In the city of Canterlot, in a back street only accessible by a back alley, in a run down townhouse in the forgotten part of the city there was a basement apartment, down a flight of stairs that no self respecting member of the Canterlot Elite would ever dare tread—except that some of them did, usually in disguise. Ponies came here looking for a detective during times of trouble, and if the land of Equestria had anything, it was trouble, and it came in spades.
In a messy, dirty room, Yam Spade lay in a foldaway bed, half awake. Beside him, a rather pretty burro mare named Azure Serape stared up at the ceiling. The floor was littered with old newspapers, folders, papers, sunflower seeds, and empty tequila bottles.
“There was an eviction notice in the mailbox,” Azure said in a sleepy voice.
“There’s always an eviction notice in the mailbox,” Yam replied.
Yam Spade, known by some as the soft boiled detective, was an earth pony with a strong self preservation streak and a knack for finding anything he put his mind to. While many earth ponies had peculiar earth pony senses, Yam’s was strong—so very strong—and he had made a career out of it. His cutie mark was a magnifying glass that stood out in sharp contrast to his bright orange pelt.
He was something of a odd pony, who found himself in strange or otherwise bizarre situations. His parents had wanted him to grow up and inherit the family yam farm, but even at a young age, Yam had other plans. Plans that did not involve yams, or digging for yams, or anything to do with yams.
His companion, Azure Serape, was the muscle of the pair of them. She was stronger than Yam by far—some earth ponies had strength, others had brains, and Yam was the latter rather than the former. She was feisty, a little sarcastic, and fierce in her defense of Yam. She also drank tequila like ponies drank water, and she did so with no ill effects. In all their years of staying together, Yam had never once seen her drunk.
Some time back, he had put his talent to use to find the love of his life. After a year of adventure and ending up on the other side of the world, Yam had found Azure working as a porter in a Fancy Foreign Legion outpost located in the middle of a desert, a settlement built around an oasis. When he offered to buy her a drink, she had slapped him, and Yam had fallen in love.
Not long after, he found himself involved in a war with desert raiders, drafted into the Fancy Foreign Legion. After several months of conflict, the war ended, Yam went home, and he brought Azure with him.
“Why don’t you use that talent of yours to find your fortune?” Azure asked.
“I did, babe,” Yam replied.
“What happened?”
“I’m layin’ next to her. I found an ass load of good fortune.”
The burro sighed, shook her head, and scratched her belly. “We need money, Yammy.”
Reaching up with his foreleg, Yam brushed his mane out of his face, inhaled, and let go a bored sigh. He thought about rolling over onto his side, but that would take effort. He was hungry and effort… well, that took too much effort to expend effort. The only thing that might be worth the effort would be grabbing Azure and having a go at her, but if he waited, she might grab him and have her way with him just to relieve her boredom. He decided to wait and see what might happen.
“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Yam drawled.
“What?” Azure replied.
“How about you and I get all rolled up in a blanket and make a burro-ito?”
Groaning, Azure facehoofed and there was a conk sound as her hoof struck her skull. She cringed at the terrible joke and shook her head to deny the terrible innuendo. Her long, thin tail swished from side to side and she rolled over, turning her back to her companion.
“My mother was right about you—”
“Aw, babe, don’t be like that.”
“Well, she was. I’m hungry. What are we going to do about food?”
“Could you make tamales?” Yam expended the effort to roll over onto his side and placed his hoof on Azure’s ribs.
“There is no more masa, Yammy. All we have left in the pantry is tequila and a single can of hominy.”
“That bad, eh?” Yam let out a frustrated grunt and then his stomach made its opinion known by making a rude squelchy gurgle that was loud enough to make Azure’s ears perk. “Okay, that’s it, we’re going out.”
“And how will you pay for it?” Azure asked.
“It’ll go on my tab,” Yam replied.
“You and your tab is why we stay broke… you spend money we don’t have.”
“Do you want to fight or eat?” Yam snuggled up against Azure’s back and pressed his nose against her tawny, speckled neck. She smelled spicy, like picante sauce and tequila. The scent of garlic and onions was forever infused in her velvet pelt.
“How about we fight, then go out for a bite, and then come home and make up?”
“You dirty, dirty ass!”
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be! Callin’ me an ass! I’m a burro!” Azure let out a bray of indignation and sucked in a deep breath so she could let Yam have it. “Ass kisser!”
“Freckle necked pony fronker!”
“Okay, I’m done with this nonsense, you ass nibbler. Let’s go and eat.”
The Chuck Wagon was like everything else in this part of Canterlot—run down after having seen better days. At one time, the Chuck Wagon had been a train car, a dining car on a luxury train that ran between Applewood and Canterlot. A train for movie stars and the social elites of Canterlot.
There was still some faded glory in the old luxury dining car, but every day it faded a little more. The velvet covered seats were worn smooth in places and had patches of mismatched cloth. The wood was still beautiful, but had dulled with age. It was nothing that a good polishing wouldn’t fix. The round porthole windows were yellowed with nicotine and grease.
Sitting in a small booth together, Yam and Azure waited for their food. Both had ordered the breakfast special and were now drinking coffee out of mismatched cups that had a few chips along the edges. Yam’s coffee, if it could be called that, the diner served mud in the truest sense of the word, was almost more cream than coffee and there was enough sugar to make it syrupy.
The only other customer in the Chuck Wagon was an off duty guard named Beacon, who somehow managed against all odds to drink his coffee black and not swallow his own face. A half eaten plate of the lunch special sat in front of him, and he was doing the crossword in the newspaper.
A greasy looking unicorn chewing a fat, somewhat soggy cigar hobbled out of the kitchen, passing through the bat winged doors with a grunt, and his arthritic knees popped with every step he took. He paused near the counter, squinted, and after a moment of intense strain, he farted, a brassy paint peeling note that made Beacon’s eyebrow raise.
“I’m getting too old for this job,” the unicorn grumbled as he approached Yam and Azure. His knees crackled like a bowl full of puffed rice cereal. His horn ignited and he pulled something out of the pocket of his stained, filthy apron that was covered with a fresh orange gravy stain.
“By the alicorns, you stink something awful, Greasy Spoon… you need to see a doctor!” Beacon waved his paper, trying to waft away the terrible stench that now permeated every bit of breathable air in the old dining car. “You old sumbitch, crack a window!”
“Oh, shut up, Beacon,” Greasy Spoon replied as he held up a small piece of paper that was as greasy and stained as his apron. The smoldering stogie in the corner of his mouth bobbed up and down, causing bits of ash to fall to the floor like dirty, disgusting snowflakes.
“Yam, somepony was looking for you.” Greasy Spoon sat the folded piece of paper down upon the table and then leaned closer, waiting for the earth pony to unfold the piece of paper and read it.
“Debt collector?” Yam asked.
“Naw,” Greasy Spoon replied in a voice that sounded like he had just gargled with broken glass and cheap bourbon laced with drain cleaner. “Some broad… she was real upset. She said she couldn’t find that rathole you call an apartment, but she was told that you could be found here. I hope this is a payin’ job, Yammy… you have quite a tab.”
“You know I’m good for it.” Yam watched as Azure unfolded the paper and then looked up at Greasy Spoon. “Hey, you know, they should call you Gassy Spoon—”
“Don’t get wise,” Greasy said, warning Yam in a thick accent.
Giving the greasy, gross unicorn a sheepish grin, Yam leaned forwards and looked Greasy Spoon in the eye. “So much for gratitude, eh, Greasy Spoon?”
“Eeeeeh, yer a wise guy, ain’t yous?” Greasy Spoon pulled his stogie out of his mouth, his horn glowing, and he tapped his ashes out over Yam’s head. As he did so, Beacon let out a guttural laugh. “That broad is staying at the Second Season Inn. Her name is Bayberry.”
“She’s lost her daughter,” Azure said as she set the paper down on the dirty, food encrusted table. “We’re taking this case.”
Knowing there was no point in arguing, Yam nodded his head in agreement, then turned to Greasy Spoon once more. “Say, shouldn’t you be looking after our food?”
“It’ll be fine.” Greasy Spoon tucked his stogie back between his flaccid, sagging lips, chewed the soggy nub, and then coughed as something gurgled deep in his throat. “I ain’t started to cook it yet… heh heh heh.” Still chuckling, the greasy, arthritic old unicorn sauntered away, puffing his cigar. As he passed through the bat winged doors back into the kitchen, he farted again.
“Damn you, Greasy Spoon!” Beacon shook his hoof in the air and scowled.
“Well, babe, things are looking up. Maybe we’ll make enough to pay down my tab a bit and pay rent.” Yam’s nostrils crinkled and he shook his head. “There is something wrong with that old pony. He smells almost as bad as you do, Azure.”
“Besame el culo!” Azure snapped.
“No, I’m going to kiss my ass… because you… you’re mine…”
“When we get done eating, we’d better go home, get cleaned up, and then go and talk to this Miss Bayberry. The Second Season is a pretty swanky place. I hope they don’t have problems with burros being in there.”
A miserable expression crept over Yam’s face. Everywhere he went, this was a problem, sometimes more so when other ponies realised that he and Azure were an item. Things were getting better, but were far from perfect. Plus, other ponies kept mistaking Azure for a donkey—a fact she was quick to correct. He stared at Azure, admiring her tawny pelt, her speckles, and her faded almost bluish white muzzle. That was her kissing zone, that bluish white spot. The rest of her face was the same tawny colour as her pelt, making her muzzle stand out in sharp contrast. Her black mane was thick, straight, and shiny. She was the most beautiful mare in the world and he had crossed continents to find her. He had braved the deserts. He risked dangerous raiders. And there was the slapping… the constant, never-ending slapping and her insistence that she didn’t date soldiers, she was there to be a porter and nothing else.
“How’d I get so lucky?” Yam asked.
“I don’t know, Yammy, but you are damn lucky, and don’t you forget it.” Azure held her coffee cup between her front hooves, lifted it to her lips, and slurped some of the vile sludge down. A thin mustache of cream clung her to lip, trying to escape the toxic ooze held within the coffee cup, which was stained a feculent brown on the inside.
“GAH! Friggin’ roaches!” Greasy Spoon shouted from back in the kitchen. “Kill ‘em with fire! Die! Die! All of yous needs to die, ya dirty, no good, stinkin’ good for nuttin’ roaches!”
The diner filled with the smell of roasting roaches, which did nothing to help the stench.