Amazing Grace

by Silver-Spirits-and-Ales

Chapter Fifteen: The City that will never sleep again

Thunderhoof's memoirs

Well it's off to Manehattan with me, then. I thought I'd seen enough of that city last year to last me a lifetime. 'The City than Never Sleeps', they call it. I'd rather say 'The city that'll never sleep again'. Yes, in spite of the Mayor's efforts, in spite of what Rarity and Applejack have done to mend the city, crime families like Cavallo, Ferdkop, O'Horseshoe... they'll never truly disappear from it. They're lurking in the shadows, biding their time. They'll be back soon enough.

At least Octavia seems happy to see me.

---

Mango Twist brought his towel across the counter, wiping the stains that had been left by a previous customer. As he looked into the waxed wood, a yellow unicorn stallion with a flaming orange mane looked back at him. Miserable, as if he still had a mortgage to pay for a property he'd bought six years prior. Bored out of his mind, as if he'd been stuck in a boring routine for an equal amount of time. Why was he even here?

"You and me both, brother," said Mango Twist to his reflection.

A roll of thunder made itself known. The bartender looked over at the wall on his right, at a newspaper article that he'd framed. The headline simply said "MANEHATTANITE GENIUS CREATES DAZZLING COCKTAIL FOR THE ONES-VERSARY".

"Why did I even bother?" he thought to himself. "Never liked that stupid drink anyways."

A pegasus stallion walked in. Pearly white, a messy black mane that was partly covered by a fedora. He walked with a slight limp in his right forehoof. He looked groggy.

"Hi," said Mango Twist, not even trying to shift his look of boredom. "What can I get you?"

"Gin and tonic," answered the stallion in a posh Trottinghamite accent, placing his hat on the counter.

"Coming up." He got a tumbler from under the counter, and went over to his bottles. "D'you have a preference?"

"Trottingham, dry."

The bartender poured a third of gin into the glass, before filling it up with tonic water and dropping a lime wedge into the cocktail. He served it to his customer. "Here ya go."

"Thank you very much," said the pegasus.

"Something else I can getcha, rich boy?" asked the bartender. "You're here on business, right?"

"As it happens," said the gentlecolt, "I've come here about an outstanding balance of information."

"Lemme guess," said Mango Twist. "Hoofington sent ya."

"I sent myself," retorted Thunderhoof. "On Hoofington's recommendation."

"So what exactly do ya want?"

"You know where Don Gianni Cavallo is," said Thunderhoof. "And I want to see him."

"No deal, rich boy," said Mango. "I don't particularly wanna get my head bashed in, thank ya."

"Surely getting your head bashed in with a rusty horseshoe is a preferable alternative to whatever Hoofington might do to you if you refuse," retorted Thunderhoof.

"He's a softie," said Mango Twist. "I'm not scared of him."

"Au contraire, fellow," said Thunderhoof. "He was pretty good with a crossbow, back in the day."

The bartender thought for a few seconds. "Alright," he said. "Make it worth my while, and I'll take you to Don Cavallo."

"Sadly I can't," said Thunderhoof. "For you see, after being bedridden for four weeks in an ICU on a cloud in the middle of nowhere, and waking up with a splitting headache, I discovered two things. First of all, that I now need glasses to read the newspaper. Secondly, that as I've been pronounced legally dead, all the money in my savings account went to my father."

"Then why should I help ya?"

"Well, even if I can't make it worth your while, the Don might be able to."

"Well now I'm curious," said Mango Twist. "Why would he?"

"He wants me dead," responded Thunderhoof.

"Huh?"

"Well, I mean," said Thunderhoof, before taking a sip of his drink, "I assumed as much when he sent five of his chumps after me."

"Hold up a second," said Mango Twist. "You're the guy who sent the Don's nephew to the clink?"

"Do you have an issue with that?" asked Thunderhoof, coolly.

"But you're dead," said the bartender, frowning in confusion. "How in the hay did you..."

"I got better," answered Thunderhoof. "Now, I'm no mobster myself, but I'm betting the Don would love to see me dead, and would probably pay you handsomely for this. Do we have a deal?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then," said Thunderhoof. He drained his glass. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah," said Mango Twist. And as Thunderhoof went to the door, "Hey, you've gotta pay for your drink."

"Well surely, I've just bought you an early retirement and I'm about to get killed, you could at least let that slide."

Mango Twist shrugged.

---

"So why are you doing this?" asked Mango Twist as they set off down the street.

"No money, nothing to my name, so I suppose I'm looking for somepony to put me out of my misery," said the Private Investigator, sarcastically.

"And have you always been a smart aleck?" retorted Mango. He honestly couldn't believe that he was talking to somepony actually looking forward to being killed. "Seriously, though, why are you doing this?"

"Is it your job to ask questions?"

Mango didn't talk for the rest of the journey. Eventually, the two ponies arrived in front of a wrought iron gate, which was locked with a chain. A suited mobster was standing guard just behind it. As the pair approached, he came over. "Mango," he said. "How the hay are ya?"

"I'm fine," said Mango, in his bored tone. "I've come here to pay my respects to the Don." He jerked his head towards Thunderhoof.

The mafioso looked Thunderhoof up and down, curiously. But then something clicked in his mind. "Is he who I think he is?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Mango.

The mobster hurriedly opened the gate, and escorted the pair into the massive mansion, which was heavily guarded by more suited mobsters. Their hoofsteps echoed in the empty hallways, which reminded Thunderhoof of his family hall. He wasn't sure whether he liked that or not.

The mobster who was escorting Mango Twist and Thunderhoof opened a door, and gestured for Thunderhoof to enter. As Mango Twist was about to follow suit, the gangster held him back. "The boss is comin'." He closed the door behind Thunderhoof.

The Private Eye was inside an office. It was old, just like the entire mansion. An empty chair sat behind the oak desk. A clock was hanging on the wall, its pendulum swaying. It would need rewinding within the following two hours. Unlike the hallways, the floors of which where tiled, a carpet covered the office floor, and an orange rug sat in front of the fireplace. All in all, one could almost forget that this was the base of operations of a merciless criminal.

Thunderhoof picked up the issue of 'The Manehattanite' that lay atop the desk.

"CLASHES AT BORDER BETWEEN ZEBRICA AND KUDANDA: IS A NEW WAR ON THE HORIZON?" asked the headline.

"What started just a few weeks ago as a peaceful protest at the border between Zebrica and Equestrian-annexed Kudanda took a turn for the worst, yesterday, when a bottle of flaming alcohol was lobbed at an Equestrian Military Policecolt on a routine patrol. Thankfully he wasn't harmed, but the culprit wasn't found. What's more, given the recent and rapid militarisation of the border, members of the Zebrican Militia have been mobilised to the border, reporting that Equestrian patrols have been found on Zebra territory.

Obviously enough, several ponies haven't been letting this crisis go to waste. One such pony is Field Marshal Prince Blueblood, the Duke of Fillydelphia. With the recent rise in international tension, the Prince has been appointed by Princess Celestia to be the supreme commander for the Kudandan theatre, effectively replacing General Delherbe, who used to hold that title. The duke was on hoof to give his side of the story.

"Don't worry," declared the newly appointed marshal. "Those savages on the other side of the fence still fight with rocks and believe in fancy potions. Attacking a country such as ours would be suicide. If they are sane, which isn't saying much, they wouldn't dare."

"Well the answer is obvious," thought Thunderhoof. "But is this his doing alone?"

After a few minutes, somepony entered. Thunderhoof didn't even look around, and saw the stallion known as Don Gianni Cavallo, flanked by two bodyguards. The gray-maned and moustached mob boss was wearing a black tuxedo, a red rose sticking out of his lapel, and a white hanky sticking out of his pocket.

"So you're the private investigator who cost me millions, last year," said Gianni in his coarse, imposing voice, walking around the room and sitting behind his desk. "And just a few months ago, you sent four of my best guys to jail. You sent four more, including my nephew, to hospital when they hunted you down for revenge. You stuck your nose into my benefactor's business, and right when I think I'm done with you, you dare appear before me. You're a tough guy to kill."

"I like to think of myself as lucky," retorted Thunderhoof.

"So?" asked the Don. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It's a matter of perspective, Don Cavallo," said Thunderhoof. "I can understand that I've been a pain in your neck because of what I've done, but it's only business. Unfortunately for you, somepony else hired me. If you had hired me to get Poppy Heart, none of this would have happened."

The Don breathed in through his nose. "You come into my home... you make fun of my judgement, you insult my family, you disrespect me in front of my people? I really want to kill you, right now."

"Well you could do that," said Thunderhoof, "but if you don't, I can tell you what I need from you."

The don smirked, nodding his head slightly. "You've got a lot of mouth," he said. "Normally, I despise ponies who do, but you have the credentials to back it up." He gestured the bodyguards to leave the room. "I'm listening."

"You sent your boys to silence Colt Whistle before he could say anything compromising," said Thunderhoof. "On orders of your benefactor, I imagine. Which means that you two work for the same pony. I have an idea of who they are, but I need confirmation before anything else. I need to know what you know about them."

"I don't know much more than you, Mister Butterscotch," responded Cavallo. "I just do what they tell me. I don't even know why they want me to do it. I didn't get big in this business by asking questions. You, a PI of all ponies, you should be able to understand that."

"I suppose you're right," said Thunderhoof. "But surely you're profiting from this, aren't you?"

"I am," said the Don. "Last year, the mayor's policies ruined me. Profits were low, I couldn't run protection. Nothing. And then somepony came to me with a deal. I did what they wanted, in exchange for immunity and money. They helped me bounce back. And that's why, even if I did know who they were, I wouldn't tell you."

"Come on," smirked Thunderhoof. "You know very well that there's no loyalty among thieves. Once they get what they want, they'll be coming after you. Loose ends, that sort of stuff."

"I told you, I'll tell you again," said Cavallo. "I don't even know who they are. Besides, I have my insurance policy."

"Money and street muscle won't account for much when your benefactor sends every single policecolt in the country and their mother after you," retorted Thunderhoof.

"Come on," smirked Don Gianni Cavallo. "You think I'm that stupid?"

"Prove me wrong," said Thunderhoof.

"You think I'm a joker, don't you, Mister Thunderhoof?" asked Cavallo.

"Am I laughing?"

Don Cavallo considered Thunderhoof for a moment. "So, tell me," he said, "when you find my benefactor, who is to turn on me sooner or later, you will take them out, right?"

"Obviously."

"In that case," said Cavallo, "maybe I should tell you about that insurance policy of mine."

Thunderhoof immediately became suspicious. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're right," answered the boss. "No loyalty among thieves, and... well, big eats small. I have my insurance, and that guarantees that they can't come after me. But you seem to know what they're up to and what they want. I have enough money to buy my immunity somewhere else than Manehattan. If you take my benefactor out, I can live in peace. Never have to worry about them again."

"Thinking about the future, huh?" asked Thunderhoof. "Very well, I suppose. What's your insurance policy?"

"Well, you know when I sent my boys after that journalist guy?"

"How could I forget?" spat Thunderhoof. His body was still aching, and he felt dizzy from the wounds that Cavallo's gang had inflicted on him.

"Well, he disappeared, but I eventually found him. He knows stuff. Stuff that none of us should know. I figured he knows who your foe is. So instead of killing him, I brought him here. You can talk to him. Be my guest." The Don called a name, and one of the bodyguards came in. "Bring Mister Thunderhoof to our guest," he said.

"Well, thank you for your cooperation," said Thunderhoof.

And as Thunderhoof got up to follow the bodyguard, Don Cavallo gave Thunderhoof a last piece of 'advice'. "Just one more thing," he said. "You still have a debt towards me. A debt of blood. Honor. For my nephew."

"I know about your customs," said Thunderhoof, arrogantly. "And I don't care."

"Suit yourself," said Cavallo. "But this debt is beyond profit. It's beyond everything else. And one way or another, it'll be settled."

Thunderhoof nodded, and was lead out of the room by the bodyguard. They went down the hall, and stopped in front of a door, from behind which some music was playing.

"Have fun," said the bodyguard, leaving Thunderhoof.

The Private Eye pushed the door open, entered, and shut the door behind him. He found himself in the guest room. It was a far cry from his hotel, but it looked comfortable enough: carpets, walls painted white, and a desk, on which there was a typewriter with a half-full page inserted in it and a record player. And in the corner of the room sat a bed, a pony laying on it.

"Colt Whistle, I presume," said Thunderhoof.

The unicorn woke up with a start, and faced Thunderhoof. It was almost funny how to the columnist, the limping, groggy, weakened, not at all well-rested Private Investigator looked like as scary as a timberwolf.

"What?" shouted the columnist breathlessly, his whole body quivering, tears forming in his eyes. "Cavallo told me I was safe! Wha- what are you doing here?"

"You know the answer to this question," said Thunderhoof, menacingly. "Now you're going to tell me everything you know about your boss."

"But I- I can't! I told you I can't! He'll gut me if I tell you!"

"Oh, so it's a 'he'?" asked Thunderhoof.

"I- I didn't say that it was- I was just say-"

"Oh, it sounded like 'he'."

The journalist breathed in, closed his eyes, and tried to square up to Thunderhoof. "I won't tell you."

"Is that so?" retorted Thunderhoof, calmly. "Why not?"

"Because it's my only leverage!" answered Colt Whistle. "You don't understand, detective. If I tell you, you'll tell somepony else, and soon everypony will know! And then he'll come for me!"

Thunderhoof, mentally exhausted, having one of his post-awakening headaches, grabbed a chair, and stuck it under the doorknob. "I'm going to need calm for this," he said.

"W-what are you doing?" asked Colt Whistle, as Thunderhoof opened the only window.

Without a word, Thunderhoof zoomed towards Colt Whistle, grabbed him under his front legs, and carried him over to the window. He pushed him against the windowsill, and held the columnist's throat with one hoof. "Are you going to talk?" asked Thunderhoof, calmly as if he wasn't threatening to give a poor street cleaner a bad start to their day.

"Go to hell!" Colt Whistle shouted back. "I'm protected class, dammit! You can't do this to me!"

Thunderhoof pulled the journalist back into the guest room, and set him down.

"That's right," sneered the columnist. "Don't you dare threa-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Colt Whistle found himself zooming out into the sky and above the clouds, Cavallo's home seeming like a dollhouse from his perspective.

Thunderhoof held his captive by the leg, easily fluttering above the clouds. "This is your last chance!" he shouted. "WHO IS CALLING THE SHOTS?"

"IT'S BLUEBLOOD!" answered Colt Whistle, somewhere between a whimper and a shout. "IT'S ALL HIM!"

Thunderhoof threw Colt Whistle higher, and caught him in midair, seizing him by the lapels. "Are you sure?" he asked, his mad glint back in his eyes.

"YES!"

Thunderhoof dove back down, and for a few seconds it seemed to the journalist as if the major was about to crash into the ground. But at long last, without knowing it, he found himself inside Don Cavallo's guest room. He staggered across the floor, and emptied his breakfast onto the floor.

"How do you know that Blueblood is the only instigator?" asked Thunderhoof, once Colt Whistle had regained a semblance of composure.

"He trusted me," answered Colt Whistle. "He thought I was too much of a coward to tell anypony else. He came to me with
incriminating pictures, letters, and reports, and he ordered me to write articles on them. What he's got on the princesses... it's dynamite! It could set the country on fire!"

"And do you happen to know where he keeps his material?" asked Thunderhoof.

"Close to him," answered Colt Whistle. "I don't know exactly where, but he brought them all to me directly, which means that they're on hoof whenever he wants them."

"And where is he now?" asked Thunderhoof.

"No idea," answered the journalist. "But I know where he might be headed."

"Where?"

Colt Whistle reached for his wallet, and from it he produced a narrow piece of paper. He hoofed it to Thunderhoof.

It was an invitation for the 'Royal Fillydelphia Derby'. It featured an exclusive Wonderbolts air show, and apparently an open bar. "It's tomorrow. He never misses that show," said the journalist. "I was supposed to go with him, but it seems that I'll be spending the day here."

Thunderhoof pocketed the invitation. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said.

"You're insane," said Colt Whistle, breathing heavily.

"I'm not insane," retorted Thunderhoof. "I'm just desperate."

---

"So?" asked Octavia, as Thunderhoof entered their tiny hotel room. "Any luck?"

"It's Blueblood," answered Thunderhoof. "He's in Fillydelphia, he'll be at the derby."

"So you're going there?" asked Octavia. "What's your plan?"

"The journalist said that Blueblood has his extortion material close to him. That means he'll probably be carrying it with him."

"I hope you're going to make him pay," said Octavia, in a tone of almost uncharacteristic vindictiveness.

"Sadly, I can't," said Thunderhoof. "I have to do all of this in the shadows."

"I see," said Octavia. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I thought you hated Blueblood," frowned Thunderhoof.

"Oh, I do," said Octavia. "But you need all the help you can get. Even though I am pretty useless."

Thunderhoof sat down on the bed. "Suit yourself." He looked down at his hoof, which was twitching. "Huh. I'm getting the shakes again."

Octavia looked at her partner, smiled, and went to sit down next to Thunderhoof. She started stroking his hoof with her own, smiling. "You've got this," she said. "I believe in you."

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The board is set. The pieces are in play. Now for the final act.