Memoirs of the Mindless

by Writey the writer

Chapter 14: Giants and Monsters

Chapter 14: Giants and Monsters

“She killed seven ponies in just two days,” Clue said dourly. Clock nodded, grimacing as he took a drink from his whiskey. “Seven ponies, just gone.” Three of the seven dead had been officers who were on a patrol. There had been no call on the radio. They were killed before they had any chance to call for help. Print was staring vacantly at a poster proclaiming, ‘Happy hour, happiest hour around: 7-8pm every weekend.’

Their small group sat in one of the booths in the corner of the bar. A large group of four stallions and two mares were at the bar, creating most of the noise. A mare and stallion sat opposite each other across the room casting resentful glances at the louder group. For a happy hour, it was dead. One possible reason was the current resurgence of Red-Mane. She had maimed and killed seven, leaving their bodies on the streets for others to find in the morning.

“What can we do?” Print asked, looking between her partners. Clue stared at his drink. His thoughts swam through it: Red-Mane, the elusive Greenbill, and seven; his mind always returned back to the seven deaths. Clock was more lucid. He had more experience in the field, although never with a case like this. He doubted there would ever be another case like this. “Clock?”

“I don’t know,” Clock said. He took drink, grateful for the fire that burned in his throat. “I’ll-We’ll try and sort this in the morning. After sleep.” He had no intention of sleeping. There was too much to think about, and he doubted sleep would come to him even if he wanted it. He downed the rest of his drink and stepped out of the booth. “Coming up, Print?”

She shook her head. “I’ll have one more.” He nodded and went up the stairs in the corner of the room, holding tightly on the rail to steady himself.

“There was a...note on one of the officers,” Clue said. His eyes were averted. He hadn’t wanted to mention it while Clock was there. Clock would insist that he was the only one who was expendable. “Her name was Shower Burst, she…” He sighed. “I attended her birthday party a few months back. Her kid was there.”

“What did the note say?” Print said. She knew that she had to divert his thoughts. Not because she didn’t care, but because the melancholy would consume him.

Clue didn’t look at her as he spoke. His eyes remained fixed on his beer. “If you give yourself over, Red-Mane will stop.” He hated himself a little more at that moment. He was ultimately giving her the option to kill herself, an option she wouldn’t have otherwise had, but it was right, wasn’t it? Just to give up one and save many more lives. Even if it was the one he loved. He looked up toward her. She was about to break, he could see it in her eyes. He moved to sit beside her, placing a hoof around her shoulder. She leaned into the embrace.

“I have to, don’t I?” she said. Her voice was frail.

Clue took a deep breath, inhaling her scent and hugging her just a little tighter. “No, you don’t have to.” But you should. In the end, living was selfish, and she had never been a monster, because not all criminals are bad. Some were just in bad circumstances, but they weren’t bad ponies.

She leaned away so she could look at him. “I told you, didn’t I? Red Robin died—I left her in Manehatten. Speckled Print would do what is right.” She began to laugh but it faded to a sob. “At least she should.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Clue said. He regretted telling her about the note. Part of him, the part that loved her, wanted her to live. The selfless part of her that wanted to walk up to Greenbill was beautiful, he thought. She was the detective that Clock wasn’t, and Clock needed her. He was cold without her. Another part, the rational, cold part that Clock embraced said she should walk out of here and end the madness. No more would die at the cost of one.”

“Only a monster would run away. Speckled Print is not a monster.” She failed to blink back her tears as they trailed down her face. She had accepted this path.

Clue leaned forward. Their lips met, and for a short time, Print forgot she was about to walk to her death. She forgot about Red-Mane, Greenbill, and Red Robin. It all faded to simplicity during the fray—the surge of emotion as she shut her eyes and let it happen with the nice stallion who she loved. Eventually the kiss broke, and they looked at each other, softly panting and giddy.

“I’ll miss you, Clue,” she said. She felt that something needed to be said, because she was about to leave the booth and walk out onto the street. Just like that, a simple note, and she knew she would die. It hadn’t even began to set in yet. Perhaps, it never could, no matter how long you were given.

“I’m coming too,” he said.

She smiled. “They don’t need you.”

He took her hoof in his. “I’ll take you there, you‘re not alone anymore.”

* * *

Greenbill needed a replacement. His experience here showed that Canterlot needed a strong hoof to hold them down. As much as he owned the police, the rogues like Clock in their ranks were a bigger threat than the entire force. He could undermine everything they wanted, but his threat was considerably lessened as they had him by the balls. They had Red Mane as a bargaining chip, and the lives of the innocent were all hostages, but even now, Greenbill knew Clock could be dangerous. His brother had been. He was the only stallion to beat Greenbill in hoof-on-hoof combat, but now he was dead and the little brother was here to play.

Greenbill was old now, but still strong, still dangerous, and just as mad as he had been in his youth, although he had developed a temper more than a whim. He couldn’t hold down Manehatten and Canterlot, so he needed a trustworthy hoof in this city. The strongest applicant used to run an opposing drug gang but he was only loyal to money and power. He respected Greenbill and would be paid well, so he could be trusted. His name was Riser, and he was notably ruthless and supposedly as crazy as Greenbill had been in his youth. Both talents were invaluable in this business.

A knock came at the door. Greenbill folded up the papers of Riser and placed them in the top draw of his desk. He looked up toward the door. “Enter, Grease,” he said.

The door opened and Grease stepped in. He panted, out of breath. “She came. Speckled Print gave herself up!” he said. His voice was filled with elation, a broad uncharacteristic smile on his muzzle.

Greenbill frowned. “And Clock? She’s alone?”

Grease shook his head. “She came with Detective Cross Clue, the new detective on the case.” Greenbill nodded, remembering his file. “He tried to leave when we took her but we…” He paused. “We weren’t sure what to do with him, so we took him too. They’re both drugged and knocked out in the keet.”

It made no sense for Print to give herself up. Clock would take the deaths personally and he would have brought Print. He was cold and he would do what was right to save ponies. He would hand her over. Why would she come without him? He stood. His mind was too caught up in Clock that he forgot about Print. “Take me to her.”

Grease nodded and led him down the hall. The long stairwell lights flickered as they descended into the keet. It was the basement of the building which used to be a brewery or industrial plant before it was abandoned. Greenbill down through the window. The glass from the window lay strewn on the floor twenty feet below. Print was tied with her hooves above her head to a pipe. Clue was chained to a boiler, his hooves crossed around a valve. They were both unconscious. It was so simple. He only had to go down and kill her.

But it was never too simple. Silver was still out there. And he knew better than to underestimate a Clock again. He wanted Silver dead. A thought rolled loose as he imagined Red Mane stabbing Silver in the throat. He had every detective on the Red Mane case. He could kill every detective. The police would tremble, and any rogue would never stand again! If anypony opposed him, even the infamous Clock brothers, they would be cut down by Greenbill: the greatest druglord in Equestria.

He needed Print alive. She could be useful leverage, Red Mane could as well. Greenbill had the upper hoof, but he knew not to underestimate Clock, not again. In Silver, he saw Golden. He saw the smile as Golden stood above him—as he brought a hoof down. He would get revenge for him. Nopony beats Greenbill.

He wouldn’t just kill Clock, he would humiliate him. He would show him Red Mane—the prize—and laugh as the victory turned to ash in his mouth. He knew exactly what he would do it.

Greenbill spoke slowly, struggling to contain the excitement that churned within him. “Tell Clock to meet us at warehouse seventeen in the industrial district. We will give him Red Mane there on our terms. If he tries to get any support from the police, we will find out, and we will kill Print and release Red Mane into the city.” He paused. He had Clock, he knew he did, but he was afraid. It was emotion that he hated, and he hated Clock for making him feel it. What could Clock do? Golden had been a fairly thin stallion, unassuming. Yet he had beaten him, embarrassed him in front of his ponies. “I want five of our best in the warehouse. If he is armed we kill him on the spot. Tell him to meet us at dusk.”

“Why don’t we kill him on the spot as he walks in?” Grease asked.

Greenbill turned. He grabbed Grease by his collar and pushed him through the window gap. With a single hoof, he held the squirming stallion above the twenty foot fall. Greenbill watched him with a blank expression. In Grease, he saw Silver. He smiled. “I want him to squirm. I want him to think he’s won. I want him to kill Red Mane and as she dies, as the joy courses through his veins, I want to shoot him. I want him to bleed the joy out over the floor. I want Print to watch as he dies.” The face changed. In Grease, he saw Golden, he saw him standing above him all over again. Greenbill shouted, throwing Grease back through the window so he landed beside him in a heap. “I’m gonna kill you Golden. I’m gonna kill you.”

* * *

It was an ordinary day, at least that is how it started. Clock awoke with a terrible headache, that wasn’t new. Print wasn’t in the apartment, so he assumed she had gone back to Clue’s place. The two had been getting close over the past few weeks. It was about time one of them let it happen.

He got the bus to work as usual. Clue wasn’t in yet. He smirked as he realized they were probably having a quickie before they left. Clue was always in before him. He sat down with a coffee. Today would be another slow day. There had probably been more killings. Another seven maybe. Print would stay at the apartment doing whatever it was she did, and they would meet at the bar and drink. They would discuss what had happened today, but they would certainly drink.

The door opened with a click behind him. He smiled. “So…” he sang. “Did you and her-“ He turned to face the stallion in the door. He had been there when he met with Greenbill. “Can I help?”

The stallion stepped in fully and shut the door. His voice was low, almost apologetic. “We have Print. We have Clue. We have Red-Mane,” he paused, giving time for those three names to sink in. “You want them, go to the industrial district, ware-“

“-house seventeen,” Clock finished. He knew that Greenbill used that place. It only had one door. The stallion nodded.

“If you warn the police, he will cancel the request and kill Print and Clue, then he will release Red-Mane into the city.”

Clock’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you need me? You broke her, you have your prize. You’ve won.” He sighed. “Just give me what I’m owed and leave this city.”

The stallion opened the door. “Greenbill will give her to you, but he knows you can be…” He paused. “Unpredictable. You will get Red-Mane on our terms and then we will leave.” The door shut. Clock was alone.

He knew this was a bad deal—he knew Greenbill had planned something, but he didn’t know what. It didn’t matter what he had planned. He was going to walk into a trap because there was nothing he could do to stop him. Greenbill had won, and he would get Red-Mane: the prize. In the end, however, he knew it was worth it. Two lives are worth less than the hundreds that could be saved by killing Red-Mane, and the satisfaction of watching her die would be priceless.

But…what if he could have both? His friends and Red-Mane. Hell, why not kill Greenbill too. Legally untouchable, but a bullet in the head bypassed the paper work. Holding detectives hostage, there was enough reason to take him down.

But Greenbill had everything Clock wanted: his most deadly enemy and his closest friend. In the end, Clock knew he was expendable, and he knew he wouldn’t free her alone, and he would dying trying to free her. Only, Clock knew he couldn’t do it alone, and he was almost out of friends.

Almost.

* * *

Clock knocked on the door. After a pause, a familiar voice came through the door. The voice of an abrasive asshole who everypony loved to hate.

“Come in.” The warden was sat behind a desk. He smiled as Clock entered. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite detective.” The song in his voice ended. “What do you want?”

“Hello, warden,” Clock said. “I need a favour.”

The stallion spread his arms wide. “New office. I’m not a warden anymore, I run the SWAT teams, so any favours will have to be sent to the new guy.” He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Apparently he’s a bigger ass than me. They call me Swat, now.” He puckered his lips and nodded. “I like that name. ”

Clock’s smile held no humour. “I know that you run the swat teams. I still need that favour.”

Swat’s smile faded as he nodded, looking Clock up and down. “Close the door.” Clock shut it. Swat gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.” Clock sat down. There was a short pause. “You still owe me one favour, you know? Since you punched Red-Mane in the face and I said nothing.”

“I know, and I’ll repay you when you need it,” Clock said. “But I need this, and it has to be out of the books, command can’t know.”
Swat laughed. “Oh, they never can, can they? Every favour is out of the books as I understand.” Clock said nothing, but maintained a stare. “Yes, then this will be out of the books. What’d you need?”

“An armoured team. Guns and bullets, the lot.”

Swat leaned back in his chair, running a hoof through his mane. “That’s a lot to ask. You don’t just send out an entire swat team out of the books.”

“Fake a call, send them to me instead, do whatever you want,” Clock said. “And if it goes to plan, it can go back in the books.”

“Ah, so you don’t want somepony to know that the swat team is on its way, and they have eyes in here.” Clock nodded. “I miss having to sneak you into an interrogation room to punch that bitch. Things were simpler then.” He paused. “It’s her, isn’t it? That Red-Mane.” Clock nodded again. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Silver.”

“Will you do it, Swat?” Clock asked.

“Yeah, but I’ll need details.”

“Print needs to survive. Everypony else is expendable, myself included. But before that there’s just one more thing,” Clock said. His eyes scanned the cabinet at the back of the room. Marksmanship trophies stared back. “You still a good shot?”

* * *

Clock walked through the rain. He was thoroughly soaked and had been for the past half-hour. The industrial district, as he had imagined, was silent. The setting sun tinted the sky red, bathing the warehouses. He walked past warehouse sixteen.

“It all ends tonight,” he said if only for himself. Swat would be on the roof of sixteen. His shot would mark the attack, and the giants would fall. Red-Mane and Greenbill would fall. Just as planned.

He turned into the alleyway alongside warehouse seventeen. The door was left ajar allowing light from inside to pour into the alleyway. He took a deep breath and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was Red-Mane. She was tied to a chair, her hooves behind her back. Only the left half of her face was illuminated. Then he saw Print, and then Clue. They were both bound to separate chrome tables. Print was gagged but looked unharmed. Clue, he could tell, had not fared so well. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his lip was bust.
Greenbill stood in the centre of the room. He held a revolver, resting the barrel against his head. Hen was surrounded by five of his guards. Each guard held a rifle. If Greenbill was planning on just dealing with Clock, five guards was a lot. If Greenbill had expected him to plan something, five guards weren’t going to be enough. It was likely that Greenbill’s ego had played a large part in there being few guards, and his paranoia played a part in their being more than two. He was, after all, a drug lord. He was untouchable legally. Why would he need a guard when the police don’t kill? He had expected Clock to make a move.

“Welcome, Clock,” Greenbill said. “You arrived in good time as well. That’s good. I want to finish this before late. So, there she is.” He gestured to Red-Mane with the revolver. She remained silent, maintaining a stare at Clock. “Scary, isn’t she.” He walked over to her and stroked a hoof through her mane. “But useful. Zephyr, give Clock a knife.”

One of the guards placed her gun down and walked toward Clock. When she was close, she drew a knife and flipped it casually so the handle pointed toward him. In an instant, Clock grabbed the knife, and the mare by the shoulder, turning her to face Greenbill with the knife to her throat. SHe resisted and struggled at first. She squeaked and froze as the steel was pressed into her flesh. It wasn’t enough to draw blood yet.

Come on, Swat. Take the shot, Clock thought. This was the time to shoot. There was a pregnant silence. Swat must be hold up, or he was having trouble outside.

“What is this Clock?” Greenbill asked. “I give you Red-Mane. Take her. Please just take her out of my hooves.”

“I want Print and Clue released,” Clock said, his voice low.

Greenbill frowned. “You are in no position to make a request.”

“I’ll kill her unless you free them.”

Greenbill cocked his head. “You will?” He raised the revolver and fired. His aim was remarkable from that range and he hadn’t even looked down the sight. The mare’s head rolled back as the top half blew away. Her body became dead weight and Clock dropped it, cringing as he was sprayed with her gore. “No, I don’t think you have that card to play anymore.” He laughed. “I don’t think you deserve Red-Mane anymore. I offer her to you in charity, out of the kindness of my heart as I honoured this debt, and you do this to me?” He shook his head. “Take her away.” Red-Mane’s chair was pulled backward into the shadow.

“We had a deal Greenbill,” he said. He stepped forward. The remaining guards pointed their guns at him. Greenbill raised a hoof.

“We did,” he said. “And you tried this shit!” He pointed to the body of the mare. “You did that to her.” Clock said nothing. “I’m going to make you a deal Clock, because our old one is no longer active. If you don’t comply, I’ll take Red-Mane with me to Manehatten, and she’ll spend the rest of her days in the dense metropolis killing seven a night, until you top yourself. Because I’ll make sure you don’t catch her in the big city.”

“Why would she let that happen?” Clock asked. “Why would she choose that over killing me?”

“Because she hates you,” he said with a smile. “And their deaths are more pain to you than your own.” Clock felt part of himself slip. At one time, each death by Red-Mane was personal. On some level, it still was, but it was no longer painful. He thought back to the bar. When the seven died, his first thought was that there were three more officers who couldn’t catch Red-Mane. He was cold now. Red-Mane had made him cold.

There was a long pause before Clock spoke. “What do you want?”

“I want you to kill Clue,” he said. His voice held endless joy.

Print screamed through her gag and pulled on her restraints. Clock grimaced. She wouldn’t fight if she knew he wouldn’t do it. He was cold and Print knew it too. Clock turned toward Clue. The stallion was looking down at the floor. If he killed Clue, he could kill Red Mane. Simple. One death for another.

“Please…Silver,” Print said. Clock turned. The gag had fallen from her chin. Greenbill made no movement to fix that. Her voice was coarse. “Don’t kill him.”

“But I’ll never get her again. I’ll lose my chance and others will die.” He didn’t care about the others. Not anymore. Red Mane had to die because she had killed his brother. Golden’s statue still stood in Canterlot while his killer was loose. No, she had to die. He had to end this. He only had to kill one and then it Red-Mane was his. Then it was over.

Clock turned back toward Clue.

“We’ll catch her,” Print said. “We’ll find her and…” Her voice broke into a wretched sob. “If you do this you’re no better than her.”
Clock paused. He remembered why he had stood next to Twilight’s body when her parents were there. He was a face to blame. Maybe that was his virtue, to do what others couldn’t for the greater good. He had to be a monster to stop a greater monster. He stopped at Clue’s side.

Clue sang. It was sombre song, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re bad, he will catch you. If you fall, he will catch you. Through
it all, he’s the greatest. Of them all, he is Silver Clock.”

Clock recognised that song from his fan club from all those years ago. He had changed since then. He was cold. But he knew that even if his mind grew dull from the things he had done—even if he was condemned for his crimes he would keep going like a zombie until he was stopped or killed. One goal: to end Red-Mane. He was close now. Even if he died in the end, even if he was imprisoned or hanged for these murders he had to. Swat wouldn’t take the shot, maybe he wasn’t there. He owed Clock nothing after all.

He raised the knife. Print shouted something but he didn’t hear the words. The knife fell into Clue’s throat. The blood erupted from his mouth and poured down his neck. He raised the knife again. Droplets of ichor landing on his face then he plunged it down again, this time into the chest. Clue’s eyes went wide and after a moment they glazed. The lustre of life extinguished in his eyes. They stared at Clock: the idol he grew up wanting to become. Clock soaked it up. He was a monster: a face to blame.

Print was screaming and shouting and crying. She thrashed at her restraints. “I’ll kill you Clock! I’ll make sure you’re hanged you fucking murderer!” she wailed. He looked her and didn’t blink. Cold. A long few minutes followed. Print cried, and Clock waited. Maybe Swat would take the shot now, but nothing came.

“Quite a show, Clock,” Greenbill said. “Here’s your prize.” His voice became hard. “Both of you.”

The ropes around Red-Mane fell loose and she stood from the chair, a knife clutched in her hoof. Clock’s jaw gaped. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t what he had wanted. He was supposed to kill Red-Mane. He had killed Clue so he could kill Red Mane. She shouldn’t put up a fight. She ran toward him, closing the distance quickly. Greenbill raised the revolver to Print’s head. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

A shot was fired. The window of the far wall erupted and glass rained down on the guards. Greenbill fired the revolver as a bullet punched a hole in his skill. He began to fall, dead before he hit the ground. His shot grazed Print’s cheek, but did no more. The single door was kicked open and the swat team ran in. There was a brief firefight, but the remaining four guards stood little chance against the eight that poured in.

Red-Mane was on him. She lashed out and he jumped back. The stab went across his face and he screamed. He lost the vision as pain erupted across his face. He lost the vision in one eye nas warm, sticky blood poured down his face. Red-Mane turned ready to stab again. She was tackled to the ground by one of the armoured officers. She began stabbing him in the back and he howled. One of the other officers fired. Two bullets went into her foreleg holding the knife and another into her shoulder. She wailed, dropping the knife as two more restrained her and tried to help the other officer.

And like that, it was over.

Clock was trying to feel his eye and wipe away the blood. A hoof fell on his shoulder. Swat looked down toward him. “Sorry for the delay,” he said. “Turns out Greenbill had ponies in my department too. Had several attempts to stop me and more for the team. Also, I’m apparently fired now so…” He pulled Clock to his hooves. “I’m sure it was just a heat of the moment kind of thing.” Clock laughed, despite the agony in his eye. It hurt to touch and he couldn’t wipe away the blood. “And, I’m sorry.” Clock tried to turn to face him but was forcefully stopped. He felt cold metal click around his hooves. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Detective Clue. I saw what you did.”

“Then why didn’t you fire?” Clock demanded. “You could have saved both of us!”

Swat said simply. “I wasn’t ready to shoot. The rest of the team hadn’t arrived and I doubt either of us would survive long enough to save Print.” Clock remembered his words from the night before. She has to survive. Everypony else was expendable.

The giants had all fallen, and he was arrested. He had won.

He was taken out the warehouse with Swat holding onto his shoulder. It had taken monster to do what others would not. Had had won, but he felt cold.