Case Three, Chapter One: The Bank
Gray clouds and morning mist hung over the streets of Ponyville, the heavy air tasting of imminent rain. A soft wind flowed across Honeybee Bakery Street, making the leaves on the wilted cherry tree shiver.
Phillip sat on the banister of the back porch, his eyes closed as he hugged his saxophone to his chest. His body swayed back and forth in time to Buffalo Summer, the tune summoned eagerly from the bell of his instrument. A few birds perched on the picket fence, listening to the concert.
The window behind Phillip opened and Daring leaned out, her eyes narrowed and her lips drawn in a thin line of irritation. “Do you mind? I’m trying to read here!” she snapped.
Phil pulled the reed out of his mouth and turned to fix Daring with a furrowed brow. “You heard Rara. If I don’t practice this set, she’ll kill me.”
“She weighs maybe one-ten soaking wet. I think you can take her,” Daring snorted. “Anyway, you were the one that told me I needed to read these things.” She held up a thick black book titled Criminalistics and Forensic Science. “The least you could do is be quiet so I can focus.”
“You can go up to your room if you like,” Phillip replied, turning back to the sax and resuming his rehearsal. Daring sighed and slammed the window shut. Stalking back over to the couch, she flopped down upon it and returned to the chapter on hoofprints, trying to ignore the brass squeals from outside.
Unfortunately, her reading was once again interrupted by a knocking at the door. Growling to herself, she slammed the book shut. “I’m gonna need at least three cigs for this,” she grumbled as she walked up the hallway to the front door. She opened it wide and her jaw dropped in shock as she saw who was on the other side.
Charlie August Silvertongue smirked at her from the front step, his blue-gray eyes shining in a superior fashion. He was flanked by two unicorn stallions, both wearing dark suits and ties. The one on her left was a dark green unicorn with blonde hair and a mustache, with a cutie mark of a silver padlock locked around a length of chain. He sneered at Daring, his green eyes narrowed. The other stallion was a tan pony with a neatly trimmed brown mane. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and she could feel his gaze boring into her from behind the opaque lenses. His cutie mark was a black king chess piece.
“Good morning, Miss Do,” Silvertongue addressed her in a tone like cold motor oil being poured down her spine. “I am here to speak to you and Mister Finder about engaging your services—”
His sentence was cut off by the door slamming shut in his face. Daring turned and sprinted up the hallway and burst out the back door onto the porch. “Phil!”
Phillip leaped back in shock and nearly fell off the banister, regaining his balance at the last moment. “What is it?” he snapped, glaring at her.
“Silvertongue’s here,” Daring said, glancing at the door.
Phillip’s eyebrows shot up into his bangs. “What does he want?”
“Your services,” Charlie announced, slithering out onto the porch with his two bodyguards in tow.
Phillip glared coldly at their visitor. “Get out,” he snarled.
"I merely ask a moment of your time," Silvertongue said. “I have a business proposition for you, and you would do well to hear it.”
“I’m not one of your lackeys,” Phillip spat.
Charlie smiled at him. “I wouldn’t insult you by suggesting that; though you may not believe it, I respect you both,” he said politely. “But the matter at hoof could potentially result in innocent lives being lost if it is not dealt with.”
Phillip’s cold glare could’ve turned magma into ice, but Silvertongue did not waver. “Perhaps we should discuss this inside,” he suggested, already turning to go back indoors. “It is far too cold and wet to be outside for long.”
The dark green unicorn followed his master back indoors like an obedient dog. The tan unicorn, however, remained on the porch, looking at Phillip. His expression and body posture remained neutral, his eyes hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses. Phillip walked back inside, his eyes on the unicorn; the bodyguard’s head swiveled to follow his progress as he re-entered the kitchen. The unicorn then stood aside to allow Daring to enter; she walked inside slowly, conscious of the fact that she was deliberately avoiding looking at him.
When she entered the sitting room, she found that Silvertongue had taken possession of one of the two couches that she and Phillip usually sat upon when they interviewed clients and was lounging upon it, sprawled out like a predatory cat sitting in its lair. Phillip was sitting on the sofa that was normally reserved for visitors, his posture as stiff as though he were sitting on a board. The green unicorn was standing behind him; he glowered at Daring as she entered.
She walked over to the bookcase and stood next to it, turning so that she could survey the entire room. The tan unicorn walked in behind her and stood on the opposite side of the room. His horn lit up with a golden aura and he magically removed his glasses, pocketing them. The eyes behind the lenses were as black as a pair of holes, displaying no emotion at all, and they were fixed on Phillip.
“To business,” Silvertongue declared. “As I’m sure you are aware, there have been a number of high-profile robberies throughout the city recently.”
“Yes,” Phillip admitted.
Daring’s mind went back in a mental review of the headlines for the past two weeks, all of them publicizing a recent string of daring robberies. A jewelry store, two high-end restaurants, the Majestic Cinema, and several other large establishments had been struck by the thieves. Every time, the thieves had entered surreptitiously, perfectly weaved their way around layers of security, and vanished without leaving any witnesses and little evidence.
“These thieves are professionals, that much is obvious,” Charlie continued, speaking about the matter as though they were discussing it over drinks. “I am somewhat surprised to find that you are not already working on this."
“Police have been stonewalling me,” Phillip grunted, glaring back at him.
“Ah, I see,” Silvertongue nodded. "If you wished, I could make them more willing to cooperate with you."
"No," Phillip growled. "Don't need you using blackmail to help me."
Silvertongue shrugged. "I thought you might say that. I believe that sometimes the rules have to be bent a little in order for some good to be done: for example, keeping the low-feeding animals at the bottom rungs of the criminal ladder in check so they don't overrun the city with their violence."
Phillip scowled. "That doesn't justify what you've done to ponies."
Silvertongue sighed and pinched his nostrils shut. "We could argue this point all day and get nowhere, so I shall move on," he declared. “These robberies: I personally suspect that these robbers are connected to the vigilantes who were responsible for the rash of shootings last week.”
Phillip didn’t say anything, but a small bobbing of his eyebrow indicated for Silvertongue to continue. Daring stood where she was, surveying the room. She studied the green unicorn. His bulky build spoke of his regular exercise, though her suspicions that the muscles weren’t totally natural were strengthened when she spotted the red pockmarks on his inner foreleg. His neck bore a crude prison tattoo of three rough circles arranged in a triangle, indicating his membership in the Royalties, a unicorn supremacy prison group. Squinting closer, she noticed his eyes twitching and shuddering slightly in his sockets and noticed a faint scent of sour apples coming from his breath, and wondered if Chuck was aware that his bodyguards were drinking on the job.
But her eyes kept moving towards the tan unicorn. He was staring at Phillip, unblinking, his black eyes fixed on him like spotlights. She studied the bodyguard closely. His dark blue suit was nondescript but pristinely kept. His mane, tail, and thin mustache were expertly combed and cut straight. She pondered the black kings on his flanks for a few moments, then studied his hooves. They were as pristinely trimmed as the rest of his body, and she could see no sign of any dust or dirt upon them; obviously, he must spend a lot of time indoors. A light dusting of fluffy pale gray cigarette ash clung stubbornly to his collar and right shoulder. And as her eyes traveled upwards, she spotted a small, pale white scar on his neck, peeking up from underneath his collar like the head of a snake.
But the unicorn must’ve felt her gaze because, with a motion that was almost too smooth to be natural, he turned towards her. She looked into his black eyes, and a sudden swoop of vertigo overtook her, as though the floor was suddenly pulled away from her; she felt as though she were staring into an enormous, infinite abyss, and that the abyss was staring back at her.
He turned away and the moment passed; Daring felt herself crash-land back on the floor. The unicorn lit up his horn with a golden glow, magically dusting off his suit and pulling up his collar to hide the scar as he turned back to stare at Phillip, who continued to keep his gaze steady on Silvertongue.
“I propose an arrangement between us,” Silvertongue said. “I shall provide you with information and whatever clues that I can scrounge up about our robbers, and you report to me whatever findings you make.”
“No,” Phillip stated without hesitation.
Silvertongue sighed again. "I knew you'd turn me down," he said. "I really wish I didn't have to do this, but I shall have to extend my second offer."
He turned and fixed Daring with an appraising stare over the tops of his glasses; his intense gaze made her feel like a bug on a microscope slide.
“What do you think of your partner, Daring?” Silvertongue asked.
Daring shrugged. “Well, he has a habit of practicing his sax when other ponies are busy, but he’s not that bad, Chuck,” she replied.
The brief look of annoyance that flickered across Silvertongue’s face almost made her smile. “Yes, I imagine you find him quite honorable,” he commented dryly.
“Like you’d know anything about that, Chuck,” Daring snapped.
“Some would say that he wouldn't, either,” Charlie replied, nodding at Phillip. Phillip’s face seemed to darken slightly, his scowl deepening and his eyes appearing to turn a darker shade of gray.
“What do you mean?” Daring asked before she could stop herself.
Charlie looked at her. “You mean to say that he hasn’t told you about Lucky Dice?”
The effect was immediate. Phillip leaped off the chair as though he’d been struck by lightning, a look of complete outrage crossing his face as he whipped his baton out of his vest with a snapping motion of his hoof. “Get out!” he roared at Silvertongue.
Both of the unicorn bodyguards lit up their horns, the tan unicorn with a golden aura and the green one with a pale blue aura, but Silvertongue waved them down. "I told I didn't want it to come to this," he said quietly, shaking his head at Phillip.
“Get out,” Phillip repeated in a growl, glaring at Silvertongue.
Daring flew forward and placed herself between Phillip and Silvertongue, holding up her forelegs to keep them apart. “You need to go,” she told Silvertongue sternly.
Silvertongue stood slowly and walked towards the door, looking at Daring all the way. “I do hope that both of you think long and hard about this day." He paused at the threshold, then turned to look back.
“While I’m sorry that we couldn’t come to an agreement, I will give you this for free,” he said. “There was a robbery at the Ponyville Central Bank last night. The police are already investigating; Detective Sergeant Trace and Detective Herring are already there. It might behoove you to drop by and visit.” He nodded to his bodyguards. “Zugzwang, Secure Lock, come.”
The green unicorn huffed at them like an angry buffalo and stomped out. The tan unicorn followed him in a silent slither.
Phillip remained standing until they were gone and the door closed behind them. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed into the chair and tucked his baton back into his vest. He lay back in the seat, breathing heavily like a boxer who had retreated to his corner after nine straight rounds.
“What an asshole,” Daring huffed, glaring after the stallions.
Phillip didn’t reply, staring straight ahead. Daring noticed that he was gripping the arm of the chair as tightly as though he were trying to break it off. “You okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Phillip grunted, staring straight ahead. His foreleg shook as he continued to grip the armrest.
Daring hovered for a moment on the edge of her curiosity, then asked, “Who’s Lucky Dice?”
Phillip’s gaze snapped towards her, his eyes flashing dangerously as they narrowed. “Nopony you need to know about,” he growled.
“Okay, geez!” Daring cried as she stepped back and defensively raised a hoof as if to ward off the harsh words.
Phillip closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, letting out a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
The silence that stretched between them was as cold and hard as ice. “Maybe we should go to the Central Bank,” Daring suggested.
“Yeah,” Phil grunted, getting up off the couch.
Daring plucked a box of Blue Camel from her pocket and extended it towards him. He plucked a fag from the box without looking and inserted it into his mouth. Taking out his lighter, he lit it as he walked out the door, sucking down a long drag as he hailed a passing trolley car. Daring flew out to join him, lighting up her own cigarette as she sat down next to him. With a jolt, the trolley trundled up the street, carrying them towards the Dockside district.
The two walked around the corner to behold a pair of black and white cruisers sitting on the curb in front of the marble edifice, their red and blue lights spinning. A familiar Hayson Commander was parked behind one of the cruisers. The usual shifting, throbbing crowd of onlookers and paparazzi was gathered around the scene, barely restrained by the yellow “CRIME SCENE” tape stretched around the sidewalk that flapped and shuddered in the growing wind.
“Well, looks like Chuck wasn’t lying about one thing,” Daring commented as they approached. Phillip just grunted.
A light yellow unicorn officer with a short cerulean mane and green eyes was standing guard behind the yellow tape. She had a cutie mark of an old-fashioned pistol. Her eyes widened in recognition as they fell on Phillip.
“Uh...sir, I’m not sure that my superiors would like it if I let you in,” she said nervously.
“We’re just here to help, Officer Wheellock,” Phillip stated, reading her name off of her nametag.
“If anypony asks, you can say we forced you at gunpoint,” Daring said with an easy smile. “Deflect the blame on us.”
Wheellock hesitated for a few seconds, then shrugged and lifted the tape up for him and Daring, acknowledging them with a brief nod. Phillip and Daring both returned the nod as they walked beneath it, ignoring the storm of questions from the press and the comments and jeers from the witnesses.
Pushing through the front door, they entered a grand circular lobby made of marble. Light from the dome-shaped skylight in the ceiling filled the room, making the polished stone floor and walls glimmer. The floor was decorated with a black circular emblem that depicted a forest with a river running alongside it and the words “Ponyville Central Bank.”
Trace Evidence and Red Herring were standing in the center of the seal, talking to one another in quiet undertones. A nervous looking young pimply stallion with straw-colored hair wearing the uniform of a security guard was standing off to the side, staring at his hooves.
Red looked up and scowled. “Hey, Trace. Guess who just walked in.”
“Nice to see you, too,” Daring sighed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, just fine, fine, how’re the kids?”
Red’s ear twitched in irritation. Trace Evidence just sighed and turned around.
“Phil, you know that Chief Tumbler has told us not to let you into our crime scenes anymore,” he said.
“Tumbler can go fuck himself,” Phillip said back in a completely calm tone. “You need help for this.”
Trace and Red both looked at each other, then Red sighed. “Fine, but I’m blaming you if I get fired.”
Trace turned to Phillip and Daring. “Come with me. I’ll show you what we found.”
He led them down a hallway to a metal door with a sally port. Daring and Phillip both noticed the surveillance crystals on the ceiling that they walked beneath. Another police officer was standing sentry in front of the door. Trace opened up the door and they walked into the vault room.
“Check that out,” Trace said, pointing at the door. Both detectives turned and saw the photograph over the sally port.
“Hmm,” Phillip muttered, turning to look at another photograph over the surveillance crystal in the corner. “How’d they get their hooves on those?”
“We’re making theories on that already,” Trace said. “Take a look at this.” He pointed at the vault door, which was still slightly open, revealing the cavernous interior filled with almost as much treasure as a young dragon’s hoard.
Phillip and Daring both studied the vault door, which still had the drilled holes in it. “Tell me about this,” Phillip stated, studying the door.
“Two combination locks, the combinations to which are changed at the end of each day by the manager and given by word of mouth to the tellers and staff the next morning,” Trace Evidence reported. “Two keys enchanted with a randomizing security enchantment, whatever that means. You have to enter the combinations and then turn the keys simultaneously to unlock it.”
“That means there had to be at least two of them,” Daring concluded, squinting into the hole over the left combination lock. “Right into the wheel pack. Whoever did this was experienced.”
“What did they take?” Phillip asked, entering the vault and pausing at the door, panning his gaze over the vault.
“A shitload of money,” Trace said. “But we’re still confirming with the owners of the safe deposit—”
“Let me through!” a voice suddenly bellowed from outside, accompanied by the sound of a scuffle.
“Sir, you know I can’t—” the officer outside protested.
“Do you know who I am? I own this bank! Let me through this instant!” the stallion’s voice replied.
All three detectives rushed to the door to find the officer struggling with a large blue blonde-maned earth pony stallion wearing an expensive white suit and tie that was almost too small for his size. The earth pony was trying to push past him and enter the vault.
“Mister Monopoly,” Trace Evidence cut in, stepping forward and raising a hoof in a conciliatory gesture. “This is a crime scene. You know we can’t let you in here.”
Monopoly stepped back and glared at Trace. “I could buy both of you five times over. What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”
Trace scowled and reached underneath his coat, revealing his silver police badge. “This does,” he replied curtly.
“Who’s the fatso?” Daring whispered to Phillip, hanging back slightly to avoid the visitor’s rage.
“Monopoly,” Phillip replied. “Huge-scale business mogul, owns almost half of the companies and most of the banks in this city.”
“You’d think he could afford a gym membership,” Daring commented, looking over the arguing stallion’s enormous girth. Phillip’s face convulsed slightly as he fought down a laugh, his shoulders shaking up and down.
“I need to check my safebox,” Monopoly was protesting. “Those thieves might have taken my most valued possessions!”
“We can check that,” Trace said. While his tone sounded calm, Daring and Phillip both picked up on the weary “I’m not paid enough to deal with this bullshit” impatience underneath the words. “But I’ve already told you, I can’t let you in here. This is a crime scene, and you are not authorized—”
“And they are?!” Monopoly snapped, pointing at Phillip and Daring. “The vigilante and the thief?!”
Daring expected the words, but the accusation still struck her like a battering ram against her chest, bashing against the walls of her self-restraint. Her muscles tensed and her wings started to flare open; her breath came in hisses through gritted teeth and her heart pounded against her ribs.
“That’s it,” Trace declared, a harsh edge added to his voice. “Out, or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice.”
Monopoly scowled but stepped back slightly. “At least check my safebox for me,” he demanded in a quieter but still firm tone. “Number three eight seven.” He lifted a small bronze key from his suit pocket and held it out towards Trace.
Trace stared at him for a moment, then sighed and took the key in his magic. Walking inside the vault, he scanned the walls for the number 387. Spotting the appropriate box, he inserted the key into the lock and twisted it. The key glowed faintly for a moment, then the lock unfastened with a click, allowing Trace to open it. He peeked inside the box.
“It’s empty,” he declared in a flat tone, tossing the key back to Monopoly.
Monopoly’s face convulsed, displaying a variety of expressions—shock, anger, fear, apprehension—then he turned around and started back up the hallway. “Damn,” Daring heard him mutter quietly.
“Sir!” Trace called after him. “What was in the box?”
But Monopoly apparently did not hear him, because he turned the corner and vanished from sight. Trace shrugged.
“Show me where they got in and out,” Phillip stated, giving the vault door one last examination.
Trace walked out of the vault room and led them down another hallway into an office room, which was empty save for the desks and cubicles. He walked down to an open window at the end of the room.
Daring studied the broken locks on the window. “These are built so that you can’t open them up enough for somepony to slip through,” she said. “And this is double-laminated security glass. Getting past this would take study and experience.”
“The kind of study and experience that…?” Trace started to ask delicately, but his voice trailed off.
“Yes,” Daring said bitterly. “The kind of study and experience that you find in ponies like me.”
“Like you used to be,” Phillip said in a slightly insistent tone. Daring paused in her examination to blink at him for a moment, then went back to looking at the window.
“Could you break it open from the outside?” Trace asked.
“No way,” Daring replied. “It’s specifically designed to make that impossible, even via magic.”
“So what does that tell us?” Phillip asked, leaning against the wall.
“There had to be somepony inside who opened the window,” Daring concluded. “They opened the window up and let their partner in, then got out the same way.”
“Good,” Phillip nodded. “What else?”
Daring thought for a while. “They had to have scouted this place out,” she stated. “That’s how they got those photographs for the door and the crystal to fool the guards.”
“But how?” Phillip asked. “Somepony would’ve noticed if they’d climbed up to the surveillance crystal in the room.”
Daring paused for several moments, then her eyebrows shot up into her mane. “A repairpony,” she stated.
“Good thinking,” Phillip nodded. “A repairpony to fix the crystal could’ve gotten them the images they needed.”
“I’ll ask about any recent repairs,” Trace nodded. “What else do we need to know?”
“They had to have had somepony on the inside,” Daring continued. “That’s how they got the keys and how they knew which one was Monopoly’s safebox.”
“And we have an idea who it wasn’t,” Phillip continued.
“Who?” Daring asked, tilting her head to one side.
Phillip turned to Trace and raised an eyebrow. Trace frowned in thought for a moment, then looked up. “The manager,” he said. “He would’ve just given them the combination instead of making them drill into the door.”
“Ripper,” Phillip nodded.
“We’ll need to check with the bank employees who had access to that info,” Trace continued. “When we—”
“Detective Sergeant Trace Evidence!” a voice bellowed. Trace whirled around and snapped to attention as a dark brown pegasus with a ring of silver hair and thick glasses stomped into the room, the ribbons on the front of his crisply pressed police uniform jingling as he walked up to stand next to Trace.
“Sergeant, do you mind telling me why these two...civilians are in my crime scene?” Chief Chilled Tumbler asked Trace, his narrowed eyes fixed on Phillip and Daring. Phillip glared back at the Chief; Daring could see that his jaw had tightened and his forelegs had tensed slightly. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed. She could feel the energy coming off of him, like the heat from an oil lamp that was dangling over a mound of spilled gunpowder.
“They’re here to help, Chief,” Trace replied flatly, though he suddenly seemed to find the blank white ceiling tiles over his head extremely interesting.
“Detective Evidence,” Chief Tumbler replied. “Do you see badges on them?”
“No,” Trace admitted.
“I didn’t think you did,” Tumbler replied. “Now kindly escort them off my crime scene before they damage something.”
“But—!” Daring started to protest, but Phillip stopped her by holding up a hoof in front of her.
“No point,” he muttered.
Trace sighed and nodded to Phillip and Daring, gesturing for them to follow him. He led them out of the room; Chief Tumbler and Phillip glared at each other every step of the way.
“We’ll try to talk later,” Trace whispered as they turned the corner and started to walk back to the lobby. “Once we’ve got some suspects, we’ll have you come down for help.”
“Thank you,” Phillip nodded curtly as they reached the lobby. Red Herring was talking to the young security guard; he glanced up briefly as they walked past and exited through the front doors. As soon as they walked out, the reporters that had been waiting outside began their chorus of questions and speculation once more.
“What do we do now?” Daring asked, holding up a hoof to shield her eyes from the flashes of the cameras.
“Wait until we get word,” Phillip replied, tilting his hat down over his face. “We can’t do anything more here. Meantime, we can head home and do some research.”
“The chief normally show up at bank robberies?” Daring asked as they descended the steps to the sidewalk and ducked back underneath the crime-scene tape.
“Only when it’s important,” Phillip replied, not looking at her as they retreated back up the road.
“Well, this is obviously important to Chuck,” Daring commented. Phillip just grunted.
“What do you think was in that safe deposit box?” Daring asked.
“Don’t know,” Phillip replied. “But I doubt it was money or anything like that. Monopoly is a greedy wanker, but he wouldn’t be so concerned with monetary loss. This had to be something else.”
“Maybe it was some kind of experimental weapon of mass destruction?” Daring suggested. “Or a spell that can turn ponies into mindless zombies?”
Phillip gave her an utterly bewildered stare. "What? Why would it be something like that?"
"Because that would make it cool," Daring replied. "Like a Hayana Pone adventure."
“...I somehow doubt it," Phillip said.
“Oh, c’mon, have a little imagination,” Daring snickered, bumping her flank against his.
“I am,” Phillip replied. “I’m imagining you putting a sock in it.”
Daring’s mouth dropped open and she reached a hoof up in an exaggerated look of shock. “You insult me, sir!” she cried. She tilted her nose up and flicked her tail in a display of disdain and trotted ahead of Phillip.
In doing so, she missed the small smile that appeared for a moment on his face.
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Okay, now I'm really curious... Who the Hell is Lucky Dice and why is Phil so angry whenever his name gets brought up?
...........wait, wasn't Lucky Dice one of flash's friends in the original stories?
8500592
Nope, that was Snake Eyes. Lucky Dice is a new character.
Ya know, one the good parts you write for this fic are the chase and fight scenes. Somehow Daring Do makes it all hilarious.
My curiosity over this Lucky Dice character and the contents of the safe are rapidly growing. I look forward to reading more.
He's acting a lot like Marcone from Dresden Files. Any inspiration?
The old toaster-repairpony trick...