//------------------------------// // Act 2, Chapter 9: It's Not Suicide if it Works // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale // by Chessie //------------------------------// Starlight Over Detrot Act 2, Chapter 9: It’s Not Suicide If It Works One might think that a country ruled by immortal absolute monarchs capable of directing the motion of the sun and moon would be largely immune from political strife. One would only be partly right. While the presence of the Princesses simplifies some aspects of Equestrian political life - the nation has never known a war of succession or torturous nationwide election cycle, for example - Equestria is not without its politics.          While the Princesses can be counted on to toss their irresistable social weight around on the most divisive blanket issues facing Equestria, such as the legalization of pony-griffin marriage, the royalty are few, and their attention per unit time is limited. They cannot be bothered every single time animal rights activists and furniture salesponies clash over the use of timberwolf lumber in credenzas, so when the cry goes up that 'Fir is Murder' and ponies start throwing sap on one another, the resolution is often left to local elected officials, such as the mayors, police chiefs, and judges.          Because the elected officials are ultimately accountable to their little ponies, the ability to manipulate the herd, whether through convincing argument, ad campaign, vague threats, or straight-out charisma, is both plausible and heavily sought-after. After all, the herd is a fickle beast; The distance between a congregation licking your hooves and an angry mob ready to trample you into wafers can be as small as a few catastrophically poor mugs of cider.          Indeed, those who would walk in the corridors of political power are treading a thin line even without agents of chaos actively seeking to undermine one's reign. --The Scholar      I held a cup of coffee with shaking hooves, still trying to get myself under control. The frantic call to Slip Stitch had helped, somewhat, but I was left facing a strange situation.          ****          Click. “Stitch! Stitch you bastard, I’ve been on hold for twenty minutes!  What were you doing?!"          The coroner, as ever, was immune to my or any displeasure. “Detective? My dear sir! How is the ticker holding up? I do wish you’d let me have another look at it; I'd love to see it operating at full capacity!”          “My heart’s fine! I need to know if you copied that surgery you did on me! Where’s that Jane Pony we brought in a month ago?”          “The poor child with the cherries on her flank?”          “Yes!”          “I have her on ice here until somepony comes to claim her body. A month and a half is my usual wait time. Why? Detective, you sound like you’ve seen a ghost.”          "...I may have. Go pull her drawer.”          Slip Stitch set the phone down, trotting away into the distance over echoing tiles. There was a sound like a horn being stepped on, then the rattle of an opening morgue drawer. After a moment, his hoofsteps returned and he picked up the phone.          “Am I looking for something specific?”          “Is she still there?”          A pause.          “Detective, have you been drinking? If so, I would like the name of your bartender. I will have him cater my next party.” “Tell me, dammit! Is she still there?!” “Where else would she be?” I took a deep breath, recomposing myself. “Alright… whew. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse, but at least there aren’t two corpses walking around…” “You know, Detective, I realize that chemical supplements may have left a poor taste in your muzzle after your experiences with Miss Jade, but I can get you-” “No, no, it’s fine Stitch. Thanks. Keep the filly on ice as long as you can. We may need her body.” “Of course. I am aware you have recently become unemployed. May I take this call to mean you are continuing investigations into the death of this lovely creature?” “Yes. Keep it off the radar, if you can. Jade’s going to be sniffing up my tail soon enough as it is.” “I did hear of the rather spectacular way you recused yourself from your post. If I may say, ‘Bravo!' I can’t think of any ponies who have survived her wrath unscathed.” “Don't jinx it. I have something to do before she comes after me with a drawer full of kitchen implements.” “Well, should you need a place to go to ground, or indeed, six feet beneath…” “I’ll keep you in mind. Take care, Stitch.” “Sun be with you, Detective.” **** The Museum had a well stocked break-room for the employees, with a little fridge labeled ‘Greener Side Keep Out!’ and a stack of instant coffee packets. The security pony was back at his desk, no doubt back to poking through his debaucherous reading material, completely unaware that his boss’s corpse was moldering in his office just a few yards away. I thought about having Taxi try to erase us from the tapes, but decided against it when I realized they’d start questioning the guard the moment somepony inevitably went hunting for Fizzle. Greener Side might not report the good doctor missing for a number of days, but somepony surely would at some point. Short of erasing his memory - which, come to think of it, Taxi might have been able to do, but probably not without causing some brain damage -- he was going to tell them we’d been poking around. Nothing for it, then. Soon enough, Jade would have her reason to hunt me down with the full force of the Detrot PD. We just had to buy ourselves as much time as possible.. **** The coffee was cooling quickly in my hooves, but I sipped it again anyway. Swift sat across from the table, her notebook open to the last page, but she wasn’t writing anything. She was just staring at the words ‘Red mane, blue body, cutie mark cherries’ with an expression of disbelief. Taxi had a magazine open and was doing the crossword puzzle on the back page.          Limerence did not deign to drink the instant coffee, but instead sat in the corner, back to the three of us, curled into one of his meditative positions. The explanations had taken a short time, and we edited them heavily for content, but he accepted that there was apparently a dead filly walking around much more readily than the rest of us had. Finding out that Ruby was still definitely dead didn’t make me feel any better. Swift’s ears fluttered against her head as she tapped the notepad with her pencil. “Sir… I…” She hesitated, then shook her head. “Never mind.” “What, kid? I’m open to just about any thought you’ve got right now.” “Um… I was just going to ask if you still had that picture of Miss Ruby.” “Yeah, here somewhere…” I patted around my pockets, then started seriously hunting through them. The magical water-proofing had survived the various repairs, and the miniature pocket dimension in both sides was still almost stuffed to capacity. It took some heavy searching before I found the folded photograph. “Here…” I passed it to her and she nosed it open, spreading it on the table. Taxi craned her neck, interestedly, then her eyes widened a little. “You...think?” I stared at the image of the two fillies, forelegs around one another, smiling brightly out of the dead past. The one I presumed to be Ruby was a little taller than the other girl, but their manes and coats were a close match. “Seems to fit, yeah. Some kind of family relation, maybe? This picture looks a couple of years old,” I replied. “Sisters,” Swift murmured. “I’ve got a picture just like this of me and Scarlet. I always thought of him as my brother. My loud, way-too-flirty brother...” “Now I’m disturbed by the fact that you felt the need to date him,” I answered, and my partner glowered at me. “Well, nopony else wanted to go to prom with the filly who looked like she should still be wearing wing-trainers after she had hit puberty!” she snapped, then looked abashed as she remembered who she was talking to. I held up my hooves. “Hey, not criticizing. Celestia knows, I’ve got enough friends with unusual dating habits.” I flicked my eyes towards Taxi, earning me a kick in the shins under the table. Swift giggled. “Anyway, if you say that’s her sibling, it fits well enough with what we know. I’m curious as to why she’s in Detrot, though.” “Why else, sir? She’s looking for her sister,” Swift stated, then gave me a curious look. “Do you not have family?” “Not for a lot of years. I forget what it’s like,” I replied. An uncharacteristic burst of bitterly sad feelings welled in my chest at that admission. I realized, after a moment, that the emotions were centered very specifically on the left side of my chest. Touching the socket on my breast, I tried to project comforting feelings in the general direction of my aorta, forcing myself to be calm before I continued. “Regardless, we need to find her. I want out of this museum, first and foremost. Then we’re going to have a discussion with His Truly over there-” I motioned at Limerence, “-about this counterfeiter.” Limerence spoke without moving, “And I say again, that will happen once I have contacted my father and informed him of our progress. I will also make an attempt to send a message to my brother.” “You think he’s going to respond?” “The effort costs us nothing.” “That’s not very encouraging.”  I exhaled.   “Was I supposed to be encouraging you?  I missed that part of my instructions.” **** I pushed open the emergency exit once Limerence declared its wards broken and its electronics disabled. Once we were out, he waved his horn over the lock and there was a soft click as the mechanism shut itself again. A muffled voice seemed to be echoing down the alley. Somepony was speaking into a megaphone. “What is that?” I asked, leading the way toward the mouth of the narrow alley. Limerence’s lip curled with displeasure as he moved along beside me. “That… is Skylark.” “You mean…” “Yes. Astral Skylark. Head of the Lunar Passage. She comes down here to encourage her ‘flock’ to do ‘Luna’s good work’ every Monday.” He furtively looked both directions, hunting for another way out of the alley. The police car had moved at some point, leaving the mouth of the passage exposed to the crowd. Pausing at the end of the alley, I peered out. “That’s… not… good.” “What is it?” Taxi asked, moving up to my flank. I turned to answer, but the voice was on that megaphone again. It was loud and shrill. I had to wait until it paused for breath to answer her. “The Loonies are pretty much taking up the entire sidewalk. I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid them.” “Maybe we could pretend to be part of the bunch that was watching?” she suggested, then bit her tongue as she glanced at Swift. “She could take off her tactical vest and we’ll hide your guns in my saddlebags and-” “We’re pretty obviously coming out of the museum, Sweets,” I reminded her. “I think the fact that we’ve got a pony in uniform with us might be the only thing that keeps that lot from doing anything genuinely rash. There’s also news ponies down there. I think I see Sugar Lace and that camera pony, too...” “What, then?” I hesitated for several seconds, thinking. Our options were not brilliant, nor likely to avoid undue attention. Announcing to the world I was alive seemed a bit foolhardy, but knowing the Detrot P.D. the gossip train had already left that particular station. Avoiding Jade’s attention was preferable, but if what Stitch had said was right, she was going to be after me anyway sooner rather than later. What I really needed was something to keep her busy. Well, when all else fails, brazen stupidity. “You remember that scam you pulled on the buffalo crime boss about eight years back?” I asked Taxi. She rolled her eyes to one side and stuck her tongue out of one side of her muzzle. “Yeeeah… that was a good one. His entire syndicate went ape,” she recalled. “We need Chief Jade off our backsides and too distracted to start digging into what we’ve been up to and we need to get through that crowd. I’m seeing an opportunity.” Taxi looked puzzled, then her eyes shot wide. “No. No way. Hardy, she’ll kill you! She’ll hunt you down and personally mangle your body!” “Yeah, but she’ll have to do that after the P.R. storm dies down. That gives us time.” Limerence studied me for several seconds, then his ears splayed out. “Detective, what are the two of you talking about?” I patted him across the shoulders in a chummy manner; he stepped sideways, out of reach. “We’re going to go have a little talk with Miss Skylark. Then our problems with Chief Jade will be over, at least for a fair while.” “Is that… wise?” he asked. “Remember what I said about threatening my mission-" "Our mission." "Of course. Regardless, I will not-” “The mission will be fine,” I assured him, but he still looked very dubious. “I am going to send you the bill for my tailor if this vest is, for any reason, covered in your viscera, Detective.”          ****          I took the lead and Taxi, the rear, with the Archivist and the rookie in the middle. Strutting out of the alley, I centered myself on the source of the megaphone. If anything, my initial estimations had been low. The crowd hadn’t just taken up the sidewalk in front of the museum. With the arrival of their leader, their numbers had doubled or perhaps tripled, with a sea of midnight blue robes filling the road, blocked in by police bollards on both sides, behind and in front, separating them from a second group who were just there to watch the goings on. The police car that had been blocking the alley when we first arrived had moved down to join its fellows, shoring up the blockade in front of the entrance to the converted mansion. “Hear me, my friends! We have taken their shaming of our Mistress of the Night for too long! We will be here, every Monday, without fail!” The protesters screamed their agreement as Astral continued. “The Sun will hear our voices and will cease this madness! We do not accept her lies! We do not accept her misdirections! Hasn’t Princess Luna suffered enough? A thousand years banished to the moon, and for what? What we now willingly give! Our adoration, justly deserved! May she one day see fit to uplift us to be with her, as equals!” It only took them seconds to spot the four of us coming out of the museum’s alleyway, but when they did, a shout rose from the herd of picketers. There was no mistaking their shepherd. Astral Skylark, self-proclaimed Priestess of the Night’s Glory, was near the head of the crowd, on some kind of upraised platform. Like her flock, she wore those silly robes, though hers were significantly more ornamented than the rest, covered as they were in glossy thread and sequins made out of what could only be real silver. Her pale, white mane was cut to a conservative and very straight shoulder length and swept back from her forehead, allowing her horn a wide berth. At the edges, around her ears and eyes, her fur was much darker, a purple so deep it almost appeared black. It gave her the odd appearance of wearing some type of mask, a bit like a raccoon with a sense of style. She could have been thirty from her looks, but something in her eyes said closer to fifty. While not beautiful, she had a certain sharp charisma about her heavy-set, violet features. Her robes hung down to her ankles, with a huge hood pushed back from her neck that would surely have blocked vision if she’d ever had it up. She paused at the sight of us, megaphone hovering halfway to her muzzle, and drew breath for what would doubtless be another tirade about how we were emotionally raping Princess Luna from across the country by looking at some dusty artifacts. That breath held when I headed straight for her. There were a few camera flashes from the rookie news-ponies who’d no doubt had covering the protests dumped on them to get them out of the office. It brought my head up from its customary slump, reminding me this was supposed to be a show. I gave them my best smile, which was a bit ragged, but would pass for what I had in mind. Sugar Lace was out there, leaning on one of the parking meters. She brightened as she saw me, shoving her camera-pony back into position and snatching up her microphone in her magic. I looked back to make sure the other three were still behind me. They were, though Taxi looked deeply uncertain, and Limerence wasn’t even hiding his distress, taking short little hops forward just to keep between Swift and my driver. My partner just looked a bit nervous, her wings kicking up a little dust as she fought the urge to take off. At first, the crowd shouted a few slogans at us, but they quieted as soon it seemed I wasn’t intending to try to move around them or make for the police line. It was a short walk, during which every eye followed us. Cameras flashed, and a few voices whispered, ‘Isn’t that Detective Hard Boiled?’ and ‘I saw him in the paper!’ One, which I caught only because it was one of the ponies nearest us, muttered, ‘I thought I heard he died or something’.          Up close, Skylark was still an imposing creature, but much shorter than I’d thought. The platform she was on raised her a good third of a meter in the air, and she was wearing some kind of lifts in her horse-shoes. I paused at the bottom of the platform, then leapt up onto it beside her. Indignation flared in her face and she lifted the megaphone closer to herself. I grinned at her. “Detective? I’ve heard of you. You were in the papers, investigating that girl, right?” She said, removing her magic from the trigger of the speaker. At conversational levels, her voice was almost pleasant, though a bit abrasive. Her accent was lower-Canterlot, though far removed and well trained out of the worst of that particular cockney. I didn’t respond, just maintained my smile. “What do you want? We are in complete accordance with city ordinances regarding noise and public protest. You have no right-” Before she could get a good head of blustery steam, I held out my hoof. She jumped back from it slightly, her horn flickering, shooting a thin stream of sparks onto the platform as though she expected me to bite her. Reaching out, I tapped the switch on the back of the megaphone where it hung in her magical grasp, locking it to ‘on.' Skylark, for all her mule-headed insistence on the evils of Princess Celestia, knew that when there’s a smiling pony and a screaming pony in front of a crowd, the crowd will look at the smiling pony first to see what to do. Celestia herself was rarely seen with anything but a serene smile, and the mare in front of me had obviously taken cues. In a flash, the upset from finding somepony on stage with her was gone and she straightened, stepping forward and throwing her shoulders back, putting on a sneering smile of her own. “What do you want, Detective?” “I’m here on behalf of Chief Iris Jade of the Detrot Police Department!” That perked the newsponies right up. Sugar Lace elbowed her camera-pony, who swung his camera around in my direction. Astral’s piercing green eyes narrowed as she stared at me fiercely, her smile fixed right where it was by the crazy glue that was the public gaze. “What is your game?” she whispered, too low for the megaphone to pick up. I lifted her hoof in mine and held on. She tried to tug it away, but relented as I gave her leg a light squeeze with the crook of my knee. Aiming my muzzle at the megaphone, I spoke to the crowd. “I’ve come straight here at the request of Chief Iris Jade to see what can be done about these shameful displays inside the Museum! I want you all to know that the dignity of our fair Princess of the Night is one of the police department’s highest priorities! We’ve just been inside talking to Director Fizzle, doing our best to bring him around to your way of thinking!” Skylark’s wariness flipped right over to total disbelief. “What?!” she squeaked. “That’s right! I also want to just personally, on behalf of Chief Iris Jade, shake your hoof. I may not share all of your beliefs, but I want to just let you know the Chief is behind you one hundred percent.” “W-wha?” the priestess sputtered. I continued, getting into the roll of things, “Our officers are here to make sure you’re protected during this difficult time but Chief Jade asked me to say, and I’m quoting here, ‘We thank you, Miss Astral Skylark, for your efforts in helping bring down the Sun Tyrant!’” I snapped the megaphones switch off and straightened my hat, keeping my expression carefully controlled, though I think it might have tilted heavily towards a smirk by that point. A hush had fallen over the crowd. Even the newsponies had stopped their incessant picture snapping. Sugar Lace was staring at me, mouth agape, while her camera-stallion had almost dropped his camera off of its saddle. After about five seconds, somepony shifted their hooves. It could have been a shuffle of discomfort, but it was followed immediately by another, then another, until finally the cultists burst into gleeful applause, cheering with a manic energy. I made a great show of lifting Astral Skylark’s leg and giving it a firm shake. She was so surprised, she let me. The megaphone spilled out of her magic, dropping onto the pavement at our hooves and letting out a grating squeal. Nopony even noticed. Releasing her leg, I hopped off the front of the platform as the cultists made room for me, still cheering hugely. I could feel death-glares from the dozens of police ponies lined up against the edges of the crowd, but they weren’t willing to try to press into the shouting herd to get to me. I looked back again to make sure Taxi, Swift, and Limerence were still behind me, though my driver and the librarian looked like they regretted their lack of alternatives. Limerence in particular was giving me the stinkeye. Swift merely seemed confused. We made our way over to the Night Trotter, followed by riotous cheers as Taxi tossed herself behind the wheel. She started the engine, lightning from under the bonnet making the incautiously close hop backwards. They parted in front of the vehicle so we could get out, like an ocean of blue sweeping back on either side. I shut the cab’s back door and waved toward the stage, where Skylark still stood, eyes blank with shock and her broken megaphone laying between her knees. We drove away, past the police line, and back into the city streets. Some days, I love what I do.          ****          “She’s going to kill you, Hardy!” Taxi yelled, slapping the steering wheel with both forelegs, voice full of mixed worry and anger, “No trial, no jury, just you and her and a high powered drill!”          At the first turn off, Taxi had gunned the engine, sending us careening off at something close to top speed.          “Sweets, she has to catch me, first. She’s going to be up to her ears for the next week.” I replied, trying to calm my stricken driver.          “If I may ask: What, precisely, did you hope to accomplish by antagonizing a pony who is, by your own admission, both very powerful and chemically unstable?” Limerence asked, disapprovingly.          “I was buying us some breathing room,” I answered, watching the late afternoon streets passing through the window. “Jade will have to deal with the public relations disaster I just dumped on her before she can come after me properly, and if I’m arrested, she’s going to want to avoid the press while doing it.”          “Why?” he wanted to know. “I would think she would want ponies to see her punishing you for that kind of embarrassment.”          “Then you don’t understand how Chief Jade works. She’s insane. She’s not stupid.” I told him. “Any public arrest will give me more opportunities to embarrass her.”          “Yes, but antagonizing her-” “Look, that guard will tell them we were there eventually, but if he hasn’t reported his boss missing yet, I give it another week before he does. This will tie up too many of Jade’s resources for her to start asking why we were at the museum.” Limerence’s lip twitched with another objection, but his lip is where it died. He sat back slightly. “You believe she will assume you sought out Astral's demonstration as part of some plot to make sure she isn’t able to chase you for your actions in her office, rather than a desire to cover up your activities inside the museum itself." “You got it. Get Jade wound up and watch her go. We’ve got that week… at least, if we manage to keep out of her way from here on. After that, yeah, she’ll come after me.” He thought about this for a long moment, then exhaled. “Detective, you are a very foolish pony, but I do not think I would like to play chess against you.” “He’s just an idiot!” Taxi shouted from the front seat, savagely thrashing the wheel and very nearly tossing Swift out of the open window. “So you bought us some time, but dammit, Hardy! Do you have any idea what she’s going to do?!” “Honestly?” I gave a shrug. “I don’t care.” My driver was momentarily speechless, as was the librarian. Both of them stared at me like they’d found themselves in a very confined space with a lunatic. “Sir... I... I know the idea behind it but... what about after she does catch you?” Swift asked. “She… she might not kill you but... she is going to lock you up! What good will you be in a prison cell?” “Yes, she probably will, and if I’m in her holding cell and someone assassinates me, there will be many, many questions asked after that little display. I just made myself a public figure, at least for a bit,” I replied, laying my head against the window. “I promise, kid. I’m not going to waste my time here.” ---- “Two days?!” I howled, shaking Limerence by his lapels. Using his magic, he disentangled my hooves from his vest and pushed me back slightly. “That is the soonest. This counterfeiter is not a pony it is easy to contact without an appointment. My father had to tap several favors for this, as did I. The tickets were not easy to acquire.” It was an hour later, back in the Nest. We’d had another short audience with the Aroyo Ancestors to allow Limerence into our little home, though they gave a stark warning that if he were to make any moves outside of the Nest without us, he would be immediately struck by lightning; a threat which earned them nothing more than a small bow of the head and a deferential "Of course." I think he actually found it reassuring. His affiliation came up during that conversation; I decided honesty was wiser than discretion, particularly where our hosts were concerned, but thereafter Wisteria was giving him dangerous sidelong glances the entire time she escorted the four of us back to the bunker. Apparently the Archivists' reputation for being ‘equal opportunity’ artifact handlers meant that, in the Aroyo's eyes, they were hung with the same foul rope as those wretched bastards who used the poor and destitute to test unknown magics. He’d been somewhat impressed by the bunker itself, spending quite some time going over the enchantments on the door and the ceilings before he went to the task of making contact with his father and brother. I’d expected him to make a phone call, but it turned out to involve some sort of private ritual. When he finally let us back in, the kitchen floor was covered in an intricate pattern of flour and bits of cheese. The news gleaned from his bit of apparent dairymancy was less than pleasing, hence, the argument that followed. “I don’t have that sort of time, dammit!” I scowled, collapsing onto my haunches. “You should have thought of that before you humiliated the Chief of Police,” he bit back, sharply. “Two days is when we can see the counterfeiter. You can wait here, or investigate on your own, but I don’t believe you want to make superfluous trips out of the Skids and, if I understood you correctly, you have no other leads. I will not jeopardize our chances by letting you go gallivanting off with your pistol out.” “I’ve got the PACT trooper! My contact in the D.P.D. is going to be calling me back toda-” “Certainly, because a direct investigation of the PACT won’t lead you into the mad-mare’s cross-hairs,” Limerence hissed, voice thick with sarcasm. “My father believes you no fool, but again you act without forethought! Yes, you achieved your short-term goals, but at what expense?! I do not understand how in Equestria you managed to defeat the King of Ace, if this was your mode of strategic thought!” Taxi, whose earlier anger had cooled to fatalistic doldrums, was eating a taco on the bean-bag. She wiped guacamole off her nose and added, “Mostly luck. By all rights, I can think of at least five times he should have died during that mess.” I gloomily rubbed my temple with one toe. “Thanks for that, Sweets…” “Happy to help,” she replied, shoving her taco into her mouth and crunching noisily.          ****          I don’t take ‘downtime’ well. I never have. Knowing I was in for two days worth was going to make things miles and miles worse. No amount of shrieking at Limerence could get him to tell me the identity of our counterfeiter, lest I, in his words, ‘Drag them into the street and try to interrogate them at gunpoint, further endangering my objective.' I told him that after two days laying on my ass, that would start to look like a real possibility. He still wouldn’t budge. That left a sullen, irritable detective warming his backside with a restless rookie and an annoyed cab driver. Fortunately, it did leave us a bit of time to take care of a few errands. **** “Hello! Good morning! This is the First Bank of Detrot! My name is June Showers!” “Yes, I want to check my credit account. The name it’s under is ‘Sweetums.' It was set up by my employer.” “Certainly. Just one moment.” There was some soft breathing over the phone, along with flipping of papers. Two seconds later, the cheerful mare gasped loudly. When she came back on the phone, her tone was somewhere between fascination and shell shock. “S-sir? I ha-have the account here for you.” “Good. I’ll need a transfer to my personal accounts. Name is Hard Boiled Junior.” “Yes… u-um… how much did you need?” “Well, how much is in there?” “I… errr…” She stammered. “T-there’s enough.” “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, honey.” Miss June Showers quoted me a number. The sheer weight of the digits knocked the phone out of my hoof, leaving me momentarily struggling to snatch it back up. “There’s how much?!” “Like I said, sir. There’s… enough.” “Fine, give me... five hundred to my personal accounts, plus another thousand in cash couriered to the outskirts of the Skids, near Capriole St on the corner with High Trotter Rd. Tell the courier to tell the pegasi who stop him there that it’s for ‘Crusader.'” “Alright, sir. Say, I’m going to be off here in a few hours...  you sound cute. Would you like to go catch a drink?” “Just transfer the damn bits.” “Awww, alright. If you want to, my number is-” “Bits now. Gold-digging later.” **** The next day, after a miserable sleep and having left Taxi and Swift playing cards in the Nest, I trotted down to the corner phone to see if I could get in touch with Telly, since I didn’t think she’d be too inclined to call out to me. **** “Detrot Police Department, Telly speaking, what is the nature of your emergency?” “Telly, switch me to a secure back line.” “H-hard-...one second.” The line clattered, then static spat in my ear, before settling on a low hum. Telly sounded, for the first time I’d heard her on the line, genuinely frightened. “Alright, this is as secure as I can make it. Hardy, I don’t know what you were thinking with that display in front of the Museum, but the Chief… I don’t know. Something’s wrong.” “What do you mean? The news must have-” “Yes, the damn news agencies have been eating us alive! She sent out something about how you didn’t work for us and weren’t representing her views at all… but… Hardy, I expected her to be apoplectic. I expected her to physically detonate. I expected to be cleaning bits of Jade off the walls while ducking a vengeful ghost which could only be sated by your spilt blood. We all did. But... she just... closed the door to her office. She hasn’t come out all day. I'm not even sure she went home last night. One of the desk sergeants swore he could hear her crying in there.” “Impossible. Iris Jade doesn’t have tear ducts. She can’t. Not after all that stuff she puts in her system. They’ll have sealed over,” I murmured. “That’s… you’re right, though. Not what I had in mind.” “You had in mind?! You were actually thinking when you did that?!” “Yes, yes, I was. I needed her angry. I’ve got a few recent activities I need the department to not be checking into,” I answered. “Well, you got your damn wish,” Telly huffed, unhappily. “The last twenty four hours, we haven’t been able to issue a parking ticket without the news ponies asking if we’re doing it as an act of defiance against the ‘Sun Tyrant.' I’ve got one of the rookies assigned to nothing but answering calls that come in about that. At least tell me what this is all about!” “I… mmm… I can’t tell you everything, but I can say that the King of Ace is dead, that dead girl at the High Step was connected, and the pony behind it has taken at least one more victim. Whoever it was, he tried to have me assassinated using somepony who is either current or former PACT. Speaking of that, that’s why I called.” There was a very, very long silence. Briefly, I thought the call must have disconnected, then Telly spoke again. “Ugh… you know what? I don’t want to know. I really don’t. I swear, though, this is your last favor for a long time,” she groused. “Telly, you’re the sweetest thing in the whole world.” “I’m a grumpy bitch who will gladly feed you to a raging information cyclone if you call her again this week.” She sighed and I heard her yanking open her filing desk. “So, you wanted info on this ‘Grape Shot’ you called about, right? Well, he was a real tough character to find. I had to call up some of the ‘secret’ protocols in the File Cloud to get his information.” “Are you sure it’s his information? I remember the time with the carrot cake recipe you got from the Cloud-” “Hey, I was still a novice back then. I didn’t know 'Bits of Carrot' was a Neighponese idiom for 'Shrapnel.' No, this, I’m fairly sure, is… at least a chunk of his file. Best I can do, I’m afraid, without a lot more information on him.” “So? What’s it say?” “Let’s take a look, shall we?” Telly hummed to herself, flicking through pages. “Mmmhmmm… Grape Shot. Okay, this is what I’ve got. He made the rank of Lieutenant faster than anypony besides Broadside himself, decorated for valor… Confirmed elimination of a class three parasprite swarm… He’s credited with the burning of eleven timberwolves, six cockatrice dead in various ways… and one confirmed straying dragon kill. This is one scary customer!” “That’s just his combat record. What about his training?” “I’m… not seeing anything especially unusual here. He was a member of the ‘Apex Squad’ of recruits. Elite trainees. They all had top level marksmanship and flight skills.” “Nothing about… maybe magical enhancements?” “Nope. Sorry. It looks like just training across the board. Good training, but standard training nonetheless.” I hit the payphone booth’s wall with one hoof in frustration. “Great. What about his current whereabouts?” “Erm… ooh, juicy. He’s been absent without leave for more than a month! Specifically a month and a week. His employment termination paperwork is here from... three days before you dropped off the radar. Nopony in PACT has seen him since then.” “I was afraid you’d say that. Just one more thing. Do you have any recent requests or reports from a filly with a cherry for a cutie mark? Blue body, red mane?” “You mean that dead girl from last month?” “No...another pony. Anypony else with that color scheme?” “Errr...I don’t have anything here.” “Alright, Telly. Thanks. You won’t hear from me for a bit. You just keep your nose clean. The Chief doesn’t need more targets right now.” “Likewise, Hardy.” **** I slept. I dreamed. I didn’t remember my dreams, except that I woke to a cold sweat with an intense sensation of being swallowed and the smell of coffee. The coffee smell turned out to be real, thank the heavens. Blearily rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I shoved an empty fast food wrapper off my stomach and rolled onto my side, trying to work myself back into unconsciousness. Limerence was sitting across from me in the space we’d designated ‘the living room,' his wicked looking knife out, running it up and down a sharpening stone. It wasn’t making any noise whatsoever. I realized, then, that nothing was making a noise. My own breathing was completely silent. I frantically waved my hooves at him until he looked up, set his knife down on his forelegs and let his horn’s light fade. Sound returned so quick my ears popped, sound so bone-twistingly grating that I dug at one with a hoof, trying to hold in a very un-stallion-like whimper. “Do you have to do that?” I moaned. “Sharpen my weapons?” Limerence tested the edge of his blade on his hoof, and finding it not quite to his satisfaction, applied to whetstone again. “I was attempting not to wake you.” “There are a dozen other rooms in this place. Did you have to do it in here?” “Miss Taxi is cooking and suggested some anatomical impossibilities if I were to criticize her stewing style again,” he replied. “Lim, you called her potato casserole ‘inedible, disgusting sewage scrapings with a hint of dog regurgitate.'” “I stand by that statement,” he said, his blade rasping over the bit of rock in even turns. “Look… when you’re dealing with Sweets, you’ve got to understand she didn’t exactly have a ‘supportive’ upbringing and her mom wasn’t the sort to teach a filly ‘household skills,'” I told him, hanging one leg off the couch. “She can clean like a demon, but you’ll have to avoid saying things like that when she’s experimenting in the kitchen. About half the time it’ll be delicious. The other half, it’ll taste like someone pooped on your plate and covered it in catsup.” Limerence shrugged, pulling his hooves under himself. “If that is my alternative to violence, I suppose I will have to learn a spell to dull my taste buds ‘about half the time’. As to your question, I simply wanted some silence and a room with a sleeping pony struck me as a good place.” No arguing with the logic there, I suppose. I decided to change tack. “You mind if I ask… why the strange knife?” I inquired, pulling my hat off the end of the couch and settling it over my ears. “My kukri?” He said, glancing down at the weapon. “What about it?” “Don’t most unicorns use straight stabbing weapons? I thought horns were better for throwing things, so you could put all the weight of the thrown object behind a point.” Limerence twirled his blade in circles around his head, making the tip whistle, watching it spin with a pleased smile. “The kukri is the weapon of a farmer. I consider myself a farmer of information… and sometimes, farming requires sharp tools. While I do have other options...” His horn shone a little brighter, and a half dozen other knives in various shapes and sizes flew down the sleeves of his vest, hanging in the air around him. “...It is true that I do prefer the kukri. It can puncture, but killing should be a last resort. A weapon that emphasizes bashing and slicing makes that far easier and a kukri is ideal for both.”          “You didn’t strike me as the ‘life is precious, at one with the flowers and grass’ type. I expect that from Sweets, sure, but-” For the first time since I’d met him, Limerence laughed. It was a richer sound than I expected from the soft spoken librarian. “Hah! You mistake me! A hamstrung enemy can cry out his owner’s name. A dead enemy will tell you nothing.”          “Yeah, but considering your response to Fizzle…?”          His lips twitched into a discomfited expression as he slid his weapons back into whatever compartment they were usually strapped to and pulling his blonde tail around himself. “Ah… I see. You’re asking if I’ve taken a life before.”          “I guess I am.” The momentary mirth was gone and the chilly aloofness took its place once more. “No, Detective. I have not killed before. My father’s philosophy is wise. Death is unnecessary when debt can be extracted, no matter how long it may take to extract it.” “Mmm… thought not. Be glad-” He held up both forehooves. “Spare me, Detective. You’re about to tell me about the ‘heavy burden’ of killing. I’m aware. I will kill, when the time comes. I don’t feel any particular eagerness for it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that I will have to one day.” I shut my muzzle and settled on my side, feeling the weight of life hanging on me again. Something about Limerence made me feel old in a way even Swift’s oft-times insufferable naivete didn’t. My heart beat a little faster, then quieted as gentle sensation of somepony trying to pat me on the back suffused my psyche. Conversations with Limerence were like trying to bang my head against a wall. He was 'vehemently disinclined to discuss his personal life,' instead making clear, repeatedly, that this was a ‘mission’ and to his mind that meant only that we were working together. Emphasis on ‘working,' less on ‘together.' It’d made for a dull couple of days. Most of it I’d spent lounging around the Nest, aside a little light shopping which had to be aborted when some news filly recognized me in the checkout line and tried to assault me with a microphone. After the first twelve hours and my various phone calls, the boredom struck with the fury of a thousand hammer-wielding alicorns. Speaking of alicorns, I glanced at the wall-clock, which was one of the few items I’d let stay when we purged the place of the stoner paraphernalia. It was in the shape of a zap apple tree leaf and featured Princess Celestia with her lips wrapped around a gigantic joint. Green smoke forming the hands of the clock. At that particular moment, it said three thirty in the afternoon.          “This… pony we’re going to see tonight,” I started again and Limerence shifted his weight from one side to the other, preparing to rebuff me yet again. “What time did you say we had to be at this...’performance’ or whatever it is?”          “Seven. The performance will happen. We will sit through it. Then we will see the counterfeiter. We have had this discussion at least three times in the last forty eight hours.” He irritably thrust himself to his hooves and trotted into the hallway, disappearing to parts unknown. With him gone, it became apparent that the smell coming from the kitchen was developing a distinctly smoky scent.          “Haaardyyy! Could you get the fire extinguisher?” Taxi shouted from down the hall.          I rolled over and shoved a throw pillow back over my face.