Chapter 14: It's a Black Bag Affair
Starlight Over Detrot Chapter 14 : It’s A Black Bag Affair
Detrot is a violent place, but usually, being a cop affords some protection in much the same way being part of a large criminal gang affords protection: If you are well regarded by the organization, then your large group of heavily armed friends will stop at nothing to avenge you.
Murders are rarely passionate affairs for the seasoned criminal investigator; they are, after all, considered and analyzed by investigators who each see dozens a year. They must carefully dole out how much energy and effort they apply to each, saving the full treatment for true victims, lest the police burn out attempting to avenge murders between drug dealing rivals or decrepit junkies fatally squabbling over the last needle of Ace in the flophouse.
This careful expenditure of motivation ceases when another cop is the victim of an equicide.
The DPD will scream, quite appropriately, bloody murder. They will set up APBs and throttle reporters until the event makes the front page for weeks. They will send patrol teams to go rough up everypony within ten blocks and/or visual range of the poverty line. They will exhaust months worth of overtime pay in a breakneck pursuit of justice. And breakneck is only a slight exaggeration; legal issues like probable cause, Mareanda rights and justified use of force tend to blur just a bit in the reddened eyes of police dealing with the murder of one of their own. May the Princesses help anypony they actually happen to finger.
And they must respond thusly. Not merely to avenge a fallen comrade, though the emotional ties to the brotherhood of police can provide bonus motivation. Indeed, they must because they could not function if they did not. To let a cop-shooting slide with anything less than a public crusade would shatter the fragile illusion of control and order that the police seek to maintain.
Debate can be had on whether that illusion has been successfully maintained, but on average, the criminal underclasses understand that shooting a cop makes things unpleasant enough that it is not really worth it.
None of this is to say, however, that cop killings don't happen. Somepony panicking at the apex of a Beam high, for example, will not be in an appropriate state of mind to appreciate the consequences, or perhaps even recognize the shadow before them as an officer of the law.
And on very rare occasion, you will find someone powerful, well connected, or clever enough to evade the fallout resulting from murdering a cop - say, one who has gotten into the proverbial 'It' far too deeply for his own good.
-The Scholar
There has been much written on ‘captured officer’ scenarios, even though they don’t happen terribly frequently. I’ve never been a fan of the idea that you capitulate with your captors as much as possible unless you’re using that to find their weaknesses.
Sometimes, life is downright perverse.
I jerked my head back and forth, trying to back away, but a restraining hoof on my tail stopped me and the drawstring on the bag was cinched up tight around my throat.
From the sound of things, Cosmos goon's had bagged Taxi too. She’d ‘accidentally’ smacked one of them in the nose while they were putting it on, but otherwise kept her struggles to a minimum. We actually did want to meet Cosmo without anypony deciding we needed a bullet in the leg to make that happen.
“Is this really essential?” I asked, a little muffled. I could hear Reginald Bari somewhere in front of me. He had a particularly smug way of breathing.
“Completely,” he said, patting my forehead. “Now, come along... little bunny.”
I wanted to break all of his bones so badly.
I took a step and almost put my hoof down on my hat. They’d knocked it off when they shoved the bag over me. Somepony picked it up and wedged it into my coat, squashing the brim.
Two of the Red Hoof enforcers pressed themselves up against my side, and I could only assume they were doing the same to my driver. Guided by their barrels, I took a few halting steps, then got the idea that I was just going to have to trust them not to put my nose through a pylon. It was an especially uncomfortable situation, but one shouldn’t expect any less from gangsters.
They didn’t feel the need to relieve me of my weapon, but having my head in a bag made it virtually impossible for me to use anyway. It was just one more little bit of arrogance on their part which said ‘We’re in control.’
While I couldn’t see where we were going, it wasn’t far. The noise of the far off crowd dropped, then vanished. Somepony opened a door, then led us into an area that smelled of pipes and mildew. Maintenance corridors. I started counting hoofsteps in case I needed to get back this way.
We took a right. Then a left. Then another right. Up a short set of stairs. Down another. Another twist, another turn, and after a few more minutes of that malarkey I was completely lost, which was probably the point.
The silence of our guards was a bit unnerving, though the fact that they felt the need to bag us meant they hadn’t decided whether or not to kill us yet, and there was a chance we could walk out of this situation. Alternatively, it meant they were going to be blowing our brains out and they preferred to keep all of the chunks in one easily disposed of sack.
I was about to ask if they were taking us for an interrogation or just a prolonged stroll when Bari stopped. Something let out a loud ‘ding,’ like a struck bell.
Our guards turned to the side and moved forward, but my forehoof caught on a raised ledge, sending me stumbling forehead first into a cold, metal wall.
“Upsy daisy,” Bari chortled. “Must watch that first step!”
Taxi staggered in beside me, only her amazing agility keeping her from landing squarely against my side. Several sets of hooves followed us into the small closet-like space. I felt around until I touched a hoof-hold of some kind, using it to drag myself up. I realized we were in an elevator just as it began to rise, almost dropping me to my knees again.
After a journey that felt awfully long but whose actual length I had no way of gauging, we came to a sharp halt and the bell rang again. I already was getting quite tired of the disorientation, but then, again, that was obviously the point; knowing that fact helped, a little.
Bari’s entourage hauled us out into a much larger room that smelled of strong cigar smoke, cedar, and old coats. The carpet underhoof was extremely thick. It made me want to lay down and have a nap. No such luck, of course.
We were lead forward and set on a pair of short, uncomfortable couches.
I heard the manager leave the way he’d come in, followed by at least one of our guards.
Nopony spoke, so I decided to take a risk.
“You want to talk like this?” I asked, gesturing to myself.
The hood was grasped at the back of my head and torn off, none-too-gently, the rough fabric grazing my nose. My eyes took a bit to adjust to the sudden brightness.
We were in an office that, at first glance, might have shamed that of Princess Celestia or Chief Jade... but the longer I looked at it, the cheaper it seemed. It wasn’t in spite of the fact that every surface was either expensive wood, gold, or red velvet; it was because every surface was expensive wood, gold, or red velvet. Like the casino, it was an unintentional caricature of real splendor and refinement, creating an overriding cheapness to the whole thing that betrayed the image of seasoned wealth.
Our couches sat in front of a desk that would have been a genuinely long walk around if one were intent on standing on the other side for some reason. It was practically the size of my bedroom. But It was the pony behind the desk that commanded attention.
Cosmo, the King of Ace.
I tried to keep the surprise out of my face, but was only half successful. His teenage mug shots didn’t do his current visage any justice.
The leader of the Red Hoof was absolutely gargantuan. Stallions shouldn’t come in sizes that big. Hay Maker would have fit neatly under his chest like a foal hiding under its mother. His pelt was rich brown, the color of tree bark, and his mane was solid ginger, in a tight crew cut.
A cigar I could have used for a baseball bat was clenched in one corner of his broadly smiling mouth. There was no mirth, no joy, and no friendliness in that smile; it was the smile of a pony who is waiting to kill you only so he can determine why he should.
It requires a certain kind of individual to run a criminal organization of any size. Brutality alone is insufficient; it takes a genuine intellect. Underneath that powerful body, I could see an equally powerful mind which dwarfed Svelte’s pure mathematics. Despite the rough way he’d come up, if Cosmo had been anything but a criminal, he might have been a pillar of the community.
But as it was, my cutie-mark was doing a little samba.
“Mister Cosmo.” I greeted him, straightening my face fur.
His face tightened and he spoke in a bass that sounded like a radio announcer except a lot less enthusiastic, “Detective Hardy. I believe that’s what the papers call you, isn’t it?”
Reaching into the top drawer of his desk, he pulled out the Detrot Observer, opened it to page three, and shoved it across the desk at me. There was a picture of my face trying to duck behind one of Sykes’ wings, and below that, a rather graphic picture of Ruby’s corpse. The headline read ‘Murder in the streets!’
Mayhem, Murder, and Mystery!
Today at the upscale High Step, a beautiful young filly was found dead of unknown causes in the alleyway beside the famous hotel. Her identity has not yet been released. Detective Hard ‘Hardy’ Boiled was on site investigating, and is quoted as saying ‘The killers will be caught! Rest assured!’
Cosmo and his goons went to a lot of effort to instill fear, but I wondered if there was any piece of black-bag theatrics they could pull that I would find as demoralizing as I found the ink smeared on that pulp. What does it say when a violent death at a major local hotel doesn’t even make the front page? Particularly when they can’t even be bothered to get an actual quote?
It went on to give details of the case, most of which were rumors and whatever the reporter could buy off of one of the crime scene investigators for a twenty-bit piece or a cup of coffee. Typical news-rag tripe. Right in all the wrong ways.
I shook my head and pushed it back to him.
“You’re here about the dead slag.” Cosmo said, drawing smoke into his mouth and letting it leak out at the edges.
My brain did a little flip flop, then reoriented as I realized he wasn’t actually aware of that and was just conjecturing based on the news article.
I tried to play it off. “That’s part of it, yes. Primarily, I’m here to sell you drugs.”
Cosmo might as well have been a statue for all the emotion his face showed. I was starting to wish that frightening grin would go someplace else for awhile. It was starting to get under my fur.
“That is quite the pronouncement, Detective. You know, I don’t think in my forty years of life I have ever heard one like it before?” the mob kingpin murmured, his cigar smoke curling around his features and lending them a slightly demonic cast. “It has the pleasingly concise finality of an eyeball popping in its socket.”
Taxi let out a soft gagging noise then devolved into a coughing fit.
I slid down off the couch and strolled over to the drinks bar against one wall, putting myself about two centimeters of scotch into a glass. “Do you mind? My friend seems to have something stuck in her throat.”
The gangster held his hooves wide and rocked back in a well appointed chair which might have been the only genuine antique in the room. “By all means. Make yourself comfortable. It’s not often I get the chance to have a frank conversation with a member of our city police. Particularly while I’m at my leisure. You’re a puzzle, Detective.”
I filled another glass with water while our ‘escorts’ followed me with their eyes. They were very much at ease, insofar as they outnumbered us and I had only one gun. Cosmo’s office would be a bad place for me to get into a firefight and they knew it. All of them wore black tuxedos similar to the one on the manager; they could have concealed anything from a sawn off shotgun to a machine pistol on a stealth harness.
I set the glasses in a helpfully placed mouth-basket and carried it back to my seat, offering the extra glass to Taxi, who took it and slurped down the entire thing. The look she gave me said that she was wishing it was something decidedly stronger than water.
It might have been unkind to hit her out of left field with the ‘sell you drugs’ line but I hoped, by going miles off police procedure, I could convince the mobster I was something besides a cop who’d lost his mind. I needed him to think we were desperate.
Cosmo regarded me for a few seconds then leaned forward and asked, “Detective, what is your actual reason for being here?”
“Like I said. I want to go into business with you. I’ve got some talents and connections I think you could use.”
Setting his cigar in the ashtray, Cosmo dropped out of the high backed chair and walked towards one wall which I’d taken for simply blank. He placed his hoof on it, and the surface turned immediately transparent. Outside, a vista of wonders opened before me. It was the city as seen from the top of Monte Cheval, right up near the peak and by the sweet sky. It was beautiful. I could just see a strip of blue out between two skyscrapers that marked the bay. Somewhere down there, After Glow and Stella waited for me to return.
“Detective, do you think a view like this becomes available to stupid ponies? I am not a stupid pony. This is not a courtesy to the Detrot Police Department, nor to the authority of your badge. This is about you, Detective. I want to know what madness possessed you to walk into my place unannounced, without backup, and demand to see me. This is not about your interest in me. It is solely about my interest in you.”
I shrugged. “You know, most days I’d say you’re wrong. Today, Mister Cosmo, you’re absolutely correct. I’m here regarding just two things. The murdered filly and what I can do for you.”
The monumental stallion snorted, waving his hoof in my direction like swatting a fly. “If you had evidence to so much as accuse me of something, Detective, we wouldn’t be sitting here. It doesn’t matter, either way. I didn’t kill her. I do hope you had something else.”
He said those four words without any particular inflection. ‘I didn’t kill her.'
I’d wanted to hear him say them, but now that he had, I felt strangely empty.
Some ponies think there’s a ‘cop sense’ which tells guilt from innocence, but there’s honestly not. I wanted Cosmo to say those words with sweat rolling down his face and fear in his eyes. I wanted it to be simple, so I could jab my hoof in his face and declare ‘Aha! You lie!’... but I couldn’t. If he was lying and this were poker, I’d have called with a pair of twos in my hoof.
I decided to lay the rest of my cards on the table and hope he didn’t realize the game was five card stud rather than high-low.
“I’ve got a stallion in my lock-up we picked up while searching the murdered girl’s apartment,” I said, sipping the scotch. It burned wonderfully going down. “We found him ransacking the place. He said you were the one who ordered him over there. Name of Hay Maker? You know of him?”
Cosmo’s teeth made a noise like the car’s brakes grinding. “He is not my employee, though I am... aware... of him, yes.”
“Now, while I realize an accusation of murder by a... sequestered pony might not carry much weight by itself, the filly’s horn was snapped clean off right at the root.” I covered the inner fury I was feeling at the cruelty of that action with a casual smirk. “There are some — Oh, let’s call them ‘rumors’ — of certain actions performed by your ‘Red Hoof,’ which–”
Cosmo interrupted me. “Detective, you may or may not be aware, but this room is surveillance neutral.” He pressed his toes together and leaned towards me, in a way far too reminiscent of a vaguely psychotic green dictator of my close acquaintance. “I have been assured by members of the Academy that no form of arcanotechnic spying will operate within these four walls. The moment they enter, all such technologies are rendered inert. You understand what that means?”
“I understand,” I replied. “Our mutual acquaintance said something like that might be the case. What does it have to do with us?”
“Well, what it has to do with us is that whatever you see here would be useless in a court of law. Eye-witness accounts are, I’m sure you’re aware, essentially worthless.”
I bit my tongue against a comment on his treatment of witnesses. “I’m aware.”
“Just so you know where we stand, and how little I fear your ‘accusation,’ it is not ‘The Red Hoof’ that removes horns...”
His sentence trailed off as he reached into his desk drawer, extracted a brown wooden box, and set it between us. Flipping it open revealed one of the most grisly sights I’ve seen since my first day on the job.
Unicorn horns, at least a dozen of them in every color of the rainbow, all broken and shattered, lay in the bottom of that box.
“-I do.”
I almost fell backwards out of my chair. His thug had been waiting for this and shoved me forcefully back into my seat. Taxi, through an incredible feat of willpower, hadn’t moved, though her eyes were locked on the container and its sickening contents. Not that it took me long to recover; part of being a cop is seeing foul things and, like soldiers, we learn to bury our emotions to accomplish our goals.
Cosmo was right, though. Ladybugs aren’t admissible in court unless you have a warrant, and defense lawyers love dissecting their little personality quirks. I could have watched him stomp somepony to death right in front of me but without corroborating evidence, I had nothing. Incidentally, that’s how much the word of a cop is in this city.
Cosmo closed the top of his little trophy case. “I just want you to be aware of who you are ‘doing business’ with, Detective. Your ridiculous threats aside, why are you here? Feed me this stupidity about wishing to do business again, and I will consider you to be wasting my time. You need something. I don’t buy for a second that you’re just some badge breaking bad.”
I shut my eyes, tightly. If I could have, I’d have forced a tear. “I... I’ve got no choice.” I thought of Ruby, her broken body laid out on the cold metal table, drained of fluids and color. It gave my voice the appropriate quaver. “I’m being ‘forcibly retired’ in a couple of weeks by that vile unicorn bitch who’s running the force now. I’ve been a cop for a lot of years and I gave everything I have to this city, but they’re denying my pension. It’s not like my cutie-mark is the kind you can open a shop with.”
I turned my hip so he could see my golden scales. At the mention of Chief Jade, Cosmo’s mouth tilted into a gross sneer, but underlying it was another feeling which must have been terribly unusual for the kingpin: sympathy. It was a strange, twisted form whose source I was a little leery to discover, but at that point I was willing to use any edge that might present itself.
“Retired by Chief Spike herself?” He mused. Taxi shifted in her seat, unhappy to hear the racial epithet applied to Jade, but kept her peace. “I will listen to your proposition, Detective. While I may not have been responsible for the girl’s death, I do have... an interest in her. Make your offer good, though, or I will heavily consider adding one retired police pony’s badge to my little collection.”
I pulled Slip Stitch’s package out of my coat. The carfentanil was in a clear vial and full to the top. The liquid itself was perfectly clear. Setting it on the desk, I pushed it over to him. Cosmo picked it up, turning the vial over in his hooves and reading the label.
“Medical grade?” The mobster asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Experimental. A thousand times stronger than the best Ace on the market. Add it to your stock and you can sell half as much for the same price—”
I stopped as Cosmo tapped the surface twice and asked, “Where does she play into this?” He waved his knee at Taxi who gulped her water a little faster than she’d meant to and almost spit on the carpet.
“My driver,” I replied. “I get fired, she gets fired. Chief Jade is culling ponies who aren’t ‘loyal’ enough... which is to say, ponies who don’t kiss her flanks day in, day out. We’re a package deal.”
“Fine. Your mare, your problem. If you ever want me to take her off your hooves I can use a driver—” Cosmo licked his thick, brown lips and leered at Taxi. I was tempted, briefly, to say ‘Sure, go right ahead’ just to see the look on his face when she tore his testicles off, and was deterred only by an even chance that she’d go for mine.
“No thanks. She’s mine,” I answered, quickly. I could feel said cab driver’s eyes trying to burn a hole in the side of my head at the implication of ownership.
He plucked at his close-shorn chin. “Ahhh, then I will bide my time. Perhaps one day, you’ll wish to pass her off. Tell me about this connection of yours?”
Schemes turn on whether or not somepony came up with something believable to fill a hole in a story. Often, the best lies are the ones that make the best stories. You keep them short and sweet, then let the recipient fill in the details in their own mind.
“I’ve got this kid... real genius... who works out of his basement.” I began, straightening my collar and swirling another mouthful of scotch around my tongue. “I’ve got some ‘evidence’ in my private locker that narcotics would love to have about where some of the weirder experimental psychedelics used to come from. We have an... arrangement. He keeps his nose clean and makes me some specialty chemicals whenever I have a party, I keep his evidence nice and cozy.”
“I see. This kid isn’t looking for work, is he?”
“He works for me. Period.” I crossed my forelegs under my chest.
The mobster considered my offer briefly, then rolled the drug back to me. He made no move to have us thrown out, and it took a second to realize he was waiting on me to sweeten the pot.
I tilted my head back the way we’d come and said, “Before I’m gone from the force, I can plant some real solid ‘indicators’ it was our red friend who killed that girl in the alley. Who is he, by the way?”
The muscles in Cosmo’s shoulders popped like cords of tempered steel as he puffed a thin stream of smoke in my direction and replied, “An employee’s bodyguard; an employee who may have just attempted something... unwise. Not your problem, Detective.”
“Well, he was looking for something. The girl had this hidden in a cubby-hole.” I pulled the jeweled diary out of my second pocket and set it on his desk beside the carfentanil. “Call it a freebie. Yours if you want it.”
There was no actual shift in his facial muscles, but I detected an immediate change in attitude. Something behind the eyes. Whatever was in that diary was worth a thousand times whatever a source of wonder-drug additives might be.
Reaching forward, he gingerly lifted the diary to his side of the desk and tried the golden lock. It held fast against his efforts, but he didn’t look much bothered by that. No doubt he had somepony adept at breaking such things. I know I would.
The smile he gave me then was far more authentic and, for that reason, an awful lot more unsettling. “Detective, do you have access to the girl’s other effects?”
I nodded, eagerly. “I will, for a few weeks. You want them, I can get them for you.” Getting to my hooves, I extended my leg over his desk. “You and I have a deal? I can make regular deliveries of the drug. Dead drops, no face-time, cash-bits only.”
“I will... consider your proposal.” He made no move to touch hooves. “If I find it worthwhile, I will have one of my lieutenants call you tomorrow at your home. I assume you’re in the book. Forthwith, consider this our last meeting. Leave this sample with me. Until then...”
I was expecting it, but that didn’t make the black hood anymore pleasant. The bag tightened up at my neck and his guards pulled me up, still not bothering with ‘gentle.’
“Until then.” I said, trying to at least sound cordial. No longer being able to see Cosmo’s huge figure was somehow comforting. It meant we weren’t being dragged off to eat bullets, which would have necessitated some violent action and I’d had enough violent action for one day already.
We were being forcibly moved towards the door when Cosmo called out, “Oh, Detective? One last thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I find a threat is usually necessary. Just part of doing what I do. Take it as granted that if this isn’t carfentanil or I discover this diary is anything but the property of the pony you say it is, I’ll have you disemboweled and feed you your own intestines.”
“Understood.”
“Then I will say ‘good morning,’ Detective.”
****
The stroll back seemed a bit shorter but no less twisting. The shakes were making it difficult to walk but I covered it by pretending to have let the scotch get a little more on top of me than it had. Nopony leaving that situation with their skin intact can be blamed for a case of the quivers. It’s just the body’s natural response to half-expecting to be shot.
We’d done it. I’d done it. I walked into the office of one of the most dangerous criminal entrepreneurs in the city, laid a bluff six inches thick on him, and walked out without so much as a scratch.
How had I done it? Much as I would have liked to attribute it to my own genius and charm, that was too easy. He might not have been expecting us, but something else was going on.
In any situation where things seem too easy, I’ve long since learned to take for granted that I’d made a mistake. Considering I’d gone in expecting to have him crack me around the head a few times just to make sure I knew who the boss was — if not shoot me outright — I should have been grateful; I wasn’t. Despite no longer being in Cosmo’s presence, my cutie-mark was practically doing a jig.
As we traveled our circuitous route and the adrenaline rush of not getting killed began to fade, it became painfully clear what that mistake was.
The diary.
He’d wanted that book many times more than he’d wanted the damn drug. I wondered what might be in it. Unsealing it had seemed like a secondary priority, but after walking away and leaving it sitting in the mobster’s lap, I wished I’d taken some time to crack that lock and give it a read. I was also wondering about that business about Ruby’s other possessions. What use could he have for them?
I needed to get back downstairs and see if the ladybugs were in position; my mane felt noticeably emptier. I hadn’t felt them crawling about, but then again, they were notoriously light-footed.
We made the elevator again and rode it back to the ground floor, our coterie of killers shuffling us along towards the door. They removed the hoods at the front door. The nearest set of craps tables were, again, full of gambling creatures totally oblivious to the activities going on around them. Mister Bari was there, holding Taxi’s car-keys on one hoof with a tiny bowl of after-dinner mints balanced across his back.
“Mister Cosmo sends his regards.” He held out the bowl and I snapped one up, chewing on it. “He is fond of threats, so I will add my own. If I see you or your pig cunt here at the Monte Cheval, I’ll snap your ankles.”
Taxi made to reach for her keys but somehow lost her balance and staggered against him, tipping the mints sideways so they fell off of his back and scattered across the floor. The ponies guarding us, who’d been reduced to just the two, leapt back from the mess lest they get powdered sugar all over their immaculately shined hooves. Regaining her stability, my driver gently picked up her carkeys from where they’d fallen.
Bari was standing stock-still, gazing straight ahead. Something trickled down his lip from his left nostril. It looked an awful lot like blood. I knew that look; it was one almost exclusively worn by ponies who’ve just had an explosion go off right next to them.
“Won’t you thank Mister Cosmo for his hospitality?” Taxi asked, blowing the stallion a kiss. “Oh, and don’t worry... you’ll be able to move again sometime this week.” Her eyes slid to my face and she pointed towards the double doors. “We should go.”
“Did you just do what I think—” I started to ask.
“Yes.”
“We should go.”
Before the Red Hoof maniacs could register that Bari was having issues with his central nervous system, we both were out the door and down the stairs, climbing into the waiting cab. The engine snarled and we were off down the road just as the first of their number dashed out of the front door with his gun-bit between his teeth.
****
Swift was still in the back seat underneath a blanket, just where we’d left her. The valet apparently hadn’t noticed the presence of a small puddle of pegasus spread across the rear cushions. Her eyes were wide open, totally unblinking, and the expression on her face was one of frozen shock. I’d forgotten what it was like using the ladybugs.
“Alright, you can shut down.” I said to the air. Two dozen ladybugs wiggled out of my mane and flew up onto the seat back, shedding their black camouflage as they grew back to normal size. “Thank you. Stick around. I want to see what’s going on in Cosmo’s office here in a minute.”
The little creatures made an affirmative sounding buzz, then sat still, for the moment.
My partner’s upper lip twitched, then she bolted upright, taking a deep, gasping breath. Her pupils were huge, her eyes unfocused. As she released the breath, they shrank back to their normal size and she fell backwards, her wings drawing up tight against her sides.
“S-s-sir... that was the worst thing ever,” she whimpered. “H-how was I supposed to turn them off?”
“You just ask,” I replied. “Also, they turn off on their own when they get bored. I’m surprised they didn’t when we left the office. What’s Cosmo doing? How many are still up there?”
“He was just sitting at his desk, staring at that diary. I think there are a bunch still there. They started off in your mane but then they moved everywhere.” Her tail slapped the seat as she tried to get the residual sensation of being a bug out of her system. “Oh, Sir... It was like watching a lot of television screens all side by side, except with legs.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know what it’s like.” I helped her into a sitting position and adjusted her tactical jacket. “There’s a reason the force doesn’t use them anymore. Actually, several, but that’s not important. I need to see what’s going on up there. Something is wrong.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Swift’s eyebrows drew together in a confused and worried expression. “He took the diary and he said he’s going to call you. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“We wanted the ladybugs in his office, but I get the feeling I may have made a mistake.” I put one hoof on the rear window, standing up on the seat to look back towards the Monte Cheval, fading into the distance. “That diary should have earned us some extra goodwill, not a straight buy into his good graces. If it just contained evidence Ruby was holding against him or somepony he works for, that would be one thing, but I think there’s something else going on here.”
“What do you think it is?” my young partner asked.
“I hope I’m about to find out.” I laid back on the seat and slid my hat over my face, then did the dance as subtly as I could.
“Sunshine, sunshine; Ladybugs... awake.”
****
Nopony I know actually enjoys the feeling of using ladybugs. The equine mind just isn’t made to process the feeling of having that many eyeballs all at once. Fortunately, their creator did have the good grace to give the silly things a reasonably easy-to-use interface; you mostly just think about what you want to see and they take you to the closest possible view of whatever they happen to think is likely to fit the bill.
Sadly, user comfort wasn’t considered a priority.
It didn’t hurt in the dictionary sense of the word, but for an almost completely abstract experience it felt awfully specific; I felt like my brain was being fed through a spaghetti strainer.
I was split into hundreds of tiny pieces, then each piece wiggled its way down a massive web until they reassembled themselves in a loose puddle, shifting and coalescing. Dozens of images flashed past me, of trains moving into stations, of bonfires, and muddy alleys. I caught pictures of many different creatures mid-coitus. A surprising number of the visions featured televisions, all watching different stations as the collective simultaneously absorbed epsiodes of ‘Neighs of our Lives’ and ‘Desperate Horsewives.’
It took a bit to get myself oriented and make certain my awareness was really mine. One would think that would be easy, but inhabiting the tiny brains and eyes of hundreds of insects all having their own private view of the world is a strange trip. I imagine it’s a little like being inside Chief Jade’s head. Regardless, there was work to be done.
Cosmo’s office, I thought.
My awareness exploded back into many little chunks, scattering down the intricate network until it came to rest again in another section of the mass insectoid consciousness. It took a bit to orient myself.
The ladybugs are nothing if not thorough. I felt as though I were looking into a very small diorama of Cosmo’s office. There was only one occupant. Cosmo sat at his desk, his cigar guttered in an ashtray. Ruby Blue’s diary sat between his forelegs; beside it there was one of the old style rotary phones like I’ve got on my end table. The vial of carfentanil, broken and dripping, was laying in his otherwise empty garbage can.
The stallion’s wide, cruel face wasn't smiling anymore, but I almost wished it was. If I’d had a spine just then, a shiver would have run down it.
With one hoof, he stroked the diary like one would touch an old, familiar lover, just as somepony knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Cosmo called, pushing the book to one side.
One of his Red Hoof, a thick necked maroon colt with a pair of arrows on his flank, pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”
“What do you want, Nock?,” the mob-boss asked, picking up his cigar again.
“Sir, that cabbie crippled Mister Bari,” the pony named Nock replied. “He said something to her and I don’t know what she did but he can’t move his legs.”
Cosmo slapped his tail against his chair. “So dump him at Sacred Sun. He probably deserved it. Why are you bringing this to my attention?”
“Well, sir... Shouldn’t I send out a few of the guys? Maybe snap her legs and take her for a little ride? Teach the bitch some respect?” Nock inquired.
It would almost have been worth it to see him try. The last pony who’d tried to harass Taxi in that way refused to press charges because he was afraid the court bailiff wouldn’t be enough to stop her if she decided to disassemble him into his component parts.
“No need.” The kingpin ground his yellowed teeth together. “Leave the cop and his twat alone, for now.”
“If you don’t mind, sir, what did he want?”
“Something ridiculous. If he was being truthful he’s a fool, and I don’t do business with fools. If he lied, well, I think he might still be useful.” Cosmo pointed at the floor at Nock’s feet. “Go back downstairs and check the security wards. If one so much as twitches, I want to hear about it. Get out.”
“Sir.”
Nock reversed out of the room and shut the door behind himself, leaving Cosmo, again, sitting by himself in the opulent private office. Picking up the phone receiver, he set it in the crook of his neck and listened for a dial tone then dialed a number.
“Detrot Police Department? Yes, could you put me over to desk sergeant Sing Song?” The pony at the other end spoke something I couldn’t make out. Cosmo replied, “Tell him it’s Booster. Just calling about the game next week.”
In all likelihood, it was Telly doing the asking, but none of the ladybugs seemed to be close enough to pick up what was coming through. I gave several of them a nudge, and they started moving closer. At last, an especially brave and stealthy individual managed to wiggle its way onto the mouthpiece.
Cosmo waited, tapping his hoof on his desktop. After a short time, another voice came down the phone line.
“Ayo! Booster! Ye cheating scum-stain! It’s yer week to bring the sweety hoochie!” Sing Song crowed. I could hear the familiar sounds of the department in the background.
I wasn’t personally familiar with all the officers on desk, but Sing Song was a well known gossip of the worst kind. Give him a few drinks and he’d tell you damn near anything you wanted to know about Detrot Police Department’s internal dramas. It could be great entertainment on a Friday night, but he was the very definition of ‘security leak.’ Hearing that one of the leading lights of the Detrot Mafia had been sitting in on one of his game nights was somehow unsurprising.
Cosmo’s voice rose about three octaves and fell comfortably into what took me a second to identify as the old Princess Street cockney. “Sing A Song fer me, jackboot! Three hot bottles of rum I swear fell off the truck just fer the boys! Can ye sling a little banter?”
Sing Song’s tone changed, “Oh, yup! That’s a ten four.” I heard him cover the phone briefly then return. “Sorry, lieutenant is in the room. What can I do for ye?”
“Weeell... my sister’s dating a copper. Ye know a ‘Hard Boiled’?” Cosmo asked, plucking at his upper lip.
“Ol’Hardy? Yeah, he’s a right hard-case.” I could almost hear the sergeant's smile down the phone line. “One’a the old guard even though he’s about ten years younger’n’ half the officers. Right pissant and too good at his job for a cop who drinks so much. Chief hates him. Or maybe wants to screw him. Tell yer sister to steer clear! She’s gonna fire’em one day.”
“Hmmm...a’right Singy.” The kingpin’s tail slapped the floor. “Ye mind if I ask? Ye got a big red stallion inna lock-up there?”
“Lemme check... yeeeah, name of Hay Maker? One’a yer friends?”
Shaking his head, Cosmo let his shoulders slump theatrically. If Sing Song had been in the room, it would have been a spectacular performance. The mobster was a natural born actor. An awful lot of ex-street ponies are; it comes with the rough living.
“He works cargo on one of my docks an’ he was making crap at the bar last night. Wondered if he got picked up after I left,” Cosmo answered, flipping a leg as though to clear the air.
“Ye want I should let’em out?” The desk officer offered.
“Let’em rot. He didn’t come in fer work an’ I ain’t feeling generous. Hey, couldja check’an see if somepony went out cleanin’ up apartments down in the Skids?” Cosmo continued, his lip twitching.
“Now what in the wide wide world of Equestria would ye need to know that fer?” Sing Song sounded genuinely suspicious, but as seemed to be the pattern, the mob boss was right on top of it.
“T’ain’t no thing. Sis ain’t such a good judge of character. When she broke up with her last guy, he kept a buncha her stuff out there. Curious if this Hard Boiled fella is tryin’ to get it back fer her.”
“Ahhh, family... I know what that’s like keepin’ track of ’em.” Sing Song sighed. “My li’l Fritter wants to get her nose pierced like one’a them miiino-taurs.” Pages flipped over in the log book. “Yeeeah, sent a cleaning team out to the Skids. Capriole street. Right crap-hole. Heck, reminds me of the time I had to call a forensics unit to my ex-wife’s house just so I could sneak the damn dog out. She still thinks he done run away.”
“Thanks, Singy baby! I’ll bring the boys some fresh pie with extra cheese come this Saturday night.”
“Oi! Ye better! It’ll be a start to makin’ up fer all that card-sharkin’!”
Cosmo set the phone back in its cradle and put his hooves behind his head. I really wished I could get a ladybug into that stallion’s impressive brain just to have a look around. He’d made me the second I walked in. The carfentanil in the trash was a worry but, as I said before, plans are made to go wrong.
Even if I were under-cover and had backup, he’d have known me for a cop with one phone call to that mouthy bastard Sing Song or, more likely, one of his deeper connections in the DPD. It wouldn’t surprise me if a significant part of the police retirement system was funded by mob bribes.
Luckily, nopony on the force made use of ladybugs, at least officially, in years. Svelte might have been a securitizing genius, but her knowledge of our spells and methods was probably derived from trade magazine which were all about the ‘latest and greatest’ rather than the ‘old and insufferable.’
These thoughts drifted through the odd space within the ladybug network where I’d laid out my awareness as I studied my mark. He hadn’t moved for several minutes. I was about to hop out and wait for our surveillance creatures to tell us something interesting was happening — or, alternately, get bored and leave — but Cosmo suddenly came alive and lurched forward, snatching up the phone again. This time, he dialed a zero.
“Operator? Put me through to the law firm of Umbra, Animus, and Armature. Extension forty two.”
“Yes, sir. Who should I say is calling?”
“The King.”
“Please hold.”
The line buzzed twice, preceding the query of a sensual, masculine voice. “What do you want?”
Cosmo poked the diary. “You’ll never guess what just dropped into my lap.”
“I am poor at guessing games. Speak plainly.” The voice directed. I couldn’t hear anything in the background which would have given me a hint as to where the pony or whatever he might be was located. Nothing in his cadence or accent indicated any particular city or region of origin. However, if Cosmo made my cutie mark tingle, then this character on the line made it want to leap off, crawl away, take an airship to the middle of nowhere and retire to a quiet life growing kumquats.
“A detective from the cop shop, name of Hard Boiled, just paid me a visit.” The mobster said, rolling his cigar back and forth between his stained lips. “My contact in DPD says he’s on the rocks. Might get tossed on his ear any minute. Dumb bastard wants to sell me some experimental drugs. He’s the one investigating the dead unicorn cunt who tried to fly, too. Offered to bury the case in exchange for doing business.”
“Burying the case would be advantageous.” The voice mused, then fell silent, waiting for Cosmo to continue.
“That’s not the best part. He dumped her diary in my lap. If she hid the—”
The voice cut him short, sharply. “Do not speak it!”
Something I hadn’t expected to see flitted across Cosmo’s powerful features; fear. I had to go over that in my head a few times: the being on the other end of the line struck genuine fear into a unicorn-mutilating mob boss the size of a small barn.
“I-if she hid it somewhere, its location is probably in there.” Cosmo went on, more carefully this time. “Damn book is magic-locked, but I’ve got ponies for that. This cop said he could get me her other possessions. I’ll bet you...‘It’ is in them someplace. She wouldn’t bury it somewhere or something stupid, right?”
“That is our understanding.” The voice paused for some time, and continued only when I just thinking he might have hung up. “You will do business with this police pony. Acquire the girl’s possessions. If the object is among them, you will bring it to us.”
“He had a drink. The scotch. I mixed some of that drink you gave me into it. That enough for your little trick to work?” Cosmo inquired.
The receiver was set down for some time, and the mob-boss made to wait. When the voice returned, it was slightly annoyed. “I do not see him.”
“But you told me the Scry could keep track of anypony once they’re marked!” Cosmo protested. “Is the security slut still at the whore house?!”
The voice twitched towards a bit of genuine anger. “She is. Watch your tone, Mister Cosmo. I find it most likely that this police pony was wise enough to simply pretend to drink.”
A thin bead of perspiration formed at one side of the stallion’s face and ran down his cheek. He was trying to sound casual and calm but a vein in his forehead was standing out quite visibly. “What do you want done?”
“Offer him a sum of money for the girl’s things. Make it considerable. Complete the deal and allow him to walk away. Eliminate him in a discreet fashion once you have them, and we will compensate you. We are in the process of acquiring our own leverage within Detrot’s Police Department should this prove unnecessary; however, we prefer to hedge our bets.”
I felt very cold, or would have if my brain were still attached directly to my body. As it was, I was stuck sitting in existential non-space and had to console myself with some mental squirming. Despite my decade and pocket change of experience on the force, it a very rare thing to hear two ponies discussing upcoming plans to murder someone. That someone being me was a whole basket of new and uncomfortable feelings.
Cosmo was speaking again. “I’ve got you. I want to play with that damn cop’s skin when this is over. His little mare did something to one of my guys. You’ve no idea how hard it is to find a decent casino manager who won’t get too greedy when he’s skimming off the top. If I deliver ‘it’, can I guarantee payment?”
“Of course. Ours is a generous family, after all.”
The phone clicked and the line whistled. Cosmo set the receiver back in place.
Something in the way the unknown pony said ‘of course’ made me want to give myself a full body bleach bath.
Picking up the diary in his teeth, the giant stallion opened the two swinging doors on the side of his desk, revealing a steel safe built into the wall and covered in an array of shining gemstones. That, then, must be his little magic lockbox.
For a pony with a hate-on for unicorns, the mobster seemed surprisingly practical when it came to making use of their various technical innovations. Of course, I don’t like magic either, but my toast is perfectly crisped and faithfully blue every single morning.
Poking and twisting a half dozen points on the door in quick succession, he then stepped back as it let off a squirt of multichromatic steam and the little vault opened. I don’t know that I could have copied his actions even with the ladybugs recording them for me but, thank the sun, our rider on the diary was still in place. That particular bug had managed to worm its way into the edge of the binding. I pushed away all the other sets of eyes except that single pair. My perspective shifted to a wonderfully detailed view right up Cosmo’s nostrils.
The lockbox was empty.
Setting the book inside, he stepped back and let the door shut itself, closing the ladybug in stifling darkness. Refocusing, I drew back into the awareness of the other creatures.
At last, the moment of truth.
Lifting the phone, Cosmo dialed in an extremely long list of digits and the safe whistled a short tune. Closing the cabinet, the King of Ace set his chair back behind his desk and started to pour himself a drink.
I tried to hop into the safe again, only to find my little friend on the inside was gone.
Show’s over, I thought as loudly as possible.
Everything distorted, twisted, then shrank to a single white point.
****
I opened my eyes. Beautiful sunlight filtered down through soft, orange feathers onto my face as we trundled down city streets. The seat was comforting and warm. Taxi had wisely decided we needed to be someplace far away from the Monte Cheval, so we took the first transit highway back in the general direction of the Heights.
Swift had her forehooves up on the back seat, and was bopping and bouncing to a light, airy tune coming through the cab’s speakers. One of her wings extended over my head, keeping the light out of my face. Taxi was burning something stinky.
I really wished I could have just laid there in the peace of the moment between moments, and let my problems, such as psychopathic mob bosses and mysterious voices on telephones laying out plans to kill me, take a backseat for a few more hours.
The dream from the morning in which this insanity began wormed it’s way back from whatever hole in my subconscious it’d crawled into. For an instant I was back there again in the valley with the gnashing teeth of the demon as it bore down to swallow me and my city whole.
I sat up and shook myself. Using ladybugs does have one minor advantage: You feel like you’ve had a half decent nap. Swift was the first to notice I was moving.
“Sir! Miss Taxi, he’s awake.” My partner pulled her wings back to her sides and sat on the edge of her seat while my driver tilted one ear back in my direction.
“Hardy? Light preserve!” Taxi asked, unconsciously pressing the accelerator a little harder. The roads seemed damn near empty, it being after the morning rush but before lunch could be served. “You were in there awhile. What’d you find out?”
“That Sing Song needs his jaws wired shut and Cosmo is planning on killing us, eventually,” I replied. “He was talking to somepony on a telephone. No idea who but they’re through a law-firm. Umbra, Animus, and Armature. You know them?”
“I... I know of them.” My driver sucked on her lower lip, accessing her spectacular memory for odds and ends of police minutiae. “They’re not the kind of lawyers I ever interacted with, though. They mostly work for royalty and corporations. They tend to defend criminals whose crimes require a six figure income to commit.”
“My favorite kind of perp; ones who think they’re untouchable. They’ve got some way of tracking ponies that they call ‘The Scry.’ Don’t know what that means, but I’ve got a friend we can ask later if we’re feeling especially curious.” I put a toetip on my chin, stroking my lower lip fur. “The ladybug is in the diary and went for a ride, but I can’t figure out where it ended up.”
Letting off a little tune with their wings, a number of the ladybugs remaining in the car rose into the air and formed an arrow beside Taxi’s head, swinging in a circle until the tip stabilized pointing off to our left.
Swift’s eyes went round as she watched the floating insects. “Oh! That’s super neat!”
The bugs quickly rearranged themselves into a crude smiley face, hanging in mid-air, then zipped back into position. Taxi glanced at them then shook her head. “That trick would have been useful back when I was learning the road network.”
“No kidding. I might still have my license,” I said.
“Now there’s a scary thought...”
“Thank you, peanut gallery.”
Taxi snickered to herself, then turned down the nearest cross street, taking us in the direction the ladybugs were indicating.
****
The drive proved to be a long-ish one, which gave me time to update my companions more completely on what I’d seen inside the ladybugs.
“Wait, he pitched the carfentanil?!” Taxi blurted, incredulously. “Mix it into a batch of Ace and that stuff is worth like, five thousand bits a vial!”
“Eeeyup.” I replied, smoothing down my hat brim. “Right in the trash. I’m hoping we’re heading for something worthwhile. If we’re not, he can probably liquidate his current stocks of Ace and whatever else he has put away for rainy days to get himself out of the mess these ledgers are going to get him into.”
“That’s assuming we’re going to his private ledgers.” The cab pony reminded me. “You’re putting an awful lot of faith in that idea, you know.”
“I know. I’ve got a good feeling about this.” I patted the seat back like it was her shoulder. “Either way, if this doesn’t work, we come up with something else. We’ve still got the ladybugs in his office and hopefully he’ll be amusing enough to keep them from all wandering off. I think getting the diary back by itself might be worth the trip.”
“What makes you think so, Sir?” Swift asked, one ear standing up while the other flipped down against her cheek.
“Whoever is holding his chain wants this ‘It’ they mentioned bad enough to kill a cop.” I answered, raising my neck so my badge swung back and forth. “That’s not something anypony does lightly. It tends to bring down the wrath of the heavens on your head quite handily. I don’t know if PACT has something similar, but when a cop dies, the whole force comes together.”
Swift almost bounced in her seat. “Oh! Yes, we... they do! The PACT all got together to hunt down a hydra they called ‘The Waster’ last year after it killed a whole team. Colonel Broadside has one of its heads preserved beside his desk. He uses it for a pencil sharpener!”
Taxi met my eyes in the rear view mirror, and we had one of our private conversations:
‘Hardy, that’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘You want to go complain to PACT about some hydra’s right to a peaceful death, Sweets?’
‘How would you feel if your earthly remains were used as a coat rack?’
‘Or an umbrella stand.’
‘What a lovely thought. Still, I doubt the Princesses would approve of such trophy taking.’
‘Sweets, if the Princesses were here, I think they’d find a number of things not to approve of in this city, and a little practical taxidermy would be way, way down on the list.’
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I'm running out of praise to give without repeating myself, so I'll only say this:
My god do I love this story.
Sweet! New chapter!
That made me laugh WAY more than it should have. Can't believe I didn't see that coming.
Also Taxi probably shouldn't have drank that scotch.
Gripping chapter, like all of them involving going into the enemy's base.
Nervewracking enough? Yep. Keep it up!
Painting a target on lovely Jade's back, I sees.
IT.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DywkwoYiahQ&t=0m13s
One of the downsides of constantly working with an empath (And at this point I am convinced Taxi's an empath or low-level psychic or something similarly mystical) is that one's inner demons have more teeth.
Prescription drugs are such a mouthful.
Another wonderful chapter! Cosmo seems to have an excellent presence of evil. Plots Thicken! Heroes are marked for DOOOOM!
1993255 Totally agreed.
1993290 Man, that is so clearly the best way to use them ever.
So I finally noticed that Jade has a nickname: "Spike". So this means that in theory, we've seen the decendants of Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, now Spike, plus Hardy makes a very familiar "Eeeyup"...
1994642
You know, it never actually occurred to me to make the link between Spike's name and using it as a racial epithet. Of course, now that it has...
1993290
Taxi didn't; she had water. Hardy had the scotch.
--CEO Kasen
1993255 Dawww! Thanks Flutters! Always glad to get the praise. It really does keep us on the ball.
1994152 Weeell, like I always say about Starlight Over Detrot... Speculation is wonderful good fun but probably going to be completely worthless because, for a lot of this stuff, we're makin' it up as we go along.
No kidding. Taxi is definitely something. Hardy is probably only as stable as he is because of her constant support. If you haven't, read the Night Mare Night special. It explains their relationship a bit more thoroughly, though nothing like completely. That will happen later on.
1993290 When we came up with the Ladybugs, it was one of those little perfect moments where your story lights up and comes to life. We like to have a few in every chapter, be it Kasen's amazing jokes and often spectacular use of language or my weird little bits of world building.
-Chessie
1994895
That just means that my betting pool isn't biased. Even the writers don't know when he'll die!
Another interesting chapter. Looks like Hardy has his life threatened in every chapter but having his life threatened by Cosmo, a creepy mobster who read him like a book might actually put a wrench in Hardy's future.
I'm hoping Cosmo will kick the bucket in a unique manner, lets face it his life expectancy can't be that high when facing off against Hardy and Softy
1994681
Oh... So I didn't get that one right then? Bugger.
Why do I feel like Taxi was created as a stress reliever for you?
"Murder police"? Is that a thing? I've usually heard them called "homicide", not "murder police".
Random grammar notes:
"Lead" is the present tense form of the word -- you want the past-tense "led".
Why is "It" capitalized? There doesn't appear to be any reason for it to be.
"It's" should be "its", since expanding it to "it is" doesn't make sense.
Grammar rule: If you have a dependent clause after a quote (usually beginning with some variant of "he said"), you need to attach that clause to the preceding quote. This means that a) if the quote ends in a period, it should end in a comma, and b) if the word immediately after the quote wouldn't otherwise be capitalized (i.e. if it's not "I" or a proper name), it should stay that way.
Examples in this chapter:
Minor continuity error! Hardy says that Cosmo and the Voice called the drink-tracking thing "The Scry", but a name was never actually given; Hardy pulls this knowledge out of thin air.
1997983
Ooo, you've got another eagle-eye reading these stories :) I spotted one of the 'period before attribution' mistakes- I've had to train myself out of that one.
Still avidly reading away
2000226 Erg, I think that was my fuck up. We had that originally in their conversation.
-Chessie
I bet if the case is high profile enough, DPD's wayward brethren in PACT will pitch in with their resources. Nothing like a murdered officer/trooper to unite the otherwise bickering departments and divisions to scour the region for the malefactor and drop on them like the hammer of Celestia...
Alternatively, if you are of a particularly cruel bent, you could simply splash a cup of water on the sack and suffocate him. Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of cordite smoke out of upholstery?
All that is missing I suppose is a massive black velvet kitsch painting of Faust and the four alicorn princesses dressed up as Elvis Neighley, playing poker while 3 sad clown diamond dogs howl at a full moon in the background.
That is because you never had access to Slip Stitch's private stash. Speaking of Stitch, I can authoritatively state that eyeballs most certainly do not pop; The corneas give away far too soon to build up a decent amount of pressure and they just end up oozing and dribbling everywhere.
How can Cosmo be so sure his office is secure since he is an earth pony? His hatred of "Spikes" would make it well-nigh impossible to obtain an accurate, trustworthy audit of his systems. Svelte mentioned that she secured his office against active spying/scrying devices and spells; no mention if passive devices would not work (much less more esoteric solutions like Essy swarms...).
Boooorrring!
Come on Cosmo! You can surely do better than that with your trophies. Where is the ivory chess set? The ivory waistcoat buttons and suit cuff-links? The scrimshaw Monopoly pieces? Any foal can mash up a collection of dead bugs in a box, but it takes an artiste to pin the butterflies to a board and artfully arrange them for display...
I am disappoint.
Cosmo will have to take a number and wait in line behind Jade. If she runs out of the purple stars and discovers Hardy has been raiding the evidence locker, she will probably make good on her threat to use the potato peeler.
Hardy is probably thinking "Nag, please! I can nip on down to the Essy Liaison Office, and mail a packet of those discorded, soul-eating party balloons to your office. We will see how cock-sure you are once they have seared your mind with the abyssal horrors of the infinite unknown. In fact, I just might do it anyway if only to see you wet the carpet and gibber on the floor."
I am not a cop, but I am pretty sure giving away the key piece of evidence (the only piece of evidence) is a big no-no.
Revenge is best served at room temperature garnished with several qi pressure point strikes.
I would bet that is precisely the reason Jade keeps Sing Song employed. Outwardly he my look like a dimwitted loudmouth, but I would imagine that is just an act he puts on as one of the DPD's counter-intelligence agents.
Feed Sing Song some carefully crafted bumf, watch him dutifully pass it on to his poker buddies, and et voilà! You now have the entire Detrot criminal underworld dancing to your machinations!
A magical/alchemical equivalent of a radioisotope tracer? That certainly is interesting.
Chapter 14: "It's a Black Bag Affair" - the only thing I got is the saying "It's a black tie affair".
Also, (It may be a bit early in the story but:) I spent a few hours thinking on this story whilst I was mowing the lawn, and iv come up with my first prediction on whats going to happen.
At this point in the story, the only satisfying endings I can think of is if shipping happens or if Hardy or swift dies.(maybe also taxi) Hardy will die in some boss fight that rids Detrot of a big evil and swift writes a book about him and the case(called "The detective") and Hardy becomes Detrots golden boy. or swift dies and Hardy gets her book out.
One way or another, she is writing a book. I know this because she is a good writer, she loves action and mystery stories, and she is writing an ass ton under the title "The Detective"
This is just the first guess. I still have 30 some odd chapters to read before i'm current.
Also (for obvious reasons):
i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/05/30/article-2643522-1E3D955000000578-85_634x478.jpg
I sure do hope this doesn’t end in a martyrdom....
Cosmo is gonna lay down some threats, I sense.
It occurs to me that we know everything Hardy’s hiding - all of it - and it gives us a sense of tension on his end. I realized that Cosmo must have the SAME tension on his end. We just don’t get to see it besides little implications like these.
Called it. And ewww.
What kind of evil monstrosity do we have here? Dragon? Chrysalis? The Nightmare Forces? Color me intrigued.
-GM, master of inkingthings.
Magazines plural.
So we meet the big mob boss and.... meh. He's threatening, but too much a psycho to take too seriously. He's very much not a pony to cross, but he really does not have the gravitas he thinks he does. But, he's just that right level of brute where he's JUST smart enough to stay ahead of things, but dumb enough to not know when he's pushed things a little to far. Going to be fun seeing where things go with him,
And someone who makes him wet himself and who he's working for, on something far, far bigger then Hardy things and because he's an idiot he didn't COPY THE DAMN DIARY! Damnit Hardy..... you really didn't realize how deep your had gotten and what might be the stakes. Because whoever he's talking t, the description of that law firm, and the name of it.... getting some Wolfram and Hart vibes here.
11406674
Hehehehe...Wolfram and Hart are the smallest of small beans.
- Chessie