The Truth

by totallynotabrony

Chapter 8

FYI, there’s some mild torture in this chapter.

Lie detectors were great things, thought Daniels. They didn’t even have to be electronic machines. The orange, hat-wearing pony named Applejack was one of the best.

Detective Smally, the dirty cop, sat quietly across the table. His lawyer was with him. Daniels sat next to Applejack and another Chicago Police Detective.

Daniels felt that he had the best idea of the big picture, and had been allowed to proceed with questioning. He had the best information about what was going on.

“Tell us who you’re working for.”

Smally’s lawyer whispered into his ear. Daniels looked on, impatiently.

“We’d like to know what sort of deal the District Attorney is offering first,” said the lawyer.

“This is serious!” Applejack burst out. “Constant’s in danger! It’ll look worse for you if you knew something to help, but let him die! If you know the truth, you better give it.”

The lawyer’s face remained impassive. Smally looked panicked.

“All it takes is a name,” said Daniels. “An address, anything.”

Smally glanced at his legal counsel and then looked at his hands. He cleared his throat. “Charles Line.”

“Is that it?” Smally said nothing more.

Daniels and Applejack walked out. Lemon Slice, Paper Pusher, and Chris Boyle were waiting.

“Let’s go,” said Daniels.

“Did you find something?” asked Boyle.

“Got a name.” They stopped by the front desk to borrow a phone book to match the name to a place.

“Aren’t the police cooperating?” asked Paper as they exited the building.

“They know what we know. They’ve just got procedures to follow. I suppose we do to, but we operate a little differently.” The five of them got in the car.

Line lived in the higher-rent district on Lake Shore Avenue. Daniels did not know who the man was, but suspected some kind of connection to organized crime. He wasn’t sure what the home of such a man might look like, but what they found was not what he was expecting.

It was really a good-looking, friendly place. The driveway was wide and maintained very well. A knock on the front door was answered by a housekeeper. She spoke with an accent.

She told them that Mr. Line wasn’t home. She didn’t know where he might be, but suggested that they check at the office. Daniels asked where that was.

“You don’t know? I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” The men and the ponies had already revealed their status as law enforcement agents.

“I don’t know what you mean.” There was a note of alarm in her voice. Applejack shifted her stance a little. She was hearing lies.

“Now, it might be a stereotype that ethnic maids are illegal immigrants, but I bet if we dug around in your background, I’m sure we could find something to deport you over.” Daniels looked at her sternly. “If you don’t know, fine, but if you have any hints, you’d better talk.”

The housekeeper nervously spit out an address. Daniels wrote it down and thanked her for her help.

Boyle knew about where the address was. In the spirit of interagency cooperation, Daniels had him stop at a pay phone so they could inform the police.

The building where Line supposedly was looked imposing. Daniels noted several cameras on the outside. They walked up to the door.

“Is Mr. Charles Line available?” he asked the serious-looking man who answered. “Navy Intelligence.”

“Royal Intelligence Service,” said Applejack.

“He’s not here,” said the man.

“May we come in?”

“No.”

That was about what Daniels expected. They got back in the car.

“Let me ask you something,” Lemon said to Applejack as they sat in the backseat. “How did you meet Constant? How far back do you go?”

“Ah met him when ah was just a filly and livin' with my Aunt and Uncle Orange in Manehattan. A couple years later, we ran across each other again during RIS training.”

“Is there something romantic going on?”

“What?” Applejack sputtered.

Lemon lifted a hoof. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t affect your job,” added Paper.

On the other side of the city, Constant had managed to solve one of his problems. He’d encountered a lawn care worker who was transporting a plastic bag of grass clippings to a dumpster.

“Are you going to eat that?” he’d asked casually. The man had shrugged and let him have the bag.

The clippings were clammy and smelled like gasoline. Constant only ate enough to take the edge off. He used his magic to hoist the bag into the dumpster when he was finished.

To get the taste out of his mouth, he’d luckily discovered a public drinking fountain. Overall, things were looking up. With his newfound optimism, he decided to find his way to a doorway hub and explain the situation. Perhaps they could help him, but if the police became involved, he was leaving.

The sun was beginning to set, and Constant knew that he didn’t want to spend the night in a strange city. He decided to swallow his pride and ask for directions.

The woman he talked to directed him to Grand Central Station. When he gave her a blank look, she told him to follow the nearby train tracks. That seemed simple enough.

The station building was large and made of stone. It looked quite a bit older than many of the buildings around it. As night fell, there were fewer people around. As he approached the door, a human voice said, “Let me get that for you.”

Constant turned his head to say thanks, but caught sight of the man’s reflection in the glass door. He whipped around to face his attacker but wasn’t fast enough. He was knocked over and blindfolded. There was a pinch of something in the loose skin of his neck. A needle? he wondered.

Constant felt himself being quickly tied up and tossed into a vehicle. He assumed it was the same van that he’d seen earlier. Blindfolded as he was, he couldn’t even see to use his magic. His brain felt fuzzy, and he slipped into blackness as the drugs took effect.

Oscar got in the front of the van and drove to a secure location. It was the same building where the doorway was located. He knew that it was important to find out what the pony knew and how it could hurt their organization. While he’d never had the opportunity to interrogate a pony before, he figured it wouldn’t be too hard. Just a little different work with the knife, that was all. The unicorn’s magic might be a problem, but as long as they kept him drugged and blindfolded, it would be lessened.

He pulled the van around and stopped beside the building. There were a few guards outside, but only Oscar and Charles Line were allowed inside the building. It was better that the underlings didn’t know exactly what was going on.

He pulled the unconscious pony through the door and set him in a chair that he and Line usually used for this type of thing. It was not meant for a pony, but he wasn’t going to be uncomfortable for very long. It never took Oscar too much time to get someone to break.

“So this is him?” said Line.

“I set up a stakeout at Grand Central and caught him going in.”

“Hard to believe one pony could cause so much trouble.”

“He got lucky,” muttered Oscar.

“A couple of times,” added Line, a note of unpleasantness in his voice. “Get on with it.”

After making sure the pony was tied securely, they waited for him to wake up. In not very long, he began to stir.

Oscar slapped him across the cheek. That got his attention. He shuddered, breathing hard and straining at his bonds. His head moved as if looking around, but the blindfold was still on.

“Tell us what you know.”

The pony gasped. “Constant Clock, Royal Intelligence Service.”

“That’s real nice, but we want to know what you’ve learned about us.”

Constant did not reply. Oscar punched him in the gut. If he’d been able to see the blow coming, he could have prepared, but it came as a shock and emptied his lungs. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

Oscar gave him a moment to recover. “It’s only going to get worse from here. If you want, we can start cutting. What did you see? What do you find out?”

Constant took a deep breath. He’d never been more scared in his life. Other than the man in front of him, he didn’t know what he might be up against. He thought he might have heard a second voice earlier while he was waking up. His mind worked rapidly, trying to decide what his options were. He’d already struggled to get free and that hadn’t worked. He suspected that whether he cooperated or not, he was dead.

“Come on,” said the man. Constant felt a sharp point touch his chest. “If you don’t want to bleed, start talking. What do you know?”

He took a deep breath. “Constant Clock, Royal Intelligence Service.”

The sudden pain of the knife felt like fire. As near as Constant could tell, the cut had been made across his chest in a diagonal line. It was not a fatal wound, as it hadn’t made it past his ribs.

“If you talk now, you’ll just get a nice scar out of this. I just wanted to show you that I’m serious. Don’t make me keep going.”

Constant opened his mouth and began to recite his name and agency again, but he was hit hard across the face. The attack rattled his brains and snapped his jaw shut.

“No more of this. You’ve got one more opportunity before I lose my patience.” Constant felt another slice across his abdomen. He barely stopped himself from screaming in pain.

“One last chance,” the voice went on. “If you don’t spill your guts figuratively, you’ll do it literally. After you suffer a painful death, we’ll dump you somewhere in the Everfree Forest and your body will never be found. Talk.”

“I’ll get the doorway set up,” a second man said.

Constant felt the blade touch his stomach.

After leaving Line’s building, Boyle had taken them back to the Navy’s Chicago office and found space to work and a large map of the city. With help from the local police, they’d managed to pick though a maze of files and come up with a list of property that Line either owned or had some affiliation with.

“What do you think of this?” asked Paper, indicating an industrial building near the lake. “Constant was picked up by the police heading away from this area.”

“There’s other places he could have come from,” pointed out Daniels. “We’ve found other buildings in that corner of the city.”

“True enough,” nodded the pony. “However, this place has a large electrical transmission line installed. I understand that doorways require a lot of power.”

Everyone in the room looked at each other. “Do we have any other choices?” asked Boyle.

“I think that this is the best option.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Several minutes later, the car rolled into the industrial compound. It was mostly deserted, but the men and ponies encountered a few guards standing around the building that they had identified.

While they were not obviously armed and dangerous, Daniels decided to assume the worst. He pulled the gun from his briefcase and tucked it behind his back.

The men standing around the building stiffened as the car with government plates approached. If they had weapons, they were well hidden.

Daniels stepped out of the car, flanked by Boyle and the ponies. He flashed his identification.

“We’re investigating a missing pony. Would any of you know about that?”

None of the guards said anything. Daniels reached for the door handle. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I take a look.”

One of the men had a spine, at least. “You can’t do that.”

Boyle stepped up to him, using his size as an advantage to look down on the man. “Mister, we’re Feds. I doubt that you’ve never been involved in a national investigation before. Want to be?”

The man crumbled. “He’s inside.”

Daniels pulled open the door. Constant was tied to a chair and a man with a knife stood over him. The man started to turn, dropping the knife and going for another weapon. Daniels grabbed for his gun, as did Boyle. Constant jerked at the sound of shots. The man hit the floor of the warehouse with five bullets in him.

Stepping through the building door with his gun up, Daniels saw the illegal doorway. It was open, and he watched a second man duck through it. He ran forward. There appeared to be a forest of some kind on the other side.

The man was running hard. Daniels prepared to go through the doorway after him, but stopped, startled by the sudden appearance of a large creature.

The four-headed monstrosity had appeared from the trees to one side of the doorway. The man, who looked like Charles Line, saw it too. He tried to change direction, but the hydra grabbed him with one of its four mouths. His shrill scream was cut off abruptly.

Daniels took a few steps backwards, lowering the gun in shock as one of the hydra’s other heads noticed the doorway. With a roar, it charged. The doorway suddenly shut off. Daniels looked around. Boyle’s hand was on the power button.

Daniels surveyed the scene inside the building. Applejack was untying Constant, who was bloody but alive. Boyle barked at Lemon to summon help. He told her where a nearby hospital was, and she flew off to find it.

The men outside had scattered when the shooting started. They would have to be rounded up later. At the moment, all that mattered was that Constant had been located.

Daniels sighed. He could really use something from Sugarcube Corner right about now.

A couple of days later, Daniels was back in Ponyville. He was delivering an after-action report from the Navy to the RIS. It contained details that the Chicago Police Department had provided. Based on all the data that had been collected, the techies at the office had managed to put together the truth of what had happened.

Applejack met him at the Cakes’ shop for coffee and doughnuts. He laid out the folder and walked her through the contents.

“Ah’m glad all that is over,” she said. “Still, what’s to stop another group from tryin’ it again?”

“Not much, I’ll admit. We might be busy investigating this kind of thing.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Changing the subject, Daniels asked, “How’s Constant?”

“Well, he’s gettin’ better. Them scars are gonna make him look tough,” she laughed.

“I admit, he’s tougher than I gave him credit for.” Daniels had been though counter-interrogation training, and knew that when your life was on the line it could be very difficult to keep your mouth shut.

“Oh, he also told me to thank you. Ah want to thank you, too. He’s important to me.”

“So is there something between you?”

Applejack flushed. Daniels smiled. “Come on, tell the truth.”

“Well, yes, ah reckon there is. It wasn’t until all this that ah realized just how much we have goin’.”

“Does he know?”

She nodded. “Ah figure an engagement ain’t out of the question. Once he gets outta the hospital, o’ course. Ah’m kinda nervous, though.”

“You chased criminals all over both dimensions to save a pony you care about, and you’re worried about commitment?”

Applejack laughed. “Ah guess you’re right. Ah got a trip scheduled to Fillydelphia soon. Constant should know the truth about how ah feel.”

Daniels nodded. “I wish you the best.” He chomped the rest of his doughnut.

Comments

[Katamariguy]

Bravo!

[docker32]

5 staches for this story.

[Jlargent]

342023
Cupcakes by Seargent Sprinkles.

[sockeye101]

Awesome!

[djthomp]

Nice ending, and nice to see AJ get herself a stallion. It's always sunny in Fillydelphia, after all.

[nicksterra]

342046
Your cupcakes will be given to you by a sergeant. they will have sprinkles

[Pengwertle]

332165 Yes, donuts are always a good ending.

[werewolf435]

What a nub. Running into the everfree forest.

[454CASULL23]

Love It!!!!!

[metallusionsismagic]

Ch. 2:
What a shame about Mustache- I mean, Flam. Those two had no idea just how shady human business gets...
Constant Clock is a great example of a good OC. His talent is related to his mark, but his career utilizes that talent in a unique way.
Ch. 8:

They’ve just got procedures to follow. I suppose we do to, but we operate a little differently.”

That hydra deserves an honorary deputization. Let's send Caramel to tell the hydra the good news.

[damnaion]

mmmmmm

[Draco Dei]

On the other side of the city, Constant had managed to solve one of his problems. He’d encountered a lawn care worker who was transporting a plastic bag of grass clippings to a dumpster.

I've heard grazing a horse near a highway will kill it from the polution in/ on the plants, but I guess it would take much more than a single meal if it doesn't have too much insecticide etc. on it. Or it could be the nature of some of the plants in that particular... I think microbiome might be the word?

The clippings were clammy and smelled like gasoline. Constant only ate enough to take the edge off. He used his magic to hoist the bag into the dumpster when he was finished.

Well, that would handle it, even if my information was good.