Troublemaker

by totallynotabrony

1:3

A short ways down the road was a bank. Tabitha was probably going to cash her paycheck, I thought. She parked and went inside. After a little while, she came out with a white envelope and got back in her car. She pulled out of the bank lot but didn’t head for home.

Now I was back to feeling nervous. I could understand going to a bank on a Friday, but what now? Groceries, maybe? After a few minutes, Tabitha pulled over at a Starbucks. It seemed like an odd time to get coffee.

I pulled into the parking lot and waited. She didn’t go to the counter, instead heading to a table where a lone pony sat. He wore a white t-shirt and baggy pants falling down. Around his neck were a few gold chains.

Tabitha didn’t seem the type to meet with “gangstas,” especially when they were unicorns. I realized she didn’t know what I looked like, so I got out of the car and walked in.

I got a cup of coffee and stood near the door, pretending to check my cell phone. Surreptitiously watching Tabitha and the pony, I spotted a white envelope on the table between them. The pony had his hoof on it, as if judging the thickness. I wasn’t close enough to hear what he said to the woman, but she seemed surprised and upset. Maybe it wasn’t enough money.

Tabitha got up to go. I started out the door, turning to hold it for her as a friendly stranger. She nodded, but looked too preoccupied to give me a proper thank you.

I stood on the sidewalk, still checking my phone as the stallion came out. He headed for a white Mustang with big gold-colored wheels and a huge eyesore spoiler on the trunk lid. It looked so tacky it had to be his car. He’d even replaced the little chrome mustang emblem on the grill with a unicorn one.

As the pony got in his car, I pulled out my notepad and wrote down the license number. By the time I was finished, Tabitha was already leaving the parking lot with her car. I tossed my still-hot coffee into a trash can and hurried to catch up.

She went home this time. As I sat outside the house, I puzzled over what the new developments could mean.

She’d given the pony money, obviously. Well, it could also have been something from a safe deposit box, but that seemed less likely. Tabitha didn’t seem like she’d been doing it out of goodwill. What could she possibly owe somepony like that?

When I got home later that night, I ran the license plate numbers. The car belonged to Mr. Cash Flow. He had a criminal record. One drug charge and a few minor things. He should have been booked with having a terrible sense of fashion and driving an ugly car.

The next day, I left the house and went to the address listed for the stallion. It was an apartment building with a row of front doors facing the street. An older mare answered the door. She was maybe fifty, and not an easy fifty, either.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am. My name’s Dinghy Oar. I’m working with the Norfolk Police.”

She leaned out the door and looked at my car. “That’s an awfully nice ride for a cop.”

“I’m with the undercover unit. We get toys like that to play with.” I laughed. That seemed to satisfy her. I went on. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Cash Flow.”

“He isn’t here.”

“But this is where he lives?” I pressed.

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

I studied her for a moment. She didn’t seem to like talking to me, but that was too bad. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

I was interrupted by the sound of Cash’s car coming around the building and shooting off down the street. I stared after it and then turned back to the mare. “I thought you said he wasn’t home.”

“I – I tried to raise him differently,” she said, her voice suddenly cracking. “I don’t know what I did wrong. I’m sorry. Why don’t you come in?”

She stepped back from the door and I stepped forward. Considering Cash lived there, the apartment was cleaner than I expected. She asked me to sit at the kitchen table. I declined her offer of something to drink. I pulled out my notebook. “For the record ma’am, I’d like to have your name.”

“Flower Power. I’ve gone back to using my maiden name.”

“I’ve seen your son’s record. Did jail time affect him at all?”

“It didn’t seem to.” She sighed. “I just keep praying that someday he’ll change his ways.”

“Does he have a job?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

I nodded. Figures. “Where does his money come from?”

“I don’t know. I have a good idea, but I don’t want to think about that.”

“Please tell me,” I said, leaning forward.

Flower nodded and took a deep breath. “I think he’s selling drugs.”

I, for one, wasn’t surprised. I asked, “Do you know where he might have been going when he left in such a hurry?”

“No. I think he has a place of his own, but I don’t know where.”

“Do you know who might be able to tell me?”

She thought for a moment. “He hangs around with a man named Terry Ives. He owns a bar.”

“Where is that?”

She told me the general location. I recognized it as near Little Creek Amphibious Base. Standing up, I said, “Thank you for talking to me. I’m going to try and find Cash and see what I can do to help him.”

She showed me to the door. I gave her my phone number and asked her to call me if she saw her son again.

»«

I knew I came to the right drinking establishment because the place was called Terry’s. It was the kind of originality that spelled out the fact that the owner didn’t give a darn about it.

It was located directly south of the amphibious base, and I suspected that it got a lot of business from military personnel. I wasn’t sure if the place would be open at midday on a Saturday. There weren’t hours listed on the door, but it was unlocked.

A large man with a shaved head sat at a table against the wall. He was maybe my age and looked like he pumped iron for a couple of hours each day. He was the only one in the room.

“What do you want?” he growled.

“I’m looking for Terry.”

“Who is it?” called a voice. There was an open door behind the bar.

“Nopony in particular,” I answered.

I heard a sigh as if someone in the back room had been working on something and now had to get up from his chair.

The man appeared. He was maybe forty, although he looked to be in worse condition than a man his age should. He also needed a haircut.

We looked at each other for several seconds. Finally, he said, “Well?”

“I want to know where Cash Flow lives.”

“What makes you think I know who that is?”

“I’ve got good sources.” I shrugged.

“What’d he do to you?”

“Nothing personally. I’m checking up on some things for a guy and Cash just happened to come into it. I want to talk to him.”

“You a private eye or something like that?”

I smiled. “Something like that.”

“What’s it worth to you?” Terry asked.

“Twenty-five to life, depending on what you’ve got in that back room.” I gestured to the door he had come out of.

It took him a second, but he realized what I meant. Behind me, I heard the other man get up. Without taking my eyes off Terry, I said, “Did you really think I’d be dumb enough to come alone? I’ve got two unicorns outside. You want to find out what a magical lobotomy looks like?”

Terry thought about it for a few seconds.

“Ah, screw Cash.” He told me where the pony had an apartment. I nodded and turned to go.

“Bobby, escort the stallion out,” said Terry. The big man followed me to the door. Outside, he looked around. Seeing no backup, he scowled.

I opened my car door. “That’s a nice set of wheels,” he rumbled.

“Oh this? I got it out of a box of Captain Crunch.”

“Terry Ives is like fire. You play with him, you get burned.”

“Did you think of that or did you borrow it from a movie?”

He knit his brows and frowned so hard I thought his face was going to collapse. He turned and went back inside.

As I put the car in gear, I noticed myself sweating. Popping a couple of animal crackers helped me calm down. I made a mental note that maybe the next time I tried something like that, it might be better to actually have help waiting outside.

I pulled up a map of Cash Flow’s place on my phone. I still had time to visit him that day, so I went.

I’d never really explored Norfolk’s slums, so I didn’t know much about them. The buildings were drab, and some of them appeared to be in danger of actually falling in. Cash’s car was at the curb. I noticed a few other vehicles around that appeared to have been modified with a similar approach to aesthetics. The place must have been a drug dealer commune.

I was a little apprehensive leaving my car on the street, but I set the alarm and hoped I wouldn’t be gone too long. I went up the stairs until I came to the right number and knocked on the door.

I didn’t know if Cash had seen me, or just heard me say I was with the police when he ran from his mother’s place. The peephole was set at human height, and I didn’t have to duck out of sight to put my ear to the door.

I heard steps approach. “Who is it?”

“I’m Arleigh Burke.” I figured he might have heard my standard fake name at his mother’s house.

“Are you a cop?”

Many people think that if asked, police legally have to identify themselves. In certain situations, maybe. Chris evidently thought it mattered.

“No, I’m not a cop.” I heard his steps come closer. I straightened up and stood to one side.

Several seconds passed. “What do you want?”

“I heard you got some stuff, man. I’ve got money.”

Several more seconds passed and then the door opened. I bumped it open wider with my foreleg and hit Cash square in the face with my other hoof. Judging by the way he stumbled back, my surprise had worked.

I came in and hit him in the face again. The tail of his shirt jerked up with magic and a handgun slid out. Twisting sideways, I smacked Cash in the face with one of my wings and reached behind him, knocking the gun away.

I had ended up in a good position to put him in a headlock, so I did, smacking him around a little more. The key to fighting unicorns is to keep hitting them in the head so they can’t concentrate. Come to think of it, that works for a lot of ponies and people, too.

I glanced at the pistol on the floor. In my line of work, it pays to know your weapons, big or small. The gun was a Glock 19. Wow, just when you thought a pony couldn’t get more gangster…

Cash struggled to get up. I held my hooves down on his throat until he began to struggle for air instead.

“What the—” was all he seemed capable of saying.

His nose was bleeding from where I had hit him a couple of times. I squeezed it between my hooves. “What do you have going with Tabitha Larson?”

“I—I don’t know—”

I resisted the urge to scream at him. The brief fight had already made more noise than I wanted.

“Listen, I saw you meet with her. I saw her give you money. Why?”

“She’s a friend. She’s helping me out a little.”

“Horse dung.”

“I told you—”

I twisted his nose. “Why?”

“I helped her get rid of a body!”

I let go of his nose. “Really? Tell me about that.”

“She called me one night. She said she’d pay me. She hit a guy with her car.”

“When? Where?” I asked.

“A couple weeks ago. It was out at the park.”

I rolled my eyes. “Which park?”

“First Landing.”

“Why did she call you? Was it because you’re the kind of guy who would know how to dispose of the body?”

He shrugged. "We met through Terry Ives. It's complicated, but Neil Larson does his legitimate financial stuff."

“How much did she pay you?”

“She was going to give me a grand from every paycheck.”

“Was that her idea, or are you blackmailing her so you don’t tell the police she killed someone?”

He shrugged.

I couldn’t think of anything else to ask him, so I stood up and kicked the gun across the room. The door was still open, so I went out and closed it behind me. My vehicle was still parked on the street. It even had all its parts. Before I left, I keyed Cash’s hideous car.

Well, it looked like Neil didn’t have to worry that Tabitha was cheating on him. I suppose he would be happy to hear that. The news that a drug dealing pony was shaking down his wife probably wouldn’t sit well with him, though. Neither would the news that she’d killed someone. The bookkeeping for Terry Ives was something entirely different, and I decided to let that be.

I called David. “Do you think you could get Neil to come to our Sunday drinking session?”

“Probably,” he said. “Something important?”

“I think I’ve just about got things wrapped up. It seemed like a good excuse to get him away from the wife.”

“All right, I’ll ask him,” David promised.

I got my fishing pole and went out to the pier in my backyard. I didn’t fish with the intent of catching anything, and in fact wouldn’t know what kind of bait to use. It was a remarkably relaxing hobby, though, and I spent the rest of the day out there, thinking.

»«

The next evening, I got to the club a little early. I ordered my drink and went out on the deck.

David was there, but Neil hadn’t arrived yet. We made small talk. The lawyer didn’t press me for details, although I could tell that he was interested.

Neil came out. He didn’t have a beverage with him and explained, “I don’t drink much.”

He sat down and all three of us subconsciously leaned towards the center of the table to talk.

“I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” I started.

Neil nodded. “Let’s hear it.” He seemed a little hesitant, but willing to go forward.

“Hang on,” said David. “Is this something I should be privy to?

“Maybe not,” I said. “Don’t want to be an accessory to anything.”

David nodded and got up and went back inside. When he was gone, I said, “The good news is, Tabitha probably isn’t having an affair. The bad news is that I think she killed someone.”

Neil started as if he’d been kicked. “What makes you think she killed someone?” His voice was barely above a whisper despite the fact that the club was practically deserted as usual.

“I checked her car. It’s been repaired recently, right?”

The man nodded. “She told me she came out after work one day and it wouldn’t run. She said she had it towed to a shop and they spent a couple of days fixing it. Covered under warranty.”

“Did you actually see the car?”

“No,” he admitted.

“The front end had been damaged. Adding to that, I spoke to Cash Flow. He claims he helped her hide the body.”

“That dirtbag,” Neil said.

“Now keep in mind, I’m going with only circumstantial evidence here. The car could have been damaged by the repair shop. Cash, being a dirtbag, could have said that to get me to stop hitting him. We can’t be sure.”

Neil stared at the table and was silent for several seconds. “Have you gone to the police?”

“No,” I told him.

“Can you find out for sure if she really did do it?” Neil asked slowly. “If I’m going to turn in my own wife, I want to be absolutely sure.”

“I can do that.”

He sighed. “I suppose I could use a drink after all.”

I thought about what the Larson household was going to be like now. She might be keeping a secret about a killing, and he was keeping a secret that he knew. It sounded like some kind of twisted romantic comedy. I would have laughed, except Neil was sitting right there.

Comments

[Screwdriver]

The plot thickens.
.....stupid clop fics....

[Lithl]

I got my fishing pole and went out to the pier in my backyard. I didn’t fish with the intent of catching anything, and in fact wouldn’t know what kind of bait to use. It was a remarkably relaxing hobby, though, and I spent the rest of the day out there, thinking.

Jack O'Neil?

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