Ponyville Noire: Kriegspiel—Black, White, and Scarlet

by PonyJosiah13

Case Eight, Prologue: Hit and Run

His target was just coming out of the club, leaving tracks in the mostly-melted slush and snow that faintly reflected the street lamps. He recognized him instantly: only a pony who had been living under a rock could fail to recognize the slicked-back blonde mane, the pearl white coat, and the cutie mark of a book with a stack of bits atop it. Best Seller, literary critic, socialite, and frequent subject of the tabloid magazines that were sold in grocery store aisles. Right now, the unicorn was stumbling his way down the sidewalk, a dopey grin from ear to ear as he turned to speak to the mare that was wrapped around his foreleg.

Scarlet Letter smiled back up at him, tossing her head to get her long mane out of her eyes and nuzzling his shoulder. She gently guided him down the sidewalk, keeping the drunken stallion on his hooves. She whispered something into his ear and he laughed giddily.

The donkey in the truck stared in silence, waiting in the shadowy alleyway in between the two brick apartments: though the headlights were switched off, the engine idled beneath him, grumbling as though in impatience. The hood ornament of a stallion dressed in the armor of a knight, lance extended, stood at attention, pointing the way forward with the shiny metal tip of his weapon. He patted the leather steering wheel with one hoof, extending one leg to press lightly against the gas pedal. All he had to do was press down a little harder and the great behemoth would surge forward, a mass of metal with enough power to crush nearly anything and anypony in his way.

Which is exactly what he was planning on doing.

---

“No, come now, you’re being ridiculous,” Scarlet giggled. “She actually called you a skunk’s brother?”

“Exact words,” Best Seller slurred, nodding with his entire upper body. “Of course I had to take points off her review for that. Such a shame, really: she got brains and body, the full combo. If only her mouth was a little bit smaller!”

Scarlet laughed loudly, hitting the notes perfectly like a pianist performing a difficult concerto. The sound was rich and full of life, a siren’s call of promise and sensuality, irresistible to so many. It was also fake, an act. The stallion repulsed her: his colossal ego seemed to make him reek, the arrogance in his every syllable grated on her ears, the continual bragging of his own charms tired her. Even the heavy cologne in his mane made her nose wrinkle, but she masked it all well, hiding behind traditional feminine fawning. He might think that he had conquered her, but in truth, he was the one that was eating out of her hoof.

She already knew what she needed. He hadn’t been particularly eager to talk about the four dusty statues that his parents owned, but she’d gently coaxed the information out of him.

And now he was useless to her.

“So, where are we going now?” Best Seller asked. “Back to your place? I really think I’d like to learn more about where an up and coming shining star in the literary world like yourself comes up with their ideas.”

Scarlet giggled and nuzzled his cheek. For all of the stallion’s faults, he knew how to tickle her ego. And he was...better than average in bed. Odoriferous as his company might be, she’d learned long ago that a mare had to take time to have fun.

“I do believe that we can discuss my new novels further,” she whispered. “Over a glass of champagne and some grapes.”

“With your taste in liquor? How could I refuse?” Best Seller grinned. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her in, and she allowed him to reel her into a sloppy wet kiss that tasted of beer and fried potatoes. She kissed him back, lazily peering out of one eye to spot the truck laying in wait in the alleyway

---

Was she looking at him? He thought he saw her eyes dart towards him.

No matter. They were currently enthralled in an embrace: now would be the proper time. The donkey pressed down on the gas pedal and the truck smoothly pulled forward onto the street. He turned to the right and started to drive right towards the couple. Keep the speed steady: this had to just look natural.

He was within ten feet when they separated, still holding hooves. He kept the pressure on the pedal even: he was just another driver out for an evening drive.

As he neared, Scarlet leaned in close to his target. He stumbled, falling drunkenly back; his hooves left the ground and he fell into the path of his vehicle.

The impact shuddered through the steel framework, but the growling behemoth barely slowed. The driver got a good look at Best Seller’s wide, terrified eyes as he bounced off of the hood and went spiraling through the air. Blood, black in the night, flew from his body, cascading down onto the asphalt. Best Seller hit the ground hard and rolled a few feet forward.

The truck continued onward, momentum barely affected: in fact, now was the time that the driver pressed down harder on the gas. The driver turned the wheel at a calculated angle at just the right time. To anypony who happened to be watching, it would look like he was trying to swerve around the victim, but had turned too late. In truth, he was aiming right where he wanted to.

With a sickening crunch, the right front wheel ran over Best Seller’s head. Tons of metal pressed down against his skull, crushing it like an ant beneath a boot. Jostled by the impact, the driver fought to get his vehicle back under control, jerking the wheel to narrowly avoid crossing into the other lane. A passing two-door coupe nearly had to mount the curb to avoid him.

The donkey pulled hard on the wheel and the vehicle responded too eagerly, jerking hard to the right. Slamming on the brakes, he tried to straighten out and succeeded almost too late: with a sharp ding, the right headlight of the vehicle struck a lamp post. He grimaced. Damn: he’d have to fix that and get the truck repainted right away.

In the distance, he could hear Scarlet Letter’s shrieks of horror. He turned a corner to get away from the scene, then slowed down to well below the speed limit, deliberately taking routes that would avoid surveillance crystals. As he passed beneath the light of a street lamp, he glanced at the hood ornament. The knight’s lance was now stained with the blood of his victim.

No matter. Once he got safely back to base, he’d clean it off and swap out the license plates, then get to work repainting his vehicle. While hit and runs weren’t the usual services his clients sought from him, this was far from his first. He had the routine down cold.

The wail of a responding siren came from behind him. Without a glance backward, the driver and his truck disappeared into the night with the low growl of an engine.

Author's Note:

An early Christmas present for you all: the beginning of a new case! What diabolical twists and turns do I have in store for our heroes? You'll find out in the coming weeks! Happy Holidays from my family to yours!

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Comments

[The Bricklayer]

Okay, as an early Christmas present, this works. Definitely caught my attention.

[Micro-song]

I imagine the mess a flattened head would make.

Not very fun for the coroners.

[Braininthejar]

So, a new case starts with a bang.

And because I have so few other points of reference, I'm now imagining the driver with Cranky's face.

[Love able chaos]

I see Blueblood's clone didn't read the fine print when he signed up for this chapter.