> Starlight Over Detrot: The Detection Chronicles
>  by Daemon McRae
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Hell in a Handbasket, for One Low Price
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Starlight Over Detrot: The Detection Chronicles

Chapter One: Hell in a Handbasket, for One Low Price!

It’s days like this I wish I drank. I’d had plenty of opportunity to, no doubt. There’s no shortage of alcohol in my line of work. What there is now is a shortage of ponies willing to do their damn jobs. Especially while sober. And with some of the shit you see, crawling around on the underbelly of the world? You sober up pretty damn quickly anyway. Of course, it helps that my assistant constantly reminds me that I couldn’t afford a drinking habit even if I wanted to. Damn fiscal responsibility.

Of course, even as I stared at the newspaper and prayed for a whiskey or a gin and tonic, I realized it wouldn’t do me much good. There’s not a whole lot you can do to bring somepony back. Especially not booze.

The headline in front of me read, suite simply: Hard Boiled Junior: Dead and Gone. I couldn’t believe it. The article went on to explain that he’d walked into a casino armed to the teeth, and came out dead. Nopony really knew what happened. I sure as hell didn’t want to know.

I didn’t know Hard Boiled or his father personally. But hell yes I’d heard of them. Everypony anywhere near a badge had. Not that I had a badge. I’m a Private Detective, license and everything. My name is Eye Spy. Pegasus Detective at your service.

Now, I don’t doubt that you haven’t heard of me. Not because I do such a good job at staying anonymous, or that I have some big mysterious past or anything. I’m just not a very big name in the business. Almost all of the work I get is junk jobs that other, much bigger agencies and firms get that they really don’t want to do themselves. The closest thing I have to a big job is being on retainer for Lock, Stock, and Barrel Law Associates. They knew the law, and I knew enough about it to get around it. I try to keep everything legal, but then, if I could, a bunch of well-to-do lawyers wouldn’t need an expendable guy like me, would they?

My job is usually pretty simple. Somepony’s doing something they shouldn’t, and I gotta prove it. Not very glamorous, but I like to think I have a decent lifestyle. Even if I have to take shit jobs to keep my secretary walking out on me.

I was just mulling over what she would think about this when I heard the bell over the office door ring. This early, it could only have been one unicorn: Paperweight. My beloved secretary. “Greetings, sunshine!” I yelled from the back office, while I drank from a cup of coffee. I didn’t want her to know right away something was wrong.

“Sweet Luna! Don’t DO that!” I heard her screech. A few moments later my office door squeaked open and she walked in. She’d made sure to do herself up nice this morning, like always. Her sky blue mane came down in curls around her ears, and just past her chin. I noticed she’d decided to wear the light yellow dress today, which went well with her royal blue coat. That usually meant she’d woken up at least somewhat differently. You know how some ponies say their girlfriends should wear mood rings? My secretary’s closet does that for me. “What the hell…” she panted a little, still shaken. She’s rather jumpy, this filly. “What are you doing here so early? And weren’t you in Coltcoun for a week tracking down that unfaithful stallion?”

“I just got back last night. And imagine the first piece of news I get to read…” I threw the paper at the table in front of her, and it span so that it faced her when it stopped. Oh, I’m SO good. Well, she did stop it from falling off the table, but still. The spin was cool.

“Yeah, I heard about this over the wire a few days ago. I can’t believe it. At first I thought that bitch Police Chief finally did him in. But they’re saying he went on an unauthorized raid and bit it,” she sighed, moving the paper off to the edge of the table, and trotting over to the coffee machine.

I should have figured that she’d have a few days to deal with this. Hard Boiled was the closest thing this city had to truly honest and determined cops, and his son wasn’t far from it. I mean, Junior had been known to work with some truly outrageous lots, but it was all for the answer. When I’d heard about the drug lab he’d busted I was more surprised by the fact that he’d ran muzzle first into a contaminated zone. Not by much, mind you.

Paperweight trotted over with her cup of coffee, her horn glowing while the cup floated beside her. She pulled the paper to her and kept reading. “How much you want to bet they’re not telling us everything?”

I rolled my eyes. “If I knew someone stupid enough to take that bet I could pay your salary for a year.”

She glanced sideways at me. “Speaking of pay…” She looked across the room at my hoodie, more specifically the envelope sticking out of the front pocket. I'd tried trenchcoats before. Everyone pegs you as a cop or P.I. right away. Hoodies? Just some punk walking around. Plus it’s a hell of a lot cheaper and easier to clean.

I looked at the same envelope. “But… but. Can’t I just hold it a little longer?” Extra cash was so rare nowadays. I knew as soon as Paperweight got a hold of it I’d never see it again. All our bills would be paid, but that’s about it.

“You want spare cash? Do more jobs.” She floated the envelope to her, and her coffee followed her and my money out the door. “I’m going to the bank. We’ve got some paperwork to do when you get back, but before then…” she jabbed a hoof at a stack of files sitting on my desk that I’d blatantly ignored since I got here. “Have a case picked out before I get back or I’m buying the cheap coffee this time.”

My head hung somewhere around my ankles, while my wings covered my face. I grumbled something incoherent.

“What was that?” Paperweight challenged.

“I said YES MOOOOOOM.”

Thank god the coffee cup was empty at that point because it really hurt.

--------

Now, I’m not the greatest detective in the world. Flying helps with spying, yes. So does the apparently superior vision we pegasi have. Most ponies who end up becoming detectives are cops for a while. They have certain… instincts. Something I lack. I tried being a cop. I failed out of the psych evaluation. Twice. And that’s all you get. I could do the physical just fine. I had a community college degree in Criminal Justice, so I knew some basics. But apparently, according to the Municipality of Detrot, something’s wrong with my head. Maybe it’s too pretty, I don’t know.

But I’d wanted to fight crime since I was old enough to understand what crime was. I grew up in a not very nice portion of the city. Nothing like the murderous rampages that take up some of the gang-owned territories, or the red light districts. Just not the best neighborhoods. So we got robbed. A few times. And every time, the cops said the same thing: “We’ll look into it.” I wasn’t stupid. I knew ponies were dying everywhere. I knew they had more work to do than look into some jacked jewelry and stuff. But I’d heard it so many times.

Like I said. Not a nice neighborhood.

So I’d decided that I would grow up, be a cop, and ACTUALLY look into it when ponies needed help. I’d be the colt that would take all the crap cases just so ponies could sleep at night. So I studied. Just enough to give me an edge in the academy. Which I never got to.

But that didn’t stop me. I became a private detective. Still doing the crap jobs so ponies could sleep at night. Except for one thing: 7-year old me didn’t put together that crap jobs meant crap pay. So here I found myself, looking over a huge stack of runaway wives, lost kids, missing stuff, and failing divorces. I was just about to play eeny-meeny-miney-mo when the phone rang.

“Yellow?” I said. Paperweight would have killed me. She has this greeting that she wants me to do, and even has it written down. Of course, when she first explained it, I wasn’t really paying attention.

“…Paperweight’s not here, is she?” Said a familiarly smooth voice on the other end. The kind of liquid tones that ooze down the back of your mind. Like a tar pit with a For Sale sign on it.

“No, Inkblot, she’s not. Why do you ask?” I didn’t really have any problems talking to the guy, aside from the fact that his voice felt like velvet spiders.

“Because if she heard you greeting potential clients with colors she’d dye your coat pink,” he grumbled, the slightly rocky edge to his voice seeming more natural. Rarely a voice he used with people he didn’t know.

I glanced down at my brown coat and straw-yellow mane and shuddered. “Gaahhhh don’t DO that.”

“Anywho, niceties aside, I have a job for you.”

“Oh thank Luna.” Inkblot was the face of Lock, Stock, and Barrel. Just the ponies I love to hear from when I need money.

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t heard what the job is,” the gravelly tone hadn’t left his voice. Something pretty bad must have happened if we wasn’t even trying to keep his composure. I could feel his headache from here.

I straightened in my chair, in an attempt to brace myself. However much good it would do. “What the hell happened?”

“You know how you keep saying you’d always like to solve a murder investigation?” Oh, shit.

“Ummm, yeah? But wait, don’t you have other detectives for that stuff?” I sipped more of my coffee to give myself something to do. This wasn’t going to go well.

“Oh, that’s the funny part. You’re the only detective we have on retainer that ISN’T a suspect, thanks to your time in the tropics.” Every word made it more and more obvious that he wished that wasn’t the case.

“Fine. What happened?” Incoming…

“Barrel is dead.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. I mean, I hadn’t even really known the guy. I didn’t think anypony did. The leaders of the firm just kind of kept to themselves. But that was a whole third of the company just… gone. Who knows what the hell they’d do after this. Finally, after a little grunting on the other end of the line that quite obviously meant ‘Well?’ I said, “Where do you want me?”

He gave me some instructions, and after some customary condolences and goodbyes, we hung up.

I’d just finished packing up my bag and my gear, which unfortunately meant fighting with my gun holster, the damn thing, when Paperweight walked back in with a small bag of receipts. “Oh, good, you found a job. Which one? The missing grandfather clock? Or the colt who ran off to Shireland? Or…” she sighed, dipping her head, “You picked the one about the colt who thinks his wife is cheating on him with other mares, didn’t you?”

Dammit, I should have. “No. Inkblot called.”

She perked up. “Oh, sweet baby Luna save us. About time. …Spy? What’s wrong?”

So I told her. “We have a case. Barrel is dead and I’m the only P.I. they DON’T suspect.”

The bag dropped out of the air, and floated softly to the ground. “Are… you serious?”

“Get your coat. We’re going Uptown.”

-----

“I still don’t know why you wanted me to come with you,” Paperweight sighed. We’d just pulled up to the parking lot of LS and B in her little scootabout. Or, that’s what she called it. I called it Discord on wheels.

“Number one? I can’t drive. Number two? I can’t afford a taxi. And number three…” I trailed off. She gave me a sideways look. “Inner strength.”

Her expression softened, and she nodded.

Let me clear something up. Paperweight and I aren’t together. That’d make things a whole lot messier. But she knows, and I know, that there’s no way I could do this job alone. The paperwork would kill me by itself. And she likes the job, funny enough. She says it gives her purpose. But the truth behind it is, sometimes I do get the nasty jobs. Not the cheap crap-pay ones, but the gruesome, ‘Who could do that to a pony?’ jobs. And that’s where I really need her.

Truth be told, I’m not great with murderers. Dead bodies? I’ve seen enough to have a tolerance. Not just in the morgue (which I avoid like the Cutie Pox, thank you), but fresh kills. I’ve seen quite a few. More people have than should, in Detrot. 

No, my problem is dealing with somepony that can willingly take somepony else’s life. Probably the real reason I never made it to the academy was that I couldn’t fathom the thought of taking somepony’s life. So I dedicated myself to answers instead of guns.

Why I still carry one I have no idea. I just use it to scare people, and there are easier ways to do that.

We made our way to the entrance, and paused. I’d been here more than a handful of times, and had gotten used to the ornate grandeur of it all: the marble columns, the huge glass double doors, the fancy writing that spelled out the firm’s name on the front. The building was rather massive, I’ll admit. Easy to get lost in.

But it’s something else to walk into a place you’re used to when there’s crime scene tape over everything. I introduced myself to the griffin at the front door, a fellow I’d met before by the name of Sykes. “Greetings. I’m Detective Spy and this is my assistant, Paperweight. We’ve been called here by the owners.

“Oi heard they was sendin’ summat ter take a look. Yer that lil’ detective fella’ then?” He looked very much like I’d be delicious. I didn’t want to find out.

“Yes.” I tried to keep myself very stable. Griffins always freak me out.

“Well, git. Go on in. They’s be waitin’ for ya.” He seemed very much like he’d rather be somewhere else.

Paperweight gave him a pleasant nod and a wink as we walked in. What she liked about Griffins I have no idea.

But I could practically hear him raise his eyebrows. I certainly heard the unmistakable growl of libido. “Paper, would you stop flirting while we’re on the job? You’re here to help, not hump.”

“Oh please, Spy. This coming from the colt with the Zebra fetish,” she gave me a sarcastic raised eyebrow and walked a bit faster.

I massaged the bridge of my nose with my wing. “…can we just NOT have this conversation in a crime scene? Please?”

“That would be much appreciated,” said an oily voice from right next to me.

“Sweet Luna on a pogo stick! Don’t DO that!” I yelped, jumping back.

Inkblot just smiled. The stallion wore a black and white three-piece suit to go with his black coat and white mane. Which for some reason he insisted on dying black stripes into.

And ponies say I have a Zebra fetish…

“If you continue to tell me all the things I am not allowed to do around you, Mr. Spy, our social interactions would be severely limited.” Oh good, the oily creepy voice was back. Looks like he’d managed to compose himself just enough to lose the normal in his voice.

“Just show me the dead guy…” I grumbled. I could tell this was going to be a fantastic day full of bullshit.

His eyebrow twitched, no doubt at the callous tone in my voice. And probably me calling Mr. Barrel “The Dead Guy”. “I want you to know that you being here is not my decision. If it were up to me I would have put someone entirely new on retainer to handle this matter.”

I looked around at all the cops. “Why the hell AM I handling this matter, anyway? There’s a dozen cops here-MMMF.”

Paperweight glared at me over the hoof in my mouth. “Spy, be a dear and don’t question the ponies TRYING TO GIVE US MONEY.”

Inkblot gave her an approving look. “Very good. Now, please get in,” he said, pressing an elevator door. I hadn’t even realized we’d crossed the lobby all the way. Apparently I can walk just fine chewing on somepony’s hoof, and Paper has the three-legged walk down pat.

We climbed in, and Paper let go of my face. We sat in silence, save for the elevator music, until the top floor. I wasn’t really in a mood to say anything with Paperweight only a buck away from my tender bits. Once we got out of the elevator, I had to stop. I’d made it only a few steps in when I froze.

It was the most surreal, grotesque thing I’d ever seen. The room itself was a no-expense-spared lounge with red velvet, gold trim, and mahogany finish everywhere. It practically screamed money. A large, round room with a circular chaise lounge set neatly into a depression in the floor, it was designed so that nopony would have a seat up on anypony else: the illusion of equality. The large, well-stocked bar in the back looked like it was normally tended at all hours, and there was even a piano in the corner. This was obviously where the owners entertained high-end clientele and held parties.

Except the piano was wide open, and trashed. The bar was covered in spilled booze, and missing bottles. And the lounge…
Above the lounge hung Barrel. Strung up by piano wire like a marionette, with his blood pooling in the floor below him. Some of it had dried. He’d been there a while. But not that long. Broken bottles stuck out of every major joint: somepony had broken them in half and stabbed them into his elbows, his shoulders, his knees, his hips, and his neck. This wasn’t just a petty financial crime. This screamed personal at the top of its lungs.

Cops hustled about the room, and I slipped into some crime-scene horseshoes before going any further. I’d gotten maybe two steps when a rather pretty, if somewhat older, mare approached me. She’d be stunning if her white dress wasn’t in tatters, her mascara hadn’t run all over her white coat, and her blonde mane wasn’t a total wreck. But even completely distraught and frayed, Stock Broke was still a sight. “Oh… Eye Spy. Th-thank you for c-c-coming,” she said between sobs. I’d have gone to hug her, but Paperweight got there first.

“We’re going to do everything we can to help, Ms. Broke. Now, please, tell us what you know…” she said gently. She pulled out a pad of paper and a pen from Goddess knows where, and let them set off to the side, writing on their own via unicorn magic.

I just nodded at the distraught law partner, and she nodded back. “I don’t know much. Lockdown found him, and called me up. We had just gotten back from a meeting with a client who was looking to expand his business. I… I can’t believe he’s…” And she broke down into tears.

I gave her a brief pat on the back, and left Paperweight to look after her. Stock had collapsed into Paper’s hooves, and was crying softly.

I made my way as close to the actual scene as I dared get without contaminating anything. A cop from Equicide came up to me. “Look, I know they called you here to look into this personally, and to be honest…” he glanced a bit side to side. During his pause I gave him a once over. A red colt with a blue mane, and a cutie mark of a gavel. I didn’t recognize him. “To be honest we need all the help we can get. With Hardy down the department’s pretty shaken, and there’s a lot of resources being put into finding the guy who offed him. Even his partner’s gone AWOL.”

“I’ll do what I can, Detective…” I waited for his name.

“Detective Longarm. I think I’ve heard about you. Eye Spy, right?” I nodded. “Nice to meet you. I wish I could say your reputation precedes you…”

“Don’t worry about it. Somepony has to do shit work.” I nodded, and he went back to work.

I just stared at the scene.

Now, you’re most likely asking what makes me a competent detective. I’m no great shakes and don’t pretend to be, but there is one thing I’m very good at: patterns. It’s my Special Talent. A ridiculous attention to detail and a photographic memory make it very easy to see things most ponies don’t. Or just don’t want to. So I stared at the body. The missing bottles on the shelf. The piano missing wires with a broken frame. I looked at the joints in the victim. The blood pooling. Even the way he was hung. And one thing was very obvious.

“You’ve done this before you absolute psychopath.”
> Stare Into the Void, and the Void Stares Back.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2: Stare Into the Void, and the Void Stares Back

“You’ve done this before, you absolute bastard.” I growled a little at the display, recognizing the kind of handiwork that comes with meticulous practice.

Paperweight trotted up behind me. “Spy? What’s up?”

I ignored her and turned to a cop taking notes and bagging some debris nearby. “Pardon.”

The officer looked up. It was Longarm. “Yes?”

“Have you had any other scenes like this? Strung up, stabbed repeatedly? Stage dressing?” I pointed at the different parts of the display as I spoke, and his eyes followed.

He recognized the pattern in my questioning quickly. “You think he’s done this before?”

“I think this isn’t something you get done right on the first try. Look at how the bottles are pushed in,” I moved for him to look closer at the victim’s… Barrel’s, joints. “You see how there’s no indication of fractured bone? Just rendered flesh, right? He dug the glass into the joints and through the tendons. Even with basic know-how that takes some doing, and doing it this well isn’t just beginner’s luck.”

Paperweight looked back and forth between us. “You mean like a serial killer?”

I thought about that. “No, not a serial killer. But he was getting ready for this. So he’s probably recreated this scene over and over to make sure he got it right. This is more than just personal. This is long, drawn out and vindictive. The guy had probably been planning this for a long time. It’s almost ritualistic, if not for the lack of any occult symbols."

Longarm took a closer look. “You’re right. We haven’t been here that long, so nopony’s tried taking him down yet. We’re waiting for someone from the Coroner’s Office to get here.” He paused, seeing my alarmed look. “Oh Celestia no. They’re not sending HIM. Just somepony to collect the body, make an initial evaluation, and get him down there.” ‘There’ being the morgue. “Speaking of which, how did you get here so damn quick? We hadn’t even made a public statement. The news is just now getting wind of this.” I told him about the call from Inkblot, and how I’d been hired to investigate. “Yeah, I knew about that. But why would he call you so damn quick? We haven’t even finished processing the scene yet. I mean, no offense, but from what I’ve heard you’re barely qualified to be here by virtue of knowing not to touch anything.”

I shrugged. “I tried to ask, myself, but somepony who’s checks I write told me not to ask questions about why we were getting paid to be here.” Paperweight just glanced at the floor, then the ceiling, whistling innocently.

Longarm rolled his eyes. “I know the feeling. As soon as there’s money involved almost nopony asks questions. Unless it’s going a direction they don’t want. Ok, so you said Inkblot called you. I haven’t seen him since we first got here, though.”

“Oh, he came up… with… us…” I trailed off as I turned to point at the elevator. There was no indication of him in the room. Hell, I wasn’t even sure he’d walked out of the elevator with us. Paperweight trotted off to try and find him. “That’s weird. So, how long ago did you get the call?”

“About two hours ago. We got here maybe twenty minutes after that. Captain Jade practically shot us out of the office in a glass cannon.” He flipped through his note pad to look at some earlier info. “Yeah, maybe about… nine a.m.?”

I looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. And Inkblot had called us maybe an hour ago. But something still bothered me. I just couldn’t put a hoof on it. “So, what did it look like when you got here? Was there anypony else in the room?”

Longarm thought about that for a minute. “I wasn’t first on the scene, so I couldn’t tell you. Sykes was. Absolutely livid about it, too. He wanted to be out looking for Hardy’s killer. I’m starting to think he’s gonna leave and go out and do just that for the simple fact that the only pony crazy enough to stop him is Jade. When I got here though, it was pretty chaotic. I think Barrel was the only owner here, though. I know Stock got here an hour or so after we did and nearly exploded in tears when she saw him.”

I looked again at the body, some little niggly feeling still tickling the back of my mind. And not in a good way. “So where’s Lock?” Lockdown, the original owner of the firm. Stern son of a bitch, and never left the office that I knew of. Having not seen him yet actually surprised me.

“We’ve not seen him, either. I was actually considering putting out an APB for him. Look, you might want to stand back, they’re about to cut him down.” He motioned to a group of newly-arrived ponies in medical uniforms pulling up a gurney and getting some wire cutters out. The had to set the gurney aside to keep the blood from dripping on it while they got a ladder out to reach the piano wire holding him up.

The still… dripping… blood. “Shit. I KNEW something was wrong.”

Longarm gave me a look. “What? Did you see something?”

“Yeah, so did you. We just didn’t process it properly. Look at the pool of blood.” I pointed a hoof at the stain in the carpet.

He squinted his eyes to see it. “Yeah, ok.”

“Now look at the body.” I pointed up. His eyes followed.

“Ok, what am I missing? I mean, it’s a mess, yeah.” Longarm looked a little confused. I didn’t blame him. I only thought about it when I realized the niggly feeling in the back of my head was the sound of blood still dripping. Two hours after the guy was reported dead.

“You see where all those cuts are? He’d drain out pretty fast, yeah?” Longarm nodded. A look crossed his face of mixed confusion and slow realization. He was getting there. “Then let me ask you this. Why is he still dripping blood?”

Longarm put a hoof to his mouth. “Oh. Oh sweet Celestia. You mean he was…”

“Check his throat for gags and run a tox panel later for sedatives. There’s no way that many deep cuts in that many vital areas would drip for that long. I hate to tell you, Longarm. But he was still alive when you got the call. And he was probably still alive when you got here.” Impressively, the detective didn’t look queasy. Just upset. It’s one thing to walk in on a murder. It’s another to realize the guy died while you were in the room.

“But then, the guy who called it in…” He was starting to put more of it together. In fact, I hadn’t even gotten that far. But I could see where he was going.

“I think you’re right, if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking. The guy who called it in is probably your killer.” I looked around the room. “Ok, so you know how I said this wasn’t a serial killing, that it was personal? Stored up, practiced for, just for this guy?”

Longarm nodded. He was taking notes, and waved an officer over. A young mare trotted up to him. “I want a recording of the 911 call brought to the lab for voice analysis. Have them call me.” She nodded, gave me a sideways glance that said ‘The hell is he doing here?’, but decided to leave it alone. Instead, she ran off, presumably to a phone. Longarm gave me a look. “Ok, can I just ask, while I’m thinking about it, why the hoodie? Why not a long coat or something?”

“Because everyone and their dog who investigates crime wears long coats and they’re damn expensive. Plus I don’t need a hat.” I glanced over at the bar, and noticed something odd. I waved at Longarm to follow me and trotted over. He followed, and glanced over to what I was staring at. “Hey, Detective. How many bottles do you see missing?”

He counted. “Nine. One each for the elbows, knees, and shoulders. One in each hip. One in the neck. Why?”

I leaned in. “Look closer.”

He did. And I think he saw it too, but I couldn’t be sure. I heard him counting under his breath. There, in the rows and rows of drinks, were ten circles in the dust. And one of them seemed… wrong. Somehow. Different. “Why is that one circle so damn tiny?” Longarm asked nopony in particular.

I was about to ponder that when I heard somepony behind me call out: “Detective?! You might want to see this!” We both turned around. It was one of the medical ponies, and he was standing near the vic’s head. They’d laid him out on the gurney.

We trotted over. And soon found the tenth, much thinner bottle.

Longarm swallowed. “Well, now I know why he didn’t make any sound.”

-------

Paperweight drove us in silence behind Longarm’s police cruiser. He’d asked us to follow him back to the station once the scene had been processed. She glanced over after a few quite minutes and asked, “Something the matter, boss?”

I pondered a bit, and decided just to think out loud. It usually helped, even if Paperweight sometimes had no idea what I was on about. “What bothers me is how damn fast Inkblot called us in. It’s bad enough that Barrel, rest his soul, was still alive when the cops got there, or at least likely to have been.”

“Maybe Inkblot saw all the cops pulling up, not having heard the news yet. And when they told him about the murder he called you? The timing fits,” she offered, not unhelpfully.

“Maybe. But why did he call me so damn quick? There’s just something about it that’s bugging me. He said…” and something clicked. Or at least, a cog turned. It wasn’t an answer, but at least now I knew the question to ask: “How did he know that he couldn’t trust any of the detectives he had on retainer less than an hour after finding out about the murder? I can think of at least three of his trusted P.I.’s that he’d call first.”

Paperweight mused a bit. “Wait a minute. Didn’t he say if it was his choice he’d have called a new detective entirely? So who told him to call you? Maybe Stock did?”

I was surprised at that. “That’s right, it wasn’t his decision. But Stock couldn’t have told him. Longarm said that she didn’t get there until an hour after they did. And we got called maybe half an hour before that…” I trailed off.

“What are you thinking, boss?” Paperweight had that look on her face that just screamed ‘Tell me tell me tell me’.

“I think we need to find Lockdown once we’re done at the station.” Speak of the devil. I’d no sooner finished my sentence than she’d pulled into the parking lot and landed a neat little spot near the entrance. I swear if I hadn’t seen her do paperwork I’d swear her Special Talent was parking.

We dragged ourselves out of the car and followed a recently parked Longarm into the station. He looked at Paperweight’s parking spot, then at Paperweight.

“Don’t ask,” I told him, before he could open his muzzle. “Ok, so the ponies from the coroner’s office left before we did. Any chance they’re already done?” I asked hopefully.

Longarm laughed hollowly. “I wish. I don’t want to go down there any more than you do. But we need answers.”

I shuddered. Anypony who was anypony who knew anypony in law enforcement stayed away from the morgue. Or, more specifically, the mortician. Slip Stitch. “Can I just wait here?”

Longarm gave me a smile that reminded me of griffins I’d pissed off. “You want in on this investigation? You gotta suck it up like everypony else, bronco. Look, we still need to talk to Evidence first, so you at least have some time to prepare yourself.”

Paperweight gave me a supportive pat on the back while we made our way inside.

And I remembered why I hated the goddess damned DPD. Oh, I love the cops. I think they do great work. Most of them. I think this city would implode without them. Most of them. It’s the building I hate. HATE.

More specifically, the File Cloud. It roared unpleasantly above my head like a tornado full of firearms and paper cuts. I’d heard horror stories about the thing. Like it going out of control. Or being used as a raging thunderstorm during Halloween. As well as ponies disappearing into the unholy thing and being seen weeks later covered in lacerations and red tape. Literally.

And then a heavenly voice from the clouds echoed across the room. And I remembered why I loved the DPD. The cops, not the building. “Hey, Esp! If you’re going to stand there all day can I decorate you?”

I looked across the room at Radiophic Telegraphica. AKA Telly. AKA the best set of flanks I’d ever seen. “Please don’t!” I called back. “Paperweight might charge you for it!”

She punched me in the shoulder. “Hey! What do you mean, might?!”

I raised my eyebrows into my mane at my assistant, amazed that that was what she chose to take offense to. Telly just snickered. “I’d ask if you came to flirt with little old me, but I know why you’re here. And I don’t envy you. From what I heard the guy was a mess.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t been around as much death as most of you ponies, but holy Tartarus alive was I not ready for that.”

“So why are you here? I’d think you’d want to talk to the Chief Patholigist first,” she gave me one of those ‘I’m sorry’ smiles before turning her attention from her sound board, then back to us. A couple of times. Damn she could work.

I responded with a ‘Goddess help me’ sad grin. “Well, fortunately Longarm here wants us to talk to Evidence first. Apparently the Coroner’s not done yet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you think Evidence will be? They’ve only had the stuff for like, four hours. And it’s not like they have a backlog.” A voice came over one of the headsets on her neck and she talked into a mic for a second.

Longarm nodded. “That’s why I want to get to it now. Before they do any tests on it and possibly destroy it. I want to get a good look at all that stuff outside of his body before they give it a chemical bath.”

Telly nodded. “Right.” She looked back at me, and pointed a hoof off to the corner of the rather large room. “Evidence is down that hall, downstairs. Before you go, let me ask. Have you… have you met our Forensic Analyst before?” She stopped paying attention for a minute, shouting something in a language I didn’t know into three different mics. I shook my head, and she smiled. “Ho boy, you’re gonna have fun. Don’t worry. She’s no Slip Stitch.”

“Oh thank Luna,” I pressed a hoof to my chest, which had tightened as soon as she said the word ‘fun’ like it tasted funny.

“Don’t start praying yet. Actually….” She just trailed off, and pointed at the hallway again. “GO on, git. You’re distracting me.”

I was going to say something else when I felt a warm tingle around my ear. Followed by a sharp tug. Paperweight just groaned and said “Come on.”

“Ow. Ow! Ok, Dear Goddess. I’m coming!” I shouted as she dragged me away from the instrument panel and down the hall.

Longarm just chuckled.

-------

Now, many ponies come and go through many parts of DPD headquarters, or ‘The Castle’. There’s a lot of work to be done at any given time and not enough ponies to do it. Which is why the distinct lack of anypony anywhere near the entrance to Evidence struck me as odd. “Um, Longarm? Are you sure this is the right place? Did they move?”

Longarm gave me a look and chuckled. “Oh, no. I can’t imagine anyone moving Lady’s stuff.”

“…Lady? You have royalty working for you?”

“You’re DAMN RIGHT he does! And HE works for ME!” A loud, boisterous, surprisingly youthful mare’s voice came in over a speaker above the door I hadn’t noticed before. I winced at the volume. Longarm just sighed.

“Lady, can you let us in? We need to look over the evidence from the Barrel case.”

There was silence. “Um… what just happened?” Paperweight cocked her head to the side.

Longarm waved a hoof at her. “Shush. Lady, come on, open the door.” More silence. “Oh, for the love of… To the sweet and noble Miss Lady Fluffington Stuffington the Third Esquire. We doth humbly request entry into your grand lair. Please.” Longarm drawled unenthusiastically.

It was quiet for one more moment, then the speaker came back on. “Oh sure. Be enthusiastic about it, why don’t you. Get your tight flank in here before I spank it.”

I was dying. Just rolling on the floor laughing. “Oh… oh Luna. Did you… Fluffington Stuffington?! Oh my goddess… can’t… air… not working….”

I was still laughing on the ground when the door slid open and a blur of purple something whooshed out of it, and landed on my chest. HARD. I started gasping for air when the same youthful voice I’d heard over the loudspeaker yelled from somewhere above me, “Thou DARE scoff at Her Highness’s name in front of her?!” I stopped gasping for air for a second to look up at my assailant. A small, light purple pegasus filly with a spiky, dark blue mane glared down at me. She wore a spiked collar and had black eyeliner.

Longarm sighed. “Fluff ‘n’ Stuff, get off of him. He’s the P.I. helping out with the Barrel case. We kind of want him alive.”

She glare daggers at me, then hopped off, and trotted back into the room.

I regained what composure I’d managed to maintain during my laughing fit and stood up. “Ok. Whoo. I’m sorry. I just… sorry.”

Fluff ‘n’ Stuff didn’t turn around, instead just sitting in the middle of the room, her back turned to me. I could see her Cutie Mark was similar to mine. Hers was a magnifying glass over a chalk outline. (Mine being a magnifying glass over a file folder.) I looked at Longarm, who shrugged and motioned at Fluff ‘n’ Stuff. I had an idea of what I was supposed to do. But…

I trotted a little closer, and said, “Um, Your Highness? Miss Lady Fluffington… Stuffington…” (don’t laugh don’t laugh please Luna don’t laugh)

“Esquire,” she said, without turning around.

“…Esquire. I’m sorry I laughed at your name. We could use some help. And I’m… new to addressing… royalty.” I sat quietly for a minute, hoping I’d done it right.

She turned around and considered me for a moment. “Hmmm, well, you ARE new. I can’t expect everypony to know the proper procedure for addressing The Queen of the Lab the first time. Ok, I’ll forgive you. But first, you have to do something for me.”

I smiled. “Sure, what?”

“Bow,” she said matter-of-factly.

Ok, I thought. Part of the game. I bowed, still looking up at her.

“That’s not how you do it. Your nose has to touch the floor,” she huffed.

Just play along. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” she said. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I heard her trot closer to me. I just barely registered that she was behind me when I felt a sharp pinch on my flank.

“Ow! Did you just bite me?!” I jumped away from her and turned to face the offending filly.

She just grinned wickedly at me. “Now that that’s settled,” she said, completely walking over my question, “Let’s take a look at all that shiny stuff.”

I looked to Longarm for answers. As he and Paperweight walked past me, following Fluff ‘n’ Stuff, all he told me was, “Dude, she’s older than you.”

“…what.”

“SERVANTS!” Fluff ‘n’ Stuff barked. Almost instinctively I turned and followed. I decided then that focusing on the case was much more important than worrying about the older-than-me filly who’d just goosed me with her teeth.

She led us to a huge table full of stuff from the crime scene. But something bugged me. “Um, where’s the evidence for all the other cases?”

Fluff ‘n’ Stuff, who’d taken a seat across the table from me, pointed out the door. “My loyal subjects are working all those other boring cases. This one looked nice and juicy, so I kept it all to myself.” She looked up at Longarm. “Don’t worry, Longitude, I haven’t cooked any of it yet.”

“It’s Longarm,” he grumbled, but went back to staring at the evidence. “Are these the bottles from the crime scene?”

“Yuppers,” she cooed. “Ain’t they shiny? Makes me want a drink reeeaaalll bad.”

I opened my mouth to ask a question, which apparently Longarm determined I shouldn’t, as he shut my mouth again with a hoof. I decided to look at the bottles again. Something seemed suspicious. “You laid them out alphabetically?”

She just gave me a look. “Duh.”

Right. Ok. Equinox. Two bottles of Fillyball Whiskey. Incoltnito. Ne’er Do Well Scotch. Nightshade. Two bottles of Old Colt Lager. Rider’s Rum. And a personal favorite, Umbral Spice. “Hmm…” I poked Paperweight, and pointed to her coat pocket when she looked at me.

She paused for a moment, then, realization crossed her face and she handed me a notepad.

I wrote out the brand names in order. “Equinox… Fillyball….” I could feel the others staring at me while I worked. Something seemed off, but I couldn’t put it together.

“ANYwho,” Fluff interrupted my train of thought, and I pocketed the notebook for the moment. “I want you all to take a look at this piano wire. It’s something pretty interesting.”

“What, did you find some trace on it?” Longarm asked, almost hopeful.

Fluff looked downtrodden. “Psh. No. I wish. Actually, quite the opposite.” She pointed to a table where the wire had been laid out, and anchored to keep it from curling up. There was still a lot of blood on it. “Look at the ends. Notice anything?”

I leaned in to give it a look. “…they’re all cut.”

Longarm just scoffed. “Yeah? How else did you think he’d get it out of there?”

“No, you… not like that,” I argued. “Look. Notice anything about the cuts?”

Longarm gave it a cursory glance. “Not really?”

I looked at Fluff. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question. She smiled knowingly. “The cuts are perfect. No angles. They’re straight. These are factory cuts.”

Longarm raised an eyebrow. “So what? Does that tell us what kind of tool he used?”

I sighed. “Just the opposite. You wanna tell him?” I asked Fluff.

Paperweight looked back and forth between us. “What, what is it?”

Fluff leaned on the table to stand a little taller. “It means he didn’t use a tool. He took the wires out of the piano by disassembling the thing. The guy is good. We can’t trace tool marks because he took the whole damn wire out the way it’s supposed to go.”

Longarm swore. “Damn. We got anything else?”

I took out the paper again. “There’s something to these bottles, but I can’t pin it down.”

Paperweight snatched her notepad back. I knew better than to argue. “Lemme see that. Equinox… Fillyball… Incoltni…to… oh. Oh goddess."

“What?” I asked. She’d found something, that’s for sure.

“I’ve done more than enough word games. It’s the names. He chose the bottles specifically. It’s not Equinox, Fireball, Incoltnito. The order’s wrong,” Paper explained. Fluff went back to look at the bottles. While Paper spoke, I could hear her rearranging them.

“So what’s the order?” Longarm asked.

Paperweight looked shaky, even pale, while she read it off. “Fillyball. Old Colt. Umbral. Rider’s. Old Colt. Fillyball. Ne’er Do Well-“

“-Incoltnito, Nightshade, and Equinox,” Fluff ‘n’ Stuff finished for her, her voice just as shaky.

Longarm and I trotted over to the table to see what Fluff was seeing. She’d rearranged the bottles so the labels lined up.

I felt sick. Longarm looked it. The bottles spelled out a simple message:

FOUR OF NINE.

“…Paperweight?”

“…yes Spy?”

“I was wrong. We ARE dealing with a serial killer. And he’s not even halfway done."
> Whatever Doesn't Kill You... Is Sure to Try Again
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3: Whatever Doesn’t Kill You… Is Sure to Try Again

After our revelation in Fluff’s lab, Longarm and I had decided to leave Her Highness alone with her work for a few hours. With nothing left to do but wait, I’d sent Paperweight to go talk to Telly as much as she could, and get some more information. Most likely Telly would just give her a recording of the call, but it would be more than we had than we started.

Longarm and I leaned over a table in the cafeteria, each of us a cup of coffee in our hooves. I swore I’d be pissing cocoa extract for a week after this case.

We’d sat in contemplative silence for a moment before Longarm broke the silence. “I don’t suppose you have any suspects, do you? I know you’re not exactly the murder mystery type, or at least, I don’t think so, but did anything stand out to you?”

I thought about it, and remembered what Paper and I had talked about on the way here. “Yeah, I do. One of the partners in the law firm, a stallion named Lockdown, we want to talk to him. Not so much a suspect as a ‘pony of interest.’” I explained the timing of the call, and the murder, and how nopony had seen Lockdown, a colt with a sturdy reputation for never leaving his office. “Inkblot said it wasn’t up to him to call me, and with Stock only hearing about the murder after I did, it boils down to Lockdown wanting to hire me. Why, I have no idea. I’ve only ever met the pony once.” I mulled the situation over, and laughed. “I’m actually surprised you’ve been so open with me on this case. Usually the cops hate talking to P.I.’s about ongoing investigations.”

Longarm shook his head. “Like I said, we’re so short-hooved it’s ridiculous.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not stupid, Longarm. Telling a P.I. to piss off is second nature to anyone with a badge. Even Sykes was significantly less than happy to see me.”

He looked from side to side a little, not meeting my gaze. “Well, that’s just Sykes being himself…”

“Longarm.” I said sternly. Something in my voice must have surprised him, because his head snapped up and he looked me in the eye for the first time since we started talking. “Please, don’t bullshit me. My… for lack of a better term, ‘boss’, is dead. I’m working a serial killer case with an almost absurd amount of cooperation. What’s going on?”

He looked like he was going to say something, then stopped. After a few moments, he opened his mouth again. “I honestly don’t know. You’re right about one thing. I wanted you to shove off as soon as I got here. But I’d had orders to ‘Let the P.I. through.’ I’m starting to be grateful, cause you’ve at least been helpful since you got here.”

“Orders? From who?” I took a sip of my coffee to keep from asking more questions than I needed to.

He shook his head again, this time in plain confusion. “No idea. I want to say the Captain had something to do with it, but all I know is somepony higher rank than me told me to let you in. That was maybe ten minutes after I got there.”

That couldn’t be right. “Ten minutes? I got there an hour after the call. How did some cop know they were going to call me in before it happened?”

He tapped his hoof to his chin. “Come to think of it, it wasn’t you specifically. He just said ‘Let the detective come in when he gets here, and let him help. You’re going to need it.'”

Alarm bells were going off in my head. “They didn’t even give you a name? Something’s totally bucked here.”

The officer nodded. “No argument here. I mean, who just lets a private detective have his way with a crime scene?”

“Aside from the obvious answer, ‘nopony in the history of ever’, there’s more to it. When Inkblot called me, he told me something really fishy. He said I was the only detective he knew that wasn’t a suspect. I never got a chance to ask him about that,” I explained. “Maybe we should go ask your superior what he knows.”

The officer stood up. “It couldn’t hurt. At least it gives us something to do.”

I walked my now-empty cup of coffee to the sink and left it there for somepony else to bitch about later. “Right. So what was his name?”

Longarm didn’t answer me. I turned, and saw him standing there, a dazed look on his face. “Longarm? What’s your superior’s name?”

“…I don’t remember.”

--------

The Equicide Detective and I were still trying to figure this out on our way to Chief Jade’s office. “Ok, so you can’t remember his name. What did he look like? What was his rank? We can ask the chief and see if she knows anypony who matches the description.”

The stallion ran a hoof through his blue mane. “I don’t… I have no idea what’s going on. I can’t remember anything except what he told me, and that he was higher rank. I got nothing, Spy.” He stopped in his tracks, and I stopped with him.

“What?” He pointed a hoof past my shoulder. I straightened out to see that we were at the front door of the Chief’s office. “Oh.”

Now, I’ve maybe met Chief Jade in passing, once. Passing, as in she looked at me and I got in a cab and got the hell out of there. I certainly wasn’t expecting anything pleasant this time around. I lifted up a hoof to knock on the door, but Longarm reached out and stopped me. I looked at him, and he just shook his head.

“It’s probably better if I go in first.” Oh boy.

I took a few generous steps back, and Longarm knocked on the door. There was a pause, and then from the other side. “Get in here, Detectives.”

The officer and I exchanged glances before he opened the door, and we walked in. The room was vast, and screamed efficiency. Gold paint and a big red carpet were the most noticeable features. That and the big mahogany desk that looked like every schoolfilly’s nightmare. The straight backed chairs didn’t help the image. I noticed the desk was relatively empty, save for a bowl of candy, some writing utensils, and an In/Out box with a startlingly proficient ratio of Out to In. The giant swivel chair on the other side of the desk was facing away from us, an obvious power move, so Longarm and I just sat down and waited for Luna to smack our flanks with a ruler. At least, that’s what it would have looked like to anypony else.

After a few moments of tense silence, Iris Jade, Chief of the DPD, spoke. “Longarm.”

He jumped like he’d been shot. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Would you kindly explain why you’re letting a cookie-cutter P.I. cheating-spouse-chaser work a serial killer case?” Her voice was cold and purposeful, and I think I became less of a stallion just being there.

Longarm looked like he wanted to say something, probably a clever lie, but didn’t. “A superior officer at the scene told me to grant the Private Detective full access. I didn’t want to question orders.”

The chair swiveled so hard I thought it’d break. And there she was: a stark, expertly straightened silver mane over a startling emerald coat, and matching green eyes. A perfectly tailored business suit whose creases you could cut yourself on. It wouldn’t surprise me if that wasn’t a metaphor. “A what?! A superior officer told you to let a civilian just waltz in and do whatever he wanted to a murder scene?! Who the hell was he?”

I flinched. This wouldn’t go well. “Well, ma’am,” said Longarm. “I don’t remember. I dunno his face, or his colors, or his Cutie Mark. I couldn’t even tell you what rank he was. The only thing I remember is what he told me, and that he was higher rank than me.”

Chief Jade looked ready to explode. Then, a few pieces of candy floated out of the bowl, of a shape I didn’t recognize, and she crunched on them like chicken bones. Then, almost instantly, her pupils tripled in size and her breathing stabilized.

Never take candy from strangers, kids.

“So. You mean to tell me a superior officer you can’t remember or identify told you to let this-“ she pointed at me without looking “-into a scene still being processed, and you just said Okie Dokie Loki?”

I’d be offended if I wasn’t terrified of this mare. Longarm nodded like he’d been convicted of the murder himself. Slowly, solemnly. I felt pretty bad for him. “Actually, ma’am. The… the superior officer just said ‘The Private Detective.’ He didn’t give a name. Considering Spy here is the only P.I. pony to show up, I took it to mean him. I thought it was because we were short-hooved because of Hard Boiled’s death.”

Chief Jade… I swear she must have smirked, or something. It was too fast for me to tell. Then she really let loose on him. But not in the yelling, berating kind of way. I almost wish she had. “Ok, Longarm. You think we’re understaffed? Could it have something to do with your partner being in the hospital?” He flinched with each of those last few words.  “Well congratulations. You’re getting a new partner.” She turned to me. I felt like staring down a dragon would have been a more likely guarantee that I’d see dinner. “Congratulations, Eye Spy. Oh, yes, I remember you. Passed everything in the application except the psych eval.” Out of nowhere, a thin manila file appeared, and dropped open on the desk. She glanced at it, then back at me. “Seems you have a problem dealing with… what did the report say? Ah, yes. ‘Applicant is unsuitable for field work, as they lack the mental fortitude to confront mentally unstable or violent suspects.’ But staring at a dead guy for hours is just fine with you? Well, as it just so happens,” she continued. I felt very small. “As it just so happens, I have a rather unique power left to me by some rather early legislation. Back when law enforcement wasn’t focused around officers and scientists. Do you know what that is?”

“…no.” I said meekly.

“It’s the ability to conscript deputy officers as ‘volunteers’ and assign them to any post I deem necessary. Of course, there are some restrictions, naturally. I can’t just pick up any invalid with dreams to be a hero and slap a badge on him. But lucky for you, you have the necessary licensing and years of experience to qualify. So congratulations: until this case is closed, you are now a temporary Equicide Detective. Longarm, meet your new partner.”

We both stared at her, absolutely no idea what to say. 

But she did. “Oh, and Longarm? If this one ends up in the hospital, too, I’ll cut a hole in your dick and use it as a tobacco pipe. Then I’ll cut it off.”

---------

Back down in the lobby. I was still trying to deal with the fact that I could breathe freely again. “What… what the hell just happened?” I turned to Longarm, and he didn’t say anything at first. He looked really quiet, almost contemplative. Then he looked up, the moment passed.

“Well, it looks like you’re my responsibility now. And if you fuck up I’m either dead, fired, or both.” I raised both my eyebrows at him. “Oh, yeah. She’d still find a way to get work out of me after she killed me, don’t doubt that for a moment.”

“Sweet merciful Luna,” I breathed.

He gave me a quizzical look. “Hey, let me ask you, are you a Lunite?”

“…what? One of those moon-bucking starry-eyed nutjobs? No, why?”

He shrugged. "I’d just never heard you use Celestia’s name, or really, any other goddess/power that be/conveniently swear-sounding name when you were upset. Why’s that?”

My turn to shrug. “No big reason. I mean, yeah, I guess I’m a little religious. I do most of my work at night, so I figure it couldn’t hurt to say a few words of prayer, just in case. And besides, I always thought she was hotter than Celestia.” I paused for a moment. “No pun intended.”

He rolled his eyes, then smiled. “Well, I’ve heard worse reasons.” He then ruffled through his coat, and pulled out a little box. “Here. Jade threw this at me on my way out. I think it’s for you.” He hoofed it to me.

Inside was a little plastic toy badge that said Detective on it. Swell. “Oh, great. And I suppose if I don’t wear it she’ll just stab me or something.”

“Probably,” Longarm mused.

I had to laugh at that. Our conversation was cut short, however, when Paperweight came trotting up to me, her notepad floating in the air next to her. “Hey boss. What’s new.” Not really a question, just an acknowledgement. I told her about my meeting with the Chief, and some of my suspicions as to Lockdown and the killer. “Well,” she said. “At least it looks like we’re getting somewhere. Ok,” she moved the pad in front of her, and started reading off notes. Bless her heart. “Telly says we’ll have a copy of the recording by the end of tomorrow, but she can’t do it tonight, because… I didn’t write a because, since she just went back to work after that. Her Royal Highness Fluffington Stuffington-“ I burst out laughing. She glared at me, or tried, but I could see a hint of smile on her lips. Longarm just looked bemused. “Fluff ‘n’ Stuff wants you down in the evidence room again. She said come alone, for some reason. I saw Sykes earlier, he says sorry about the gruff stuff earlier, he just wasn’t in a good mood. Or something like that, I think? I can’t get through his accent very well. Anywho, Inkblot called, he says he wants you in the office tomorrow morning. I asked him about Lockdown, and he said just to come in tomorrow and he’d have some answers. Also, never give him my number again. I needed to wash my ears out,” she shuddered. I could relate. “And that’s about it.”

Longarm just looked from her to me and back. “Miss, are you sure you’re not the detective?”

She swelled with pride a little. I almost felt bad poking holes in it. Almost. “Nah. Girl can take notes like she talks in ink, but put a book in front of her and she’d miss the second coming of Nightmare Moon.”

She just huffed at me, and turned to Longarm. “Please don’t get him killed. I don’t want to look for another employer.”

I gave her a quizzical look. “Whatever do you mean? Didn’t you hear? It’s AHOD in the department right now. They’re so short-staffed they’re even dragging in civilians and deputizing them. AND their assistants.”

Her eyes got really really wide. “Oh, Spy, come on.”

“Nope. You’re with me the whole way, Paperweight.” My cheerful, demeaning smile turned into a solemn one. “I can’t do this without you. You know that. Don’t make me do puppy dog eyes.”

She looked apprehensive, then finally, her shoulders slumped in resignation. “Fine. If nothing else I can be there to kill Longarm when he gets you hurt.”

Longarm started to laugh, and Paperweight and I just looked at him. He slowly stopped. “…you’re serious?”

Paperweight didn’t answer right away, just trotted up to him and stood muzzle to muzzle. “Foal, if he dies, or gets hurt, I’m taking it out of your hide. Then your paycheck.”

It was my turn to swell with pride. Who says you can’t find good help these days?

--------

Following the request of ‘Come alone’ from the diminutive Queen of the Lab, Longarm and Paperweight stayed behind and chatted in the lobby while I made my way back down to Evidence. I figured this would be my last stop for the night, as it was getting dirt-ass late and we all had stuff to do tomorrow.

Nothing much had changed since I was down here a few hours ago. Some of the bags had been moved, and there was new evidence that I guessed was brought in from the scene earlier that afternoon. I saw a few office knickknacks covered in blood, a couple of books, a journal or day planner or something, and some broken glass in marked containers all along the table.

Not seeing Fluff ‘n’ Stuff around, I gave all the stuff a once-over. The journal looked rather promising, and some of the books had potential, but I couldn’t make out their full titles between the labels on the bags and the blood on the covers. Which was odd, because I didn’t remember there being much blood outside of the lounge we found Barrel in.

“Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” I heard from behind me. The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I turned around, and saw a pegasus mare with rather familiar coloration. 

“…Fluff ‘n’ Stuff?”

She laughed softly. As a filly, she’d been kind of cute. As a mare? Hoh yeah. Top shelf gorgeous. “Hello again, Detective,” she said softly, her voice much richer and more mature than before.

“Um… pardon my bluntness, but… what?” I cocked my head in confusion. Well, partly in confusion. Partly to stare at her fabulous flank.

The ploy didn’t go unnoticed. She shook her hips nicely, and I felt my wingtips tingle. “Confused? Allow me to explain. You’ve heard of multiple personality disorders, yes?”

I straightened my neck to look her in the eyes. It was hard to focus when I… wasn’t looking her in the eyes. You know what I mean. “Yeah, I’ve heard. Met a few ponies unfortunate enough to fight for headspace with some nasty character types.”

She nodded slowly, her smile not leaving her lips. She trotted closer. Proximity was becoming… well, not an issue, but I was certainly more aware of the lack of space between us. “Well, there’s this unfortunate little magical equivalent. Like it’s partner psychological disorder, it’s usually triggered by trauma or stressful events. Sometimes there’s a magical cause, sometimes it’s hereditary. But for whatever reason, it happens. More often than you think. It’s called Jeckyll and Hoof syndrome.”

My eyes widened. I’d heard rumors, of course. Sad junkies using it as a cop out to say they didn’t do it. That it was some other guy. Or that they were someone else. It was a disturbing scenario: two bodies, two minds, sometimes the same pony, sometimes completely different people, sharing… for lack of a better word, time. Only one of them ever existed at any given time, and from what little I knew it was almost completely random. It’s not something you could take medicine for. “…how…” was all I could muster. Party through surprise, partly because she was rather close to my neck.

“The how is a long, sad story. So is the why. Neither of which I want to trouble you with. The important thing is, if we’re going to… work together, I thought you should know. Sometimes, I’m an adorable little genius filly with a head full of knowledge and curiosity. The rest of the time…” she paused, lifting her mouth to my ear. I could feel her breath, hear it perfectly. “I’m a mare. With… needs.”

Oh boy.
> Everything Tasty is Bad for You. Except Girls.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4: Everything Tasty is Bad for You. Except Girls.

Now, I’m not going to lie. Having a mare throw herself at you is one thing. Having an obviously intelligent, highly attractive mare pin you to a table and whisper things into your ear that you weren’t sure were possible, but still wanted to try? Another thing entirely. Also? It’s the BEST thing. With exceptions, mind you. None of which were present.

To make a long story short, my ‘meeting’ with Fluff ‘n’ Stuff ended rather differently than I thought it would. Namely, the part where I was gasping for breath, sprawled out on Fluff’s laboratory floor, and she’d passed out on top of me, with a limb wrapped around my neck, breathing softly into my ear. If I’d stopped panting long enough I swear I could almost have heard her purr.

“Well, that’s one way to introduce yourself,” I mumbled quietly. Part of me wondered why we hadn’t been interrupted. That really stupid self-depreciating part that was still in denial about what happened. Also known as the part that could go buck itself. I looked down at Fluff, and was just about to ponder the best way to slip out from under her when the air got weird.

And I don’t mean like somepony walked in and it got really tense. The air quite literally got very strange. It started to swirl, and I saw what looked like tiny particles of -hell, something- float around and draw themselves into Fluff. “Wha-” was all I was able to get out before there was a big whooshing sound and a POP. And suddenly, Fluff wasn’t on top of me anymore. She was sitting, rather dizzily, off to the side.

She was also eight again. “Um... Fluff?” She looked around, then saw me, and the state I was in. Then the state of her lab.

She looked ready to freak out and attack me, her face tense and her eyes growing wide, when she underwent what I could only describe as a paradigm shift. Her eyes stayed wide, yes, but the rest of her relaxed. Like magic, she wasn’t angry, just... confused. I was about to iterate another well thought out and highly intelligent “Wha-” when she sighed, and her head drooped down to her chest. “We just screwed, didn’t we?”

I pulled myself up to my hooves, having caught most of my breath back. “Yes. That did just happen.”

“Man!” she pouted, and looked ready to hit something. “I never get to be around for the fun stuff!”

I had no idea what to do with that. I mean yes, she’d told me about her condition, but I wasn’t sure exactly what to do with it. Let alone have a damn clue how it worked. “Um, Flu-” she glared at me, and my mouth clamped shut. I tried again, “Your Highness?”

Still glaring, but not as intensely. I think. “What?”

“What... how... what just happened?”

I felt like I’d asked probably the one question she really didn’t want me to. Her entire body just kind of slumped, getting as close to collapsing as I think a pony can get before they actually hit the floor. “Just... sit down,” she pointed a hoof at a chair behind me. “Allow me to explain a few things.”

I took a seat and she hopped into a rolling chair. Using her wings to steer, she brought it to a halt maybe a foot away from me. “Ok, so you know about the Jekyll and Hoof Syndrome thingy?” I nodded. “Well, okay. Here’s the deal: most ponies who suffer from J and H usually share their space with somepony else entirely. There’s usually a dominant and a submissive half to each case. There’s a name for more than two that’s really long and in Ancient Latequine and boring to say. But for now, focus on the two. With me so far?” Another nod. “Great. Here’s the kicker, for me at least: I don’t share my body with somepony else. It’s just me. MY unique brand of crazy is that I share my personal space with a part of me from somewhere else in my timeline. Namely, 14 years ago. And before you ask, I have no idea what caused it.” Seeing the blatantly confused expression on my face, she pressed on:

“I won’t bore you with details or muddle the facts with drama, but the short and skinny of it is this all started 4 years ago. I was 20 when it started happening. Lots of confusion. A little anger. All that jazz. I was on my way to a senior class when suddenly, out of freaking nowhere, I was 8 again. Now, you’ve probably heard tales about the whole J and H paradox where only one of the ponies involved gets to remember everything, right? Well, lucky me, I get to be special. See, my dominant persona is the eight year old me. But because the other me is a future version, I have all the memories of what happened when I was eight. Now here’s the real kicker: how do I have all these memories from when I was eight and yet I still don’t know the future? Because I only get the memories when they’re created. From what I understand, if somepony were to travel into the past right now, and watch my childhood after all these memories started pouring into my head? I’d be committed instantly. But because you can’t change the past, and you can’t travel into the future, which, according to some theories that are proving more accurate than most, is a permanent variable until it’s experienced, makes for a very interesting situation: I remember everything that happens to me when I’m grown up, because I’m the dominant personality. And I take that knowledge back with me into the past when I disappear, so that my current self remembers it, too. But the past is a constant: it can’t be changed. We found that out the easy way decades ago thanks to Princess Twilight. So those memories just kind of float in a limbo of causality until my present self recalls them. And my past self doesn’t know anything past right now because it hasn’t happened yet, so there aren’t any memories to take back. How you doin’ over there?”

I groaned with a headache. “I feel like particle physics just particle physucked me.”

Her mouth quirked at that, but she maintained a serious face long enough to correct me: “Actually, it’s quantum physics. Questions?”

“None that I want answers to. Wait, no, I have one. Do you remember us doing it?” I raised an eyebrow, still hiding my headache from the world with one hoof.

She grinned that little lopsided grin you get when you remember a really good meal. Or a good lay. “Oh yes. And thank Celestia my memories can’t change the past, because my parents would be appalled if I knew that use of surgical clamps back then.”

I blushed furiously. “...yes. That would be unfortunate. Quite.”

The grin stayed, but her eyes narrowed like she was eyeing prey. “Hmm... you’re cute when you blush. Tell you what. You keep coming whenever older me calls, and... hmm, I guess you can call me Fluff ‘n’ Stuff from now on. After all, you did do just that.”

I thought my blush was going to turn into a second degree burn. It was almost starting to hurt. “So, um, aside from humping my brains out, was there anything... case related you wanted to share with me?”

Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead and her eyes got wide. “Oh, yeah! Totally duh.” She hopped out of the chair and picked up the journal in a bag I’d been looking at when I got here, out of a carefully constructed pile of evidence on a table far away from... ground zero. “Here, you need to sign some forms,” she told me, pulling paperwork out of... somewhere. I never understood how mares do that. “Chain of custody and stuff. You really need to look at this thing. It’s crazy. Belonged to that Barrel guy what got the deads.”

In spite of everything I almost burst out laughing. “Ok... look. I should probably go home and get some sleep. I have quite a bit of work to do tomorrow.” I hopped down off the chair and grabbed the journal in my teeth. She hoofed me a pen, and I used a wing to sign the chain of custody papers. I gave her an evidence-bag filled smile and made for the door.

She waved me off with a hoof. “Oh, pshaw. You mortals and your sleep.” She got quiet for a second. I turned around to see her staring at the floor, then she looked up at me with a sheepish grin. “You’ll come see me again, right?”

I sighed, letting out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding in. “Yes, Fluff ‘n’ Stuff. I will.” I heard her giggle as the Evidence door opened and I walked out.

It wasn’t until I got to the elevator that the entirety of that conversation hit me. The one that included lots of quantum physics and an agreement for more sex. The conversation I just had with an eight year old.

“No amount of therapy will ever make this moment ok.”

---------

I got out to the parking lot to find Paperweight doing a crossword or something in the car. Not the first time, although I really shouldn’t make a habit of making her wait. I climbed into the passenger seat, dropped the journal in the middle console, and she acknowledged me with an ‘About damn time’ huff and nod. She sniffed the air for a moment, and turned to look at me. “Spy, you REEK of sex. Roll down a window.”

I cranked the window handle until I could smell cold night air again. Detrot always smelled like three of my favorite things: cigarette smoke, gun powder, and metal. I took a good whiff. “HOLY-” I clamped a hoof over my nose. “I really do reek like sex. Damn.”

Paperweight was leaning out the window, pointing me to get back outside and air out instead of smelling up her car. I popped the door open and closed it behind me, then leaned in the window. “Ok, once I air out, let’s get home, ok? We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“I thought you just went downstairs to talk to Fluff ‘n’... Stuff. Spyyy......” She narrowed her eyes at me.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Did you have sex with an eight year old filly?” She almost growled.

“Wha- oh, yeah. That. No. I had sex with a twenty something forensic analyst,” I said honestly.

She looked like she wanted to ask me more, but didn’t. Instead, she looked down at the book in the bag. “So what’s this?”

I acknowledged the bag with a nod. “Apparently it’s Barrel’s journal. Don’t worry,” I added, as she gave me a ‘Did you steal this?’ look, “I signed for it. Chain of custody and everything. Part of being deputized, I guess. We can read it when we get back. Though probably not right away. I’m so damn tired it hurts.”

“Not to mention sore,” she deadpanned. I gave a sheepish grin not unlike the one Fluff ‘n’ Stuff fed me earlier. “We’re in the middle of a case and you go out of your way to get laid? Seriously.”

“Hey, she pinned me to a lab table and nibbled on my ear. I know for a fact that works on you,” I smirked.

She knew who and what I was referring to. “You... you shut up. That was one time in college-”

“-every time in college on Saturday nights for like a semester,” I interrupted.

She blushed crimson and ducked her head down. “Get in the car before I make you call a taxi. Or I make you call Taxi.”

I shuddered, and jumped through the window. “Nope nope nope. We’re leaving that... mare out of this. Besides, nopony’s seen her since...”

“...yeah. Right, let’s go home. And put on a seatbelt. I like my windshield where it is,” she drawled.

A thought popped into my head. “You know, I haven’t eaten all day, maybe we could-”

“NO. No, Spy, I am not taking you out to eat. Ever. Again. NO.” She was rather insistent, and before I could argue, she threw the vehicle into reverse and hauled bass ackwards, throwing me for a loop. No, I hadn’t gotten my seat belt on, thanks for asking.

“Rrggglllmffffmmm” I groaned from my position face down in the front seat.

“Well that’s what you get for suggesting I go anywhere public with you where food is involved. It’s a bad habit, Spy, and you should really kick it. In the unfriendlies. Hard.”

I was finally able to come up for air, and twisted around enough to sit up properly. I put my seat belt on before I spoke again. “Hey, you leave my unfriendlies out of this. And don’t call them that. It makes them upset.”

I could feel her every nerve wanting to turn and glare at me, but she refused to take her eyes off the road. “Shut up, Spy.”

---------

I’d finally convinced Paperweight to at least drop me off at a restaurant before we got home, but she refused to stay, and drove off to read the journal at home.

The joint was one of my favorites, mainly because it was one of the few places I could eat in peace. Most ponies who eat like I do don’t really... get looked at favorably by other ponies.

Griffins, however, love me. Which is why one of my favorite restaurants is the Curled Talon. Well, more of a bar than a restaurant, but they have really good food for pretty damn cheap. As long as you don’t ask too many questions. I’ve never felt the need to. I pushed the door open, and a little chime went off to signal that somepony had walked in. It was the usual ruckus, some mares and colts rustling around amongst a much larger crowd of griffin males and females. A few zebras walked around, which I took my time admiring, as well as a diamond dog or two. Really anyone who felt like it could walk in as long as they didn’t make trouble. Shooting pool, doing shots, the usual hubbub. I sauntered up to the bar and nodded at the barkeep, who just gave me a curt look. A big 'ol griffin male with a really intense glare, he looked more like he should be bouncing than anything else. I didn’t recognize him. Which would make ordering here very interesting. Matter of fact, I saw maybe two familiar life-forms amidst all the brickabrack.

So, in the voice of somepony who knows he’s about to get a lot of attention but can’t do anything about it, I asked, “Hey, can I get Three Dead Animals and a Baby?”

And there it went. The quiet. That ridiculous silence when everyone knows what they heard but not sure exactly what to do with it. The bartender’s eyes grew wide and he squacked, “What?!”

Now, allow me to explain something if you weren’t already aware. Griffins eat meat. And, as I found out a few years back, meat is delicious. It’s also full of stupid amounts of protein which keep me aware and healthy. I may not be that strong, but I can take more than a hit or two.

Now, the dish I ordered, Three Dead Animals and a Baby, is actually slightly less alarming than it sounds. Unless you’re a pony. In which case, its actual description, a bacon and egg cheeseburger with a side of hot wings, is equally disconcerting. I don’t think the burger is actually cow, like the rumors say. I don’t ask, and  I care not. I LOVE hot wings and burgers. “For here, please. I don’t wanna walk with all that food. Or fly. Or move much anywhere, really.”

Now, here’s what I really like about this bar: the griffin bartender turned to face a little window in the bar behind him, leading to the kitchen. And before he could finish reiterating his order, the cook called out, “Already on it!” That’s service. The bartender rounded to look at me, and asked, quite simply, “Are you sure about that, son?”

This is a question, or a variety of, that I love answering. I clamped my jaw shut, and with a hoof, pulled my lips back to reveal my teeth. See, normal pony teeth aren’t meant for meat. They can’t rip and tear like griffin beaks and other animals can. Which is why, as I was currently demonstrating to the bartender, I’d filed my canines down. Actually, ponies don’t have canines. I’d had a zebra whip me up some in a rather painful afternoon, and then they got filed down. Not a pleasant experience, but wholly necessary for my dining pleasure.

The bartender gave me a grin. “Son, I think I’m gonna like you.”

Before I could even smile and nod, I heard a mare’s voice yell out behind me. “Like him?! Did you hear what he ordered?! No offense to you meat-eating folk-”

“None taken,” I said.

She got real indignant then. “But normal ponies don’t eat meat.”

Now, she was a pretty thing. Not as attractive as Fluff ‘n’ Stuff in her adult form (hot DAMN), but cute. She was also right in my muzzle. “Ma’am, as a recently deputized officer of the law and a licensed private investigator, I would ask that you not bother a public official while they’re eating." I flashed her my best ‘I have canines and use them’ smile. She glared at me a bit, then sulked back into the crowd, which started to lose interest.

“I thought that was you, Spy!” Said a loud, grustly voice from behind the bar. I turned and saw the cook hangin’ on the window. 

“Mickey! I knew nopony else’d make my food that fast!” I saw the steaming pile of delicious burger on a plate next to him. Having seen me receive the cook’s recognition, the rest of the crowd either shrugged or huffed and went back to being unruly. The bartender handed me my plate, giving me a wry smile.

“Hell, if Mickey likes you, you’ve got to be interesting. My names Alty. Short for Altitude.” He saw my deadpan ‘Is that really your name’ look, and laughed. “Yeah, my parent’s ain’t creative griffin’s, that’s for sure. Let me know when you want something to wash that down." I gave him a smile and nod, and turned my attention back to the cook.

“So what have you been up to?” I called over the counter.

“Huh?” he asked. “Finish yer meal and we’ll talk later. I gotta work, ya know. Unlike some of us.”

I grinned, and stared at my plate. He was right. Talk could come later. For now, dead things with cheese.
> If We All Knew What We Shared the World With….
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5: If We All Knew What We Shared the World With….

There are few things more disconcerting than the inner machinations of a serial killer. Vicious hunters with the innate ability to blend into society like a normal pony. Some of them do it for the thrill. Calling on instincts from long ago, when ponies had to be able to take a life to save their own. Throughout most of evolution, ponies have, for the most part, been herbivores. Herd animals, looking out for their own, avoiding predators and migrating from place to place to keep safe, warm, and well fed.

But some ponies have a theory. That some of our genetic lineage is… deviant. Outside the norm, if you will. That there are parts of our brain, parts of our minds, that remembers what we once shared the world with. Those horrible, grand creatures which once roamed our landscape with no care as to the lesser beings they trod upon. Some of them would interact, manipulate, even corrupt weaker beings for their own needs. It is believed that long ago, some part of our psyche was mutated by such a beast, introducing a simple concept, one that, until that point, and rarely since then, we have needed to call upon: the ability to comprehend and commit murder.

Some would argue that any being capable of sentient thought and emotion is capable of murder. That it just comes more naturally to some species than others. Yet most of our evolution, up to the point of early civilizations points at our need to take lives for nothing other than absolute necessity, survival, or protecting our young. Now, murder is committed for greed, for the thrill, sometimes for something as simple as sending a message. Where in our history did we evolve the need to sunder a fellow his mortal coil simply because we wanted attention?

A common theory is that the primal being of Chaos, Discord, is to blame. An easy enough solution. Introduce an element of violence into a species that has no base need for murder, and thus opening the door for all host of psychopaths, assassins, and violent types to roam free.

Me, personally? I’ve always believed that with the ability to maintain conscious thought comes with it the burden of choice. And murder is a decision, split-second or no. Some part of you is aware of what you’re doing, what you’ve chosen to do. People say that in times of crisis they can’t control themselves, that they react instinctively. I tend to believe them. But where in your instincts does it say to kill someone?

If I knew that I probably wouldn’t be doing this job.

-------

The morning after a good meat binge is always uncomfortable. Some ponies refer to it as a food coma. I call it my stomach remembering I wasn’t born an omnivore, and protesting. Not violently, thank Luna, but enough that I walk around funny for a good part of the morning and can’t see as straight as I’d like.

“Good morning sunshine! It’s time to work!” Paperweight trotted into the office/my apartment, calling out in a cheerful sing-songy voice full of chalkboards and hate. Mostly chalkboards. “Come on, Spy, we’ve got a meeting to get to, and I’ve got a whole bunch to tell you about the journal!”

Let me tell you a little something about biology. Herbivores shouldn’t eat meat. Hell, the first time I tried it (and went completely overboard), I had to have my stomach pumped. Since then I’ve had my teeth done, and a few visits to some rather uncouth unicorns and zebras that performed some rather choice spellwork so I could actually digest and process the stuff. I’ve heard there are faster, more efficient ways to do so, but they require a lot more bits than I usually have at one time. So the slow, steady process of converting me into an omnivore began. Now, here’s the kicker: even as an omnivore you shouldn’t overindulge on meat. Not only is your body designed to maintain a balance of nutrients from many sources, but that much grease can kill you. It’s like a hangover if the headache and sensitivity to light and sound existed solely in your stomach.
“Paperweight, could you please keep it down? At least let me get my bearings? I’ve only been up for like half an hour…” I should have known better. Really, I should. But some things a pony just never learns.

“What was that? Talk LOUDER? OK!” she cheered, right in my ear. “I mean, I could ALWAYS be QUIET, but then SOMEPONY wouldn’t LEARN his LESSON about CANNIBALISM!” Her voice had gone from cheery to downright mad. Just thoroughly pissed off. I knew she didn’t approve of my eating habits, but she didn’t have to be so damn mean about it.

Then, suddenly, pony in my face. “Spy, WHY do you let yourself eat meat?! It’s barbaric! Those are sentient creatures! Put on this planet with free will and lives to live and you snack on them like hay fries!”

Remember when I said I never learned? Yeah, that’s an ongoing thing. Because if I had, maybe the next thing out of my mouth wouldn’t have been: “Hey, it’s not like I killed them.”

Hoh boy. You wanna piss of an anti-omnivore activist? Say that. Those words exactly, when they’re yelling at you about your despicable dietary decisions.

The face full of pony I was currently observing was obscured by a facefull of hoof.

“OW. Sweet Mother of the stars that HURTS!” I held my now-bleeding and possibly broken nose in my hooves, curled up on the ground. “Remind me to send you in first when we find this psychopath.”

“And what if he kills me? Are you gonna eat me, too?” she growled.

I shook off some blood, and got to my hooves. “No,” I sneered, looking her in the eye. “I’ll donate your remains to Slip Stitch.”

Her eyes got wide. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Hey, I eat chicken. Imagine what other horrible things a pony like me could do. Next thing you know I’ll be laughing at one of your jokes. Oh god, what kind of monster am I?!” I curled myself up and cried crocodile tears, pretending to be distraught over such atrocities.

I could practically hear her expression flatline. Beeeeeeeep. “Very funny. Now get in the car before I do something truly monstrous to your unmentionables.”

“But you just mentioned them.” WHACK. “OW!”

If my nose wasn’t broken before it sure as hell was now.

---------

Thank god my assistant is a unicorn. There are few things I would trust people without magic to fix. A broken nose isn’t one of them. Mind you, we still had to drop off at the emergency room, but I was at least bleeding a lot less.

We’d driven there mostly in silence, until she pulled into the parking lot. “Ok, ok. I’m sorry I broke your nose.”

I nodded, slowly. “And I’m sorry I made fun of your ethical standings.” At least, that’s what I tried to say. A broken nose makes these things more troublesome than they’re worth. She got the idea, though.

A brief hoof-shake later, and it was business as usual. Well, except the part where Paperweight was calling Inkblot to reschedule our appointment for later so that I could get my nose splinted properly. Apparently, office utensils don’t make for a permanent solution. After the gruesome, uneventful, and entirely unnecessary waiting period in the lobby, a nurse called us back to have a doctor look at my muzzle.

Paperweight sat in a corner of the room while a stallion in a lab coat sat me on the bed and took a chair in front of me. He looked every bit the doctor: well-polished, glasses, and his cutie mark was a pair of crutches. Aside from that last detail, I could swear I’d seen him before… “Greetings, Mr… Spy. I’m Doctor Stitch.”

The reaction was immediate, and, to an outsider, possibly hysterical. Paperweight instantly crawled under her chair and hid behind her magazine, and I threw myself behind the bed. “Leave me alone! I’m not a good test subject!”

The room was quiet for a bit after that. Then the good doctor sighed and said, “I see you’ve met my brother.”

Had Paperweight not said it, I would have: “Oh dear Celestia there’s two of them!”

The doctor groaned, and laid his clipboard on the counter. “My name is Cross Stitch. And I can assure you I’m nothing like my… eccentric younger brother. As proud as I was that he followed me into practicing medicine, I have to say that your reactions don’t surprise me. Now, let me look at that nose and I’ll be out of your mane.”

It took us a couple of seconds, but we finally crawled out from our hiding spots. Cross Stitch just sat down and waited patiently (heh) for us to get back to our seats. The doctor took my jaw in his hoof, and turned my head side to side. “That looks pretty nasty. How did that happen?”

I pointed a hoof at Paperweight. Before she could say anything in protest, I told him, “She likes rough sex.”

I would have paid money for a camera. Hell, I’d have re-broken my nose. Paperweight didn’t say anything outside of a series of angry and confused consonants. “Wh-n…I- we didn’t… rrrr!”

The doctor looked bemused. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first mare I’ve met with an… enthusiastic approach to lovemaking.”

I was smiling so hard it hurt. Part of me wondered what bone of mine Paperweight would break next. “Nah, it’s actually not like that. She did break it, but we weren’t doing it.”

He looked almost disappointed. Paperweight just fumed, although at least a little mollified that I corrected myself. Cross Stitch grabbed the top part of my jaw, gently, and pulled my mouth open. “I need to make sure you aren’t bleeding into your throat. Ahhhhh-“

I opened my mouth the rest of the way for him. “Ahhhhhh-“

“DEAR CELESTIA!” He cried out, and fell backwards. For a second I was going to ask what was wrong, then I remembered two things: one, I hadn’t brushed my teeth since my burger and wings last night. Two, I had canines.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I should have warned you,” I said sheepishly. He gave me a horrified look, and turned pale.

“I… I’m going to go get a… specialist for you…” he said slowly, running out of the room.

Paperweight turned on me. “And this is why you’re a horrible person.”

I just stuck my tongue out at her.

We ended up waiting a while, but eventually, another doctor came in. A griffin, this time. Paperweight took the opportunity to excuse herself. “How are you? I’m Doctor Isles,” she said matter-of-factly. Now, I don’t have much of a basis for attractiveness by griffin standards, but I guess you could say she was pretty. “Now, I understand that you have a broken nose?”

I nodded, and she put a talon under my chin to lift my head up. Gently, with her knuckle, not that ‘Claw at your throat so you do what I say’ thing. “Looks painful. Did you run into a door?”

I shook my head. “An angry mare. Twice.”

She smiled, and nodded. “You weren’t running around, were you?”

“Nah. She’d have missed if I was,” I smiled. This one was a lot cooler. Like I said, griffins and I get along. Not sure why. It’s a thing.

She paused for a second, and laughed. “Alright, say Ahhhh. Bleeding into your throat and all that jazz,” she explained.

“Ahhhhh…..” she took a tongue depressor and… well, depressed my tongue. Seriously, do I need to elaborate? “Da lass datah lan atta da woom.”

She nodded, getting a good look at my mouth. “I can see why. He still gets nervous around me. You might want to take a breath mint, though.” She eyed my canines. “Those are some nice chompers you got there. Where’d you pick those up?” She pulled the depressor out so I could talk normally.

“A zebra who doesn’t ask too many questions. With a really nice set of flanks.” Hey, I thought it was important.

Isles grinned. “Well, you’re not bleeding into your stomach or lungs, so that’s good. The splint isn’t half-bad, even if that is a pen. Let’s get you set up something proper.” She made a few notes, and walked out of the room. At which point I made a note of my own:

Griffin females have great muscle definition in their… legs.

-------

We were on our way out of the hospital faster than I’d thought. The doctor patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t come back to see me too quickly. But if you end up here again, ask for me personally. Doctor Silver Isles. I think you might be a little too… much for some of the other doctors.” She gave me a wink and a smile, which I returned in kind, and met Paperweight out in the lobby.

She looked back at the doctor, and back to me. “For Discord’s sake there’s more than one of you.”

I just chuckled and made my way back to the car. Paperweight climbed behind the wheel, and threw the journal into my lap. “I don’t know what your boss was doing, Spy, but that thing reads like a Mafioso black book. It’s almost all in code and shorthoof.”

I skimmed through some of the pages. “AA at 5/6 M. BRS at 1/2 A. What?” I thumbed through the rest of the book, and it was a lot of the same. Not all of it though. The rest was personal notes, observations, and scribbles I couldn’t make out. No one ever complimented Barrel on his hoof writing. “Listen to this one: ‘Observed LD and SB talking alone again. My suspicions grow.’ Looks like something was going on that he didn’t like. I’ve rarely encountered the guy, but he didn’t seem the suspicious type. Actually, more like the overconfident ‘Nothing Can Touch Me’ type.”

Paperweight nodded. “Makes you wonder what kind of chink in his armor someone had to hit to make him start sneaking around and writing in code.”

I shrugged. “The code doesn’t surprise me. I’ve been through lawyers' and accountants' books before, and there’s always some kind of coding to protect clients. Or to protect the company, or individual. Some people don’t like to be… associated with the people they work with. They try and keep at least a few degrees of separation between themselves and an unsavory client. Code is usually one of those degrees. It’s how this guy writes in code that bothers me. I usually don’t see fractions and shorthoof together like this. This must be something he only ever let himself see. Makes sense they found it on him. This kind of thing I wouldn’t trust anywhere but with me if I were a guy like him. So,” I said, closing the book and returning my attention to the road. “Where are we going?”

“I rescheduled our meeting with Lockdown. He and Inkblot are waiting at the office for us now,” Paperweight explained, taking a hard right into traffic. I almost flew out of my seat, and watched almost in slow motion as the journal flew out of my hooves. I bragged it in midair and shoved it into my hoodie pocket. I wanted to look at it in much greater detail. Also, this didn’t look like something I should be leaving around.

She wheeled us into the now-empty parking lot of Lock, Stock, and Barrel. The officer guarding the door wasn’t one I recognized, and I nodded to him as I trotted up. “Hey, have you seen Longarm?” I asked him. I honestly hadn’t thought about the guy until just now. I mean, I am kind of his partner.

He nodded, and pointed inside. We walked past him into the lobby, where Longarm was busy writing in his own notepad. “Longarm, what are you doing here?” I trotted up to him and shook his hoof.

He nodded to Paperweight. “The little miss called me up and told me about the meeting today. Look, I know you’re meeting him as client and detective, so I’ll just stay out here, but… did you break your nose?!”

I shook my head, and pointed at Paperweight. “She did.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Rough sex?”

“OW!” I barked, as Paperweight punched me in the shoulder. “That wasn’t ME!”

“I know,” she retorted, and trotted away. To god knows where, I didn’t ask.

Longarm rolled his eyes. “Just don’t die on me without letting me know first. I am at least a little bit responsible for you. And by responsible I mean I like my junk where it is, thanks. Tobacco-free.”

I shuddered at the reminder of a one Iris Jade, and we made our way to the elevators. I was just about to push the call button when a familiar oily voice spoke up to my left. “Rough morning, sir?”

“Sweet merciful moon!” I yelped, tripping backwards and landing on my side. Longarm, bless him, did his best not to laugh. I climbed to my hooves and glared at the newly arrived Inkblot. “Stop doing that!”

He smiled, genuinely, for the first time since I’ve met him. “Never.”

The elevator made its happy little ‘Ding’ sound while Longarm was still leaning on a potted plant, laughing his flank off. I climbed in, dragging my ‘partner’ into the steel cage, while Inkblot pushed the button for a high floor. After a few moments of silence, I asked, “So, Lockdown’s the one that hired me?”

“Quite the detective, sir,” Inkblot deadpanned.

“Oh stow it, Rorschach. Let’s just see the guy.”

Inkblot glared at me a little over his shoulder, but the elevator interrupted whatever his next thought would have been. “Your floor, sir.”

“And knock it off with the sir. It’s creepy.”

“Yes, sir.”

------

Longarm waited in the lobby while I knocked on Lockdown’s door. Inkblot stood a little off to the side, waiting patiently.

A moment later, I heard a bunch of heavy metal clicks, and the door swung open. “Ah, Mr. Spy,” said a voice from somewhere in the room. “Do come in.”

Inkblot followed me as I stepped into the office. It wasn’t particularly big, but it did scream one thing: practicality. A decent-enough sized room, with a desk, a bookshelf, and carpet, plus a minimal number of chairs. Everything was organized to be within easy reach, to serve a purpose, and nothing more. No decorations, save for the frames behind the chair that displayed Lockdown’s credentials, and a family portrait. Even the chair was rather basic and functional, while the ones on our side of the desk were simple, if comfy-looking. I took a seat, but Inkblot walked around the desk and stood next to his boss.

Which brings me to Lockdown. Most likely the head of the entire operation, even if they did call themselves ‘partners’, he was a dark orange stallion of rather normal stature with a black mane combed expertly back. He worse a simple three-piece suit, much like his attendant, and spoke clearly and concisely. I couldn’t see his flank from here, but I did notice the one decoration in the room: a large emblem of a safe on the top of the desk, masterfully painted. I assumed it to be his cutie mark. A perfect way to say: “This is MINE.”

“I imagine you have quite a few questions for me, about my activities, and our operation. Feel free to ask whatever you like, and I will answer whatever I like. After all, I can’t exactly hire a P.I. and not expect to get pokes from the question stick.”

He’s right, I had a million questions. But I took it one at a time, taking out my own pen and a pad of paper, using my wings to write. “Ok, let me ask you this: why did you hire me?”

“Because you are the only P.I. that I know that Barrel also knows who can account for his whereabouts the morning of the murder,” he said matter of factly.

“And another thing: how did you know where I was when the murder happened? You called almost an hour after the crime scene investigators got there. How could you verify my whereabouts so quickly?” I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you remember? We install surveillance in the offices of everypony who works for us, or that we keep on retainer.”

I stopped for a moment, stunned. Then I facehoofed. Of course I remembered: I remember the argument I had when they were installing it. “Ok, yes, I do remember. Sorry. But that leads me to my next question: why did you think it was a P.I. that killed Barrel?”
“Ah!” he said with some enthusiasm. “There’s the good question I was waiting for.” He pulled out a large folder and flipped it open, landing somehow on the exact page he wanted. “Here it is. Barrel’s last scheduled appointment merely said, ‘Meet With P.I.’ An hour after the appointment was listed, he was found dead.”

“Actually, Lockdown, he wasn’t.” The orange stallion and Inkblot both raised eyebrows at me. “After examining the blood on the ground, and some preliminary examination of the corpse, we realized that he was still alive when the call came in. And probably only died a little after the cops got there.”

Inkblot’s eyes narrowed, while Lockdown’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you telling me…” the lawyer trailed off.

“Yes. Whoever did this left him there alive, to bleed out, while he was strung up like a puppet.” I just gave him facts. Neither Inkblot nor Lockdown were the kind of ponies that put much stock in emotions and condolences.

Inkblot looked furious. Lockdown just held his head in his hooves for a while. “Well then, what else can you tell us?”

I dug out a piece of paper in my notepad where I’d rewritten what we’d learned from the bottles of alcohol. “The guy’s not done,” I said, tearing out the paper and tossing it across the desk.

Lockdown looked at the paper, and picked it up with a shaky hoof. Inkblot glanced over his shoulder, and his expression darkened. “Sir,” Inkblot said. Nothing else. Just “Sir.”

“Yes, Inkblot. Well, Mr. Spy, allow me to preempt one of your questions. Or, rather, predict. I assume you want to know why I wanted a P.I. on this case when the cops were already all over it?” Lockdown asked.

I nodded. “It had occurred to me.”

The lawyer laid his hooves out, folding them in front of him on the table. “I will admit, my purpose in hiring you was… less than noble. I wanted somepony involved with the investigation that I had some control over. That could feed me information early enough for me to act on it without police interference. This, however, changes the game. That, and your deputizing.” I wasn’t surprised he knew. Of course he did. “Now, I ask only one thing. Catch the bastard. I don’t care how long it takes, or what you do. Just find him and put him somewhere he won’t be a threat. I have… pressing matters to attend to, now. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” He pointed a hoof at the door. “Good day, sir.”

I still had a million questions, but I wasn’t stupid enough to hang somewhere I wasn’t wanted, needed, or allowed. Not with someone like Lockdown in such a sour mood. I climbed out of my chair, nodded goodbye to both of them, and walked out. As I reached the door, however, Lockdown called  out a warning.

“And do make sure, detective, that he doesn’t reach nine. Celestia knows what happens at nine.”
> When a Righteous Man Sheds Blood in Hell...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Author’s Note: I’m warning you now, this chapter is the closest thing to bumping the story up to an M rating I will get. I might actually change this later on, but for now, you’ve been warned.)

Chapter 6: When a Righteous Man Sheds Blood in Hell...

We call them atrocities simply because the mortal tongue has not conceived of their true nature yet. These beings that walk in our skin. These monsters that act and move as we do. That they breathe and think like we is an affront to nature, yet we cannot discern them from the common folk. Not, at least, until they decide to reveal their true colors. Colors that, should they ever be painted, used to portray, would make the soul weep till it drowned within its vessel.

~Excerpt from “Mind Over Madness”, by Truer Words


-----

If there was one thing he could change about his process, it would be the screaming. Loathe the screaming. The cacophony of torturous cries and pleas for release, for freedom, for death, were naught but static and distractions to him. The only thing that drowned them out, he’d found, was music. Simple, classical music. Of course, he detested classical. His mother had made sure of that. But listening to it, seething in the viscous rage it welled up within him, drowned out all else.

Except, of course, his work. His work was all-important, and nothing could distract him from that. He wouldn’t allow it. There was simply too much to do.

And so, it was with this mindset that he set about his tasks.

Organizing his tools.

Preparing his room.

Securing his canvas.

Of course, it wasn’t his room. Not in the legal sense. But every room he stepped in was his. Simply for him being there, he owned it. Commanded it. It was his and his alone to control, to abuse, to craft as he saw fit. He’d had much practice in the art of making a place his. It was even becoming easy.

And that wouldn’t do. Ease meant complacency. Which led to arrogance. And sloppiness. He could never allow himself to make a mistake. And so, with each new place he made his own, he did so with higher stakes. More risk, more focus. He could never let himself grow dull, sloppy. Like his tools. They must always be sharp, neat, organized. Ready.

He must always be ready.

His canvas hadn’t even woken up yet. A rather nice reprieve which allowed him just a few more moments to prepare. Of course, all good things must come to an end, and soon, she woke.

Although she didn’t scream. He took a moment to admire that. Few of them had... whatever it was they had that kept them sane long enough not to scream when they woke up. He honestly didn’t care. But it was rare, and he always appreciated rarity. Especially when it was his. Oh yes, she was his.

She didn’t ask where she was. She recognized the space soon enough. Although it wasn’t her space anymore. She still knew it. She didn’t ask who he was, either. He never wore a mask. Never had to. All of the preparation he’d done made sure of that, too. Seeing a masked colt turning you into a work of art in front of your very eyes was certainly the thing of nightmares.

But then again, he wasn’t doing any of this to scare them. And they certainly weren’t going to dream any of this later. They could thank whatever inane deity they wanted for that.

Her first question, surprisingly, was the most intelligent she could have asked: “Why?” Not with any kind of sadness. No disappointment. There was no plead in her voice. Only anger. Anger at being tied down, being helpless. Anger at knowing what was about to happen, and being able to do nothing about it. Anger at quite a great many things, possibly.

He loved it when they asked why. Because, for all the work he did, few understood him. And he was more than happy to explain himself. “Because this city has become nothing more or less than a malicious beast on the horizon of civilization. Spreading itself, pushing its limits and influence as far as it possibly can. And then defying all reason by going even further. Whispers of its evil live in the minds of ponies around the world. Good, decent folk are forced to stare at its hideous visage with every blink of an eye. It has become a great beast and blight upon the landscape which must be slain for the rest of the world to thrive.”

He spun around, a small blade in his hoof, and stared at her intently. “And how does one slay a monster? By climbing to the head and cutting it off? Nay, more would simply grow back. A beast greater than any hydra, it is. And how would one so small as we topple such an enormous abomination from our lowly stance on the ground, while it looms over us? Why, it must be cut down! By the ankles, first. Then the knees, as it falls to them. Then we cut the wrists as it crawls on all fours. We drain it of everything it is, and cut out what matters. Then, only then, once the great beast is bloody, lying in its own fluids and twitching on the ground, can the head truly be severed.”

In less than a blink he was inches from her face. She growled at him, but didn’t flinch. He half expected her to snap at him, try and bite him. But she stayed still, and listened. Like a proper canvas. “And you! I have cut the ankles, the knees. You, who are part of the right hand of the monster! I shall sever you like the diseased appendage you have let yourself become. Surely you’ve seen what I’ve done to your friend? Yes. There are more of you yet to come. You shall not be alone in whatever life you lead once I take this one from you. You could say it’s not even your life, now. It belongs to me. For I claim what I have earned. This place, it is mine now. It shall not stay that way, for I am not a greedy stallion. No, it shall be returned to you, once I am done. Of course, once I am done, there won’t be anything left of you to claim it.”

He held the knife to her shoulder, carefully, against a dotted line he’d traced earlier. Precision. Nothing could be more important. “And do try not to scream. I absolutely detest Beethooven.”

Her eyes widened as the blade drew into her shoulder, the line turning from a dotted black to a sliver of red. He smiled as the blood slowly oozed out. There would be no spilled blood, unless he wanted it. The drugs would make sure of that. He reminded himself that, for all her apparent courage, she couldn’t move if she’d wanted to. The coagulant and cognitive suppressants would ensure neat, clean cuts and little resistance. He continued to trace, as her expression hardened into that of pain and fear. Still, she held her tongue. Possibly trying to bite it off. Of course, he’d thought of that, too. Metal spring-clamps in her mouth kept her from biting down. Just enough wiggle room to say simple words. Vowels, mostly.

Tracing was the easy part. The lines were laid out to make simple, uncomplicated patterns that could be followed carefully, but with ease. There were certain things he couldn’t afford to risk. His art was of the utmost importance. Yes, the beast must die, but he could not allow a thing so grand and terrible to die in anything less than absolute beauty.

She’d been quiet for a while, which had surprised him. Looking back up at her face, he noticed she’d passed out from shock. She was still bleeding, so she wasn’t dead quite yet. She couldn’t die, not too quickly. He didn’t need her to live quite as long as the last one, but certain things are easier to do when the blood is fresh.

For a time, the only sounds were the soft tearing of flesh, the slow breathing of the canvas, and the subtle noises of movement and breath he himself made. But soon enough, with patience and practice, the first step was done. The easiest step.

She was traced, and now, to transform.

Across the room, set out on their own little table, were several rather thick patches of paper. Quite a bit of writing on each of them, and each carefully measured and cut.

But it wasn’t quite time for those yet, he reminded himself. There were more steps.

The pieces of her he’d 'traced’ left large patches of skin laying over muscle. He put down his tracing knife, and pulled a longer, thinner one off the table.

With it, the next step. Taking blade to flesh, he slowly separated the marked patches of skin from her muscle tissue. Had she been awake, she most certainly would have died of shock, then and there. But he’d taken precautions to keep her alive just as long as he needed to. Each time, he marveled at the power of modern chemical advances, the sheer ingenuity of medicinal chemistry. But only for a moment. He had to focus.

With each patch he removed, he then took a small bucket, and let the blood drain into it. Using the knife to guide the unusually thick blood from her flesh, he carved and spilled until the bucket was full and she was ready for the next step. He’d noticed, near the end, that she’d stopped breathing. And the blood was coming much slower, in some places, not at all.

At least she hadn’t screamed. He had enough blood, anyway. And the next step was made that much easier with her passing.

A needle and thread. That’s what he needed. And the paper. But first, wipe down the exposed muscle. Clean it carefully, lovingly. Not like the last canvas. The emotions were far too different. Last time he had wanted rage. Pain. Anger. Now, he demanded respect. Solemnity. Patience.

They would remember her.

Stitch by stitch, thread by thread. How did that old song go? Each patch wove itself perfectly. Measures. Treated. Calculated. Everything was exactly how he’d planned it. It always was.

Soon, she was the picture he’d seen in his mind. The canvas was now a vibrant painting, a visual masterpiece to be beheld and understood. To be remembered, and revisited.

Now, the floor. The blood. And the brush.

He’d made it out of her hair. He thought she would have liked that. Or hated it. Either would have amused him. But neither were important. What was important was the floor. Getting the strokes right. The detail. With only one color to work with, the image must stand out in and of itself, without leaning on the crutch of polychromatic expression. One color, was all he needed. A white floor. A perfect blank slate. Red paint stood out brilliantly, violently against the white.

The patterns were intricate. No simple message. No easy clues, like the last time. The last time, it was about brutality. Blatant, and obvious violence. A message.

This was a masterpiece to be deciphered and coveted.

When it was done.

Each stroke welled up within him a sense of pride as he saw each piece of the whole come together.

Soon enough, it was done, too. Just like he’d imagined. Exactly as he saw it.

He positioned his canvas over the floor, the brush in her hoof, as if she had given out trying to draw the last few strokes.

Every inch of him burned to finish the work himself, but as he stood back, to admire the whole, not the parts, the total sum of his creation, he knew it to be perfect. To be beautiful. He knew it to be complete.

----

This was the most gruesome crime scene I’d ever come across. No sooner had I gotten back to my office with Longarm than we got a call about another dead body.

Now, I’d never met the mare before, but you better bucking believe I knew who she was.

Absolutia.

Drawing a blank? Take a look at your coin purse. You see those nice little bits in it? Those pretty, shiny things? How about that bank account full of them? The one you’d been stuffing your chump change into, calling it savings? Yeah.

She owns that. Or did.

Absolutia was the highest on the totem pole of the biggest bank in Detrot: Equestria First National. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even NEED initials in her title, but she had them. Because she could. Now, while the Princesses are in charge of government funding, and the national treasury, somepony has to make sure that all those bits you feel would be safer in a vault than under your pillow get there. That was her. She owned everything from bank accounts to real estate to her own PMC organization.

If it required money, you better believe she had it.

Even her apartment screamed money. I couldn’t being to describe the place without sounding like an advertisement for every Fancee decorating company in the world all at once. Chandeliers, private everything, white marble tile flooring. The woman probably bled money.

At least, I used to think so. Now that I could see her blood, well, you get the idea.

“Spy, what the buck are we doing here?” Paperweight’s voice behind me was distraught and muffled by the hoof over her mouth.

“Because the sick as sin wackjob that killed Barrel is more than likely to have killed Absolutia. And we need all the clues we can get. Don’t forget, this guy has three other bodies he’s claiming to have done up and nopony’s accredited them to him. If I can put together the whole list maybe I can find out who the next four are.” My talent for exposition never fails me.

“I know all that. I mean what are we doing here? We follow around unfaithful spouses. We bust people for insurance fraud. We track down little old ladies that walked away from home and halfway through an Alzheimer’s attack find themselves in the middle of the park re-enacting the Crusades. Not... this!” She waved her hoof at the... display. There was really no other word for it. Then she put her hoof back over her mouth. The smell was something awful. Thankfully I’d thought to tie a bandana around my face when I came in. You could smell it from down the hall.

I turned to her. “Look, Paperweight, you’re a sweetheart. And I’m not going to say I don’t need you here. But I’m also not going to say that you have to be here. If you can’t, or don’t want to, deal with this, I won’t make you.”

She looked at me, then at the body, and the ‘art’ surrounding it. “You don’t fight fair, Spy.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” I said as I smiled. I knew she was going to stay. I turned my attention back to the display. It was full of characters I didn’t recognize, and wasn’t complete. It looked like Absolutia had stopped right before the end. Although I could tell it was just posing. No way a pony could do all of this with their last dying breaths. Not with all of that work done on them.

I walked away for a moment and tracked down a pegasus with a camera, taking pictures of the room. “Hey, kid. What’s your name?” He really was a kid. A few years younger than me, and that’s saying something.

“Featherfall. CSI photographer. What can I do for you?” he spoke like he expected everyone else here was in a position to give him orders. 

And technically speaking, I was. “How good are you with that camera?”

He smiled. “I don’t miss a thing, sir.” ‘Sir’. The way he said it unironically made me smile despite myself.

“Alright. You’ve photographed a DB before, right?” I pointed to Absolutia’s body.

He looked over my shoulder, and nodded. “Enough times. I’m good for it.”

“Great. Now, we can’t move her yet, but I want as many and as detailed pictures of her as you can get. Exactly as she is. The artwork, the... patches, all of it. I want it panoramic.” I gestured to different parts of the scene as I spoke, if nothing else to be moving. A lot of nervous energy. This whole corpse thing was still just a little new to me.

He saluted, and flew over to hover above the paintings and corpse, his camera flashing like crazy. Paperweight trotted up to me, if only to get further away from the body. “What are you thinking, boss?”

I looked at her, then at the scene. “This took almost as much, if not more, work than the last scene. But it’s much more complicated, in it’s own way. A lot more information to process. The last one was a basic word puzzle. Meant for attention. To bring the situation into focus. This is about depth. A much broader, more detailed puzzle. And I don’t want to miss any of it.”

Longarm walked up beside me, and watched the pegasus take pictures. “He’s gonna go far, that one.” His attention turned to me. “Spy, I appreciate you... not touching anything. I don’t want to sound snooty, or bossy, because I don’t think you deserve it. But I also think that you’re doing your best to minimize your contact with everything, and it’s making our jobs a lot easier. That may not be your intent, but it certainly helps. And having a new set of eyes with a knack for details is a huge help. But I have to ask, how do you know this is one of ours?”

I’d been waiting for one of them to ask me that. I whipped out the journal, in it’s little plastic evidence bag, and handed it to Longarm. “Page 78, line 5.”

“...AA at 5/6 M? The hell does that mean?” Longarm looked more puzzled than I had been upon first reading it.

“I haven’t figured out the 5/6 M part, although I’m sure it’s going to smack me in the face when I do. But the AA, and the BRS below it? They’re names. AA is Absolutia. As soon as somepony said her name it clicked.” I started walking back to the corpse, giving the actual body a once over. She had been pretty, once.

Paperweight called from behind me, “But what makes you think they’re related cases?”

I didn’t turn around. Something about the patches bothered me. They were dark from blood and thicker than some materials I’d seen, but something was familiar about them. “Not sure yet. Still working on the details. But the guy's tendency toward extravagantly designed setpieces is unmistakable.”

Longarm walked around me to the other side of the painting. “Ok, I’ll give you that. We certainly don’t have any other over-dramatic homicidal psychopaths on the loose. At least, I bucking hope not.”

“There’s always somepony out there,” Paperweight muttered. She was right. This city would never be done killing ponies.

I leaned in as close as I dared to a patch on her shoulder. Something... I thought I could make out words. “Notice... notice for? No... notice of... for...”

“Notice of forfeiture,” said a voice above me. I looked up to see Featherfall looking solemnly down at the body. When he noticed me staring, he added, “My mom got one not too long ago. Lost her house. Not something you forget somepony handing you.”

I nodded to him, sparing him the ‘I’m sorry’ that he didn’t need. Looking back over the rest of her body, or as much as I could as she lay, I saw the rest of her was covered in the same notices.

Paperweight could see my cogs turning, it seemed. She’d finally bucked up and walked over. “What’s going on in that head, Spy?”

I pointed at the patches. “Notices of forfeiture, like the kid... like Featherfall said. It’s another message.”

Longarm perked up. “What kind?”

I sighed, realizing the implications. “He’s saying her body isn’t hers anymore. She belongs to him now. He owns her. These... it’s like branding.”

Paperweight put a hoof to her mouth again, and ran out of the room. I let her go. She needed it.
> Writing on the Wall
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7: Writing on the Wall

Back at my office, my “drawing board” was top to bottom notes, photos, scans, and string. I’d been staring at it all day, and was practically screaming myself hoarse in my own mind trying to get something out of it. The only connections I had between the two victims were a written appointment in a journal that everypony was taking my word on. I was rather confident that the AA Barrel had written down was Absolutia, but there was always a chance I was wrong.

I had nothing pointing to a suspect. Nopony did, or rather, they weren’t telling me otherwise. Fluff ‘n’ Stuff had said the guy cleaned house like a pro. Which didn’t surprise me. The amount of control he exhibited over his work led me to believe we wouldn’t catch him through something as simple as trace evidence or a hoofprint. He probably wasn’t even in the system.

The system... something about the phrase rang a bell in my head, but I couldn’t pin it down.

I glanced over the photos again, tearing one off the board of all the symbols he’d drawn in blood all over his latest victim’s floor. Not for the first time since this case started I was awash with the feeling that I was far out of my element. I scanned the photo top to bottom, grabbing a few more out of a manilla envelope on the desk next to me. I laid them out for what must have been the dozenth time that afternoon. Intricate patterns that all but screamed a higher intellect and a deep spacial awareness. Not an inch was wasted or out of place. There was no telling how long he’d spent on this.

Unless there was. I trotted over to the phone and dialed a quick number, holding the phone to my ear with a hoof while I stared at the photo in my other one. “...yello?” eventually somepony answered.

And just the pony I needed. “Hey, Fluff ‘n’ Stuff. Got a question for you.”

I heard a light high-pitched chuckle. Still in filly form, I deduced. Go me. “Is this a booty call?”

“With all the other amazing things you can do with that flank I wouldn’t be surprised it could answer the phone, but sadly, no. I had a question about blood,” I explained.

“Ooh~ those are the best kind!”

I tried not to think about that. “Listen, how many blood samples did you take from the... artwork the other day?” I couldn’t believe it had been three days since I stood over Absolutia’s corpse, but here we are.

“Like, a bajillion. The analyst on scene couldn’t believe all that blood came from the same pony. It did, by the way,” she added.

I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. “I’d figured, but that’s good to know. Great, in fact. They label where all those blood samples came from, right? Like, the exact position?”

“They better or I kill them,” I half expected it to be a joke save for the fact she sounded dead serious. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we can get some kind of timeline, maybe. I don’t know a lot about blood and I’m pretty sure he did... something to it. He would have had to to do what he did,” the more I thought about the idea in my head the farther away it seemed, but I had to try.

“Correct again. Whatever this freaky-tiki used it’s creative. It’s a slow-acting coagulant mixed with some cognitive inhibitors. Makes them dumb as dicks and bleed real slow. You could cut somepony to shreds and they’d die of shock before they bled out. Now where are we going with this?” her inquisitive tone seemed mixed with a touch of impatience.

Right, getting to the point. “Can you tell me how long the blood was there for? I know it’s a long shot-”

She scoffed. “A ridiculously long one.”

“And I don’t know if there’s even a way to do such a thing-”

“Almost none whatsoever with all these chemicals-”

“-but I want to try. And if anypony I know can do that, it’s you,” I’d hoped flattery would get me somewhere with an eight year old pervert with a huge ego.

It did. “Well, duh. I didn’t say NO, did I? Jeez. Let me call you back in like... tomorrow morning. Or you could just find out when you wake up next to me...”

I was about to protest when I remembered three very important things. One, I’d told her I’d come back. Two, damn. Three, I wasn’t exactly doing anything else. “What time do you want me over?”

She laughed. “That’s a trick question. I always want you over. But get here about 8 or so, will ya? I still have actual work to do, you know.”

“Yeah, same here,” I agreed, as Paperweight walked back into the office. With food. Blessed, blessed food. “I have to go. Someone just speed-dialed my stomach."

“...and I thought my flank was talented. See you later~” she crooned, and hung up.

Paperweight set the big, delicious smelling bag on the table, and moved away from it with haste. Only then did I notice she had a noseplug. She looked at me, then at the bag, and sighed. “Look, I’m not saying I condone it, but you haven’t been eating well for days now. I don’t know what else to do besides shoving flowers down your throat.”

“Kinky.”

“Spy!” she yelped. “Rrr... just... don’t make a mess, ok? Who was that?”

“Fluff ‘n’ Stuff. I had a question about blood.”

Paperweight rolled her eyes. “See, this is what I don’t understand. How can you eat... that,” she jabbed a hoof at the bag I was opening. Oh, sweet Luna, delicious chicken tenders. “That stuff and work on a murder case?”

I shrugged. “Magic, I guess. Anyway, she’s looking into dating the blood samples from the... floor,” Paperweight wouldn’t hear it called art, or a canvas, and I couldn’t blame her, “To see if we can put together some kind of timeline. She says I should hear something when I wake up tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you’ll be waking up...”

“In her bed, presumably. I think she has a bed. She may just live in that lab. She certainly does everything else in it,” I mused, tearing a piece of chicken in two and savoring delicious spicy dead bird.

“Please, Spy, I barely have an appetite as it is,” she whined, pulling out a small box of hay fries. “Let’s just, stick to the case. What else do we have that connects these two?”

I rolled my eyes. “If I knew I’d tell you. DPD is still working through miles of paperwork trying to find a connection. Aside from that note in Barrel’s journal, not much. A lawyer and a bank mogul. You’d think the connections would be obvious, but she has her own private team of lawyers. Either they’re in on something big, or something personal, if they’re working on anything at all. Hell, they might just be buckbuddies for all I know.”

“That seems to be going around,” Paperweight rolled her eyes and stared at the board, following strings.

I chewed and swallowed another bite. “That supposed to mean something?”

She gave me a sideways glance. “I just think it’s a little strange that you’re jumping into bed with this Forensics girl in the middle of a case.”

I shrugged. “Hey, it’s been awhile-”

“The mare in Coltcun,” she interjected.

“-didn’t happen, I keep telling you. Nothing. Happened. Not to mention she’s super sexy-”

“Eight years old,” she interrupted again.

“Just because you haven’t met her other half doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist. Jekyll and Hoof is well-documented and little is known about... why are we having this argument? We have a case to solve!” I shook my head in indignation and finished off the tender I was holding, reaching into the bag for another.

Paperweight gave a brief “Meh,” and moved closer to the board. “Hey, Spy...”

“Hmmf?” I grunted through a facefull of awesome.

She chose to ignore my lack of table manners. “Take a look at this Notice. The one on her thigh...”

I trotted closer and glared at it intently. “5094 Apple Road. Why do I know that?”

Paperweight trotted over to a file cabinet. “Yeah.. I think I do, too...” I could hear the shuffling of papers behind me for a moment, then, “Aha!”

I whipped around. I liked “Aha!” I LOVED “Aha!” “Ohh, what, what, what?” I bounced over to read the paper she’d singled out. It was an old case file.

She shoved it in my face. “I KNEW it. We’ve worked that building before!”

I took it from her and read it twice. “Hey, this is the place LS and B had us stake out like two months ago. They wanted us to see if the guy was breaking... his... lease...” something in my head clicked and I ran over to the board again. I stared at more of the pictures of the Notices of Forfeiture. “Paperweight, look up some more addresses for me.”

“You got it, boss,” she stood at the ready over the file cabinet, her horn glowing. It flew open and files flooded the air.

“1312 Apt M14 Blackheart St.”

Lots of shuffling. Then, “Yeah, I got it!”

“4687 Northern Cross Place.”

“That one too.”

“Love and Fishes.”

“...what’s the address? Nevermind, got it,” she said, pulling away from the file. Apparently it STILL stank.

I read a few more, and 3 out of the four we had. “Dear Luna...” I trailed off. I knew what it was. It had just been staring at me, mocking me.

“What is it, boss?” She dropped the files on the counter, and walked over.

“Me. Or, us. WE’RE the connection. And he knows it. Paperweight,” I said slowly, turning to her.

She must have seen something in my expression she didn’t like, because she recoiled. “Yes?”

“This guy knows who we are.”

--------

Longarm looked over the photos, and our case files. We’d gunned for his office as soon as we’d put two and two together, and dropped the mess in front of him. “This... this is bucked. He knows you? How the hell does he know you?”

Paperweight sat quietly in a chair while I leaned over the desk. “I have no idea, Longarm. But I’m the connection between Absolutia and Barrel. Every case I’ve worked for them in the last few months has somehow led to Absolutia’s bank hoofing off a foreclosure notice or something similar to somepony. Look up her international affairs. I’ll bet bottom dollar she owns property in Cancun.”

Longarm glared at the pile of evidence, then at me. “You do realize this means we’re going to have to-”

“Pick apart my life like crazy? Yeah, I know. I’m probably one bloody toothpick away from being a suspect,” I groaned, my head hitting the table.

“Which is exactly why,” said the most terrifying voice under Luna’s night sky, “You aren’t under arrest. Because you aren’t a suspect, just a person of interest.” I turned around, and saw one of the most terrifying sights in my life.

Iris Jade was smiling at me.

“Now,” she stated, moving around Longarm’s desk. She took his seat, seeing as how he’d jumped out of it like it had goosed him and moved across the room. “Normally I’d pull you off this case. But seeing as how I can’t order you not to investigate as per LS and B’s instructions, and the fact that you only work for us because I like keeping tabs on you, I’m not going to. Plus staffing issues and blah blah blah,” she added, taking a few pieces of please Luna let that be candy out of her jacket pocket and popping them in her mouth. “So here’s what IS going to happen. You’re going to keep digging. And so are we. We’re stretched pretty thin, so digging into every facet of your personal life is a much greater task than I’d like to admit. But we’re going to try. Don’t go anywhere, do your job, and as long as you keep dumping sweet morsels of truth like this,” she patted the stack of files and photos, “In my lap we’ll be just fine. OK?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes ma’am.” Nopony else in the room said anything.

She waved a hoof at the door. “You and your assistant can go. Longarm, stay. I’d like a word with you.”

If not for the fact that Paperweight and I practically ran for the door I’d have turned around to wave Longarm goodbye.

We made our way back to the squad room on the main floor, by virtue of that’s where we stopped running. A passing officer took one look at us when we stopped and asked, “Chief Jade?”

I nodded. “She was smiling.”

I saw him shiver heavily, and a few nearby officers grimaced. “How are you alive?”

I figured explaining the whole thing wouldn’t get me anywhere, so I just said, “Try asking a mouse that while the cat bats it around.”

He nodded knowingly and moved on. A familiar voice caught my attention anyway, and I trotted over to the rather impressive communications array in the middle of the room. There, Telly and Sykes were chatting back and forth. Well, Sykes was chatting. Telly was talking to like five different sources, sometimes in tongues. I think. “Uh, hi guys,” I interjected when they turned to look at me.

Sykes paused for a moment, then did that slow predatory smile that usually corners something small and tasty. I’d still rather that than Iris Jade. “So, yer Eye Spy, is ya?”

I blinked. “I is,” I said finally.

He paused, and laughed. “Ha! Mickey says yer a good lad! Oi, listen. Sorry bout all tha’ gruff ‘n’ stuff last time,” although it came out ‘toim’, “S’ been... been a hard month...” he trailed off.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” my eyes traveled over to Telly, who just kind of stared at her console. “So, you’re officer Sykes?” I offered my hoof, and he took it, his smile returning.

“That I am! Ey, is it true yer trackin’ down the bastard what ritualized tha’ poor lass?” he asked keenly.

I nodded. “Yeah. There’s been some... interesting developments. We actually have some kind of lead, and Fluff’s working another, if smaller, one.”

Sykes shook his head. “Oh, don’ be lettin’ her hear ya say tha’. She’s moighty frisky, that one.”

I had to smile. “Hoh, yeah. I’m actually due to talk to her later tonight.”

“You uh... you jus’ gonna talk to ‘er?” He waggled his eyebrows.

I shrugged. “More like primal grunting, but yeah.”

“I KNEW it!” a voice I’d totally forgotten was right next to me screamed. After my eyes stopped rolling around my skull I turned to look at Telly. “YOU’RE the guy she hooked up with! I KNEW she got laid!”

I noticed then that a few ponies were staring. Sykes was grinning madly. “Is tha’ right? Good on ya, boy!” He clapped my back, and thank Luna I was wearing my hoodie, because I think he might have drawn blood otherwise. A soft breeze told me he’d torn a hole. Or four. “Oops,” he said sheepishly, staring at my back. “Oh, hey, yer a pegasus.”

I glared at him. Or thought about it. “Yes. Yes I am. And yes, I am the colt Fluff ‘n’ Stuff had sex with. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to find somepony who can sew before I go do it again.”

Sykes laughed as I turned to walk away, and Paperweight trotted up next to me. “Don’t you have like a dozen of those?”

“Yes, but I only have one pair of wings.”

------

I’d gotten to the lab a little earlier, by about a half hour, than I’d expected. “Fluff?” I looked around, not seeing anypony in the immediate vicinity. 

I decided to investigate the rest of the downstairs while I waited, or to see if I could find her. Down the hall from the big door marked “Evidence”, I found a smaller door that seemed to lead to a series of labs. At least, it looked like it from the small vertical window in the door. I gave it a tug to see if it was locked, and it slid open almost welcomingly.

“Hallo?” I called into the lab. I saw a few ponies scattering about, focused on their work. One colt stopped long enough to wave at me, but went back to work.

The room was, in fact, a long hallway with smaller rooms on either side. The walls to these rooms, however, were glass, so one could see perfectly into the rooms. I noticed scribbles and notes taped to the walls, and one pony was actively writing out mathematical formulas on one of them. He nodded to me curtly as I passed through his field of vision.

Eventually, I made my way to the end of the hall, and saw a rather large set of double doors with a word over them: “Ballistics.”

“Ooh!” I said keenly, and reached for the door.

“I wouldn’t do that!” a familiar high pitched voice said from behind me. I turned to see Fluff ‘n’ Stuff standing in the middle of the hall. “As much fun as it would be to see you deal with those... ponies... I have an entirely different ‘blown away’ in store for you.”

I heard a chuckle or two from the labs on either side. Apparently some of the glass wasn’t soundproof. “Greetings your Stuffness.” I chuckled, trotting up to her.

She gave me a wry smile. “Says the one doing all the stuffing.”

“Dude!” said a rather annoyed colt to my left. “Trying to work here! Can you take the dirty talk somewhere more... not here?” I looked over at him, and it was the colt doing arithmetic on the glass. A wiry, bespectacled unicorn with spiky blue hair and a grey coat.

Fluff waved him off. “Oh, just ignore Formula. His parents wanted him to be an artist. Apparently it runs in the family.”

As we trotted out of the room, I asked loudly, “Do manners?”

Fluff laughed. “Nope. He got totally shortsheeted.”

Formula just grumbled something under his voice and went back to work.

I returned my attention to the filly. “So, got anything new for me?”

She tapped the door to Evidence, and it flew open for her. I’d have to ask how she did that, seeing as they weren’t sliding doors. “You know, I did tell you to wait till morning, but yes, I do. How about you?” she asked, hopping into a chair.

I explained the connection between me and the victims, and how the murderer knew about me and Paperweight. “I’m thinking she’s gonna start asking me to sleep somewhere other than my office. Or a laboratory floor,” I added, as Fluff opened her mouth to respond.

“I wouldn’t make you sleep on the floor,” she retorted. “But yeah, there are a few places other than here that might be safer. If he decides to target you, that is. Anyway, I can’t get a timeline on the blood,” she informed me.

My shoulders slumped. “Should have figured.”

She held up a hoof. “Oh, ye of little faith. What I CAN do,” she slid her rolly chair over to a lab table, picking up some loose papers, “Is date the TILE.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

She nodded, smiling proudly. “Yup. That drug he used? Nasty stuff. Turns out it corrodes marble. At a measurable rate.”

I smiled. “So you can actually tell how long it’s been there and where he started?”

Her proud smile was replaced with a wicked grin. “Foal, if he’d gone any slower I could show you what order he drew each symbol in."
> Bulletstorm
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 8: Bulletstorm

I awoke to the sound of gunfire. Close, rapid, and measured. Somepony was pouring lead into something. My first instinct was to jump up and pull my hoofgun out of my coat. I got as far as the jumping before I realized I wasn’t wearing a coat. Thus, my next course of action was to search for and dive behind the nearest table. There was a loud crashing noise as I knocked chairs out of the way and flipped the thankfully empty metal rolling table on its side.

I was halfway through searching the part of the room I had access to for a weapon when I heard behind me, “So you’re awake, are you? Good. Put my stuff back, please.”

My ears perked up, but I didn’t move. Part of me was painfully aware that I was at a serious disadvantage, having hid behind the furniture equivalent of aluminum foil, and not being able to see the guy with the gun.

“No, seriously, put it back. Her Royal Fluffness won’t like you throwing her shit around. Requisition forms are a pain in the ass here.” The voice was calm and sarcastic, not taunting. It wasn’t until I got a good look at my surroundings that I realized I was still in the lab. More likely than not, in the Ballistics room.

I peeked my head over the table, and saw the owner of the voice, a royal blue unicorn stallion, reloading his weapon, and pointing it into a test fire chamber. “Um, really quick, before you fire... aren’t we supposed to be wearing earmuffs? How do I still have my hearing?”

He looked at me, and rolled his eyes. Then he tapped his horn.

“Oh, right. Magic. Nevermind me, then,” I said meekly, righting the table and putting the chairs back. I was about to ask him another question when he let loose another half dozen rounds into the fire chamber. Then he shuddered in satisfaction, putting the gun on a table next to him, in a row with a bunch of others.

Oh great. A gun nut.

I gave him a better look while he was switching weapons. Cutie mark of a large caliber round, mane and tail to match his police uniform blue coat, cut short and straight. Large-ish fellow, easily a size or three bigger than me. Looked like a truck with hooves. He let loose a few more rounds, and put the next gun down, then turned to me. I sat in one of the chairs as he walked up.

“So, you’re the guy boinking the boss, are you?” he asked. Rather straightforward, this one.

“Well, technically yes. But we didn’t... not last night, anyway,” I explained, at the same time wondering why I was telling him any of this. It was probably all the guns. Yeah, that.

He laughed, loud and short, like a howl, almost, and pulled up his own chair. “Yeah, she was all kinds of pretty pissed this morning. Going on and on about how her weird Jack and Jill thing was being a cockblock. I’d advise not going anywhere near her for the next hour or so. I heard crashing.”

My gaze flattened at nopony in particular as I wondered why all the women in my life were always so violent. “So who are you, exactly?”

He puffed up and put a hoof on his chest. “Name’s Big Shot. Detective, in charge of Ballistics. There’s usually more of us here, but they’ve been moving our guys around for awhile, trying to handle the backlog. All that junk you brought in from your two murders ain’t helping none, either.”

I smiled darkly. “Right, well, I’ll be sure not to report any more dead guys I find.”

He shrugged my attitude off like a cheap coat. “No fur off my backside. Gives me overtime. Which means more money, and more toys. Besides, you haven’t been dropping any bullets or nothing on our doorstep, so I don’t have anything for you, myself.”

A sigh escaped my lips, as I was growing weary of continuously running into ponies without answers. “Well, thanks anyway. Hey, one last question?”

“Shoot.” He paused, then chuckled. Ha ha.

“Why did I wake up in Ballistics?” I looked around the room, trying to remember if I’d come in here the previous night.

Big Shot gave me a ‘Bucked if I know’ expression and pointed at the door. “Ask your girlfriend.”

“She’s not-” I stopped myself, before I got defensive. I huffed and hopped down, making my way for the door. “Thanks anyway,” I called over my shoulder.

Not long after I left, the sound of gunfire followed me down the hallway. I turned my head out of curiosity, looking into the glass rooms they used as labs, and seeing a whole new set of ponies working on whatever it is they did that caught bad guys. I wasn’t about to ask questions of the people with volatile chemicals and weapons that may or may not be evidence.

The trek down the hallway to Fluff’s office brought back memories of last night. Lots of talk about chemical compounds and timelines and all kinds of stuff I wish I’d paid enough attention to in High School to understand, and then another discussion as she simplified it all into terms my mortal mind could comprehend.

The gist of it was, once again, that Absolutia had been killed very shortly before they’d arrived. Somepony, more likely the suspect, had been calling these deaths in almost as soon as they were done. This told me two things about the culprit. One: he was arrogant, conceited, and liked the attention, bragging about each kill and his ability to evade capture by making a narrow window for himself to make his escape. Two: he was good enough to back it up. With the timeline that Fluff drew out, we couldn’t have been more than ten minutes behind him. Thank Luna everypony who showed up knew enough not to touch anything, or they might have slipped on fresh blood.

Testing was still being done on the blood to get as accurate a chemical analysis as possible, which, despite what TV and bad novels tell you, takes time. It also made it difficult to establish the actual timeline I was looking for; they likely wouldn’t have that information for days. But they had enough to know the general time frame in which the killer would have been in the building. I didn’t have high hopes for that, though. Barrel’s building had had either video tampering or cut feeds on every camera that would be at all relevant. Easy to determine where he’d been by figuring out which cameras had been altered, but he’d also probably thought about that, too.

Most likely half the altered video was just because he could.

Many of the forfeiture and foreclosure notices stitched into Absolutia had been almost completely unreadable, save for some irrelevant details. The fact that they got enough out of all of it to make the connection to me and Paperweight seemed like either a miracle, or a message. My bits were on the latter.

I looked up to realize I was standing in front of Fluff’s door, not moving, and I wondered offhoof how long I’d been standing there. The playback in my mind of the previous night’s events fast-forwarded through the long conversations, experiments, and other miscellaneous activities we’d used to kill time while we waited for the chance for Fluff to revert to her adult form. Which hadn’t happened. Needless to say, aside from the little progress and deduction we could make on the case, the previous evening had been uneventful.

I mean, come on. I’m not that kind of colt.

I knocked on the door, listening for the crashing Big Shot had talked about, or any other signs of life, and heard a slightly dejected “Come in.”

I made my way into the room slowly, weary of the small and dissatisfied voice that had called me in. I took a quick look around, and saw a hint of blue tail hanging over the side of a rolly chair I could only see the back of. “Fluff?”

She wheeled around, and part of me ached for her. She looked for all Equestria like she’d been crying since she woke up, and parts of her looked a bit worse for wear; I could see a few bruises here and there and maybe a scrape.

Given the state of the room as I looked about, I figured she’d spent a good few hours getting... something out of her system. “This stupid...” she muttered, the sudden break in the as of yet unacknowledged silence bringing my focus back to her. “I can’t believe this. It’s always like this. Whenever I want, or plan on doing anything.... what am I supposed to accomplish in an eight year old body?” she fluttered her wings weakly. “I can’t even fly right like this. How am I supposed to live like an adult when I can’t even look the part?”

I didn’t have much to say. This wasn’t really one of those situations where consoling bullshit like ‘I know what you mean’ or ‘I’ve been there’ hold any weight. If anything, it’d be insulting. “So I guess there really isn’t any kind of control, is there?”

She looked up at me, her expression flat and sarcastic. “No. Not at all. I can’t tell you some of the situations I’ve been in when I’ve changed. Literally, can’t. You’d be an accessory after the fact.”

I had no idea what to do with that. “So... what do you want to do?” I asked uselessly.

She looked around the room, and back at me, the harshness gone out of her face, replaced by a weak sense of resignation and exasperation. “Well, for starters, you can help me clean up.”

-------

Longarm awoke to the sound of gunfire. Muffled, static-y, and accompanied by lots of yelling, hooting, and hollering. He looked up lazily from his position on his couch, and waved a hoof at the television with about as much effort as it would take to knock over a piece of paper. That was already lying down. “Mwuh....” he grunted, waiving again. When his as-of-yet unmanifested psychic abilities failed to turn off the TV from across the room, he grunted, and rolled unceremoniously off his couch, onto the floor between it and his coffee table.

A few stray cigarette butts fell off the table and onto his stomach, a small and smoky reminder of the drinking and other unhealthy activities he’d decided to partake in last night in an effort to drive Absolutia’s body out of his mind once again. He’d been seeing her, and Barrel, every time he closed his eyes for the last several days. So far alcohol hadn’t done much more than make his dreams worse, and smoking was really just something to do.

He fumbled around on the floor until he was able to, at the very least, turn himself over, where he could see the remote. He fiddled with it until the noise stopped, and the room got darker.  He took that to mean the TV was off. Poking his head out from behind the table, he could see he was right.

Lacking really any motivation to do much of anything, but still driven by a sense of duty, Longarm pulled himself to his hooves, and slowly made his way to a far wall, where his calendar hung, outlining basic appointments and schedule. He grimaced as he saw what his afternoon had in store for him, and rolled his eyes at the thought of his new “partner’s” reaction.

Partners. Just the word was enough to make him want to reach for another bottle. Part of him hoped he’d run out of them, so he could make an excuse to not buy more, and maybe give his liver a rest. The other part of him, the one that dwelled on the past, and the rather unpleasant present, wanted nothing more than to drown in a sea of intoxication and fall back asleep. But he had things to do. Ponies to save, and other ponies to stop. He’d find a way to make it through another day without booze.

Foregoing the fridge undoubtedly stocked well with liquid unconsciousness in favor of the bathroom, he took the time to shower, relieve himself the last night’s many, many drinks, and brush his teeth. He thought about making something for breakfast, but realized he had little to no appetite. Not a rare thing nowadays.

Throwing on a denim jacket and ballcap, he exited his apartment, not really stopping to lock the door. If there was somepony around desperate enough to rob him, they obviously needed it more than he did. He trotted the familiar path down the stairs and out to the street, taking one last look at the shoddy building somepony with a sadistic streak had deemed an apartment complex, and returned his attention to the street, hailing a cab.

Three missed taxis and a flash of badge later, Longarm was sitting in the back of a rather generic cab, with little decoration save for the lingering odor of previous occupants. “Hospital,” he grumbled, and saw the cabbie nod, pulling back into traffic. He left himself sleep just a little more on the way.

A nap that didn’t last, unfortunately, as the cabbie jostled him awake with a sharp stomp on the brakes as they reached their destination. Longarm looked around, staring out the window as if hoping the building would somehow disappear and give him an excuse to not go inside. He felt like he was looking for excuses everywhere, lately. Tossing the driver his fare and a small gratuity, he helped himself onto the sidewalk and approached the front door with all the fervor of a man who by any other standards should probably already be in the hospital.

The receptionist looked up as the door opened for him, pinning him with her customary, well-practiced, and all but painted-on smile, her eyes moving with him as he approached the desk. She’d seen him before, knew why he was there. She simply handed him a sheet to sign, Visitor Sign-In, and he chicken-scratched his name and other relevant information, before making his way down the hall. He didn’t need to ask what room to look for. He knew.

The door to the room itself wasn’t anything special. Just another numbered wooden door in a row of numbered wooden doors in a building with floor after floor of numbered, wooden doors. The fact that this was room number 209 wasn’t anything significant. Just a number to remember. The only thing even remotely relevant or special about the room was, like in most cases in a hospital, its occupant.

Longarm looked solemnly at the uniform and badge sitting, neatly folded, on the end table. As if it were on display. There were flowers about the room, some of them dead, or dying. Some fresh. Some fake, so as not to bother anypony with the smell when those so generous as to leave them behind didn’t bother to replace them with new ones, had they been real.

The detective registered all of this, and ignored it. He’d seen it before. Knew what it meant. Just condolences and bad memories. His attention turned, finally, regretfully, to the pony in the bed. The heart monitor beeped steadily as the patient’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Not so in sync with the beating of his heart as to be harmonious, just distracting.

“Where are you, buddy?” Longarm asked the pony in the bed. Pale, not quite ghostly, with what should have been a black coat and green mane, now looking more like grey and whatever color it is that strained peas pass off as. Laying a hoof on the unconscious pony’s chest, he continued, “I kind of need you. Really need you. This new guy... he’s not a cop. He’s smart, he’s helping, he’s involved... but there’s no instinct. He’s all snoop and no troop, as you would say. Just a facts guy. He looks at a scene and just knows stuff. So far he’s been useful, and done his bit to stay out of the way, but it still feels like he’s just pushing his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The weary detective took a seat in the chair next to the bed, and leaned on the hoofrest as he spoke. “He’s got this assistant. Feisty little unicorn. Keeps him in check, I think. They have this... symbiosis. But I can’t bring myself to actually like either of them. They’re good, trying to be proper about everything, but it’s just too many hooves in the pie. Even with us being shortstaffed, with Hardy being gone, and you... wherever you are, I really feel like there’s just so much going on and I’m alone in the middle of it. I can’t even say I feel like part of this case. I’m doing all the gruntwork, yeah. Spy.. that’s his name, by the way, Eye Spy... he stays out of a lot of things where I think he should, and it’s making things easier. But at the same time it’s not. I’m the one interviewing witnesses, taking statements, filling out paperwork. Cause he can’t. Even with this whole conscription thing, which, by the way, I’m convinced Jade made up just to buck with us, there’s only so much he can do. Well, aside from sleeping with the forensic staff.”

Longarm stopped and laughed, thinking about his partner’s possible reaction. “Oh yeah,” he said, as if he’d gotten a response. “He’s sleeping with Fluff ‘n’ Stuff. Boy doesn’t know what he’s getting into. Of course, neither do I. Not with this case, not really. I mean, yeah, we’ve caught killers before. Even had a few ritual killings, like those religious wackjobs a few years back, out in the Straights. You remember? Yeah. But it’s nothing like that. This guy. He’s smart. Fast. Brutal. Does everything just right and we can’t figure out shit about him. Every clue we get pushes him farther away and points the hoof at ourselves. He’s got to have somepony on the inside, somewhere. Maybe not in the department, but he’s getting his information somehow. The uniform, the stuff about Spy, all the information he had on the vics.... I just don’t know where he’s getting it.”

“Because I’m certainly not. Getting it, I mean. I... look, I’d stay longer, but I have work to do. The guy’s still out there, and me sitting here wishing things were different isn’t going to change that. And besides...” he hopped down from the chair, and trotted toward the door. He spared a last look over his shoulder as he finished his thought. “We get to visit Slip Stitch today. Can’t wait to see the look on Spy’s face when I tell him.”

----------

Paperweight awoke to the sound of gunfire. Awoke, and almost passed out. It was loud, ringing, violent. Close. Her ears throbbed and sang out in protest, even as her head pounded aggressively at itself in a malicious migraine.

She made to get up. Couldn’t. Tried again. Nothing. Finally, once her head had cleared enough to see, well, anything, she looked down. And saw herself tied to a chair.

Panic was the first thing to set in. Her body shook violently as she struggled against her ropes, to no avail. The chair didn’t even shake. She could see enough of it to notice it was a solid piece of metal, unforgiving, welded to the floor. A floor her eyes followed until she reached a wall, then a ceiling, and finally, the lone light hanging above her head. All she could make out was concrete and shadows.

Then, as her ears slowly stopped ringing, she became aware of a voice. “Oh, good. I was worried I’d started too early. But, like everything else I do, it has worked out perfectly.”

Her anger boiled over as the gravity of her situation took full hold. “What am I doing here?!” she screeched.

Paperweight heard a “Tsk tsk tsk” behind her. “Not the best of questions, but really, I can only expect so much.” She expected him, it was obviously a him, to start walking around and revealing himself. But no. He stayed where he was, simply content with keeping out of her sight. She realized he had no intention of showing his face. It gave her a slight glimmer of hope. It meant he was planning on her seeing somepony else after this. At least, that was the thought she clung to.

“Well, the least I can do is answer your question. You’re here to send a message. To your boss. Now, I won’t be so cliche as to tell him to stop looking. He can do that all he likes. In fact, I’m counting on it. I can’t wait to meet him, finally. Him and all the other players. No, I just want you to be the one to tell him it doesn’t matter what any of them do. They’re not going to catch me. They’ll see me, oh yes. I will make my claim and shine in the spotlight once my work is done. Fear you not. But it won’t matter. By that time there will be nopony left in power to stop me.”

She heard the familiar metallic sounds of a gun being reloaded. Alive or not, she wasn’t getting out of this unscathed. She braced herself for whatever part of her he was going to shoot out, hoping it would do any bit of good.

“I’d ask you to be a dear and tell me what he says, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. After all,” he added, and she heard the click of the gun next to her left ear, “you won’t be able to hear it.”

Realization crossed her features in an expression of stark terror an instant before the gun fired. Millimeters from her ear. Pain like she had never known or even seen described resonated through her as her eardrum exploded within her skull, the powerful and relentless blast of sound from the barrel smashing it into pieces. The couldn’t even hear her own scream over the shot, and the ringing in her head.

Then she heard the click in her right ear.
> Wasted
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 9: Wasted

There are very few things in the world that bracing yourself does any good for. Heavy lifting, or physical exertion of any kind, being among them. Bracing yourself emotionally? Nigh impossible. There’s no muscle to flex in the back of your mind that makes the rest of it a steel trap from which no emotion can escape. You can’t turn your own mind on and off without chemical additives or some very unique psychological disorders. The rest of us normal folk all have to sit by and hope that whatever it is we’re getting ready to face doesn’t absolutely destroy us.

So when a nurse tells you to “brace yourself”, feel free to not bother.

But first, let me back up a few moments. Or, more precisely, a few hours. I’d been helping clean up Fluff’s office at the time, putting things back together and doing my best to either be consoling or considerately quiet whenever she felt the need to cry or throw something again. It didn’t look like she’s be feeling better anytime soon, even after we were done cleaning. She was still a kid by the time I left.

I’d gotten a call from Longarm shortly thereafter, as if somepony had planned out my day for me and simply forgot to let me know. I hadn’t even finished my doughnut, the bastard. He told me to meet him in front of the precinct and to take Paperweight with me.

It was at that point I’d realized I hadn’t seen her all day. Which honestly didn’t surprise me that much. She liked to sleep at home and had said something about doing research before we met up again today. I think it was an excuse to stay as far away from Evidence while I was in it as possible. Which was kind of a moot point, but she didn’t know that.

So I drummed up a phone from some desk or another and called her house. I wasn’t really surprised to get an answer. I usually had to try a few different places to reach her when she was being studious. So I dialed another practiced number, and waited.

She wasn’t at the office, either. Again, no surprise. She really only spent time there when I did. I think she has trouble reading my thought maps and stuff. Although she’s the only one that understands the filing system, Luna bless her.

Once again, I dialed a number I’d rung like a million and a half times. The library. Tried and true resting place of many a book, student, and overly-intelligent secretary. Thee, I got an answer. Of course I did, they have receptionists.

“Good morning, Detrot City Municipal Library, how may I help you?” a bright, cheery voice came over the line. One I knew pretty well, I might add.

“Hey Bookend, is Paperweight there?” I asked nonchalantly. Really, I’ve called the library more often than my own mother.

But that’s another story.

“No, sorry, Spy. I haven’t seen her all week. But while I have you on the line, there is the small matter of your late fees-”

“OH. Would you look at that. This detective wants his phone back. So sorry, call you later,” I said hurriedly, waving at an imaginary stallion waiting impatiently for the phone. For effect, mind you. I don’t know why I do it when I know they can’t see me.

“SPY-” CLICK. Nothing worse than talking to people you owe money too. It’s really a rather terrifying prospect.

Having as of yet no way of reaching my dutiful assistant, I made my way to the front of the precinct to wait for Longarm, figuring that when Paperweight needed to find me, she would. She always does.

The DPD has always been a rather fascinating place for me. Even without my initial desire to be a police officer, I’d always found the inner workings of the building to be more than a little intriguing. Yes, you have the archetypal and long-established design of rows of officer’s desks, smaller rooms as individual offices for detectives, sergeants, and lieutenants, and the dispatch room, but they way it’d been put together never seemed to amaze me.

Most everypony knows about the dispatch station. Telly’s workplace and/or place of residence, it was a beast of a desk equipped (and possibly armed), with such a wide array of communications devices that I was pretty sure half the conversations she had when I was around were to people not even remotely related to the department. Of course, nopony was stupid enough to challenge her on that front. Especially not anypony who really, really wanted to have a go at her between the sheets. A pipedream, that, really. I’d never seen her away from the desk outside of meetings and, well, anything that basically required her to forsake her battlestation for fear of it affecting her paycheck. A strange thing, though. Given that I was convinced she never left her desk, what the bloody hell did she spend her paycheck on?

Then there was the Luna-forsaken file cloud. I absolutely loathed that thing, having been one of its... contents, for a time. It’s a long story. Oh, yes, I could understand its purpose well enough, and had seen it in action plenty of times to not doubt its usefulness, but still. Keep that fucking thing away from me.

The individual officers weren’t really anything to write home about unless you knew them personally. And really, the only one I knew in more than passing was Longarm. A decent fellow, and I’ve been trying my best to stay out of his way and approach the investigation from an angle that won’t totally buck everything up, but I get the distinct feeling there’s a reason I don’t see him anywhere near as much as the phrase “partner” would entail.

Of course, I knew about Hard Boiled. Every P.I. in the city knew his name. Some spat it out. Others used it as a threat. Some just talked about him like some kind of urban legend that made the papers once too often. Things still haven’t recovered from losing him, not entirely, although you wouldn’t know it looking at the place.

Then a thought struck me. A rather uncomfortable one. This department, which covers one of the largest cities in Equestria, has several hundred officers. Nigh a thousand, if memory serves. And all the rumors I’d heard tell of how badly Iris Jade wanted Hardy’s head on a stick so she could javelin it through a high-story window. Then how the buck were they short-hoofed? I mean, even with Longarm’s partner out of commission, which I had yet to ask him about, two downed officers does not a broken department make.

Of course, questioning this fact would mean questioning Iris Jade herself. Literally. I’d have to ask her these questions, most likely on my own. And that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Unless...

“Hey, Telly!” I trotted happily up to dispatch, and leaned patiently against a remarkably empty section of desk while she chatted at speeds probably immeasurable by any instruments I knew about.

She waved shortly at me, and kept working for a bit. Then, during a rare lull, she turned her attention to me. “Hey Espy. What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Well, I’m waiting for Longarm and Paperweight so I can get this trainwreck of a day over with. How about you?” I leaned my elbows on the desk and sat my head on my hooves to prop me up.

“Well, aside from all the work I’m doing, not much,” she returned innocently, then spoke into another headset in a language i didn’t know, and pressed a bunch of buttons.

I sat up straighter. “Should I leave you alone, then?”

She scoffed. “Please, if you were enough to distract me from my job I’d have been fired years ago. You’re fine. Oh, hold on,” she added, as a new headset made its appearance, and she started chatting to somepony.

“Well, in that case, I’ve been meaning to ask-” she stopped me mid-sentence with a hoof in the air, so I waited. As I watched her, though, I noticed the color drain from her face. Her eyes flicked to me on occasion, as she asked quick questions and got seemingly quick responses.

When she was done, she set the headset down, slowly, and turned to me. “S-Spy...”

“What? What’s wrong? Please tell me we don’t have another corpse,” I whined, not ready to deal with more of this psycho’s “artwork.”

“N... no. That was the hospital. They... Paperweight was found unconscious at the entrance of the ICU. Her... both her eardrums have been ruptured, and she’s been shot,” Telly explained.

It was like all sound had fallen from the world. The more she spoke, explaining what the doctor had told her, the smaller the rest of the world became. Eventually, her words, too, faded away. It felt as if everyone had just left the room all at once and turned the lights out.

I’ve never run so hard in my life.

------------

Few things in my life have ever driven me to hate anything. Yes, there’s the natural hatred that comes with knowing the nature of a thing. Hating rapists and murderers. Corrupt politicians. Certain kinds of food. But the moments are few and far between when I’ve known, personally, the source of my fury. Or been close enough to it, at least, that it is a tangible thing to me. Not just a concept that deserves to be scorned or a figurehead to be shunned.

But I don’t count most of those things. Sure, I dislike them, maybe hate them, but as an afterthought. A natural response. A passive loathing that I barely notice except in the nature of conversation, when I would say “I hate this stuff”, or “I hate ponies like that.” It’s not very often when I find myself hating, despising, wishing nothing but harm on an individual. I’m not a fighter. I’m an investigator. I’m a facts guy. I don’t hunt people down and drag them in. I collect evidence and take pictures and go to some really dirty places.

Except him. This... thing. I’ll hunt him. I drag him kicking and screaming into a dark room with no windows, concrete walls, and blast doors. And I’ll kill him.

It was... therapeutic to entertain these thoughts as I ran. I didn’t remember how far away the hospital was, but I remembered how to get there. Or maybe I was just running on instinct and all of my personal injuries acted as a compass to the building I spent more time in than I usually should.

I remember running past Longarm on the way. I don’t remember if he was in a car, or at the front steps, or just on the side of the road. But I remember seeing him. And ignoring him. I think a few other ponies called after me.

I thought about flying straight there. I even flexed my wings to get ready to take off, when they hit the insides of my hoodie and I realized I’d have to stop to take it off. And I wasn’t going to stop. I didn’t think I ever would, even when I got to the hospital. I’d just run through the halls, run through the lobbies, run into the room, and keep running.

I couldn’t think of anything else to do. So I thought about killing him.

That murderous psychopath. That deviant with a knife and all the free time and artistic license of an unemployed painter. I thought about what he must look like. What his face looked like. I gave it a shape, just some passing details, enough to ponder what his expression would be once I got a hold of him. I’d take everything from him that I could. I’d kill him.

It’s not like he didn’t deserve it. Five dead, in truly horrific ways. We hadn’t even found three of them. No pattern, no sense of direction. A barely tangible association. Me. I didn’t know if he was targeting me, or if I was simply a piece of convenience in whatever puzzle he felt he needed to solve by turning other ponies into jigsaw pieces.

I thought as hard as I ran. Part of me was focused on the mental image of killing the “murderer” I’d constructed in my mind, the other racing through all the evidence I could remember. Whatever we were doing, it hadn’t been enough. We hadn’t stopped anything, and now he was targeting us personally.
The hospital loomed over the horizon like a finish line, a lighthouse after ten years at sea. A beacon, telling me to move faster, to try harder. I was almost there.

And then I was. The front doors stood before me, sliding open with all the patience of a Tibitten monk. I ran through them as soon as I could fit, and almost slid bodily into the receptionist's desk.

I obviously wasn’t the first impatient visitor she’d ever had. She looked at me at first with pity, then recognition, then sorrow. Seeming to process the entire situation at once, she didn’t bother asking me any questions. Just rifled through some papers quick as you like until her hoof stopped on one, and she returned her gaze to me.

“She’s still in surgery, Mr. Spy. She’s on the third floor, but you’ll have to wait in the lobby until they move her into recovery,” she explained.

My mind latched onto only part of her sentence. “Surgery?! What kind of surgery?!” The urgency in my voice rivaled the sirens on the ambulances outside.

She glanced over the paper, and flinched. “They’re still removing the bullets.”

I don’t know how long that took to sink in, but I can only imagine my expression at the time. Given how it was reflected in the receptionist’s face, I had a pretty good guess. “Bullets? How many bullets?! HOW MANY TIMES DID HE SHOOT HER, DAMMIT?!”

She flinched, and shrunk back, but regained her composure. I recognized her, at some point. I’d talked to her quite a few times during my visits. She looked over my shoulder and waved... somepony down. I’m guessing security, after I yelled at their desk clerk.

“She’s got a bullet in each of her front hooves, and ruptured eardrums. I don’t know how much more I can tell you without guessing. You best bet is to go upstairs and wait,” she added soothingly, pointing towards the elevators.

I took my cue, and marched on. I thought about running, but at that point most if not all of my exertion had caught up with me. A couple of pressed buttons and a door chime later, I was leaning on the inside wall of the lift, catching my breath.

The third floor looked much like the first, except replace all the chairs and niceties and front desk with crash carts and heavy metal doors and god knows what else these things were for. I could probably figure it out if I took the time to stop and look. But that wasn’t going to happen.

I asked a few ponies, some of whom recognized me, for directions. The ones who knew me didn’t even let me finish, they just pointed and I followed. Eventually I found myself in a small waiting area. A few chairs, a tiny TV behind a metal grate, and another pony who looked so far drawn into himself I’m surprised he didn’t pull his lip over his head and swallow.

A passing nurse informed me that someone would let me know when she was taken out of surgery, and again when I could see her.

Waiting in a hospital is one of the longest moments of anypony’s life. There’s the last five minutes of class, the two to ten minutes before the bus or train or plane arrives, the wait for the mail, and hospital waiting rooms. If time were truly relative to perception we’d all grow old waiting for the world to catch up.

One thing did change as I was waiting, however. Longarm showed up. He looked like I felt, having run all over creation. “What... the hell... was that?” he panted, slumping over a seat next to me. He looked a little like a ragdoll. Being as exhausted as I was, my mind was still flying a mile a minute. Suffice to say my first few attempts were a garbled mess before I could properly explain the situation to him. 

“Oh,” was all he said, after I was done. He righted himself in his seat and fiddled around for a bit, before looking up at me and saying more. “Spy, I want to tell you that it will be ok, and she’ll be fine, but... I’m not exactly the right pony to say that.”

It took me a second to put together what he was saying. “You’re talking about your partner, right?”

He nodded. He was quiet for a moment, then, with a sigh that I could only assume was to ready himself for what he was about to say, he started in. “It happened a little over a year ago, on the fifth anniversary of our getting into the precinct...”

As he talked, I started piecing things together. His story was long, winded, and he obviously hadn’t told it too many times. But the clarity with which he spoke and the precision in the details told me he relived it more often than not. By the time he was done talking, I couldn’t say I felt any better. But I understood a few things. About my position here. Why Iris Jade wanted me where I was, or, more specifically, how convenient I was for putting Longarm where he needed to be.

He made me promise not to tell anypony what he said, but I’m sure someday he’ll tell somepony else. When he needs to.

His story had also accomplished something else: more time had passed than I thought. A few moments after he was done, the nurse from earlier came up to me and told me where I could find Paperweight, but that she wasn’t awake just yet. Apparently she’d been resting the entire time we’d talked, and had come out of surgery a little after I’d gotten there. They were just waiting for her to wake up.

The walk to her room was long, trying, and didn’t seem to get any shorter, no matter how many steps I took. I was reaching to open the door when it seemed to do so by itself. On the other side, I saw a familiar face: Cross Stitch. Even with my secondary instinct to avoid him, I just sat and waited for him to say something.

He looked me over, and, seeing I was waiting for him to talk first, flipped through his clipboard and read off a few sentences in medical jargon. I understood most of it, but the only important thing he said was, “She’ll be... ok. She’ll be able to walk again in a few days, maybe a couple of weeks if her body decides to be stubborn. I can’t speak for her writing ability, unless she uses magic for hat.” I nodded. “Good. She’s probably going to have to rely on that for... well, much more than she used to.”

I hesitated in asking, but I knew I had to. “What do you mean?”

He gave me a long, hard look. “I mean, we had to surgically remove some broken parts of her ears. She’s never going to hear again. Her balance will be almost trash, her spatial awareness could take months to recover, and she’s going to have to adapt to a whole new way of life. God knows how you two function, but she may need to find either a new way to do her job, or a new job. She’ll recover from her wounds, but she’s not going to be the same pony you said goodbye to yesterday. I hope whatever you said to her last night was meaningful, cause those are as good as last words.”
> Silent Film
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10: Silent Film

I had just been promoted to Detective, myself. He’d been slated for the same post for a few years. We weren’t new to being cops, mind you. We were originally Fillydelphia officers. But we’d been in Detrot for a year and had decided to treat ourselves to something nice for surviving five years in a city that our old C.O. had told us we wouldn’t last a week in.

“So what are you in the mood for? Wings? Veggies? Something on a stick? Maybe something exotic?” he’d asked me, as we were dressing down in the locker room. He was referring to mares, actually. I know, it sounds like a dinner question. But he always talked like that. What kind of girl would I like? Pegasus, Earth pony, unicorn, Zebra, bat pony? He had a weird way of talking, sometimes. He called cruising for chicks “eating out”, for obvious reasons. Not exactly a model for appropriate behavior, when he was off the clock. He’d come close to a lawsuit once, as I recall. But that’s another much less important story.

Either way, we were just heading out of the precinct. “I’m thinking maybe a nice Pegasus girl. You know, something light,” I said.

He gave me a playful nudge. “Feeling like letting her be on top, or somethin’?”

I laughed, and shoved him back. “Don’t be crude, the boss is still only a hundred yards away. Now come on, let’s hit a bar before they either all close or do something stupid. I don’t wanna walk in on another murder case like Heart’s and Hooves Day.”

He nodded, shuddering. “Remind me to empty a room of glass bottles before I dump a mare in public.”

I twitched. “Remind me not to dump a mare in public.”

“You mean you don’twant witnesses?” he asked.

I thought about it. “Fair point. So, where are we going, anyway? Has anything new opened up to replace that old Shirish bar we used to hit?”

He shook his head. “Nah. There’s a Scoltish place nearby, if you want. Might be a little ruff and tumble for us, though. I certainly don’t feel like another fight tonight.”

I laughed and nodded my agreement. We’d had a hit and run earlier today that had ditched his wheels and bailed down an alleyway. We’d had to chase him down and corner him, but since he wasn’t armed we couldn’t exactly pull our guns out and drop him. So we’d had to go hoof-to-hoof. Escalation of force and all that jazz. I was still nursing a bad ankle and my partner’s ear was bent at an odd angle, wrapped up in some bandages.

We’d ended up going to a small hole in the wall for warmup drinks and something to eat, thinking we’d do a bar crawl. One drink one bar and all that, and see if we met anypony on the way. We had our wingpony system, just like other guys. Of course, we didn’t get to that.

While we were sitting around in that little hole of a bar, some guy was going off at the end of the room about this great new nightclub that had just opened a few weeks ago, and was raking in money and stuff. The place was supposed to be all lit up right, with gorgeous girls working tables and poles, and all that jazz. Basically what every club tells its potential clientele it has. We figured most of it was bunk, but having hit every other watering hole on the strip at least once, and our only other plan being to do it again all in one night, we thought that maybe just sitting in one place all night would be good for us.

So we paid for our drinks and walked off, finding the new establishment without much issue. They had those big searchlights in front of the entrance, shining into the clouds in big white circles. The whole Grand Opening shtick. There was a decent line, which was to be expected, so we stood in the back and shot the shit while it slowly moved forward. They’d let a few ponies in every couple of minutes, but we were still waiting for the better part of an hour, if not the whole thing. I remember he was talking up this pretty little thing maybe five years younger than him and dressed like she required a life support system made of glowsticks. I’d let them alone while they talked, nudging him every once in a while when the line was moving.

I’d thought we’d have to wait when we got in, once we got to the door, but apparently the bouncer recognized us. He brought up some case or something where we’d found the guy who’d robbed his apartment or business or whatever. Something we did every day, but it meant a lot to this guy. So he let us in, and my partner made a point of getting the girl he was chatting up in with him. The bouncer said alright, and we all walked in and got ourselves a table.

I remember the joint pretty well, since I’ve actually been back there once or twice since then, but for different reasons. Lights everywhere, poles and tables and runways and dancing cages. About what you’d expect from a club owner with a lot of cash. We both figured it was probably owned by somepony who really shouldn’t have all that money, but does anyway. SO we sat down for a little, ordered some drinks, and once we’d had our required dose of liquid courage, got ourselves out on the dance floor. Those two were going at it out there, dancing like the devil was in ‘em and grinding on each other like they were gonna fuck right there. Then again, so was most everypony else.

I remember it started right when I’d found somepony to dance with. I don’t remember what she looked like, let alone her name or her voice. But I do remember asking her.

“What’s your name?” I’d shouted over the crowd.

“What?!” she’d shouted back. I couldn’t hear her but I could read her lips just well enough.

“What’s your-” and I got cut off.

A bunch of glass hitting the floor was the first thing I noticed. At first I thought somepony had busted a window or a light had blown out. Turns out I was right on the first count. I looked up, and saw window after window getting broken in, as a bunch of PACT guys dropped through the ceiling, black suits and ziplines and all that. Now, my first thought was what the hell were they doing here? They hunted monsters and stuff. Fond out later that the establishment was run by a Manticore with a bit more intelligence than the average bear, and a side drug trade dealing out diluted and treated manticore venom as a hallucinogen.

So they brought in these guys, not bothering to tell the DPD about it, of course, or we might not have been there. I’m still not a big fan of PACT, even if I do like some of their toys. They announced that it was a raid, and officers came in from the entrances and exits, surrounding the building and all that.

At some point, somepony lobbed a flashbang in front of me. I didn’t even think. I just kicked it away from me as hard as I could. I didn’t pay attention to where it landed, just made sure to shield myself from when it went off. Then I looked around for my partner. Found him, amidst all the commotion. He’d been trampled slightly, enough to break both his legs. I drug him away from the crowds and gave him a once-over.

I started to put together what happened when I noticed the phosphorous burns on his face. I got witness statements later telling me what I already knew: I’d kicked the flashbang right into his face. It had gone off right in front of him. His eyes were destroyed, his face burned, and the concussive force knocked him back into a table and knocked him out. From there, he’d gotten trampled on, and that’s when I’d found him.

He hasn’t woken up since. And I haven’t forgiven myself since.

----------------

“I’ve had partners since then, of course,” Longarm explained. “None of them lasted long, at first. They asked for transfers or new partners or just up and left without explaining why. I don’t blame them. I’ve been a right ass for a year. Lucky I haven’t been fired or transferred since.

“Nopony blames me for what happened, except me. They say I was just following my training. We’re taught to throw away grenades that land to close to us, not dive on them. Most ponies I know blame PACT for not discussing the raid with other agencies. Of course, there’s been some debate that DPD did know, but didn’t tell its lower officers because it was ‘need to know’ information.” The cop’s tone whenever he brought up PACT was tense and hollow. Like discussing a relative you would rather just pretend was dead.

I didn’t really know what to say to any of it. “So... where is he now? Somewhere in this hospital, I imagine.”

Longarm nodded. “Yeah, not far from here, a few wings down. I visit him now and then, when it’s getting bad. I’ve seen him a few times since we started our investigation. I keep hoping he’ll wake up and go out and find this guy for us so I can get back to chasing villains I understand.”

My head bobbed up and down in slow agreement as I tried to think of something more creative to say. He filled the silence for me, though. “I guess that’s a little bit of why I’m saddled with you. No offense. I think Jade wants me around someone that I can’t be totally careless with. I think she’s one of the only ponies that holds me accountable for that night. So my thinking is that she dropped somepony on me who I have to be wary of, and can’t assume they know what to do at any given moment. Up to now it’s all been investigations and analyzing crime scenes. We haven’t even really had suspects to question outside of the staff at the murder scenes. I keep waiting for that day when he shows himself and the bullets start flying. I have no idea what to expect of you if that were to happen, you know.”

I shrugged weakly. Expressing emotion right now felt like exercise. “Honestly, neither do I. I’ve been shot at before. When guys didn’t want me snooping and stuff. But then I could just run away. I don’t know if I can do that with this guy. I can’t even imagine what would happen if I met him-” I stopped myself as a nurse approached.

“The doctor says you can come in. She’s still sleeping, but he’d like a few words with you.”

------------------

Longarm let himself out of the hospital room while the doctor explained possible options, the likelihood of recovery, and a bunch of other numbers that he was basically spouting off in an optimistic voice to give Eye Spy some hope. He’d heard much the same rigamarole when his partner had been admitted. He looked off in the general direction that he knew his partner was resting in, and tried not to dwell on it. This wasn’t about him or his shortcomings right now. This was about the two ponies in the room behind him that would have to fight to have a normal conversation for a while, and even longer to have a normal life, whatever that was for them.

Leaning against the wall just to the side of the door frame, he could hear basic mumblings of what was going on inside. Spy’s voice would raise now and again, but settle down after some (assumed) placating words from the doctor, and they would go back to talking. The basic gist of what Longarm caught was that the damage that had been done originally to her ear had been rather bad, but she’d been left unattended so long that the blood had clotted and caused further complications. With the surgeries they’d had to perform to clear out the damaged tissue and clots, there wasn’t enough material to work with for implants and the like.

Longarm pushed the door in a little bit to let some sound into the hall, mildly curious. He hadn’t left the room because they’d asked him too, after all. “There may be some magical alternatives,” the doctor explained, “and she’s certainly still capable of speaking or writing, but ponies who suddenly become deaf face a great deal of problems that those born deaf do not. The scenarios are similar, but the adjustment period is really the hardest part. The bottom line of what I’m telling you is that there may be an answer out there somewhere, but you’re not going to find it in this hospital.”

Spy didn’t respond to that right away. In fact, he didn’t at all, as the doctor took the prolonged silence as an opportunity to leave. Whether he recognized that Spy understood the scenario, or that he just wasn’t going to listen anymore, Longarm couldn’t be sure of. Either way, the doctor only gave him a courtesy nod as he walked out and off to treat somepony who hopefully had better chances of normalcy than the unicorn in the room behind him.

Longarm waited a few moments before walking back in, only to see Spy leaning over a still-sleeping Paperweight. Spy shook quietly at his post, a motion Longarm could easily identify as quiet sobs. Not wanting to interrupt the detective’s chance to let out what little emotion of his hadn’t exploded all over the room yet, the cop settled for taking a seat in the corner and waiting.

The room was silent for a while, before Spy spoke up. At first, the Earth pony officer thought he was being talked to, but when he looked up he saw Spy gently brushing a lock of mane out of Paperweight’s face, and talking quietly to her sleeping form. “You know, there’s a whole bunch of things I wanted to do for you when we were done with this case. Our first big real case, and I can’t even protect you. I was going to take you to the theatre. To the movies. Even try and scrounge up enough to visit Canterlot and the Royal Public Library. They say it’s even bigger than what the Archivists here have. I’m not sure about that, but I think you’d love it. In fact, I think I’ll take you there anyway. You don’t need to... listen... to a book. Yeah. What do you think? When this is done, we go to Canterlot? Take all that money from the job, and just pick up and leave? Maybe I can even find work over there for us, and we can get away from this hellhole of a city.”

Spy kept rambling, saying whatever he could think of, filling the silence with promises to a deaf pony and wishful thinking. Longarm recognized it, of course: what Spy was going through. He’d seen it a million times and experienced a variety of it himself. That kind of remorse you get when you feel like everything’s your fault, and all you want to do is fix it. When you can’t think of anything to say but what you think they’d want to hear if they could hear you.

After a while, some time after the pegasus had stopped talking, Longarm walked up and put a hoof on his shoulder. “Listen, Spy, there’s nothing we can do right now except let her sleep. We have a lot of work to do and for now we’re a mare down.”

“No, I gotta stay here. I have to be here when she wakes up,” Spy said quietly.

The Earth pony wasn’t having any of his stubbornness. “Hey, I understand how you feel, but we have to get going. There’s still a lot of work to do-”

“NO!” Spy shouted, swinging an arm wildly. The untrained attack caught Longarm off guard, knocking him back on the floor. Spy looked over his shoulder, bearing an expression that was nothing short of an artist’s portrayal of sorrow and rage. “I can’t leave her! Not now! I wasn’t there when she needed me! I was off... hell, I wasn’t even doing anything! I was just... talking! No, I gotta stay here.”

Longarm recognized it more, now. What Spy was feeling. Why he was so intense. Not just the typical “survivor’s guilt”, but something else. He’d also seen it a million times before, on a million different faces. “Spy... are you...”

“What?” the detective snapped, turning and dropping to all four hooves to face the cop. “Am I what?!”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Spy stopped for a moment, his face a mixture of disbelief and hurt. After a few moments, he yelled out, “Yes! Yes, I am, ok! Is that what you wanted to hear?! You wanted to hear me say it, or something?! Yeah, I’m in love with her! So excuse me if I want to spend all of my waking time with her, or something!”

Longarm picked himself up from the floor, not bothering to tend to the welt slowly developing on the side of his face. “Look, it’s not going to do a whole lot of good, right now. We can come back and try to find a way to communicate with her later. I’ll bring a big pad of paper and a marker, or something, ok?”

Something in the statement must have hit home, as Spy wheeled around and pinned Longarm to a wall. The cop let him, having seen the movement coming a mile away. Spy didn’t hit him, just held him up. “No! It’s not going to be ok, officer! I’m in love with her, and now I can never say it to her face! Do you get it?! She’ll never hear me say ‘I love you’!”
> Two Colts and a Corkboard
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 11: Two Colts and a Corkboard

I’d been escorted back to my office after I’d exploded in the hospital. I wanted to protest but I couldn’t think of any reasonable arguments. So I just fumed and stewed in my own juices as I was led back to my office. There was too much going on and not enough sense and I just couldn’t deal, so I let Longarm frogmarch me home.

He seemed a little hesitant about letting himself in when we got to the office, why I could only guess, but eased up as I offered him something to eat or drink. “All we got’s some cold or frozen veggies and bread with some sandwich spread right now. I need to tell Paper... Weight...” I trailed off, realizing I’d have to write her a note. Instead of the blindingly discordant anger that flooded me at the side of her hospital bed, a wave of melancholy washed over me as I pulled out a small pen and a pad of paper. I wrote something half-hearted down about going grocery shopping, and tossed it on the table. Luna knew if I’d find it again.

Longarm stared around the room for a bit, his eyes lingering on the whiteboards and corkboards and all the notes and paperwork I’d laid out. “You uh... you seem to be rather entrenched here, Spy.”

I’d made my way to the kitchen while he was giving the place a look-see, and called over my shoulder, “Not as much as I like. There’s a few boards in the back I need to bring out later once I get some of the lab results back from Fluff. She’s making a timeline of the blood mural at the second scene, and she’s gonna cross-reference that with a bunch of video footage from the hotel. Well, her and her small army of brain-slaves.”

I heard a chuckle behind me, half-appreciative, half-nervous. “Right. So... how’s... she doing? How are... things between you two?”

It was like watching somebody hold their hoof over a bucket of hot water trying to work up the nerve to dunk it in and pull out the keys they’d dropped in. “For Luna’s sake, Longarm. I’m pissed off, not broken. It’s not like I’m just going to run out the door and start killing ponies. Talk to me like a normal stallion or you don’t get dinner. And Fluff is... well, she’s dealing. I went over to Evidence last night with the intention of bending her over a lab table and plowing her stupid. Her... disorder had other ideas. So we spent the evening cleaning up her lab and the morning just talking about the case and whatever the hell we felt like.” I dug out a small bag of baby carrots, poured them in a bowl, and dropped them on the table in front of the couch. “S’what I got right now.”

Longarm looked at the carrots for a moment, as if trying to determine something about them. Then he looked at me. “Spy, let me ask you something.”

“That sounds like an order,” I said. I’d be slightly amused if I wasn’t so damn depressed. And angry. I’m pretty sure there was still some of that in there. But the walk home, and the cold weather, and the office that had never seemed emptier just drained everything resembling energy out of me. Honestly I just wanted to curl up and let everypony else do it.

“Why are you sleeping with Fluff’n’Stuff?”

I imagine my expression at the time was something akin to watching a pony grow a second head. “What? You’re joking, right? Have you not seen her when she’s an adult?”

He dismissed the statement with the wave of a hoof. “No, not that. I mean, if you’re in love with Paperweight, why sleep with Fluff? Or any other mares? I get the impression you have a tendency to take it where you can find it.”

I shrugged. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about, but by now I was on autopilot. I could be a serial killer we were investigating, the serial killer we were investigating, and if he’d asked me I’d probably just recount all the details of all the crimes like I was reading the book on Detrot tax law. Slow, emotionless, and with a surprising amount of clarity. “Probably because she has almost no interest in me. There are times when I’m pretty sure that if I wasn’t supplying a steady paycheck, and didn’t need her for basically everything, she’d just up and walk off. Not only is she disturbingly hard to read sometimes, but most of what I do, what we do, would not only make most ponies turn away, but grab them by the aft end and chuck ‘em out the door. It amazes me every day that she gets up and does what she does despite everything. Especially now. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she quit as soon as she woke up.”

He considered me for a moment. “You don’t have a lot of faith in her, do you?”

Part of me felt insulted, like I was supposed to, but I knew what he was trying to say. “No, Longarm. I don’t have a lot of faith in myself. I’m pretty much only good at one thing, and even then not all the time.

Longarm leaned on his elbow on the arm of the couch, and popped a carrot in his mouth. After a few chews, he said, “And what is that?”

I smiled weakly. “Pattern recognition. It’s my special talent. I see the world, how it relates to itself. I look at a room and I can tell you what everything is for, what it does. Who uses it. Why. I can sniff out details in the stupidest hiding places and tell you exactly what it’s for. But my talent’s got a huge gaping hole.”

“Oh?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Time. Pattern recognition over time is... a problem for me. Not so much if I’m looking at it all at once, like a timeline of a calendar or something like that. But every time I look at something knew, over-analyze it, and figure it out, something old gets tossed away. If I’m not looking at it all at once I just don’t see it.”

Longarm didn’t say anything for a while. He ate a few more carrots, and for the longest time I thought he wasn’t going to say anything. So I went back to looking at the evidence again. The crime scene photos. The ledger. The scans of the little black book. They’d made me give the real one back to evidence.

“Spy, do you know what my special talent is?” Longarm asked.

I almost jumped. I hadn’t really expected him to say anything else. That, and I was neck-deep in thought at the moment. “Uh... no. Not really.” I glanced at his Cutie Mark. “Um... hitting people?”

He raised an eyebrow, and turned his gaze to his flanks, where the image of a block and gavel sat, against his red fur. “No you moron. My talent is judging people.” When I gave him a look about that, he elaborated, “And not like good or evil. I’m an excellent judge of character. I may not have the best instincts or the best aim, but I know somepony when I talk to them. I can tell you quite a bit about a pony just from a few minutes of conversation. Pony Resources has been trying to force me to transfer to the Hiring Staff for ages. And do you know what I see when I look at you two?”

I gave him an unamused stare. “If you go all chick-flick-y on me I’m shooting you.”

He laughed a bit at that. I suppose you have to be able to, in most circumstances. It was a skill I hadn’t quite learned yet. “I see me and my partner. I see two ponies who know each other like the hours of the day. If she walks out on you because of this I’ll eat my gun. Loaded.”

“That sounds an awful lot like greeting card bs, Longarm. Did you just tumble flank over teakettle out of some cheap 60‘s cop show?”

Another laugh. Louder this time. “Look, Spy. I’ve been right where you are. Alone. Watching my partner sleep. Waiting for things to go back to normal, when you know they’re never going to. I’ve done it over and over. Not just with him. With family. Friends. I’ve been at this a while. You’d be surprised the kind of changes my life has made, for better or worse. You spend most of your time chasing unfaithful husbands and insurance frauds, right? When was the last time anypony died during one of your investigations?” I couldn’t think of anything. And the look on my face must have told him as much. “Exactly. Look, you’re not a cop. And I can see why they didn’t let you through to being one. You’re not cut out to wear a badge like us, Spy. You’re a whole different kind of pony. You want my opinion, and hell, even if you don’t, you’re right where you should be. Just starting out. We’re going to catch this guy. Paperweight’s gonna get up out of that hospital bed. And the next morning, some evil piece of shit is going to get up and fuck over somepony else’s day. And you’ll do all this all over again. Because that’s the life, Spy. It’s what my talent is telling me you’re made to do.”

I thought about his words for a while. He stopped, stared at me, waited for an answer. Finally, I said, “That’s an awfully long and roundabout way of saying ‘suck it up.’”

His eyes widened, obviously not the answer he was expecting. Then, he laughed again. And I joined him. And it felt... normal. “Look, Spy, you may not ever be a cop. Probably not. You’re not gonna wear a badge, make Lieutenant, or be the Chief. But you are going to do a damn good job. You may never run the world, but you’re sure as hell gonna keep it standing.”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but if we sit here and bullshit too long there won’t be a world... to... run.” I trailed off, my voice dipping with each word as realization struck me, not like a brick, but a large, intrusive needle through the brain. Obvious, painful, and obnoxiously slow.

Longarm quirked his head at me. “You look like you just figured out where Jimmy Hoofa is buried.”

“They didn’t bury him, he just went home,” I said, not paying attention. I walked past Longarm and the now very confused look he was wearing, and stopped inches from the corkboard with the crime scene photos. I looked back and forth, from Barrel’s photo to Absolutia’s. “The system...” I whispered, piecing it together.

“Pardon?” the cop asked over my shoulder, trying to see what I saw.

“The system. It was something I’d said a while back that just kind of poked at me since. I knew this guy had a pattern, had previous victims. He basically told us as much at the first scene. Quick, Longarm, if you had to take down all of Detrot’s infrastructure with only nine bullets, who would you kill?”

He rolled it over in his head. “Well, Absolutia, for one. I’d say the mayor, but he’s little more than a chess piece. His secretary, though, half the city walks across her desk every damn morning. LS&B would be a great place to start if you couldn’t get to some other firms. Or if you were trying to absolutely fuck over some politicians.”

I nodded. “Right. I know that they spend quite a lot of money to make problems go away for certain ponies in power. Fortunately, I haven’t been asked to do any of that. They just point me at a guy who’s already fucking up and give me a camera. Who else?”

“The Chief, although you’d have to be a special kind of stupid to try that shit. Even Fluff’n’Stuff is scared shitless of her and I’ve seen her stare down minotaurs.”

An idea crossed my mind. “I’m not exactly sure she... scared them into submission.”

“...I don’t want to think about that. At all. Anyway, you’d also want to take out the Director of Transportaion. Or you would, if he hadn’t had a bloody heart attack two months ago.”

Ding. Red flag. “Heart attack? You sure?”

He nodded. “Yup. Autopsy came back on him pretty damn quick. It helps the guy was several dozen years old and drank like his last name was Punch.”

“What was his name?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Steam Rail. He became Director after a couple of decades of working the rails and the streets driving ponies where they needed to go. If anypony knew how to get anywhere anywhen without stopping, it’d be him. Or Taxi.”

I flinched. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure Rail could do so legally. Still, that’s... convenient.”

He looked over at me. “You want me to do some digging?”

“Couldn’t hurt. Who else?”

“Chief. Absolutia. Rail. Secretary. LS&B. Lessee... probably After Glow. Hell, I’d get to her as fast as I can, before anypony else figured this shit out, too,” he mused to himself, looking at a few of the scans of the notebook.

“...ok, who the bloody buck is After Glow?”

Longarm turned his attention to me. “She popped on our radar after Hard Boiled and his partner Swift went to visit this club on the far side of town called the Vivarium-”

“Whoa whoa whoa. The Vivarium?! Are you serious?!”

He smiled at me. “So you’ve heard of it then.”

I shimmied from one hoof to the next. “Let’s just say... if you’re going to cheat on somepony, do it there. They don’t take kindly to... snoops.”

“...Stilettos?”

“Stilettos.”

“Right,” he concluded, still smiling slightly at my unvoiced misfortune. “Well, from what I know of what we know about the place, she’s pretty damned important. She doesn’t run the join, but if my intel is right... and given the state of things, that’s actually a valid question, taking her out would leave a huge gap in their operation, and keep them swaying on their feet long enough to make moves on their territory. Of course, there’s a couple other criminals on the list, but aside from those six, the only other pony I could think of is... Telly.”

I quirked a brow. “Telly? Why take out Telly when the Chief is a much better option?”

“Because taking out the Chief is suicide. Come on, Spy. Try to imagine DPD without Telly.”

I couldn’t. “Son of a bitch.”

“Exactly. Now, these are just guesses, mind you, but they’re my best guesses,” Longarm explained. “This guy probably knows some more vital targets, ponies behind the scenes I’ve never heard of. I wouldn’t be surprised if his previous victims, or his newest, were ponies... or other folk... we’ve never heard of.”

I nodded, and turned my attention to the black book scans.

And then my eyes got really, really wide. “Longarm.”

“Yeah, Spy? What’s up?”

I pointed a hoof at a specific page. A specific line. A specific set of letters. “That.”

“Wha...  VM AG at 3/6 A. What about it?”

“I’ve gotten very good at reading this notebook. At least when I have names and places to fill in the gaps. I think I also have the fractions thing down,” I explained. When he nodded for me to continue, I said, “This translates, if I’m right, to After Glow at the Vivarium, 6 P.M.”

His eyes widened. “You’re joking.” He turned to me. “Please tell me you’re joking. That was a lucky guess. You’re just fucking with me.”

I shook my head. “Nope. See here, the VM? That’s how he initials single words. First and last letter. Two word names or more are easy. The 3/6 A? Three-sixths into the afternoon. Six P.M. If this means anything else it’s a disturbing coincidence. And name me one time a cop was allowed to ignore a disturbing coincidence.”

His head sunk as realization hit him that we were, in fact, going to have to go to the Vivarium. “Once. Then he got fired.”
> Outside Looking Away
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 12: Outside Looking Away

Longarm had taken himself into another room while he made a couple of calls about our going to the Vivarium. I assumed one was to his lawyer about a Will and Testament. Or maybe he just knows two guys named Will and Testament who are lawyers.

Which makes more sense than it should.

Either way, I was left to my own devices while he made all the right calls to all the right ponies so that all the wrong ponies didn’t snap our spines like twigs for going where we were going. Not that that included anypony... or thing, we were going to run into upon our arrival, but I like to think he was doing his part to help us get there with enough life left in us for them to have something to threaten if things went wrong.

It had been a while since I’d done anything similar to what a normal job entailed, such as interviews, snooping about, and generally making an ass of myself, so I was excited to have some sense of normalcy about things, for once.

Of course, given that I was about to go snooping about and making an ass of myself in the Vivarium, normal wasn’t exactly on the menu, but I could see it from here. I dug under my sofa for a wide, sorta-flat lockbox, something akin to a travel trunk cut in half, and dragged it into the middle of the room. I punched it open with an abusive swing, and watched it bounce a little as the lid popped. Longarm poked his head out of a doorway to investigate the noise. “...right, Telly. Thanks. And take care of yourself. Remember what I said. Yes he’s here. He says hi. Hi. Ok, bye.”

“She hung up after ‘Take care of yourself,’ didn’t she?”

He sighed and dropped the phone back in it’s cradle. “Yeah. So... what the hell is all that?” he asked, waving a hoof at the now-open footlocker.

I gave him a small smile, as some of the joy in my work surfaced a little. It was nice to have something familiar to fall back on considering everything else seemed bound and determined to fuck that up sideways. “This...” I said, pausing dramatically, and burying my muzzle in the box. I tossed a few things on the ground behind me, “...is my kit!” I finished. I resurfaced with a burlap bag in my mouth, and spat it out.

“Your... kit?” Longarm eyed me warily.

I nodded. “Yeah, you know, like you have your badge and gun and vest and stuff? I have all this. Well, not all at once. It’s more like a kit for making kits. A kit-kit.”

“...Paperweight really has her hooves full with you, doesn’t she?” he sighed, his expression deadpan and not very amused at all.

“...Yes. Yes she does. Anyway. I’ve got my hoodies,” I picked out a brass-tinted brown zip-up from the pile and tossed the rest back in. My mom always told me I had the coloration of a nightstand, and the only thing that’d look good with it was something the same shade as a drawer handle. I threw it on, checked the pockets for strays, and started loading it up. “My camera,” I got ready to put that one into my pocket, then thought better of it. Not something I’d want to have on me when I get frisked. “Some spare cash, a toolkit, a light, a lighter, a knife, deck of cards, a bag, and a couple of radios.”

Longarm peeked into the box, mildly curious. “Do you have any rope in there?”

I rummaged through, and found a length of the stuff, throwing it over my shoulder. A small “oomph” behind me told me I’d hit the other detective with it. “Yes. Yes I do. If you’d like to take it with you feel free, but I’m not carrying it around myself.”

I looked around in time to see him pull it off his face and drop it to the floor. “Why’s that?” he asked, looking at it, and back to me, or more specifically, the hoodie I was currently loading with small items. I’d decided to take everything I’d listed except the radios, setting those aside.

“Well, mostly, because I don’t want to walk around with a really big bag, nor do I think I could hide it anywhere it won’t get found when I’m searched. All the stuff I’m taking, even if they do find it, they can’t really complain, or at least, it won’t get us kicked out,” I explained.

“Even the knife?”

“Especially the knife. The Vivarium is a safe haven of sorts for certain ponies, protected by a bunch of knife-wielding maniacs. The surrounding part of town, however, will just as soon kill you as look at you. So walking around or into the Vivarium ready to protect yourself won’t get you anything more than a raised eyebrow. And carrying anything less than a machete, they’d just as soon laugh at you before they considered you a threat. It’s when you start carrying stuff as big as or more so than said machete that they start raising eyebrows. Recording equipment is also a no-no.” I stuffed the rest of my materials back in the box and shoved it in its hiding place as I talked. As a last measure, I rooted through the cupboard and brought out a stash of jerky, sliding that in an inside pocket.

“The hell is that for?” Longarm asked, taking a step back.

I smiled at him, revealing the sharpened teeth. “If I get peckish. It’s also easier to intimidate people with the fact that you eat meat than you think. One of the reasons nopony particularly likes griffin bodyguards.”

He stuck a tongue out, making a face. “Blech. Whatever, just... don’t chew on it while we’re getting there.”

“Pffft, baby.”

-----------------

Of course, getting to the Vivarium isn’t exactly the easiest thin. I mean yes, it’s not hard to stroll right up to the line to get in and wait like a good little pony, but the parts of town you need to work through to get there, unless you have somepony crazy enough to drive you straight through some of the more unsavory forms of traffic, both pedestrian and not, is something akin to weedwhacking with a pocket knife. It’s arduous, not a lot of fun, and takes a level of caution most people in my line of work either have in spades or not at all.

I like to think I’m somewhere in between. So do most ponies in the “not at all” category.

While the outlying area of the “red light district” the Vivarium warehouse found itself in was indeed a suburb, albeit a rather disconcerting one, the district itself was several blocks of things you’d rather not think about selling things you really shouldn’t need. And that’s just what they advertised in the storefronts. I caught a glimpse of an inflatable sheep and pointedly stared somewhere the hell else.

One of the two major saving graces in this journey was the fact that one of us was carrying a badge. And not a cheap plastic one. Most ponies will walk around a cop, or cross the street. You might not get  lot of answers just waving a badge around callously, but you’re at least more likely than not granted some room to walk.

The other grace, the phone call Longarm made to Telly, wasn’t as obvious. But we could see signs of ponies and other folk making room where normally we’d have to talk our way through or go around. There are a lot of undercover cops in this area, not a lot of whom are that far separated from the rolls they play. But a good phone call at the right time from the right pony, and they can at least make a hole for you without blowing your cover. Something as simple as a “gangster” mentioning to his friends that they have someplace else to be, or that they’re hungry, can make the difference between a creepy back ally and a creepy back alley with a mugger.

And Telly knows literally everyone within reach of her radios.

Of course, that’s not to say the trip was without incident. Not even halfway between my apartment and the nightclub we were en route to, a rather large pony, neon red with a dyed silver mane, stepped out of an unlit doorway to stand in front of us. I saw Longarm reach for his gun, and held a hoof out to stop him. “So what business do a cop and a cuddlebuddy have in a place like this?” His voice was deep and accented, very obviously from further south. While the area wasn’t necessarily prone to outbursts of crime and random acts of violence, it was the kind of place somepony could find all the less favorable kinds of sex, if they knew who to ask. And a place like that needs ponies more than willing to do less than favorable things.

Longarm spoke before I could. “Why is it any of your business? And what makes you think stopping a cop in the middle of the street is such a great idea?”

He smiled at us, that big, creepy smile somepony who thinks they’re invincible always gives you right before the guy behind you pulls out the knife. “Well, it just so happens, I’m in the market for a cop right now. You see, I’m about a hundred percent sure there’s a UC somewhere in my merry gang of cohorts, and I think you’re going to help us fish him out.”

I looked at Longarm, who was snarling something under his breath at our... roadblock, and had to facehoof. I slid my hoof down my muzzle and gave an exasperated sigh as I looked back at the wall of meat. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

The neon stallion growled at me. “What’d you say?” Longarm just looked at me like I’d gone crazy.

“I said you’re an idiot. You stopped us because you think he, or we, are handlers, right? Come on. Do you really think a handler would go around flashing gold in the middle of the street? Since when do Equicide detectives handle UC’s anyway? Informants, maybe. But they’re sure as shit not about to walk into enemy turf and ask for the guy by name in full armor.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, and studied Longarm. “You’re Equicide?” the detective nodded. “The hell are you doing out here?  I ain’t seen any crime scenes around.”

It was Longarm’s turn to talk. “We’re on our way to the Vivarium.”

Biggie raised his eyebrows. “Hey, far be it from me to get in the way of a couple of... ‘gentlecolts’ looking for entertainment. I don’t have any beef with cops that chase killers. I ain’t got any bodies lying around.” He waved us off and we walked past, sparing him a look over our shoulder every couple of steps.

We made our way a few blocks down before Longarm looked to me. “How’d you know he wouldn’t bother an Equicide detective?”

“I’ve walked around here before, doing some less than savory jobs. Been mistaken for an undercover handler a bunch of times. Unless they think they can get something out of you, most criminals won’t actually bother a cop too hard. There’s only two reasons to harass PD out in the open: undercover cops, and organized crime. And he looked a little less than organized,” I added, sparing a glance over my shoulder just in case I was wrong. “On top of that, somepony that eager to see an Equicide detective walk the other way usually has a corpse or two lying around. They’d only report a body to the cops to get in somepony else’s way.”

He gave me a sideways glance, just as the Vivarium was coming into view. It bothered me just a little that I was within walking distance of that kind of establishment. I really ought to move upmarket. “Something tells me you know a little more about being a criminal than a cop, Spy.”

“No more than I think I need to.” Thankfully, he didn’t ask me what that meant before we got to the club.

-----------------

The warehouse that comprised the front door of the Vivarium was easily recognizable and almost counted as a landmark to some ponies. It was surrounded on all sides by purveyors of all things bad for you, and stood as a proud monument of not giving any fucks.

The door itself, while sporting a long line, was guarded by a large brutish minotaur. The kind of wall of muscle that made our previous conversational acquaintance look like an emaciated Chihuahua. I stayed a step behind Longarm as we approached, and he whipped out his badge. “Sir, I need to ask you to step out of the way. We need to talk to one of the employees here.”

“That’s not going to work...” I muttered under my breath. I threw my hood over my face before the big guy, who I knew personally as Minox, AKA “Oh god get him off me”, could take a good long look.

Longarm ignored me, as did the minotaur. Instead Minox asked gruffly, “Joo haf warrant?”

Longarm looked to me. I shrugged. “No,” he said. “We’re just in the middle of an investigation, and somepony here has turned up as a person of interest.”

“Investigate? Vat joo investigate here?” his eyes narrowed, and I could already feel my spine trying to run away, well ahead of the rest of me.

Unfortunately, my spine did, in fact, remain perfectly in place, as I apparently found enough of it to interrupt. I held up a hoof to cut off Longarm again, a habit I could tell was starting to get on his nerves. The minotaur looked to me, and his eyes grew wide and angry when I dropped the hood. “JOO. Vat joo doing here?! Ve said leaf!” He reached a log-sized arm for my throat.

I half curled up in a ball, and all but screamed out, “We’re trying to save After Glow’s life!” My eyes were screwed shut, so I couldn’t see his reaction, but I wasn’t dead or dying at the moment, so I figured I’d gotten his attention. I risked a glance in his direction, and saw him stopped, mid- reach, with a confused expression on his face. “Joo... vy joo know Avter Glow? She not talk to ozer ponies, ekzept Svift. And ozer law pony. And Stilletos.”

Seeing as how he wasn’t going to kill me right away, probably more out of confusion than anything else, I explained as quickly as I could our serial killer problem. “And if she thinks the security here can protect her, which under any other circumstances I wouldn’t doubt, there’s one victim on the list that should have been just as well-protected.”

Minox crossed his arms as I talked and gave me a disbelieving huff. “And who is dis dat is so vell protected?”

I stared him in the eye with what little confidence I had, born mainly out of knowing I was right: “Absolutia is dead.”

His expression was a mixture of hard to read emotions. “Ze bank pony? Iz dead?”

Longarm, cuing himself in on the conversation, stepped forward. “Yes. And we have reason to think that After Glow and a bunch of other really important ponies are next on the list. Or are already dead. Somepony’s trying to take down the city around our ears. And even if After Glow stays standing, the Vivarium won’t have a city to thrive in if it all comes crashing down.”

He glared hard at both of us, and gave a big angry sigh I could feel from the floor. “Vine. Joo go see Avter Glow. But joo go through zecurity virst.” He explained, grinning wickedly at both of us. Or me. Probably just me.
> A Different Stripe Than Most
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 13: A Different Stripe Than Most

I had no doubts that “security” meant “a whole metric shit-ton of Stilettos with carving fetishes.” But I went in anyway. Mainly because, if Minox was sending me to my death, he’d have either followed me in to watch, or killed me himself.

More likely than not this was just going to hurt quite a bit.

The first thing I noticed about walking into the Vivarium was that it was rather dark just inside. At least, dark enough in contrast to the artificially illuminated sidewalk outside that it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. In that time, apparently, a rather attractive red mare made her way over to us. “Oh, hello. You wouldn’t happen to be the ‘security’ Minox said we had to go through, are you?”

She gave me a curiously sweet look and said, “Oh, no, sweetheart. Our security is a bit more intense than I am. Well, maybe not more intense, but certainly a different flavor of the word.” Her voice was deeper, and a bit more throaty, than I expected. i figured either she smoked or she had just a little too much testosterone running through her. It would explain the rather chiseled handsome look of her face and muscle tone. “No, my name’s Scarlet, and I greet everypony, or thing, that walks through the door. Now, if Minox says you have to go through security, you must be here for a very important reason. Which is oh so sad, as I’d love for you to be here on a personal visit,” she crooned. Her golden hair flipped prettily, draping over one eye. She was also quite a bit closer than I remembered starting the conversation at.

“Well, yes. Somepony... of association to the Vivarium is dead, and we believe one of your employees may be in danger. We’ve come to speak with her,” I explained. Part of me wanted to take a step back, but I was enjoying the attention a little too much. A more experienced pony would probably have alarm bells going off in their head. Of course, I wasn’t exactly everypony’s first choice for this job anyway.

It was about that time I noticed Longarm step into view, looking more than a little peeved. “Something the matter, sweetie?” asked Scarlet.

Longarm just looked up with a displeased expression. “Your knife-junkies took my gun. I like my gun,” he complained.

Scarlet raised her eyebrows. “A gun? Why would you bring a-” Longarm didn’t let her finish the sentence before flashing his badge. “...oh. Well, you’re not the first cops to come wandering through here. Give me just a moment,” she said, and walked off a few paces. She poked her ear, and had a quiet conversation with somepony somewhere. After a few moments, she walked back, and said, “Well, looks like you were right. There are some security measures you’ll need to go through. Come on, boys~” she cooed, and walked away.

I watched her leave for a moment before I followed, but Longarm stopped me with a hoof to my chest before I took a couple of steps. “Wha-”

“That’s a guy,” he said.

I looked from Longarm, still sour, to Scarlet, who was now waiting several paces ahead for us to catch up. “Well, boys? What are you waiting for?” he called back.

I muttered under my breath “...for my boner to go away.”

------------------------

We ended up just sitting at one of the tables against the side wall, and although my spot in the booth didn’t give me much opportunity to observe the way we came, something told me that we weren’t free to leave should the need arise. I could, however, see the rest of the room rather well.

Thank Luna for small favors.

Before I could spend too much time admiring the rather spacious sight of the inside of the Vivarium, a generically pretty waitress trotted up to the table. I was about to pick up a menu when Scarlet interrupted, “Can we get a single of Miss Stella’s Truth Bloom Special for our guest here, a... Bovarian Chocolate latte for the officer, and I’ll have a banana cream.” The waitress nodded, exchanged a few words of familiarity with our “host”, and walked off.

As soon as she left, I felt my stomach curdle. “Bleeeeh. Really? Truth Bloom? That thing made from the leaves of the Seeds of Truth thing? Whyyyyy?” I whined, dropping my head on the table.

Scarlet raised an eyebrow, and Longarm looked furious. “Poison?! You’re going to poison my partner?!” he yelled, reaching for his gun. Remembering it wasn’t there, he paused, and sulked a little. Which gave Scarlet just enough time to explain himself.

“Of course not! Only the Seeds themselves are poisonous! I would never poison a guest. No, the leaves just make you sick if you tell a lie,” he all but shouted back in alarm. Longarm was looking for other things to hurt him with. The red stallion then glanced at me. “But I’m surprised you know about it. Where in Equestria would a private detective like yourself come across something like Truth Bloom?”

I lifted my head up from the table. “Ok, first off, remind me to ask you how the hell you know I’m a private detective later. Second, well... I had a case once upon a time that required me to go undercover at a mental health facility. Against my better judgment, I decided to fake bulimia. Which is really easy to do with a stomach full of Truth Bloom and a false identity.”

Scarlet winced. “Ooh, that sounds... eeeeewwwww. No thanks. But you shouldn’t have to worry about vomiting, or getting sick, if you just tell the truth. I don’t see what you’re so worked up about.”

Longarm, having cooled a little, offered a guess. “Something akin to not being able to eat food from any place you get food poisoning from?”

“Right. Once you’ve tasted it going both down and up, you want nothin’ doin’.” The waitress returned with our drinks faster than I would have thought, and I stared with a mix of dread and spite at the little glass in front of me.

Scarlet gave a reassuring smile. “Look, it’s just a sip. That’s all it takes. Then I ask you a few questions, and you can go on your merry way talking to whoever you think you need to talk to. Or, you know, just spending time with me~” he offered, giving his effeminate frame a rather enticing wiggle.

I gave the glass once last glance and took a good solid swallow. “Ok, shoot.”

He pouted prettily. “Oh, fine. be a prude. So, three questions. One, who do you believe is in danger here?”

Longarm looked ready to answer, but I held up a hoof. “I don’t mean anything if the guy who didn’t just drug himself answers,” I told him. he nodded and went about sipping on his latte. I looked back to Scarlet. “After Glow.”

He raised an eyebrow, and, seeing as how I didn’t just chuck all over everything, began to laugh. “Pfffft.... hahahaha! Are you... ahahahaHA that’s adorable! You think After Glow needs protection?!” he asked earnestly, practically doubled over laughing.

“Yes.”

He paused for a bit after, once again, I didn’t dry heave. Or puke. “...ahahaha.... ha... hmmm. Ok, fine. What makes you think she needs protection?”

“Because Absolutia is dead,” I explained.

The color drained from his face. “Ab..Absolutia? Are you sure?” his voice quivered, as did his lip. I nodded. “That’s... well then. I’m going to miss that crazy bitch. Right. Question two: what protection do you think you can offer her?”

I thought about that for a moment. “I’m going to kill the guy trying to kill her.”

Longarm raised both his eyebrows at that. Especially after I continued to not be violently ill. “You do realize...”

“That I just admitted to conspiracy to commit murder in front of an Equicide Detective? Yeah... not my brightest moment,” I added sheepishly.

Scarlet looked at me seriously. “Well... at least you think you mean it. We can deal with the whole ‘actually killing him’ thing later. Last question: why should we trust that you can do what you say you’re going to? Even if you believe it?”

I thought about Paperweight, laying on her hospital bed. Blood in her ears. I felt my hooves curl and my teeth grind against each other. I felt a trickle of blood in my mouth as my sharpened teeth scraped my gums; a downside to having chompers not meant for a pony mouth. “Because if I ever find him I’m going to tear the meat from his bones and cook it. I’m gonna carve off chunks of the guy and flame-broil them to a crispy brown, and eat it in front of him while he’s still bleeding to death. I’m gonna devour this asshole and make him watch as his body disappears down my gullet.” I bore my teeth like a cat backed into a corner, and I could feel my spine creak as my back arched.

Scarlet looked nervously to Longarm, and back to me, and stood up from the table. Longarm just stared at me like I’d gone mad. “Well then,” Scarlet said, in a higher pitch than usual. “Let’s go see about introducing you to After Glow and associates, shall we?”

----------------------

The walk down the back hallways of the Vivarium was rather quiet, even after I’d cooled down. Scarlet seemed more than a little hesitant to start up conversation, and Longarm just looked stoic. He was thinking about something, and I wasn’t sure what. Or if I was going to like it. Eventually, we stopped at what I would swear was a broom closet. At least, until Scarlet knocked on it. “Oh, by the way,” he said, as  he put his hoof on the doorknob. “Duck.”

I didn’t bother to ask what he meant. He said “Miss Glow? It’s Scarlet. I’m coming in-” and as soon as the door opened enough for a machete to fit through it, fit through it a machete did. I laid myself flat on the floor just in time to not be split down the middle. The thunk behind me sounded hard and solid: I figured it would take a small crew of normal Earth ponies all day to get the thing out. If they didn’t just say “buck it” and carve out the wall around the thing.

“Scarlet you little weasel! What’re you doin’ just bargin’ in like that?! No, don’t cower. Bring yourself and that bag o’ straw in with you! AND the cop!” After Glow’s voice was like old pissed-off newspaper being crumpled up for kindling, and was none to pleased about that turn of events.

“Miss Glow, you have guests! Rather urgent ones!” Scarlet explained, rushing us all into the room. It didn’t take me long to see what exactly everypony meant when they talked about After Glow taking care of herself: while she did look like a giant wrinkled old rug the color of bleached grass, her eyes were sharper than the knives she floated around her head.

The many, many knives. Butterflies, machetes, combat knives, basically any and every edged weapon you could hide on a pony was floating around the room, being sharpened in some fashion or other. Such a display of minute control I’d never seen before in my life. Something told me I was going to get much more worldly experience like this as the case dragged on. Assuming I didn’t get myself killed by one blade-wielding psychopath or another. After Glow caught me staring. “Yeah, it’s sharpening day. Much more fun that workin’ numbers, lemme tell ya.” I heard a distinct thunk from behind me, and ducked in time for the machete that almost spliced me to come flying backwards over my head. Mind you, I didn’t need to duck: she’d brought it in high, and set it to work on a whetstone right away. But I’d like to think my reflexes were decent.

“Don’t go lookin’ so proud a’ yerself, boy. I could carve you for dinner before you could call fer’ help,” she scolded. I looked about the room, and didn’t doubt a word. I hadn’t said anything and she could already read me like an open book. I guess once you carve up enough people and get a look at their insides you don’t need a knife to tell you what’s in a pony’s head anymore.

Scarlet looked back and forth between the two of us: the old batshit mare he knew to be afraid of, and the newcomer that he just plain didn’t like. “Well, I see you two have a lot in common, so I’ll just leave you two to slash-er-hash it out, okie dokie?” Before I could ask another question, he was already out the door.

“A few small daggers followed him into the hall, bathed in the glow of After’s magic. “An’ stop snoopin’ aroun’ my office!” She bellowed. She looked over at me. “Well, don’ just stand there, boy! You caught me in a good mood! Now ask yer damn questions so I can chase you outside like the good ol’ days!”

I straightened my hoodie, and Longarm proped closed his slightly ajar mouth. “Yes, Miss Glow,” I said, somewhat sheepishly. somehow I felt like I'd walked in on my own interrogation. “Well, you see, we’re kind of here to ask you some questions. We think your life might be in danger,” I explained.

She started rasping rhythmically, and it was a little while before I realized she was laughing. “Kiddo, what makes you think I need protecting? Even if somepony could get past all my Stilettos and past me, I’m old and cold and full ‘a mold! If somepony can kill me, they deserve to!”

Longarm raised a placating hoof. “Glow, we think someone’s targeting you for political reasons. It’s not a personal vendetta. Other ponies have turned up dead, and we’re seeing a pattern. We believe this pony is trying to cause some kind of political disturbance with his targets; that he’s trying to leave a void in power throughout all of Detrot.”

After Glow looked at him seriously. “Well, that’s some rather interestin’ theory. What makes you think that?”

“Absolutia and Barrel are dead,” I explained.

I swear I saw a few blades in the air twitch. One of them for sure pressed just a little too hard against a whetstone, and snapped. The pieces and the stone fell to the ground carelessly as After Glow lost interest in them; the rest stayed in the air. “I see. So ya think somepony’s trying to take down the Vivarium?”

Longarm raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think-”

“He was your lawyer, wasn’t he? Or, the firm was. They represented the Vivarium. And Absolutia... she handled all of your accounts. That’s how you guys could move money so freely for... some of your less than admirable activities. You had somepony on the inside,” I reasoned.

I was kind of getting sick of Longarm looking at me like I’d grown a third head. After Glow, however, gave me some kind of twisted smile. “You know, we could use somepony like you floatin’ around here. Yeah, Lock, Stock, and Barrel were ours. So was Absolutia. I’m not surprised they just went after Barrel.”

It was my turn to look a bit confused. Until Longarm spoke up. “So those rumors were true. You do have ponies on the outside.”

Something clicked in my head so hard I heard it. “Are you kidding me? You mean Barrel and Absolutia were-”

“Yup. Stilettos,” After Glow answered.