean counter who’ll keep you out of the line of fire.”          The pegasus lowered her sky-blue eyes, her voice soft and full of shame. “...I thought about it. Just for a second there, when I saw the guard crying and I realized I’d hurt him... I really did think about doing just that.” She grimly ran her hoof down her pistol’s side, grimacing. “But even though I was frightened, you were there, keeping everypony together. My family is safe, because of you. I couldn’t possibly turn you in! ”          “I can’t ask you to walk into this one with me. It’ll make Sunny Days look like a cake-walk if it doesn’t go our way.”          Swift pulled Masamane’s slide back, cocking it with the satisfying impact of perfectly earth-pony-engineered metal falling into place, while the sword etched on its side snatched a glisten from a passing street light. “No. You can do this, sir. I know you can. I’m coming.”           “You know kid? You say that, and I damn near feel like I can.” I held out my hoof. After a moment, she bumped it with her own.          Taxi downshifted, slowing our approach as she called into the back. “Fillies and colts, get your big pony pants on. We’re there.”          **** Even at that hour, the Monte Cheval hopped and bopped to the sounds of unlucky ponies, too witless to realize the house had them by their addicted little short and curlies. We could hear ringing one-armed bandits and the rattle of chips. Spotlights played back and forth across the glittering top of the artificial mountain, making the low-hanging cloud cover glow an effervescent blue. I tried to spot Cosmo’s office up near the peak, but it was well hidden by the flash and glitz. Nopony might even know he was up there; the many-eyed monster snatching up the bits and hope of all those sad souls he’d trapped in his decadent hole, and beyond, those pitiable creatures he held in his web of extortion. Certainly some of them deserved such cruelty, but they couldn’t all be sinners. More likely, the majority were innocents caught in the wrong place by an opportunistic predator. The parking lot was packed from one end to the other and the valets seemed to have gone on break. We found ourselves a spot towards the back.and slotted in between a rickshaw full of what must have been a pony’s entire material possessions, and a carriage fit for a royal. Nothing much surprising there. The Monte Cheval was one of those rare, classless places where leather work duds and hoof infections could readily hobnob with top-hats and expensive cosmetic surgeries. I suffered through a good-luck hug from Scarlet as we left the car, though I was surprised to discover my confidence was high. Glancing up, I thought I saw a face looking down at us from the rooftop of one of the buildings ringing the Monte Cheval. It might have been my brain playing tricks, but it buoyed me a little. Thus it was, that Swift, Taxi, and myself marched up the front steps of the undermountain palace of the King of Ace. The doormare, a carbon copy of the one who’d been there earlier except for her camera cutie-mark, made to block our way. Her coloration was too close to her counterpart’s to have been anything but a dye job. “I’m sorry, gentleponies, but you will have you surrender your weapons. You can’t go in armed like—” She started to say, before Taxi swung her massive cannon around, and the doormare developed an expression that ballistics professionals have dubbed “PEACEful contemplation,” the almost universal reaction to staring down a barrel half as wide as your head. “Run along. We’re going to have a talk with the bastard that made you dye yourself up like that. I can tell you’re cute underneath. Go do something better with your life,” Taxi said, with a saucy wink. I never did find out if the poor girl applied for a career change, but she was at least possessed of some survival instincts, and immediately threw herself down the stairs, galloping off towards the far side of the car park and what I presumed was the employee parking.          Smiling at my driver, I ushered Swift forward. “Last chance, kid.” I said. “Duck out now, and you can say I dragged you into this.” My partner snickered behind her hoof, then replied by unfurling her wings and sweeping them forward with such force that an explosion of wind crashed the casino’s doors inward, hard enough to rock them on their hinges. She strutted across the threshold, trigger between her teeth and eyes set with heroic determination. Taxi sucked her teeth as she started after her. “Come on, before she decides she can take on the whole building by herself.” **** The casino interior veritably buzzed with activity, though of a more subdued nature than the early afternoon hubbub. Taxi and Swift both stopped a few meters inside, spreading out to either side with their guns in a relaxed but available position; no sense in causing a riot right away. I was holding that as a reserve option should we find ourselves needing an alternative get-away.          Reginald Bari, Cosmo’s little stooge with the big mouth and the wonky nervous system, materialized out of the dim light near the coat-check. He’d apparently regained the use of his limbs at some point after Taxi’s little pressure point therapy, though he was walking with a pronounced limp.          I wish I had a framed photo of his expression as instantaneous recognition set in. A good casino manager remembers every face of every customer, and a good stooge can whisper a dignitary’s name to his boss on a moment’s notice. Bari was both of those things.          “You!?” He gasped, then reached into his coat for what I could only imagine was a panic button of some sort.          “Go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you, Bari ol’ boy,” I said, unable to keep a completely impassive expression. My partner flicked her eyes towards me, but with the trust born of well ingrained authority worship, she lowered her weapon rather than putting a hole in the snarky manager’s kneecap.          Immediately, as his hoof fiddled inside his coat, I sensed a dozen shadows around me detach themselves from the walls. Most were the heavily muscled variety, though a couple had the thinner, whip-like movements that made Snicket such a menace.          They closed in, surrounding us.   “You’re one stupid piece of work, cop. Did I seriously just see you bring that flying turkey and that yellow bitch with the fancy moves in here, strutting like you own the place after what you pulled last time? If you’re lucky, the boss’ll just break a few dozen bones. Might get you a nice desk job filling out paperwork with your teeth, if you’ve got any left when we’re done.” I could already see that trick of clearing the nearest rows of tables taking shape. Ponies were collecting their chips and being ushered to farther tables while more of the Red Hoof, in their ubiquitous tuxedos, faded from alcoves and security areas that probably dotted every inch of the building. I pitied any idiot who decided to cheat in the Monte Cheval. “You know, Bari, my chum? That sounds wonderful, but I’m afraid I have to refuse,” I drawled, yanking my coat back off of my foreleg. The casino manager and his entire entourage of likely heavily armed psychopaths tensed, readying to turn me into a smear. Counting my blessings, I waited as they all took in what was strapped to my side. Bari tilted his head with a look of total incomprehension. “That... looks like a shotgun duct taped to a... a box?”          I nodded, giving my trigger-bit a light tug. “Eeyup. Now, there might be explosives in here, but even with your low estimation of my intelligence, it would be pretty silly for me to stroll into a public place with a bomb and demand to see a mob kingpin. No, what’s in here is something far more interesting... and if anything happens to it, I guarantee your boss will saw you off at the knees, then make you walk a mile.”          The Red Hooves shifted their collected weight from leg to leg, waiting for the order to disembowel the three of us. Taxi shifted the cannon, making it clear that the first three or four who decided to follow that order would truly know P.E.A.C.E.. I imagine they were also considering the consequences of displeasing their boss if they were to damage something of importance to him. That, more than even my driver’s enormous gun, stayed them from butchering us.          Shifting the box a little, I nodded towards the casino manager. “You go tell the King there’s a crazy pony down here with a box. A big, hearty box. You tell him that, just like I said it. A big... hearty... box.”   I sat down on the well-trod red carpet and flicked my hoof at him in a gesture of dismissal. Bari squinted at me, trying to get my measure. Any good operator knows his odds before he sits down at the table, and I might have a wildcard, for all he knew. He’d thought the deck was stacked, but I could see the uncertainty hanging there in his tiny, probability-loving brain. It was enough. “Watch them,” he ordered his goons. “If he does anything besides breathe, turn him and his friends into a stain. We’ll tell the guests somepony spilt some punch. A lot of punch.” Maintaining that wary expression, he moved off towards a phone box on the wall and dialed. I watched his phone conversation with some interest; I read his lips and caught the shape of the words ‘cop’, ‘shotgun’ and ‘hearty box.’ He suddenly jerked his head away from the speaker, tumbling against the side of the booth as he dropped the telephone, then scuffled with it until he could press it back against his ear. His face went through a calisthenic series of expressions, ending at lip-quivering terror. He nodded, murmuring what I thought was ‘yes, sir’ into the receiver several times before hanging it back on the wall. Sliding the glass partition open, he made some secret signal and the goons practically fell over themselves retreating back into darkness. Dragging his hooves, Bari approached us, his head low and teeth gritted. “Bari! Good to see you again, my dear friend!” I ruffled his toupee, turning it sideways on his head. “I was wondering when you’d get back.” I could see him struggling with the intense desire to try and sever one of my arteries, but his self control won out. “T-the boss says to bring you up-upstairs...you piece of-” He growled. “Ah-ah-ah...” I chided. “Don’t offend the guests.” I waved towards the back of the room. “You’ll have to lead the way. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to keep close track last we came through. You understand, of course.” “Of... course,” he managed before turning on his heel. He marched towards the service door behind the coat check with the three of us in tow.          **** With no obfuscating circles or labyrinthine routes, we came to the purposefully nondescript metal elevator in less than a minute. I could hear the continuous grating of Bari’s teeth as he stalked along in front of us. I couldn’t resist tweaking the tight-ass just a little bit more. “Bari, baby, you really should relaaax! My driver over there gives a real good zebra massage.” “I hope the boss tears you into tiny pieces,” he replied, his nostrils flaring as he almost bucked the elevator button. The empty car opened. Swift and Taxi stepped into the little box and I followed, keeping my trigger close until the door was almost completely closed. As it shut, I caught a glimpse of Bari’s face. Something about it wasn’t right. I might have been seeing things, but I thought he smiled for a blink. It would have put me on guard, if I could have been any more on guard in this manticore's den. **** The elevator rattled and shook as we rode towards the office and prepared. Taxi fitted a different set of rounds - something called ‘Ghostie Giggles’ - into her cannon. Swift preened her flight feathers with her teeth in preparation for a quick getaway if it became necessary. I just sat, taking my time, wishing I had a script I could read from.          I’d bluffed. Simple as that. I couldn’t shoot the heart even if it came down to it. How could somepony destroy something so innocent? Beautiful even. Cosmo kept it locked away, but he should have kept it on him if he wanted it to be safe. I wanted a beer really badly. The car ground to a stop, let out a happy ding, and the doors parted on a scene of spectacular destruction. Down the short hall from elevator to office door, a heap of broken garbage lay against both walls. Most of it was the kind of expensive trash found on shelves of ponies who have no emotional attachment to it, but for whom facade is important. Only one of the rich, oaken double doors still remained attached to its hinge; the other spilled into the hall with two size sixteen hoofprints in the other side of it. I hopped over an empty, shattered bottle of what had once been extremely good wine, and took a moment to pick up my revolver's bit. Something moved on the far side of the door, rattling what I thought might be busted cutlery. Swift picked her way over the mess behind me, while Taxi held the elevator door open and made sure there were no ambushers coming from one of the hall's two side doors. Prying open the good door, I stepped into a space that was, if anything, in worse condition than the hall. Not a single piece of furniture remained upright. Nearly every dish was crushed and most of the beautiful sidebar had evidence of violent, almost berserk, rampage. A small amount of blood was splashed on Cosmo's globe and another bit on his mirror. The drinks cabinet lay on its side, a growing pool of wasted booze staining the floor underneath. The King's desk, previously a monument to stable construction and hoof-crafting, was split down the middle, one half kicked into a corner while the other still occupied the center of the office. A telephone, its receiver shattered, sat beside the desk. Behind these, the grand vista window was open to the skyline. The midnight city gave the illusion of a flowing umbra punctuated by winking lights in the windows of third shifters and night owls. His lamp smashed, the only proper illumination came from a couple of small overheads. I nodded for Swift and Taxi to move out and check the sides, tip-toeing with as much care as possible. “S’you isn’t it? Tha’ damn cop,” a voice said. The words were stilted, slurred and sad. I bit my trigger hard, ready to fire at anything that moved. My partner’s ears were tilted towards the fragment of the desk. The wooden mess shifted, rocking a bit as the King of Ace dragged himself into view. His monumental shoulders slumped, sagging under a weight even those vast muscles couldn’t hold. A bottle of potato schnapps lay beside him, only half full, the rock bottom booze of street runners. Four or five others, plus a heap of empty single shots, littered the carpet around his hooves. Heaving himself up, he braced one leg on the window. His tuxedo was torn at the shoulders and ripped open down the front. Blood trickled from a dozen minor cuts on his forelegs and chest, probably from the damaged mirror, leaving a crimson hoofprint on the glass. I couldn’t see his face. It was still covered in shadows and he stood just at the edge of one of the spots of light. I could hear sirens in the distance. Normally, sirens were a comforting sound. Not there. Not then. I held my position, Taxi and Swift both covering him from either side. If he made any threatening moves, I was confident my comrades could take him down, but as he rose he staggered and sat down hard, shaking the whole room. Picking up the bottle, he took another rough swig, then tossed it in the general direction of his upturned garbage can. It rolled end over end, spilling schnapps everywhere. “S’pose I shouldn’t be surpr-super...sup-er-ized.” He sounded out each syllable, his accent sliding into a familiar street jive. “It were you, weren’t it? At my house.” Cosmo growled, his throat was raw; each word seemed like a real effort. Raising his head, he showed me his face in the light of the overhead. Swift couldn’t suppress a gasp. Deep, sagging lines ran down his cheeks and underneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept since we last met. Wood splinters stuck from his lips and nose, that rocky face brutalized by what must have been an attempt to chew his way through the desk. There was something deeper, behind the damage to his muzzle, that had my insides writhing. I’d seen that look before in others, in Taxi when she’d lost her cutie-mark and my own mirror after Juniper died. Something important, something fundamental, was busted in that pony’s soul. I slowly dropped my trigger. “Jingle Jangle?” I murmured. Cosmo wheezed like a geriatric, sliding to his foreknees.. “I... never figured on anypony calling me that again. My name...heh... my name...” He wiped a drop of sweat from his moist brow, smearing it with blood. Salt in those wounds must have hurt like a beast, but he gave no sign, no indication that he was even in any discomfort. His strength was failing, though; holding his head up was too much, so he let it drop between his knees. “Y-you brought... brought my brother?” he asked, with what must have been his last shred of hope. Tears of fury or maybe genuine grief had dried in the corners of his eyes. I didn’t know exactly what I expected, but I had some guesses. Maybe a raging monster I was going to have to put a few bullets in before we could sit down and have a rational conversation. Possibly a cool, unruffled mob lord with an unshakeable smile and a back-up plan. Maybe even the old stand-by; an ambush at the door with black bags and sleeping gas. I didn’t expect a beaten, sloshed stallion who could barely keep himself on his hooves. Pushing my coat back from my leg, I revealed the box and the shotgun. The duct tape holding the wooden box to the barrel was tightly wound right down to the stock. I hoped I didn’t actually need the shotgun at any point or I would be in a pickle. Stumbling towards me, he fell heavily onto his face and lay there for several seconds, stretching his legs in the direction of the heart. I backed up a couple of steps, raising my revolver. Rather than charge, he slumped onto his belly, burying his face in his knees. He made a soft sound that, at first, I took for laughter. He was weeping; great broken sobs of ultimate loss. “W-weren’t supposed to... b-be l-like th-this!” The King of Ace moaned, his shoulders shaking. “What? What weren’t... Wasn’t?” I asked, then shook my head and decided to try to get control of the situation again. “We’ve got your ledger.” “I... I know, dammit. It don’t matter now.” The accent was so strange. It was still Cosmo, but it was like I was hearing some younger version of him speaking through a body that didn’t quite fit. Gone was the cool and erudite mobster, self-certain and confident on his throne. “Why... doesn’t it matter?” Swift wanted to know as she hobbled a bit nearer, still keeping her gun on him, trying to cling to any vestige of triumph. “You lost and we won! We... We want you to leave town forever a-and never come back!”          Cosmo looked up at her, then over towards me with an incredulous expression. “I-is she real?”          “Third day on the job,” I replied. “She’s not kidding, though. We can offer you protection to the edge of the city or the nearest skyport.”          The mobster kicked a piece of his of telephone across the floor. “Still don’t matter. My wish...” His teeth squeaked against one another as he tensed for a half second, then relaxed again. “...just wanted my brother back.”          “Your brother’s dead."        “You think that matters to—” Whatever he was starting to say was lost as his jaw locked up again for some reason. His mouth twisted into a snarl of frustration as he spat a splinter from his tongue along with a smattering of red dots that landed all over his loosened tie. Straightening his tie, he smoothed back his greased mane. “You got the lab, didn’t you? It’s what I would have done.” His tail lashed against his leg as he explained, “I rang my operative as you were coming up. She’d have picked up if she were anything but dead or in a coma. You got the damn drugs and that school... the school...” I pulled a hall pass out of my pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it, flattening the paper so he could see it before flicking it away. Looking up, he shook his eartips. “Why? Why in the hell did you come for me?” He asked it in the voice of an innocent stallion wronged by a cruel universe. “Was it the fuckin’ snake bought you off and sent you to knock down my door?” Taxi glanced back the way we’d come. “Seems you did a fine enough job knocking your own door down.” Cosmo glared at my driver out of one eye, but she met his look very evenly. It’s easy to do that when your gun’s mouth can double as an umbrella stand. “It was the girl,” I told him. His brow crinkled as he squinted at me through an alcoholic haze. “What girl?” “In the alley. Pretty kid with her horn broken off. Remember now?” “...The... dead streetwalker?” His face filled with incredulity, then his fury swelled again. “You run down my people, stick your flank in the middle of Jeweler business, and break into my home... over a dead whore?!” Before he could get too riled, Swift raised her gun, dropping her cheek onto the sight and aiming it at his front right knee. His keen eye danced across the tip of her weapon’s barrel and he snorted disdainfully, but settled again. The rage still simmered just under the surface, but alcohol and the generally discouraging idea that he might get his leg blown off kept him from any rash attempts to do to me what he’d done to his desk. Taking off my hat, I set it carefully to one side. “Her name was Ruby. Ruby Blue. She threw herself off a roof because you or some bastard whose name you’re going to give me drugged her and chased her off the top of the High Step Hotel. But fundamentally? Yes. That, and to keep a gang war from destroying one of the last nice parts of my city.“ His lips shaped themselves into the words ‘gang war’; there was a long, tense pause... and then he began to laugh. It was not an amused laugh; It was the laugh of somepony who’d watched their house and worldly possessions burn, then been presented with a citation from the fire department. The mad laugh of somepony whose circumstances had just gotten too absurd for him to comprehend. “You... I... I... Bwaaahaaaheehee! I knew the snake was pulling your strings!” He giggled, his leg slipping out from under him as he slid onto his side. “I do my own good works, thank you very much," I answered, indignantly. “This isn’t for him and this isn’t about him. This is about us. Who killed Ruby Blue?” His laughter quieted to a soft snigger every now and then. “No... no, I want to ask you a question now. How did you fritz The Scry? I saw you. You drank my scotch. You didn’t fake it. There was a spell on it. Even that paranoid bitch I sent to watch the dragon couldn’t avoid that magic, once we forced it down her throat. And yet... the one bastard in the city I want found more than anything, and nothing!” Most seasoned interrogators will tell you to go into the room and act as though you know what the perp is going to tell you, before he does. It’s a solid bluff and rarely fails to produce some reaction. “I have ways. I heard the phone call to your lawyers. We had the room bugged. Some enchantments work no matter what and I think everypony should have their little secrets. Now tell me... who was it? Who ordered the hit? What’s her diary got to do with it? What do they want?” Cosmo glanced around his office, as though searching for my purported surveillance device in the wreckage. Then he faced me and I saw that fear again. “They... they know. They know you got the damn diary again. Look...” His eyes still held a bit of that old calculation. “—you tell me how you hid yourself from tracking magic, then get me out of the city? Give me my brother?” I paused, thinking, before holding out my hoof to help him up. “I will. Now tell me.” It was an utter, vacant lie. I had no idea how I’d ‘hid myself,’ but more than that, there was no way in the world he was getting the heart back. He didn’t deserve it. “The-they...gr—...” He stuttered, then his square jaw seemed to lock itself shut. I eased a bit closer, trying to hear whatever word his throat seemed to be trying to form. “Th-they grrr-aaannt...” It was a soft spray, a gentle burst from a warm shower-head, followed by a chunky mush spattering across my chest and neck. The steamy liquid hit my face and I blinked, trying to clear my vision. I stepped back, thinking for a moment that Cosmo had spit something at me. Somepony whinnied fearfully. Glass tinkled in a broken window-frame and a powerful wind blew straight into my eyes, blinding me again. Wiping my face with one hoof, I saw it come away bloody, then saw the surprised gaze of the King of Ace, laying on the carpet. His single, remaining eyeball was upturned to look at me while the other was a black hole. The second bullet was like a lover’s touch on my breast. It cut through the body armor, bursting through the back. I felt a tickle in my throat and coughed, softly, as though preparing to give a speech. It would have been a lovely speech, I’m sure. In its box, the heart began to slam against the sides with wild abandon. Maybe it was worried. It didn’t need to worry. Things were okay. It was time to lay down. Too late. A scream, far off, made me feel a little better. Somepony was going to be there to figure things out. Maybe they could tell me what happened, one day. I clutched the heart, petting it and wishing we’d had more time to get to know one another. Time. Time to lay down. Time to rest. Rest for a long time. Juniper? I’m coming. In Detrot, a city with a heart blackened by sin and the invisible touch of dark forces, a cop dies. His story ends. The children of the Heights rest in soft beds, safe for one more night, never knowing the poor souls who go to grave and madhouse to keep them secure. Blood will fill the gutters, to be washed away by rains and time. Weep for the living. If such good stallions can be cut down in their prime, ask yourselves, what hope is there? Starlight Over Detrot End. Act One.