Well Colt, you caught me, so I suppose courtesy and congratulations are in order; Hi. I’m Thick.

No, I don’t mean that I’m fat! (Though I've certainly gained a few pounds since my retirement...)That’s my name: Thick H. Boner.

Recognize my name now? No??? Seriously?  Hmph, whatever. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. After all, what I’m known for isn’t the nicest of things, and what those things were that I caused to occur happened years ago. Frankly I’m surprised that even Celestia knew I was still alive and sent you. But do you know what surprises me even more? The fact that you actually found and cornered me, and yet don't even know who I am.

Seeing me as I am now- old and feeble and with my once gold-colored mane now grey, scraggly and falling out- and to hear me say that I used to be nearly a master of infiltration for theivery, but one good look at my Cutie Mark would likely remove all doubt in your mind. Hold on, let me stand up and turn so you can see it...there we go: a pony-ghost slipping through the bars of a cage! They called me that, too, for awhile: Phantom Thief. I would work my way inside my Mark's house or business or a museum, disable any security spells and avoid the living security, grab what I'd come for, and then get out.

In and out, in and out. Smooth entrance, and soft exit almost every time.

There were occasions, of course, when I was met with resistance, but sooner or later I'd gain entrance, work my target hard for my trouble, and then leave. Usually while wearing a smile and aglow with satisfaction.

Traps had been set for me on occasion, and due to my cocky self I'd very nearly fell into them many times, too! But, as long as I had miss Riot backing me up we could easily double-team any- Ahh! I see a look of recognition in your eyes there; I hear her grandfoals are making quite a stir in the world these days. Yes, miss Running Riot was a real firecracker of a mare, and I am honored to have called her my partner in crime. Well, until she dropped out of the robbing business and went straight, that is. After she left things were never quite the same again, and it was only a few years later I put myself out to pasture.

But that's not why your here, is it; to hear about infamy lost, and 'ol Thicky-B gone soft? Hmm? What's that? You're not here to arrest me? Then why- Ah, I see now, you've got a quill and notepad. So, you're writing a book and are looking for someone with first-hand experience? Alright, fine. But I don't want you using my actual name. It's not a common one, and if I'm still on record I don't want a police-pony kicking my door in sometime down the road.

So then, what would you like to hear about first?