Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale

by Chessie

First published 26th of June, 2012

In the decaying metropolis of Detrot, 60 years and one war after Luna's return, Detective Hard Boiled and friends must solve the mystery behind a unicorn's death in a film noir-inspired tale of ponies, hard cider, conspiracy, and murder.

Monster attacks. Crime. Illegal hallucinogens made from electric fruit.

They say things didn't use to be like this. They say things were different, before Luna came back 60 years ago, but Detective Hard "Hardy" Boiled of the Detrot Police Department has never known any world other than that demarcated by the seedy streets of his beloved decaying metropolis; a world in which the coroners sing and dance, surveillance bugs have personality disorders, and the Chief of Police is a scarier entity than most of the eldritch things the city attracts.

The grey unicorn who turned up dead outside the posh High Step Hotel seemed like just another case, but her missing horn is the pointy tip of a very large and nasty iceberg. It's up to Hardy and his friends - a rejected monster hunter, a psychic cab driver, and an underground antiques heir - to find out what’s going on in an investigation that promises to stick more than a cupcake into the very eye of Detrot.

Especially if Hardy has anything to say about it.

By Popular Demand, there is now a Patreon

Additional editing by coandco Sig_Awesome, Hinds, Clint, and Raccoon!
Featured on EQD - 5 Stars!
Cover art by MisterMech (http://mistermech.deviantart.com/)
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Chapter 1: Welcome To Detrot

Foreword

More than a millennium ago, it is said, one of the alicorn Princesses of Equestria dealt with her sibling jealousy issues in a fairly novel manner: She transformed into an evil mare of darkness and attempted to plunge the world into permanent night.

When this failed, she spent a thousand years locked in the moon for literal crimes against nature. Inexplicably, the very first thing she did when released was attempt precisely the same plan. It ended predictably badly for Nightmare Moon, but for Luna - apparently cured of her destructive anti-luminary obsession and restored to a position of power - it could be called nothing short of a miraculous turn of good fortune.

Most ponies know this tale, or at least what could be categorized as the official version of it. And while yes, it is possible that Luna was just horrendously neurotic and that a neurotic alicorn is simply that dangerous, doubts have stayed the collective hoof of academia from so casually wielding Hockham’s Razor.

There has never been a solidly accepted explanation for why Luna remained in power. Celestia is certainly no fool. Her millennial reign was a time of relative peace and wise rulership. Returning influence over the moon to her sister after the events of a thousand years ago and the prodigal’s eventual return seemed like giving keys to a liquor store to a recovering alcoholic.

But the largest and most troubling doubt is one that has increasingly weighed on pony historians; It is becoming clear that something changed the course of Equestria that day, something that alicorn neurosis alone fails to adequately account. Sixty years have passed since Luna’s return, and those sixty years have seen more change, chaos, development, and turmoil than the thousand years Luna spent in exile.

In the years following the Return of Luna (or as some historians date it, R.L.), monster attacks rose to a degree that baffled cryptozoological statisticians. Even the areas near Canterlot saw more, far more, than their share of ravenous dragons and Ursas of various grades, to say nothing of the powerful entities and changeling Royal Swarms that nearly destroyed Equestria as we know it.

These continued attacks created an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty amongst ponykind, one that Equestria’s vivid colors barely paint over. In this tense and monster-benighted age, equine voices began to seek new meaning and new reasons for being, as though their Cutie Marks were no longer sufficient to define them. Some who failed to find this fresh expression sometimes turned to escapes such as debauchery, violence, and the newly minted trade in illicit magical chemicals. Others turned towards the Princesses as deific figures, spiritually placing their anxieties in royal hooves.

Not everypony gave in to fear, however. Some ponies fought to adapt, and adapt they did. Recent years have been an unprecedented period of innovation and cross-disciplinary engineering. Unicorn magic, earth pony mechanical ingenuity, pegasus weather control and zebra alchemy have increasingly woven together and remade the face of Equestria; they even gave it teeth. Developments like the Skybreaker and the Cloudhammer placed fire and lightning, forces of Nature itself, in the hooves of ponies.

No analysis of change and turmoil, however, would be complete without an analysis of recent events in the city of Detrot.

Detrot was originally conceived as a retreat for the royal family, a trading hub, and an outpost against the monsters who still, now and again, sought to challenge Equestrian defenses. With the discovery of several rich veins of jewels nearby, the town grew over decades from those simple beginnings into an economic mecca to rival Canterlot itself in scope, if not necessarily in class.

Eventually, however, the jewel rush that had bloated Detrot into a vast urban sprawl dried up, leaving it to decay from within. As poverty, dashed hopes, and social pressures degraded orderly society, the city found itself better prepared to deal with the monsters of the wilderness than those in the hearts of its citizens.

- The Scholar

Chapter 1:Welcome To Detrot

The city.

My city.

The soft grass beneath my hooves felt good. A pleasant chorus of birdsong drifted over the rolling hills. The sweet sun beamed down on my face like the smile of the Princess herself. The full moon hung in the sky opposite the sweetly shining star. It was an odd sight.

Luna must have overslept. Somehow that seemed perfectly plausible.

Facing the comparatively tiny strip of civilization between the vast sandy desert to the west and the wild untamed forest wilderness to the east, I watched the thin clouds lazily dotting the immense blue sky, casting translucent shadows on the towering skyscrapers that loomed over the avenues like peaceful guardians.

The gleaming streets were full of life and ponies rushing to and fro on important business. Smiling faces peeked through shop windows and traded hoof-shakes and hugs with old friends. I felt a strange urge to throw myself on my back and roll around in the meadow like a silly foal, but instead simply lay down and closed my eyes, letting the heat of the day wash away every care.

It was slow at first; A cold chill creeping up my back. I shook myself, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation, but the prickle in my tail wouldn’t leave. I sat up and looked around, trying to find the source of the nervous tension behind my eyes.

Nothing.

Wait! A voice, softer than a whisper seemed to direct my attention.

Far away, almost at the edge of vision, a glowing light came to life on the horizon. It seemed to waver, then solidify, like a reflection in a disturbed pond. It wasn’t a kindly light, but harsh and angry. It glared down on my city with devilish intent. After a few seconds a second gleaming nova appeared at the other end of the sky, then another, and another, until four flashing stars hung in the heavens.

Irrational fear welled up in me and I started towards the city, thinking to warn somepony. Of what, I wasn’t certain. The lights began to edge across the curve of the world. At that moment, I noticed that for some strange reason the Sun and Moon seemed closer to one another; I hadn’t marked their motion but each time my gaze left then returned they were definitely closing the gap.

Each hoof-fall seemed to cover less ground than the last. Soon, I was running, then galloping towards the streets in a desperate bid to reach them before those lights could meet.

At last, they met one another, and a furious nova lit everything, so bright I was blinded and stumbled to my knees, lying there in the dirt. I tried to rise again, but found myself only able to watch.

The sky darkened. I raised my face, trying to find Celestia’s radiance but the moon seemed trapped, being swallowed by the sun. I struggled, but fear paralyzed my limbs. My heart fluttered like a trapped bird, feeling the predator circling for the kill. The moon’s edges turned a hellish red and starless night descended so quickly that I thought for a moment I’d been blinded again.

The demonic glow seemed to fall upon the city like a gargantuan hammer, and the whole urban landscape shattered like a dropped mirror, huge fissures splitting open the roads and rending loose the buildings from their foundations. Out of the plagued light of the stricken moon, a colossal monster with hooves of fire and eyes shooting lightning stepped down, its hooves crushing mountains as it opened its mouth, its slobbering gums full of the hacked off buildings that had become its teeth. It flew towards me, vile lips pulled back in a cruel grin as it shrieked:

RiIiIiIiIiIiIiInnng...

RiIiIiIiIiIiIiInnng...

I buried my face harder into the throw pillow on the end of the couch, trying to will the ringing to stop. My head felt around three sizes too small and a little puddle of cold drool had formed around my cheek. Somber, overcast light spilled in through the shaded window. Celestia, please just let me sleep again. This time without the awful dreams.

RiIiIiIiIiIiIiInnng!

Cracking one crusty eye allowed me to glare at the black phone box sitting on the end table. The call button flashed on and off like a malevolent blinking eye, demanding I get up. I slammed my hoof against it, making a spirited attempt to kill the wretched thing. That was my first mistake that day, as this had the unintended side effect of picking up the line.

“Detective Hard Boiled?” The voice from the speaker was high, feminine, and far too shrill for this time of the morning. After a second, she tried again, albeit more softly: “Hardy?”

“Ugh... lemme check... No, Telly. Nopony here by that name. Please call someone else.”

There was a gruff sigh, then a burst of brain-cleaving feedback so loud that I pitched off the sofa into the piles of newspaper littering the floor.

“You awake now?” resumed the voice, with only a hint of smugness.

I scraped myself off the floor and sat back on my rump, rubbing my eyes. “Yes, and thanks for that, you vile harridan.”

Telly ignored my complaining and gave her microphone a gentle flick. I covered my ears, doing my best not to whimper as my growing headache reminded me of how many hard ciders had preceded sleep.

“You're an hour late. You’ve got about forty-five minutes before the chief said she’s going to call Broadside over at PACT to send a team to retrieve your Cutie Mark. She made no mention of the rest of you.”

I pushed myself up to all fours with some effort, then replied in a sickly sweet voice. “Good morning Hardy! How are you? Isn’t it lovely to be woken up by the telephone and a snarky operator pony who thinks she’s a comedian?”

“Careful, or I’ll start singing. Either way, get your ass down here. The chief is reaching for her pills for the fourth time this morning.”

A warning tingle shot from my hungover brain down to the tip of my tail.

“The blue round ones or the purple star ones?”

“Purple stars.”

“Crap... Arright, arright...”

Telly snickered to herself and closed the line.

The bathroom seemed about a million miles away, but my bladder was insisting I make the journey. Staggering towards to the door, I put one hoof on the frame to stop the swimming ground from reaching up and swatting me in the forehead.

The mirror over the sink presented a terrifying image of a wild mane; black mixed with too much grey for somepony my age, and a dusty grey pelt that should have been sold to a taxidermist ages ago. I momentarily entertained the notion that an intruder had broken in. If so, he should be beaten soundly for going to a robbery in such a state.

My flanks looked like they hadn't been brushed in days, and they hadn’t. But although the rest of my body was a genuine wreck, my Cutie Mark still shone brightly: a pair of golden scales balanced in the middle.

Can anypony look at their own Mark without drawing a bit of cheer from it? If so, I was coming close, but I wasn’t quite there yet. I felt a hint of a smile at the corners of my lips.

Ponies are defined by those little magical pictures. It’s one of the first things you learn in school. ‘You will find out who you are and that will be a fantastic day! Everypony has one special talent, one thing about them that is uniquely theirs, which can’t ever be taken from them. Just imagine all the things you can be!’

If only happiness came with that self-knowledge. Zebras have their glyphs, and the buffalo might pierce and tattoo and staple every inch of their bodies with their achievements. But ponies have the truth of who they are, right there on their hind-ends.

Read my ass. I’m a cop.

Clopping over to the toilet, I grabbed a fur brush in my teeth, fitting it into the extending arm over the sink. Pulling it down to where I could brush my ebony mane out of my eyes, I cocked a leg over the toilet and relieved the painful pressure on my bladder.

If I were a unicorn, I’d just wave my horn and a little magic later I’d look like a magazine cover. If I were a pegasus, I could snag a cloud, give it a kick, and bathe in the rain.

I’m an earth pony. No levitation. No wings. Just hooves.

Not that I’ve ever been particularly ungrateful for the head-crushing, rib-breaking strength that goes with being an earth pony, but the daily grooming rituals take a lot longer when you’re stuck doing them manually.

I ran some water in the rust stained sink and dunked my entire face and mane into it, slinging droplets into the shower stall. A bath would have to wait. I snagged the rope and pulled the flush on the toilet then stumbled back to the living room feeling irrationally better about the state of the world.

Snatching the shoulder holster for my gun off the battered old dresser was the first step in the complicated acrobatic routine of wrestling it onto my back legs, then around my torso. I took an extra minute with the barding straps on the trigger bit, taking it in my mouth and making sure it worked.

Dear Celestia's sweet tail, you'd think we could have come up with a better way of putting on a holster by now, but for those of us without horns, thumbs, or prehensile tails, the method still involves a lot of rolling around on the floor.

I pulled a tie from the dresser and cinched it around my throat, giving it a good tug. Yes, you could ask why the nod to professionalism, given that the chief might suspend me today. Assuming, of course, that she doesn’t string me up from a lamp-post as a warning to other would be truants. Regardless, there are certain bare minimums I like to think I maintain. You’d never catch me in the office without a tie, for example, even if that’s only because I find it useful to know whose eyes happen to stray to it as they fantasize about choking the life out of me. Jamming aside the stacks and stacks of goofy ties, I reverently pulled out my most precious possession.

There she lay, nestled in her red velvet case- my father’s revolver. She would have been an ugly, boxy lump of metal were it not for the the polished ivory of the auto-loader and the chased silver which seemed to grasp at what little light dared creep into the mire and muck of my apartment.

She was engraved along the barrel, “To Hard Boiled, with love.” That's Hard Boiled Senior, by the way; He’d tried to give me wisdom, patience, and a sense of responsibility along with his name. In the end, I think I was most grateful to him for that gun.

There is no beauty in this world to trump a perfect firearm. Her breach was worn smooth by years of use, but as I cracked it and flicked the crystalline hammer, she sparked obligingly - like an old clock which still knows just what time it is. The auto-loader whispered as I fit a spare cartridge into it. I then hooked the leather cuff around my front knee and tilted the weapon to the top of my leg, lifting it up to look down the sights.

I'd never needed to adjust them, but some habits aren't worth breaking. Finally, I sat down and attached the reloading strap to my back thigh, giving it a perfunctory kick. With a soft clatter of turning gears, the breach split and tossed the cartridge to one side. I fit the fresh one in, plucked up the trigger bit and tugged on it, shutting the breach again with a satisfying click of readiness.

At some point, my father had her converted to fire standard .45 bullets rather than... whatever she was built for. Magic ammunition was notorious for its lack of standardization. Switching it to brass and lead must have cost him two left legs, but it was worth it.

The department policy these days frowned on the use of weapons that incorporate even a modicum of magic. I’d heard all the arguments for replacing it with a newer gun: ‘Oh, they’re so dangerous,’ ‘Boohoo, the bullets go through buildings,’ ‘Waaah, it misfired and turned me inside out!’

I’d rather have replaced an eye.

Alright, Hardy... last essentials. I grasped the collar of my my battered trench-coat off of its traditional place on the chair beside the front door, and swung it over my shoulders. The old duster settled over my hips and suddenly, like magic, I was an officer of the law again. Protector. Savior of the weak. Damned idiot with a badge.

I snatched my hat and keys, flipping the ancient and misshapen fedora onto my head and tucking the keys in a pocket. I wiggled my ears until they popped through the holes, and then, at last, felt alive enough to risk going out without a fellow cop dragging me in for vagrancy.

****

I've lived in the great city of Detrot all my life. Ambitions of traveling the world gave way to the cold-shower realization there weren't a lot of places out there more suited to a cop than a city full of crime.

Some poet waxed lyrical once about the city devouring the weak and uplifting the strong. Certainly I'd seen my share of undeserving souls lose themselves in the dark alleys of this equine metropolis.

I often found myself fighting the urge to run from my city; to run away into the hills and howl at the moon like the timberwolves you can still hear in the distance on some cold, clear nights, when the weather factories have powered down for maintenance. One of the things that prevented such a feral exodus was the fact that my particular neighborhood wasn’t too bad. At least, I liked to think so; it was one of those little fantasies that helped keep me sane.

Also Ran Road was giving way to gentrification when the jewel boom hit the city. Working class families flooded the street, and the demand for low-income housing went through the roof. After the boom ended and the market for rubies fell out - followed quickly by sapphires and just about every other magical jewel you could name - the banks sold the properties to whoever still had money. Ten story buildings going for bits on the penny to whoever would buy them meant that neighborhoods had to band together to keep the criminals out. Some were more successful than others.

Foals could still play on my street. You could still eat at the corner restaurants without having to pick lead out of your hay. The old buildings didn't precisely sag so much as they slumped against one another, like old friends out for a night on the town who've had one too many.

Closing the front door I shrugged my shoulders up, trying to pull my collar against the pervasive drizzle. My mane, instantly wet, clung to my neck. I pulled my tail down between my legs, trying to keep it from getting drenched. The thick clouds rumbled ominously.

Ahhh, home sweet home.

****

There was already a cab waiting at the curb, her driver sitting on the hood in what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable position: both legs drawn up under her and crossed, one over the other. I don’t think I could have gotten into that position if my legs had been made of rubber and jammed into a taffy machine.

She’d have been pretty if she weren’t so aggressively plain. Her pelt was very close to the off-yellow of a lemon left in the sun too long. She wore no makeup and no clothes, save for a pair of beaten, checkered saddlebags high on her haunches that covered her cutie marks. Her black and white striped mane was braided in a single, whip-like tail that spilled down over one shoulder, hanging almost to her knees. Soaking wet from head to horseshoes, she smiled up at the clouds as they did their best to drown her peaceful expression in their depressing downpour.

A few bumper stickers with slogans like ‘Keep Equestria Green’ and ‘Love Thy Neighbor, Even If You Want to Set Fire To Him’ festooned the rear bumper of the old but well-maintained taxi, which was painted roughly the same color at its driver.

I clumped down the stairs of my apartment complex, making enough noise to jar her from her meditations. Her pink eyes opened and she stretched languidly, sliding off the hood. She radiated relaxation and comfort in such a smug contrast to her dreary surroundings that I found myself wanting to bite her.

“Morning, Taxi. I take it the chief’s been ringing?”

“She was screaming at me to come wake you up or shoot you or something. I turned off the radio right around the time the death threats started. I know you don’t sleep very well these days.” Even her voice was calm and pleasant.

Pulling open the back seat I crawled in, drawing my legs up under me as I settled into the heavily worn velour. “Thanks, Sweets.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” She grumbled softly. Shoving herself behind the wheel, she positioned her not-at-all unattractive rear up against the back brace, back hooves on the brake and gas, front legs wrapped around the edges of the wheel. It always struck me as an awkward position, but Taxi was an earth pony like me. We’re good at coming up with ways of doing things the other races do with a little magic and a lot of noise.

“Sorry. No matter how many nicknames you go through, you’re still going to be Sweet Shine to me.”

Sweet Shine and I had been friends since both of us were still blank flanks. When we both joined the force it seemed we’d found our place in the world, though I sometimes wondered if she’d just followed me because nowhere else seemed to fit. Nopony ever really nailed down her Special Talent, but whatever it was, it made her a brilliant investigator. It was a sad day when she left the force, but after what happened to her cutie marks, even I wasn’t thick enough to ask her to stay.

I still don’t know what ever inspired her to volunteer for undercover work in narcotics. Those ponies always struck me as a bit off in the head, while Sweets... Taxi... was basically a kind heart wrapped in an iron shell.

She slid the key into the ignition and lightning arced under the hood as the thrumming, arcaneletric engine roared to life.

“Death is shadowing you tonight, Hardy.”

“Hmmm?”

“You’ve got a case.”

It wasn’t a question.

****

Rain beat a solid tattoo on the cab’s windows as we drove towards the old city center. I lay there on my side in the back seat, cheek against the glass, watching the passing ponies ducking under the eaves of buildings or piling together into bus stops to escape the sheets of falling water. The silence was comfortable, familiar, and doing wonders for my headache.

The cab’s interior resembled some kind of temple to schizophrenic religious exploration. Beaded curtains hung in the back window and there was the deeply ingrained fumes of a thousand kinds of incense smoke covering up the usual taxi scents. Five different symbols of the sun and three or four of the moon hung from various fixtures.

As I pulled my hat down a little I caught Taxi’s pink eyes watching me in the rear view mirror.

“You look... spiritually misaligned,” she said, enigmatically, then jerked her gaze back to the road as our front bumper nearly took out a passing pony-drawn carriage.

“That’s new? I thought that’d been the case for a few years now. Or is this the part where you ask me why I’m later than usual draggin’ my tail out of the apartment?”

She sniffed petulantly, sweeping her beaded mane from one side to the other. “You don’t want to talk about it, then it’s no skin off my nose.”

The silence descended again for just a moment then, just as I was ready to wrap that silence around myself like a blanket, her ears perked and she rent the quiet asunder with a voice full of far too much early morning cheer. “Okay, I lied. What’s in your head? Come on, Hardy... Tellmetellmetellme!”

Taxi had the sort of curiosity they generally describe as being lethal to cats. It made her a great cop and interrogator, but sometimes an annoying chauffeur. This time, there was nothing for it; I could tell she’d gleefully keep after me all the way to the police station.

“...I had that dream again.”

Taxi rubbed her chin with one unshod hoof. She’s one of the few ponies I’d ever met who refused to wear shoes on any account. “Is that the one where the stripper comes out of the cupcake and it’s your mother?”

I sat upright sharply. “What? No!”

Her eyes glittered with mischief. “Oh! Was it the one where you’re wearing a pretty pink dress to meet Celestia at court?”

I covered my face with my hooves and pulled my coat up to my cheeks, slumping back in the seat. “Yes, yes of course... that was the one. Thanks for the talk.”

She wasn’t to be put off. “Dammit, Hardy, you’re a mopey prick in the morning. Now tell me! What did you dream about?”

My mind flashed back to the demonic beast almost crushing my head in its jaws. I shivered involuntarily. “Sparks of light. Red evil eclipse. Big monster pony with buildings for teeth. Pissing awful.”

I looked back out the window for a few seconds, gathering my thoughts. Her eyes widened just a little, then she waved a hoof knowingly. “Ahhh, yes, I see, I see...”

We were just passing one of the massive black obelisks comprising The Shield. Similar structures sat throughout the city, squatting between buildings or shoved into any convenient nook. This one looked like a huge pyramid, a little taller than it was wide, and each of its four sides was covered in glowing arcane glyphs. While it was dwarfed by the skyscrapers, it still presented an imposing figure jutting toward the permanent overcast of Detrot’s clouded skies.

The Shield was the most important part of our city’s three sided defense against the impinging wildernesses stretched out to the east. Most ponies, myself included, hadn’t the slightest idea how it worked.

I thought back to my first school field trip. It’d been to see one of those massive buildings inside. Anticipation had quickly given way to boredom as they dragged us from one exhibit on the history of the city to another, telling us about how the mighty Shield Organization keeps us safe day in and day out from the monsters out there.

The Shield Protects. The Shield Defends. The Shield Is Your Friend.

Somewhere up there a unicorn sat - probably bored and underpaid - focusing his horn into some sort of spell matrix. I admit, I envied him the predictability of his job.

“What do you see, Taxi?” I asked, feeling the weight of the hours ahead dragging me down into a particularly dark depression. Not really an uncommon reaction when facing what would most likely be a dressing down by the Chief of Detrot PD.

She peeked over her shoulder. “Sorry, I’m moonlighting as a dream interpreter this week. Part of the job is saying ‘I see, I see’ a lot. Just ignore it. So tell me about this nightmare... or was it a stallion?”

“I wasn’t exactly looking between its rear legs.” I replied. My nose wrinkled as we passed an open sewer. The smells and sights of the city were slowly bringing a semblance of awakeness to my abused brain.

Taxi canted one ear in my direction, using her ‘mother-hen’ voice. “I keep telling you and I’m going to keep saying it until you listen. You need a vacation. Preferably before the chief forces a medical leave by throwing another chair at your head.”

“We took that vacation in Prance two years ago, remember? You want a repeat?”

“Oh come on... The vacation wasn’t that bad...”

I tapped the back of her seat firmly. “I spent the weekend in a holding cell! Some checker headed pony who shall go unnamed slipped me a mickey in the hotel bar and I ended up with my rental car parked in the town fountain, pissing off the top of it onto a statue of Princess Celestia.”

Taxi swung the cab into a flow of wagons, carts, and other slower moving vehicles. For all of her earth-child garbage, she still drove like a cop.

“Hardy, do you honestly think you’re going to improve your spiritual state by staying in the city? Any city? The city is half the problem! Take a trip! I can introduce you to the current Chief Thunderhooves. Spend a weekend with the buffalo. It’ll do you wonders.”

I shook my head, neighing irritably. “Running through the plains wearing nothing but paint and a determined expression doesn't strike me as a spiritual experience.”

Taxi very nearly clipped the back wheel of a particularly slow-moving carriage; The top-hatted passenger inside waved an angry hoof at us as the two burly stallions pulling it gave a sharp yank to pull the wheel out of danger. “I was referring to... trying a sweat lodge, or eating some cactus. You could stand to be more in touch with the celestial energies.”

I looked out the window, trying to find a glimmer of sun through the roiling storm outside. No such luck.

I drew a deep breath. “Look... it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m going to see the chief and she may as well be using her medications for donut sprinkles. No amount of being ‘in touch with the cosmic flow’ is going to keep her from ripping my throat out. So can the moon-calf crap for a half hour, alright?”

Taxi glared in the rear view mirror then reached down and turned up the radio. I lowered my head to the seat, slowly sinking into a doze while the announcer’s voice filled the car.

“Good Morning, Detrot, from WPNN. This is Sunflower Press bringing you everything you need to know! Welcome back to our show at the top of the hour as we give you noteworthy events, and the fairest, most balanced broadcast on the air!

“Today CEO and Chairman of Starlight Industries, Mr. Diamante Voluntas, was at the unveiling of the new uptown corporate park Starlight Towers. The crystalline skyscraper, which has been under construction for nearly forty years, was finished last week. Our correspondent was on site at the grand dedication ceremony this morning. This is Mr. Diamante.”

A crowd milled somewhere near the mic, murmuring and shifting, before a powerful male voice brought instant silence. “Fillies and gentlecolts. Thank you for coming. Two hundred and fifty years ago when this town was little more than a trading post on the way between Equestria and the great Zebra and Buffalo nations, my family saw this city for what it could be. We petitioned the Princess to help us finance and construct the first Shield. It's grown somewhat since then.” Polite laughter.

“We worked with strong backs and hard hooves in the first jewel mines. We have never stopped believing in what Detrot is capable of being, and even in our darkest hour we have thrown ourselves into making this city great. Today, I want to show you the next step in that vision of a fantastic future for ourselves and our foals. Starlight Towers is to be a center of commerce for everypony and will lead us to our great reward, for the glory of Detrot and the whole of our nation. Come with me while I show you my dream for our future... A world full of diamonds.”

There was riotous stomping and cheering followed by the sound of a pair of gigantic scissors slicing through a ribbon, then Sunflower Press's slightly grating voice again.

“The Starlight Towers will be open to the public this coming month. In other news, Griffins representing the Tokan and Hitlan tribes of the Endless Desert have both accepted Mayor Snifter’s gracious offer of sanctuary for their young in the city. Both tribes are experiencing difficulties with the local ecology on their home mesas, though their own version of the PACT is apparently handling the situation and hasn’t asked for help.

“Griffins from both tribes are shacked up at the Moonwalk Hotel in uptown while the issues at home are resolved. If you see one out and about, be sure to give them a hearty Detrot welcome and hope they fix things soon so they can get back to... uh... whatever it is they do out there. Rain dancing.

“Meanwhile, the Church of the Lunar Passage has again protested the coming display of significant Pre-classical Artifacts at the Celestial Museum of History on the 60th Anniversary of the return of Princess Luna to our world.

“The traveling display has passed through Hoofington, Trottingham, and Canterlot, and now makes its way to our fair city. Amongst these artifacts are several pieces of important literature and art, and even the reconstituted armor of Nightmare Moon herself, which will be showing for two weeks. Celestia herself penned the placard which will be shown alongside the piece. The Princess had this to say.”

A familiar, motherly voice spoke. I felt the tension in my shoulders release a little with each word.

“When I lost Princess Luna I lost a part of myself and our country... nay, our world... was poorer for her absence. Sixty years ago, she was returned to us. I want everypony to know the cost of jealousy and anger, and never forget what it cost me. Her lesson is learned as is my own. I am a humbler pony for it. Please, when you see this object, look at it not as a banner of victory, but as the physical embodiment of a thousand years spent apart because we could not make peace.”

Sunflower began again, shuffling papers a little too close to the microphone.

“That was the Princess speaking to our Canterlot correspondent. Sounds awfully full of remorse for having been the one who sent Luna there in the first place, doesn’t she? I just wouldn’t want to be that pony who destroyed the Grand Galloping Gala a few years back with that stampede from the castle gardens. Betcha she dumped them someplace dark and far away too.

“The Church of the Lunar Passage wants the display pulled because of the negative connotations associated with the public exhibition. Miss Astral Skylark from the Church was attending the protest outside the museum today and had this to say.”

The new voice was soft, almost tender, but with a hard edge that made me instantly leery; It was the sort of voice you hear from a Concerned Mother perpetually one step away from being a gigantic pain in the flank. “The return of Luna was nothing short of a miracle. That she came back at all should be celebrated, and the magics which brought her back should be explored.

“We've heard nothing from Canterlot about the events surrounding her return or the ponies responsible for it, even after all these years. That Princess Luna came back to us should be a sign that redemption is open to anypony - even those who've fallen far - if they look to the stars for guidance.

“Celestia would have us believe the vessel of Princess Luna’s return is nothing but a shell. A symbol of her fall into darkness. I say this is obfuscation and lies! The beings or powers that returned our dear Night Princess to us must be addressed. There are obviously greater things in the depths of the beyond than we've been lead to believe. To label it nothing but a display of the fruits of jealousy is to debase the majesty of this event and defraud us of this miraculous return-”

I’d never considered myself a religious sort, but it only took about six sentences from that beastly mare before my headache was back in full force.

“Could you shut that awful crap off? I don’t need to hear from the Loonies this morning.” I growled under my breath.

Taxi reached down and turned the volume on the radio down a few notches - which didn’t help immensely, but took the dull throb to a less intolerable level. Looking over her shoulder for a second she shook her head. “Do you have some kind of problem with the Lunar Passage?” She asked, slipping the car into neutral just long enough to make the engine snarl menacingly at a rickshaw which was drifting into our lane.

Dammit, Hardy! Why does your sense of self preservation never kick in before your mouth opens? That was exactly the kind of thing Taxi wouldn’t let pass.

I inhaled sharply and tried to clear my thoughts of the infernal haze which had hung over them since I oozed off the couch. Mornings should be spent in quiet repose with a newspaper and a nice clean toilet to throw up into.

“I...ugh. No. They’re fine. No problems with the Loonies at all.”

She malevolently reached for the volume dial, and I jerked forward. “Okay, okay! Taxi... do you really need me to answer this? Why in Equestria do you never ask me these questions when I’m drunk?”

Tapping her chin, she grinned hugely. “Because for some reason, when you’re drunk, you’re smart enough not to answer them. So lay it out for me. What’s your issue with the Lunar Passage? I can’t wait to hear this.”

I sighed; My head hurt too much to come up with a creative dodge, so I went for the unvarnished truth. “They creep me out, that's what. They creep me out 'cause I remember what they used to be like. They spent all their time shrieking in basements to each other about Celestia banishing Luna and making up Nightmare Moon as some sort of... cosmic power play. Now, a few years and one economic crisis later, I can't step out my door without stumbling over somepony in a starry robe spouting this trash. It’s ridiculous.”

“So, what, are you saying they shouldn't be allowed to get over their pasts? They've toned down the anti-Celestia rhetoric, and do a lot of really decent work now. They own half the homeless hostels in the city. They’re not hurting anypony.”

“It's not just me. Look, do you remember that Nightmare Night back when we were kids, and what Luna was like when she was here in Detrot? I heard Astral at the Nightmare Night celebration this year in Baltimare; she gave some... speech, kinda like that one, and while she was raving, Luna herself was right there looking as though she half wished she was back on the moon.”

“She’s never said anything about it in public,” Taxi said, “but If you’re right, and the Lunar Passage does make her uncomfortable, then maybe she says nothing because she knows just how important their faith in her is to them. Everypony needs something to get through the day, and if Luna’s rebirth story is that something, what’s wrong with that?”

“...Fine, but did they have to be reborn into ponies that dress like they were sexually assaulted by the night sky?”

Taxi’s expression subtly darkened, but not as much as her words did. “It’s got to be healthier than being reborn at the bottom of a bottle of hard cider every night.”

I winced slightly, but decided to drop the subject before she could go on to dissect my grooming habits. “You asked, Sweets.”

“Yes, I did ask, and you didn’t have to answer me by being a jerk.”

“See, this is why I do not discuss religion with you. I’ve got an equal chance of being saddled with Healing Crystal Earrings or a kick in the teeth.”

“You’re an incredible dick sometimes.”

“...Just drive the cab, Sweets.”

She huffed but left the radio off. I slumped against the window and shut my eyes, praying that calm would re-assert itself as I slid into a quiet funk. The day was only beginning and already I’d pissed off my employer and my best friend. Joy of joys. Maybe, with any luck, I could bring down the wrath of Celestia by day’s end.

Chapter 2: Your Princess is in Another Castle

When considering what went wrong between the Detrot Police Department and the Perimeter Aegis Control Taskforce, it is important to remember that both groups were charged with maintaining order and protecting the city. The DPD hunted criminals; the PACT hunted monsters, and the harmonious operation of the two was often necessary for the completion of this duty.

Why they did not, in fact, harmoniously operate is not particularly a mystery. Over time, pride crept into the equation, and each organization collectively saw themselves as more important, skilled, and/or capable than the other, imagining in their minds that they were sole guardians of the city. Each believed that Detrot would ultimately collapse without their protection, and never stopped as a whole to consider that on this point, they were both entirely correct.

And thus, Detrot was stuck with a situation in which DPD officers saw PACT as a bunch of self-impressed cowponies with the brains of confectionery and only a loose understanding of ‘collateral damage,' and PACT thought of the DPD as lacking the fortitude necessary to control their bowels in the face of an oncoming manticore and/or household pet.

This was not a rift in any way mended when Princess Celestia donated The Castle to the DPD for use as their headquarters. The Castle was a sturdy defensive bastion eventually turned royal summer home when the borders of Detrot extended too far for the Castle to be of strategic value; a few decades and renovations later, it would ultimately serve as the schizophrenic nerve center of the Detrot Police, and as a continuous sore spot for the PACT.

-The Scholar

I awoke from my doze to gunshots ringing out overhead.

We were jiggling over some terribly uneven surface that nearly bounced my teeth right out of my face, when something bounced off the passenger side window, leaving a huge crack in the glass.

Taxi shrieked in alarm, slamming on the brakes as I jammed the door open on the opposite side from the incoming fire, and rolled onto cobblestones before the car had come to a full stop. Kicking the bit of my gun up into my muzzle, I carefully peered over the trunk, trying to find a target.

When none presented itself, I glanced around for a second or two to realize that we were not in a gang warzone; Instead, we were sitting in the old chariot loading bay leading up to the Detrot Police Office’s main entrance. We’d passed under its yawning portcullis and onto the avenue in front of the oldest building in the city. It isn’t called ‘The Castle’ because somepony in P.R. thought it was a cute name.

The tower proper looked like a monstrous onion sitting on an upended coffee cup, ringed with stained glass windows around the top. Its various portals, arrow slits, and murder holes had been attacked by a vengefully fashionable pony intent on making them look like something other than the trappings of a utilitarian fortress. Sadly, the additions of old-style Canterlot gold leaf and alabaster just seemed out of place, like cake frosting hurled against the side of a municipal parking garage, even if the decorations hadn’t started cracking and peeling in an effort to fit in with the weathered masonry.

It was from the tower’s shadow that a large pegasus in full body black combat armor wheeled down out of the sky from one of the smaller, newer buildings which crouched around the central pillar like ugly ducklings huddled around their gaudily decorated mother. His military-style, close-cropped mane was a shade of sickly green; It mixed with his brown face to make him look like a foal’s hoofpainting. There was something familiar about that awful color scheme.

The stallion dropped down to ground level, skidding to a stop and tucking his wings back as two more troopers followed him down. They kept a respectful distance, but were still close enough to be ‘backing him up.’ The other two were mares wearing much the same outfit. It covered them from head to hoof in thick black kevlar with ceramic plates underneath, leaving only their muzzles and eyes exposed, and considering the humid day, they must have been hot as fresh phoenix shit. All three of them wore badges on their flanks shaped like an apple tree overlaid by a unicorn’s horn, sporting a pair of wings which said across them in silvered letters ‘Perimeter Aegis Control Taskforce.’

“Civilian traffic is restricted. We’re having training exercises-” He began in an officious tone and I stood up, dropping my bit from my teeth and coming around the cab intent on chewing nine kinds of hay out of him. Taxi beat me to it, charging out of the other side of the cab and sticking her nose in his face.

Taxi wasn’t a small mare by any stretch, but the pegasus was a properly big bastard and his neck bulged with muscles. On reflection, I should have noticed the giant riot cannon strapped to his combat saddle, as well as those of his two companions, any one of which could probably have turned both of us into a fine mist. Its barrel was as big as my leg. None of that, however, deterred Taxi.

“Did you just shoot my car, you goddess damned bastard? Was your father a diamond dog or is stupid just the new PACT recruitment policy?”

Steam blasted out of his nostrils as his companions nickered laughter at his back.

“They’re beanbag rounds and your hack wagon is fine. You need a demonstration of just how fine it’ll be, or are you going to clear that yellow piece of manure from our engagement zone?” He kicked his back leg so the re-loading mechanism ratcheted a fresh round into the chamber.

Taxi growled at him, yanking her temporary police parking permit out of her saddlebag and tossing it at his feet, “Manure?! We’re not civilian traffic, you stupid @$&*#$!”

That’s not censorship; I’m not actually sure what that word was, but it was unflattering and in buffalo. Or maybe zebra. Or possibly draconic. Knowing how far she’d ranged during her various spiritual adventures one could never rule anything out with Taxi or her choice of invective.

He looked down at the paper then carefully stepped on it, leaving a muddy hoofprint.

I decided to intervene as I saw her starting to slide back into of those freaky zebra fighting stances that looked frighteningly like total relaxation. I wasn’t really in the mood to peel the big idiot’s face out of one of the rose-bushes lining the boulevard. Well, that’s not true. I just wasn’t in the mood to fill out an incident report afterwards.

I slid between them and began gently pressing her back with one hoof on her chest. “Taxi, give it a rest. Go park us. I’m sure this fellow isn’t looking for trouble any more than we are.”

Her pink eyes flicked angrily from him to me to the cracked window before she muttered, “I am going to put this on the Chief’s bill this month. She better pay it, Hardy, or you can take the bus until she does.” Stepping back she went around and got in, sitting there for a moment trying to collect herself.

His attention finally turned to me and a huge grin spread on his treebark colored cheeks. “Hardy?... As in Hard Boiled? Isn’t that right?” Stepping up close he pushed my hat back on my head. I watched the muscles in his eyebrows shifting as I resisted the urge to immediately crush his smug face. “Ladies, we got ourselves a proper hero cop here, ain’t that right... Hardy? Too damn good to drive his own wagon, so the chief hires out some weird ass filly to drive him everywhere.” He looked up at Taxi. “Is that her?”

The two mares accompanying him looked at me then back at the beefcake moron as though sizing us up. I was obviously not high in their estimations.

Taxi was sitting behind the wheel, taking deep breaths as she tried to get herself under control. She’s not a particularly temperamental filly, but he’d caught her on a bad day. Like a trainwreck in slow motion, he continued. “Huh... I hear that creepy cabbie don’t have no Cutie Marks. Some kinda bizarro religious thing.” Then to her he yelled, “Hey baby... you and me hang out some night, and maybe I help you find your Special Talent!”

I winced. Most ponies in the force knew the story of Taxi’s Cutie Marks; it was a fable told to recruits on the dangers of undercover work. Most ponies also had the good grace not to mention it to either of us.

Sure enough, the normally peaceful taxi-driver threw herself out of the car in a fury. “Oh, you want Special Talent?! I will show you my Goddessdamned Special Talent in amateur proctology you-”

I quickly stepped in front of her. “Taxi... that’s enough. Let me handle this.” She stopped short, one hoof out and hovering an inch from a particularly painful nerve cluster in my right front knee. She slowly lowered it.

Turning I trotted up to the towering PACT trooper. He unconsciously braced himself to lift off, raising his wings. Sloppy. He obviously wasn’t an experienced brawler. Still, I decided to go the diplomatic route. I studied him for a moment then looked at his badge. The name there was...oooh, yes. I knew he was familiar.

“Canyon... Canyon, isn’t it?” He dipped his nose, eyeing me cautiously.

I gave him a wide, friendly grin. “Heck, Canyon ol’ buddy ol’ pal!” Sidling up beside him I threw one leg around his broad shoulders and turned him to face his companions. Anything to get him away from Taxi. “I remember Canyon here, ladies! Guess his Daddy went ahead and got him into the PACT after his little stint in DPD Traffic Enforcement. He tell you about that?” I didn’t give them time to answer, but could feel the pegasus’ thick neck tensing as I gave him a little squeeze which might have looked, to an incidental observer, like a headlock. “No? I guess they don’t frown so much on those ‘little’ breaches of protocol out by The Shield.”

I turned to his friends, shifting my weight casually to press down on his wing muscles. “He got so drunk at last year’s Hearth’s Warming Eve party, he tried to stick his nose right in the Chief’s crotch!” My smile had turned slightly vindictive but there was a certain joy in his growing discomfort. “Didn’t she buck you so hard you they had to re-plaster her office wall again, Canyon me ol' pal?”

He shook me off and turned to face me, unconsciously running his tongue over his two front teeth. One was missing, and the other was broken and showed signs of recent dentistry work.

His companions faces were full of barely suppressed laughter, and the look in Canyon’s eyes was turning steadily from embarrassment to ‘I wonder if I can kill the shit-head Detective with bean-bag rounds.’

Before he could test that theory, an older looking unicorn in safety goggles stuck his head over the parapet on one of the lower buildings and shouted, “Hey! Canyon! Andele! Scarper! Get your asses up here and fly like targets! If a dragon attacks and DPD headquarters is hit, I will see to it Broadside knows it was you three that let the ground crews sit on their flanks!”

Canyon quickly drew himself to a formal military stance, rear hooves together. Flipping his tail in the air he took several steps away from me and shouted back, “Sir! Civilian caught a stray round! Just clearing them off and making sure they get on their way!”

The unicorn cocked his heavy rifle. “Getcher butts in the air, or I start shootin’ em on the ground!”

All three pegasi gave powerful flaps of their wings and lifted off, nearly knocking me from my hooves in the resulting vortex. Canyon’s companions looked over their shoulders at me then couldn’t contain it anymore and started laughing uproariously as he slumped, hanging between his wings like a prisoner being dragged to his own execution. Maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Taxi stuck her head out the window of the car, a tiny hint of a grin at the corners of her lips. “Hey... Hardy? I... erm... I...” She stuttered for a second then seemed to find her words. “...thanks for that.”

I shrugged it off. “If you’d hit him I’d have had to go for his gun. Either way...”

Looking up at the Castle’s imposing edifice looming overhead like a stern parent I could have sworn I felt The Chief gazing down at me with horrible murder in her eyes. “...I don’t want to do this.”

The cabbie made a gentle shooing motion with one leg. “Go on, Hardy. The music is calling and must be faced.”

I cocked my head as though listening. “The music sounds like a prescription drug addicted unicorn with power over my paycheck. You sure you don’t wanna just... you know... shoot me here? Like one in the knee? A graze?”

She shook her head and revved the engine. “If I thought shooting you would make it all better, I’d have done it a while ago. I’ll be in the car park.” With that she was off, out under the open portcullis and around the side towards the garage.

****

Via hooking a hoof in an ancient door-pull in the shape of a stylized sun, I tugged open the heavy and ornate front door to the Castle, and was immediately caught full force in the face by a torrent of paper and a blast of air that wrenched the door from my grasp, slamming it open. Forms and files seemed to be raining from the sky, though they didn’t make it far before two ponies dashed out the door past me to gather them back in.

I could barely see the other end of the Princess’s former audience chamber; the Chief’s office sitting directly over the throne dais was invisible against a backdrop of fluttering paperwork. Overhead, a miniature tornado composed mostly of officious garbage swung back and forth just under the ceiling, dancing like a crazed, drunken snake. Several dozen uniformed pegasi were trying with only limited success to get control of the thing, which spat out bits of detritus, then sucked them back in. Occasionally, lightning arced out and struck the ancient golden pillars lining either side of the hall, leaving black streaks.

I pulled the door shut behind me. I had to dodge past a rushing greyish-pink earth pony who nearly took my head off as she tried to catch another set of escaped files, which seemed to be intentionally staying just a few inches ahead of her. The noise was deafening.

Celestia help us. There are just some things in the world that do not call for magical solutions. It was an inauspicious day many years ago when, during the height of an ambitious interspecies collaboration, somepony decided that file cabinets were too heavy and inconvenient.

The idea for the File Cloud was simple enough. You enchant a container (in this case the ceiling of the former royal audience chamber) and a cloud so instead of water, it holds... well, anything. Paper, mostly. Everypony was going to have a File Cloud right in their own home where they could store a lifetime’s collected junk. The pencil pushers in City Hall declared it ‘The greatest innovation of our times since The Shield!’ and Detrot Police Department would be ‘First to be Graced with all the Efficiency and Security this soon to become Indispensible Modern Convenience could Offer.’

Capitalized sarcasm aside, it did eliminate, single hoofedly, an entire department dedicated to cataloguing years worth of paperwork. Just call up to the front desk and they would magically deliver right to your chair whatever you’d sent up to be dumped into the cloud. It would literally rain evidence. Unfortunately, it was discovered only once it was installed that if you store decades worth of stuff in one place, it’s awfully easy to forget what you put in there. This necessitated a filing system almost as complex as the one it replaced to keep track of everything going in.

There was also the problem that, as more things were emptied into the cloud, the questions you had to ask the Cloud get back what you’d put into it became more and more specific, and, as anyone who’s ever dealt with a genie knows, asking the wrong question to a magical entity has consequences. There had been a few incidents of ponies asking for documents and receiving case files that were in unknown languages, for places that didn’t exist, or about incidents which either never happened or weren’t going to happen for centuries. One pony asking for the groundskeeping ledger wound up inadvertently receiving the case file for his own murder.

Years of magical development and what we’d ended up with was a glorified junk closet which could incidentally defy the laws of causality in an entirely useless and disturbing fashion. Accounting was not pleased.

Less pleased, at the moment, was Radiophonic Telegraphica, the unicorn center of Detrot PD’s information systems and poster child for Equestrian naming schema gone overboard. She was huddled behind an immense radio set, which took up a full third of the vast room. Her face was pinched like a teal lemon as she adjusted the chest-high bank of gems, knobs, and dials at a dizzying speed with her horn’s magic, all the while shouting into three microphones in six different voices simultaneously, as though she was a one-pony acapella group. Four separate headsets hung around her neck, restraining her bright green mane.

I pinned down my hat before the wind could tear it from my head and I pushed against the paper-storm, making my way through it over to her and hooking my hooves over the edge of the desk.

“Telly!” I yelled, trying to make myself heard.

She didn’t even look up as she slammed her hoof down on another call button. “We’re a little busy at the moment, in case you didn’t notice! Take a friggin' number!”

Trotting around the end of the desk I grabbed the top set of headphones and pulled them off of her ears. She glared up at me indignantly but her expression softened when she saw my face. “Oh... Hardy. Dammit! We’re busy as an apple-bucker during harvest with two busted left legs! Can it wait?”

I shook my head, trying to keep my voice level, which was difficult in the din. “I was having a perfectly wonderful nightmare too! What in Equestria is going on with the File Cloud? And why is the damn PACT outside blasting at cabs?” I gestured towards the mass of stationery, notes, and parchments swirling through the room.

A flash of static burst from her headset; she winced, hit a mute-button, and glared up at the spinning mass. “The PACT idiots are here to do joint training exercises to make sure the DPD is up to snuff if we get attacked by mega-fauna. One of their yahoos took a potshot at the dome and found a chink in the protection spells! They blew off part of the control rune for the substantiality matrix! We’re venting matter from the interstitial nexi!”

I shook my head, understanding very little of that. Telly was a brainiac through and through, and damn anyone who might be a few IQ points short. I pulled my coat tightly around myself, lest it be swept away into the maelstrom.

“Has anyone been up there to try to fix it?”

She shook her head, wind whipping her mane into her face. “We can’t get close enough! You wanna try flying through that mess, I’ll be glad to give you a push!” Her horn flashed and she pulled a large red lever, which only seemed to make the tornado darker and angrier. “Damnit! The stabilization array is fluctuating!”

“I’m guessing that’s bad?”

“Only if you like being a quadruped!”

As Telly fiddled with her controls, trying to bring the raging cloud under control, I watched the crowd of tumbling pegasi shooting back and forth around the edges, catching bits of trash before they could escape and tossing them back in.

From out of the mass of cubicles and darting ponies a tiny salmon colored bolt blasted through the edge of the funnel. I couldn’t make out who or what it was, but it rose towards the ceiling, nimbly dodging flying clipboards and ballistic note-pads. Holding my hat to my head with one leg I did my best to follow its progress but after a moment it vanished into the center of the storm.

Telly was shrieking into her mic again. “Who was that?! Did anypony see who went up there?! Someone talk to me! We’ve still got containment on the evidence armory partition, right? Right?!” The speaker just crackled as dozens of voices all tried to reply at once.

Suddenly and entirely without warning, the tornado vanished. Everything that had fallen or been ejected was slurped straight up into the air with a noise like a giant trying to get the last few drops of liquid out of the bottom of a glass with an enormous straw.

All of the pegasi, finding themselves no longer fighting the furious air-flow, scrambled to catch themselves. A young buck in lab coat crashed nose-first into one of the pillars, then dropped unceremoniously into a stack of empty cardboard boxes.

After a few seconds of stunned silence everypony began quietly dragging themselves up and dusting their tails off, then counting to make sure nopony had actually been sucked into the cloud. The now docile cloud was only occasionally letting out rumbles and crackles as it tried to re-arrange everything back in the proper order.

Almost entirely unnoticed, a small orange pony dropped out of the mass of white. At first I thought it was somepony’s foal who’d come in for one of those hideous bring-your-filly-to-work days, but as she got closer, I saw she was wearing a rumpled uniform. Her mane was cut in that same silly military flat-top style as the buffoons outside, and was a truly shocking shade of fluorescent red. If there was a geiger counter in the building, she’d have set it off.

She clutched a bucket in her teeth and fluttered towards us, almost losing her balance when one wing cramped from overexertion as she tried to land. Skidding to a stop on all four hooves she came up just a few inches short of the desk and collapsed on her stomach in a panting heap.

Telly glared down into the bucket at the tiny pegasus. “What...?” She began then paused and lifted the container in a telekinetic field, peering into the black mess inside. “What did you do up there... ah... cadet? Wait... aren’t you... you’re the transfer from PACT, right?”

She nodded weakly and tried to stand but her legs went out from under her almost immediately and she sat down heavily, “Yes, Ma’am... whoo... hah....” After a few more deep breaths she managed to reply, “I re-painted the... thing... hooo!... with the bullet-hole in it.”

The radio pony dipped one hoof in the dark substance and stared at it then gave it a sniff. “That’s... printer ink. Heh. Accounting is going to love this. Though, they’ll probably hate it less than an armory containment breach. It’ll hold for now. We’ll need a more permanent fix, but a more pressing issue is probably finding out where they punched through the shield spells.”

I huffed and tapped the wheezing young pegasus on the forehead. “Cadet... what did you think you were doing? You do know that cloud could have torn your damn fool head off! You know we keep weapons from murders in there?!”

“Actually the evidence armory containment magics seem to have held-” Telly started, but I silenced her with a sharp look.

“If they hadn’t, we’d have had a tornado whirling around, spewing out knives and shooting hoofguns!”

The cadet’s shoulders stiffened and she pulled herself upright. “I fixed it, didn’t I? I was watching the training exercises outside. I saw where the shot hit the roof-” Her brilliant cyan eyes shot wide as she peered my badge before yanking herself into a salute so fast she almost knocked herself cold with her own hoof. “Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

Shutting my eyes I let out a little breath then turned on my heels. “Alright... catastrophe averted by the scrub. Don’t expect a medal. Telly?”

A strange look crossed Telly’s face as she looked back and forth between me and the rookie. I couldn’t quite read it but there was a definite smile buried somewhere under the exhaustion.

“Telly!” I repeated in a louder voice and she looked at me, licking her lips as that smile turned into a huge snarky grin.

“Yes, Sir, Detective, Sir?”

I facehoofed, and then waved towards her radio set. “Is the Chief ready to see me? Tell me this mess wasn’t what she called me down here for. I’d hate to think the budget’s been hacked off so completely she’d need me filing.”

“What? Oh... er, no.” The radio pony slumped behind her desk and tapped a purple button lightly with a tiny flicker of her horn. Red emergency lights flashing all around the audience chamber quietly shut off. “We got a call this morning on a death over on the other side of uptown. Something pretty high profile. She sent the forensics bunch out there to get what they can but the media got there before us and is making a fracas of it.”

“So what does she need me for?” I asked, watching a passing accountant with a stack of loose paper balanced on his head trying to get around a small avalanche of garbage jammed in the stairwell that hadn’t been pulled back when the cloud returned to normal.

Telly shook her head, pulling one of her head-sets off and setting it aside. “Honestly? I imagine she needs somepony who can solve this quickly or sweep it under the carpet before the newspapers start howling about police inefficiency. Either way,” she said, adding a gentle bow and graceful sweep of her hoof, “it is but mine to listen and yours to jump like a bunny when she calls lest she tear your nuts off and feed them to you.”

An indoor tornado wasn’t the worst way I’d seen a day begin in Detrot PD, but it was right up there. If that wasn’t what the chief got me out of bed for... I felt a little worry plucking at my neck.

“Did you at least take the bullets out of her gun?” I asked softly.

The teal radio-pony grinned as she yanked open her desk drawer, and six small caliber rounds rolled to the bottom with a clatter. “You know I’ve got your back, Hardy. Besides, I think I saw her take a few of the blue diamonds. Those usually mellow her out.”

Straightening my jacket, I threw out my chest, assuming a stance I hoped radiated confidence.

“Alright. Wish me luck.”

Telly snorted and shoved her drawer shut, “You don’t need luck. You need a tranquilizer gun and royal intervention. Just try not to piss her off worse. Some of us actually have to work here.”

I looked up at the stained glass window over front of the Chief’s office depicting Justice, our patron, in all her glory. She who wore a blindfold and clutched a flaming sword in her teeth, rearing to charge forth against the iniquitous and unrighteous. Her hooves were sheathed in golden shoes and her coat was a burnished white. Rather dramatic, but still... beautiful.

I could see a spindly shadow moving back and forth, gesticulating wildly at something out of sight. Tipping my head I whispered a quiet prayer before turning towards the staircase up to the second floor. Telly and the recruit stood there together with sympathetic looks in their eyes as they watched me go. At least, I imagined them to be sympathetic, right up until Telly stage whispered to the little pegasus: “If she ever actually kills him, I want his hat.”

****

I stopped in the ancient hallway, one leg raised to knock on the heavily ornamented doors to the Princess’s old chambers. The long hall was almost silent, feeling like a world apart, separated from the mad rush of the audience chamber. I’d been fine right up until I set hoof on the extremely plush red carpet lined on either side with ancient suits of armor.

As I approached the beautiful forest fresco on the door, the weight of the morning seemed to drop on my head like an anvil. Followed by a wagon. And a piano. For a moment I entertained the idea that I could sneak back downstairs, out into the cab, and beg Taxi to drive me to the other end of the Equestria. It was a damnably attractive notion.

Celestia, did I once love this job? Was there a time where I sat bolt upright in bed and looked around and thought ‘Yes, I want to face a maniacal horned tyrant before breakfast?'

Actually... there was a time... several years ago, before my partner... No. Put the brakes on that entire line of thought, Hardy...

‘Death shadows you today, Hardy.’ Taxi’s words came back to me and I tried to push them aside, but it wasn’t happening. Equicide is like that. If you work there, death is always waiting somewhere in the wings. Besides, it didn’t matter whether or not I happen to like the job. I’d taken the oath. I put my hoof on a book of law and swore to serve and protect. That means something, right?

It’s not that I ever stopped feeling like I was doing the right thing with my life. My Cutie Mark says it all. A pony can know they’re exactly where they should be, and still want to throw themselves in front of a bus now and then.

A cup of coffee might do me good though. After all, the Chief could only get so angry before she either had an aneurysm or fired me. She could wait fifteen minutes.

I was just turning to creep back downstairs when the wide double doors glowed brightly, then crashed inwards and left me hanging there, turned towards the hall and a guilty expression on my face. I carefully looked over my shoulder; Her high backed chair was facing the other way, looking out over the rush of ponies in the cubicles below. Quickly burying the desire to bolt, I composed myself and marched across the threshold to meet my fate.

The Chief’s office was vast and covered in gold paint, but was mostly empty, save for thick red carpets that stopped short of the edge of a huge but worn maple-wood desk, which was a towering monument to the ancient royal order. It’d been Celestia’s at one time, and was just about the only thing that had been kept from the previous administration. The former head of the department was a big fan of antiques and jammed them in every possible corner, and when the Chief was elected to the position, she took one look at all that gaudy shit and sold it to pay off the department’s budget over-run.

Two flat backed chairs that reminded me of the ones in the headmare’s office of my old elementary school sat facing the desk. I’d spent many hours in similar ones writing endless lines of things like ‘I will not help Sweet Shine replace the fruit in the teacher’s lounge with unripe zap apples.’

There was a tiny bowl of peppermint candy, three perfectly sharpened pencils, and two boxes labeled ‘in’ and ‘out’ sitting on her desk. The ‘out’ box stack of paperwork was significantly higher than ‘in.’

Trying to be casual about it, I edged up to the desk and snagged a sweet from the bowl. Unwrapping it with my teeth I balanced it on the back of one leg then flicked it into the air and tilted my head back to catch it in my lips. It never landed. It just hung there a few inches from my face, shimmering slightly in a sparkling field of unicorn magic.

The luxuriously appointed chair slowly turned around, and Police Chief Iris Jade smiled down at me like a predator whose particularly stupid prey has just waltzed into her den. Her platinum silver mane hung around her skeletal frame in stiffly coiffed lines you could have used for a measuring stick. Her pelt was a harsh shade of emerald that contrasted badly with the chair, but went perfectly with the tailor made business suit clinging to her like loose flesh.

Each of her eyes seemed to focus on a slightly different part of my face, and her pupils were simply gone, lost in corneas the same shocking green as her body. Her horn was polished and shined, with the tip ground to a dangerous looking point. She watched me in silence for a few seconds then the peppermint floated over and dropped between her teeth. She bit down, and the crunch reminded me uncomfortably of breaking bone.

“Good morning, Detective. I’m glad you could grace us with your presence this beautiful day.” Leaning forward she put her hooves on the desk and slid off her seat to stand, watching me with that unsettling gaze.

I climbed up into one of the chairs, gathering my legs under me. “Glad to be gracious. You know, threatening my life before breakfast is probably against the law. Where’s the case?” I plucked my hat off and brushed off a stray piece of notecard from the mess downstairs.

“What makes you think there’s a case?” She inquired, tilting her head. One of her pupils chose that moment to reappear, lending her a slightly maniacal expression. “What makes you think you’re not here for me to take a skinning knife to your flanks?”

I clopped my hooves together and did not say, ‘because Taxi said there is.’ “I spoke to Telly. Besides, if you were going to fire me, there’d have been balloons, cake, and a gallows downstairs. And lemme just say, I was way more impressed back when it was ‘take a carrot peeler to your dick.’”

She said nothing, but the drawer of her desk slid open and the vegetable-skinning instrument in question floated out to hang in midair for several seconds before dropping back out of sight. I swallowed sharply and my jaw snapped so fast I almost bit my own tongue.

Wrinkling her nose, she lifted two files out of her inbox, shoving one across the table to me. I caught it in my teeth and unfolded it, looking over an ‘initial report,’ which is police speak for ‘transcript of a panicking idiot screaming into his telephone.’ It said ‘Murder/Misadventure/Suicide’ across the top, below the address.

“Fine. You’re right, much as it pains me to admit. We’re overloaded at the moment and the case that came in this morning has taken on a certain importance because the media managed to hear about it before we did. One of the cleaning staff at the High Step Hotel called every paper and news station in the book before they called the PD switchboard. Reporters were crawling all over the scene for almost fifteen minutes before we got there and managed to clear them out.”

I winced and folded the folder in half, wedging it into one of my extremely deep coat pockets. While I am from the school of investigative thought that says forensics tends to muddy otherwise cut and dry issues, they’re still essential to the job we do, which is finding criminals. Enough simple cases have been flat out ruined because somepony stuck his hoof in the wrong puddle that the thought of a crime scene covered in reporters made me want to weep.

“Though, it’s not the only reason I needed you here today. I happen to have some fantastic news! You’ll be overjoyed, I’m certain.” Leaning over she reached down into her garbage can and retrieved her battered phone. “I’ve been on the line with Mayor Snifter all morning about the latest ‘budget modifications.’”

Sudden worry twisted my stomach. “Right, budget modifications... what exactly does that have to do with me being in the office?” I asked nervously, lowering my chin onto the seat.

She grinned even wider, then touched the radio desk call button and said - in a voice so cheerful I almost retched - “You’re getting a partner!”

My ears shot straight up in alarm. “Wait, what? No, that’s fine! Taxi is plenty. I know she’s not official, but the last time we tried this, that pitiful pissant you set me up with almost shot himself in the leg. Juniper-” I began, but she swept her hoof down onto the desk and cut me off mid-sentence.

“Juniper is dead. I know you and he worked well together, but it’s been more than two years. I can’t justify the expense of that cab for one officer.”

Pushing myself up I stood and yanked my fedora down over my ears, starting for the door. “I’ll be at the crime scene. Doing my job. I don’t need this shit. If you find somepony dumb enough to ride shotgun with me, do us both a favor and fire them. Might save a life.”

Jade shrugged eloquently. “It’s a partner or a desk job. Take your pick. Frankly, I’d love to have you around the office more. I need somepony who can make a decent cup of coffee.”

That brought me up short. I turned and stared at her, but there wasn’t even a hint of humor in her sharply angled face; nor was there the sadistic glee I expected. It was more like... exhaustion, which she covered quickly by sliding back in her seat and plucking another candy from the bowl, shelling it open, and crunching at it loudly. A moment later her pupils expanded so wide her eyes looked almost black. Right, note-to-self: Don’t eat anything on the Chief’s desk.

I wondered, not for the first time lately, what actually went on in her mind. She was straight as an arrow and replaced a corrupt son of a whore who’d driven the department almost into the ground. When she joined the force, everypony thought we were getting a bureaucrat instead of a cop. We were proved wrong after she managed the first actual drop in violent crime-rates in almost three decades.

Over the years she’d relaxed, a little. The alternative, in her position, was probably insanity, though I can’t say the work left her completely unaffected. Her copious medication intake was a tolerated open secret. So long the job got done, nopony objected too loudly. It was a common enough story in Detrot; she took the job because there was no-one else competent or crazy enough.

Still, there were a few odd incidents when she got her pill bottles mixed up. Equestria being what it is, it’s entirely possible a purple dragon could have been eating the light from the city traffic signals, but that didn’t make the APB and the fruitless city-wide lizard-chase sound any better on the six o'clock news.

“You’re serious? Which poor fool did you con into this? Was it Cheese Nip? Or... nonono... not Creamy Goodness! He can barely leave his office without disinfecting his hooves!”

Jade pushed the other folder across her desk in my direction but caught it with a flicker of her horn, holding it just out of reach. The phone beeped softly and she raised her voice towards the big double doors. “You can come in.”

The hinges creaked and swung in a few degrees, then a familiar neon orange head poked around the edge of the door. It was that little pegasus; She’d managed to straighten her collar and was no longer breathing so hard, but her tail was a bit mussed. Her Cutie Mark, which was a crossed sword and fountain pen, still had some shreds of paper stuck to it. She was armed, technically; Her bit trigger dangled comfortably against her knee, but the weapon in her holster was a .32 caliber ‘Filly’ edition semi-automatic. It had the stopping power of a thrown gerbil and couldn’t have been any more girly if it had been pink.

When my brain made the connection that this was supposed to be my new partner, I jumped up so fast I almost pulled a muscle, staring at the pint sized pony. “You’re joking!” The new recruit cringed. I lowered my voice. “What am I? A babysitter? You can’t be sticking me with a rookie.”

Iris flipped open the other folder, flicking through the loose pages. “I’m ‘fraid so, sunshine. Detective Hard Boiled, I want you to meet Officer... Swift was it?”

She nodded and tried to hide a proud little smile. “It’s Cadet, ma’am.”

The Chief cocked her head, reminded. “Oh... Cadet. Right. Okay, step up here.” A tiny book lifted out of the center drawer of her desk then landed on the front. Swift scooted forward a few inches, and her eyes widened as she saw the title. It said ‘Laws and Rights of The Land of Equestria’ in silvery font. “Put your hoof up here.”

She was so small she had to lift off the grounds with a few flaps of her wings, rising onto just the tips of her rear horseshoes so she could reverently lay her fetlock on the book.

With a hint of a smile Jade said formally, “Do you swear to serve the citizenry of our fine city and protect them with your own life?”

It took the much smaller pony several seconds to respond. Tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes but when she replied her voice only wavered a little. “I promise, ma’am.”

The book lifted and dropped back into the desk drawer and the Chief rubbed her hooves together. “Alright... Can’t have a cadet riding with a detective. Effective immediately, you’re promoted. Officer Swift, welcome to The Detrot Police Force.” Jade looked at me expectantly and I couldn’t do much but stare at the foal she’d dropped in my lap. The cadet... Swift’s fur was so bright it actually hurt to look at directly, but she was swelling with pride. A smile split her face so wide I was worried she might sprain a cheek muscle.

I dropped my rump back onto the carpet and sighed. “Kid, I’ve got to ask. Did you volunteer to work with me?”

She nodded then unbuttoned the front of her heavily starched uniform vest and rooted around inside, coming up with a raft of papers and spreading them out on the floor. “Yes, sir!”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ This isn’t PACT. Call me Hardy. You can call me ‘Detective’ if you pathologically must.”

“Yes, siirrredetective!”

I reached out and grabbed her hoof as she tried to salute me. She quickly put it back down, her ears turning a slightly darker shade of pink. I realized she was blushing. Princesses, lend me strength...

“Alright, so what sad sack pointed you in my direction? I can’t imagine it was your career counselor at the Academy.”

Her eyes darted to the Chief then back to me. “I... errr... I r-read your file.” She stuttered, then shifted into a familiar recitation stance from basic training. “Detective Hard Boiled. Six recommendations on file. Highest case closure rate. Wounded in the line of duty twice. Fifteen years on the force-” I reached out and put a hoof over her mouth. She stopped short and cracked a tiny, awkward smile.

“Methinks someone gave you a slightly trimmed version. One missing a few essential details.” I muttered quietly, giving Jade an accusing sidelong glance.

Jade leaned forward and clicked her tongue. Her voice dropped to a condescending tone so thick I felt my gorge rise. The pegasus didn’t seem to notice. “Officer Swift... show Hardy here your letter of recommendation.” Swift picked up a heavily creased sheet of official stationery from the papers on the floor, holding it in her lips so I could read it. I quickly scanned the typewritten note.

Dispatch to Detrot PD, District 1, main office from P.A.C.T. (Perimeter Aegis Control Taskforce) District 6 Shield Guard.

I, hereby formally recommend that Cadet Swift Cuddles be transferred to the Detrot Police Department. Her heroism and bravery will be of great benefit to the city of Detrot, and I look forward to watching her career develop.

Some of you may be familiar with recent incidents with the latest batch of PACT recruits. These included the escape and recapture of a cockatrice meant for training purposes, and damage caused by an underweight cadet trying to handle standard munitions. The climax of these events was during the final set of entrance exams: a mid-flight attempt to use a Skybreaker Flak Cannon, a weapon made for a pony twice her size. The recoil sent her rocketing backwards through two windows, a door, and onto a department border collie.

While this was the most prominent part of the training record, this was not the most amazing thing I saw Cadet Swift do that day. It wasn’t even when she stood up, hefted a weapon she could barely lift onto her back, and tried a second time. What really struck me was when she picked herself out of the foamy wreckage of the break room soda machine and got on her feet, getting ready to try a third time. I sincerely believe she’d have brought down the entire training facility with her spine if we hadn’t stopped her, and that says far more about what kind of pony she is than her range scores and track times ever could.

She may not have passed the PACT physical qualifiers, but her devotion would have made her an excellent trooper. After rescuing a reporter and several members of her own training team, including her instructor, from a rampaging cockatrice, we cannot simply abandon her because fate saw fit to give her a body too small to use A.M.F. (Anti-Mega-Fauna) classed weaponry.

She can still be an asset to this city. If it cannot be in PACT, let it be in the city Police Department. Equicide would fit her. Her crack marksmanship and masterful flying will prove invaluable.

Yours,

Lt. Grapeshot

Then down at the bottom:

P.S. Swift, if you read this every night. your boss won't be able to. I remember what you did with that love letter in flight camp.

I looked up from the letter. “Swift... Cuddles?” Her nostrils flared and she bristled a little as she set down the note and folded it back up. Right... has a problem with her own name...

“Swift... if you please, sir.” she said evenly as she began to gather up the papers.

The Chief shifted in her chair and cleared her throat, smiling far more pleasantly than the situation warranted. “You two can get to know each other on the way over to the High Step. I think this might be the start of something beautiful!” She was all but singing.

My shoulders drooped. “Chief-” I started, but she lifted her coffee mug and jiggled it threateningly.

“It’s this, or you can start your new position this morning. I like my coffee extra sweet with lots of cream.”

I turned to examine Swift again, trying to wrap my mind around how life could possibly have gone so wrong so quickly. At last I addressed her directly. “Alright... you can shoot and you can fly. Anything else you can do?”

She looked from me to the Chief then back, scuffing her hoof on the carpet. “I can write.” Her ears splayed out. “Sir. Detective! Please, give me a chance. I can do this work. I... I won’t disappoint you.” Her expression matched her tone of nervous desperation.

“Too late, kid.” I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable.

The Chief dropped the second file in front of me. The tab said ‘Swift Cuddles’ on the corner. I reluctantly picked it up and stuffed it in my coat. “Officer Swift, could you wait in the hallway for one moment? I need to have a quick discussion with my employee here.”

Swift got up and padded out with her head low, using one wing to drag the door shut behind her. Freaky dexterity pegasi have with those things...

When she was gone, Iris put both forehooves on her cheeks, pulling her face a little out of shape, brewing her thoughts. After about half a minute, she let her legs drop and set her shoulders. “Here’s the deal, Hardy. She washes out and there will be a shit-storm the like of which the Princesses themselves have never seen. Read her file. That rookie made herself a darling of the newspapers before she was out of the Academy. If that shit falls on my head, my final act will be to grab you by the throat with my horn and drag you in to drown in feces with me.”

I glanced over my shoulder in the direction the tiny pegasus had taken. "Okay, ultimatum out of the way... Why me? I can think of five other officers who need partners more than I do.”

“Two things.” She held up both legs, then tapped one with the other. “The mayor is on a budget cutting spree and ‘lunatic cab driver’ was right near the top of his list of wasteful spending. We both know Sweet Shine is still a great cop, badge or no badge. I’d rather have her working for us than going freelance." Gesturing towards the car park outside she sucked on her teeth. "I never busted her for it, but we both know she was sneaking into crime scenes after she ‘quit.’”

I acknowledged that with a little sniff. “And the other thing?”

The Chief pointed toward my coat with one leg where the rookie’s file was tucked. “That kid has got huge guts but she needs experience. Her file reads like a cheesy superhero novel. Top marks in Equicide training and marksmanship. She graduated in six months. Last pony who did that was... well...” She waved her foreleg in my general direction. Me. My, how youth doth pass.

I weighed my options, my gaze flitting between the coffee cup, the Chief, and the arching doorway. There really weren’t any. She had me by the balls. We both knew it. Right now it was mostly a matter of whether or not I was going to submit gracefully or if she was going to have to give’em a squeeze. The morning had started off so well, too.

Leaning back, Iris picked bits of the mint out of her teeth with her tongue. “She needs experience, but the only way she’s going to live long enough to get it is to have somepony around to keep her from stepping in front of a bullet. You, in turn, could use fresh eyes and a dose of her youth.”

I hiked up my coat and tried to smile, managing a tortured grimace. “Fine. After all, you of all ponies would know about dosage.”

I barely made it out the door before the phone smashed against the wall where my head had been seconds before.

****

I slammed the heavy portal shut behind me, then leaned back against it, trying to even out of my breathing. My mood was shifting crazily between fury and anticipation. The anger... well, anger and I are old friends. I’d gotten a new partner, yes. Brilliant. One who could use a gun and apparently finished basic in record time. Amazing. A fluorescent female flying turkey barely out of diapers. Fan-bleeding-tastic.

On the flip side... a new case. A new mystery to solve! New criminally inconvenient places to shove my nose. A hint of joy was sneaking around the edges of my black mood at the prospect. My Cutie Mark felt just a little warm. The cockles of my bitter old heart swelled with... with whatever it is pony heart cockles swell with.

I glanced around for the rookie, but she was nowhere to be found. I poked my head behind the rows of armored suits, then inside one or two of them, before my cob-webbed brain finally said ‘Pegasus. Look up, Dumbass.’ She was hanging up near the ceiling, closely examining one of the vast painted frescos.

Swift radiated guilt like a hundred arcanowatt bulb. Her tail was tucked up behind her back legs and her shoulders hunched right up around her ears. She'd obviously been listening to my little exchange with the Chief. So... not stupid, but probably too nosy for her own good. Now, who does that remind you of, Hardy?

“How much of that did you hear?" I asked and her ears splayed out to either side of her head. Reluctantly she began to descend, dropping to the carpet almost soundlessly.

"Sir? I don’t know what-"

"Yeah, playing innocent is going to work for about five seconds before I clop you upside the head. I know professionals who couldn't pull off 'innocent' when they were facing life in Tartarus Correctional."

Her expression turned to almost comical horror. "I swear I didn't mean to!... I... sir..." She sputtered, wings shooting straight out from her side. They were the color of a robin’s breast, and seemed like the only part of her that wasn't fun-sized. It made her look strangely like she hadn’t quite grown into them yet.

I cocked an eyebrow at her and she slowly deflated, collapsing onto her rump. Hanging her head she muttered, “I’m sorry, sir.”

With a wiggle one of ear I stepped past her. "I don't care that you listened in. You’d have been an idiot not to.” She lifted her head, staring after me. I could feel her skeptical look but pointedly ignored it. “But if you’re going to peek through keyholes, you might want to learn to play poker. You lie like a blankflank.”

Before she could respond, I headed for the spiraling stairs down towards the lobby. She followed in an embarrassed silence that was filled by an irritating voice somewhere in the back of my head, declaring me Equestria’s biggest prick.

Thank you, little voice. I thought, The hangover wasn’t enough this morning. I needed guilt too.

You’re welcome, asshole. It whispered.

****

Telly was managing to clean up of the office as I edged down the stairs, trying to be inconspicuous. She stood at the radio console, giving rapid fire orders in three different simultaneous voices through a half dozen microphones, which floated in a circle around her head. With the indoor weather under control, business was slowly returning to normal. I could still hear the gunshots outside but they were fewer and farther between than they had been.

Swift edged up behind me, peeking around the corner then asked far too loudly, “Sir, why are we sneaking around the office?” There is no way for a pony that color to be stealthy.

“First days tend to be a little bit... messy... around-” I started to reply, under my breath, but Telly’s hearing is almost as good as her vocals. She raised her head and grinned a huge grin, tossing aside the mics and racing over to us.

She almost purred as she inquired, “Hardy, you weren’t tryin’ to get out without frosting the scrub, were ya?” Without waiting for me to respond, she raised her horn and shot a blue ball of glowing light, soaring to a visible point just beneath the Cloud. Everypony else stopped what they were doing and started rooting in their desks. My tail drooped a little as I realized that, by this point, it was inevitable.

“Do we have to do this right now, Telly?”

Telly nodded vigorously. “Oooh, you know we do! Can’t have a rookie out on the street unfrosted, now can we? S’bad luck!”

“Sir? What’s ‘frosting the rookie’?” A nervous note crept into Swift’s voice as she realized, correctly, that perhaps not all was well.

Turning I sighed and put a hoof over my eyes. “Sorry, kid. I did my best. Try to breathe through your mouth.”

The unicorn was almost bouncing on her hooves. “Goody!” Her horn flashed and Swift levitated off the ground with an alarmed squeak. Struggling for a moment she tried to beat her wings but ended up just hanging there flailing like a frightened goose. I almost felt sorry for her.

The office poines started chanting; Softly at first, then with growing volume.

“Frooosting... Frooosting... FROOOSTING!”

I reared up and gave her a gentle push, and she soared off over the cubicles as the cheering rose to a crescendo. A spray of chocolate syrup shot out of one of the cubes and spattered Swift’s police barding. That was the signal. Egg yolk started flying, then bottles of silly string. Half-way down the room somepony managed to land some powdered sugar on someone else’s desk and earned a ‘returned fire’ in the form of a water balloon. Everyone joined in; Grizzled old veterans who’d seen more bodies than gravediggers cackled as they tossed cupcakes alongside department accountants who'd never had a gun strapped to their foreleg.

There is no word for the kind of mess ponies with quick-clean spells can make when they have permission. Dignity aside, I was trying not to laugh as the pegasus dangled there over what was quickly turning into a melee almost as messy as the tornado. Telly was less restrained and rolled around on the floor, beating her hooves on the carpet as she giggled like a schoolfilly.

After about ten minutes of very tasty siege warfare, I reached down and gently whacked Telly’s blue-green horn with a hooftip. It let out an alarming noise like a struck bell as she winced; The magic around Swift evaporated, dropping the sodden rookie on one of the mail ponies with a wet splash.

I tried to look exasperated but couldn’t completely hide my smile. “Alright, satisfied?”

Telly wiped a stray splotch of syrup off her nose and peered out over the office which looked like an explosion in a candy shop.

“Heh...very. Somepony call the janitor.”

****

It was a further fifteen minutes before we managed to drag Swift to the front of the line of ponies waiting to have the congealing muck magicked off of their hides. I took a quiet seat in an empty office and put my legs up, dragging out my... oog... I was going to have to get used to saying that... dragging out my new partner’s file.

A stray piece of paper dropped from between the front two sheets and fluttered to the floor. Reaching down I tried to pick it up with my hooves, but horseshoes are not ideal instruments for picking up anything perfectly flat. I was reduced to licking the back of a knee and sticking it to the note before lifting it onto the desk so I could read it.

It was mouth-penned on PACT stationary with their ridiculous seal in the upper left corner. The ink was still a little damp.

Dispatch to : Chief Jade

Re: Cadet Swift Cuddles

I’m going to keep this short and sweet. This cadet is, to put it simply, an issue. You’ve probably read her file by now. If you haven't, go do it. Pay attention to her psych profile; She's convinced she's gonna be some kind of Champion of the People, and has a list of pathologies and complexes you find only in serial killers and war heroes.

Well, I don’t need either a wannabe hero or a nutjob out flying the Shield. She spent half her training with her nose jammed in a novel and the other half damn near killing herself on the obstacle course. Sure, she posted a couple records, but PACT teams are cohesive machines; One cog out of place and the whole thing comes apart. Heroes get killed, and then everypony screams and hollers about their 'noble sacrifices,' which only makes more damn heroes. Heroes are like parasprites. If you’re smart, you beat ‘em over the head with a tuba then dump ‘em in the woods.

In any other situation I’d toss her out on her ear, and she’d probably get eaten chasing down dragons by herself. Unfortunately, when she saved that newsmare from the cockatrice, she complicated matters. I don’t need to stir up even more bad press by letting her wash out. The griffin refugees in town are causing enough of a shitstorm and I don’t need another ‘Incident’ with a deluded rookie.

Thankfully, I spoke to City Hall this morning and the mayor and I see eye to eye. I am therefore transferring her to the DPD, with Mayor Snifter’s blessing.

A desk job isn't an option for this one unless you want her trying to slay the fax machine. Put her to work. Stick her in front of a train. I don’t care. If you’ve got somepony whose life you want to make miserable, give her a partner.

She's your problem now.

With respect,

Col. Broadside

Perimeter Aegis Control Taskforce.

As I read the last few lines my heart slowly sunk right into the pit of my stomach. “Great... just beautiful...” I sighed, refolding the note and jamming it back in the folder. There aren’t a lot of things I’m afraid of. Yeah, a bullet could cut me down. Some days I think it would be a relief. But a child who thinks she’s the one to make the world a better place... That’s scary.

Swift poked her nose through the door, smiling sheepishly as she pulled her uniform shirt back on and buttoned it, then shrugged her gun back onto her leg and wiggled into her bullet proof vest. The fabric was white again, but she was still scented a little bit like chocolate and squeezy-cheese.

“Sir, did you know they were going to do that?” she asked, her ears flushed.

I sat up and shoved myself back from the desk, easing over onto all fours. “I was trying to get us out without that little ritual... hence the sneaking.”

Straightening her vest she sat back on her haunches and sniffed at the leg-holes then made a face. “I still smell like... everything.”

“It’s fine. Hardly noticeable. Speaking of things I’ve noticed, I’ve been sitting here reading through your file-” Which was not entirely true, but I resolved to give the actual document a once over later on. “-and I was just curious... Why take the transfer? You passed most of the physicals for PACT, minus the ordnance training. Why DPD? Seems to me like a strange step from monster hunter.”

Her nose wrinkled a little. “Oh...”

“Oh what? Come on kid, spit it out.”

Putting her rear hooves together she screwed up her courage. “Sir, I gathered you didn’t want a partner. If you want me to, I’ll put in for transfer to another department tomorrow.”

I blinked at her, then shook my head. The pegasus would have to be brick stupid not to have put that together, but it was still more blunt than I was expecting. I had to think about how to respond.

“It’s... not that simple,” I said, eventually. “Look, you’re not the first pony I’ve worked with... since my last actual partner.”

Swift tilted her head curiously. “There wasn’t anything in your file about your other partners...”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Didn’t you find it the least bit curious that department policy says everypony needs a partner for field work and I’m flying solo?”

“Well, yes... But sir, your record-” I put up a hoof and she stopped.

“Won’t mean a thing if the Chief can’t justify the expense of keeping me on. There are some... circumstances... which our ride will gleefully tell you about I’m sure. The Chief is looking for a reason to stick me behind a desk. If I ditch another partner, accounting will hand her one.”

Her wings ruffled worriedly as she inquired, “What... what about me, sir? What happens if we don’t work out?”

I didn’t feel much like sugar coating the truth and damn if she didn’t remind me of somepony I used to see in the mirror many many years ago. It was annoying as hell.

“Honestly? The mayor’s in a ‘fat trimming’ mode right now. One of the first places he loves to cut is our budget. That means whoever’s lowest on the totem pole. That means you, if you don’t have a partner. The union will give you to the mayor on a plate as a sign of good will so somepony else can keep their pension. So I ask again... why Detrot P.D.?”

My reply didn’t seem to comfort her in the least and her tail wrapped itself tightly around her rear legs. “I... mmm...” Shutting her eyes she muttered something under her breath. It sounded like a list of names.

“Say again?” I cocked an ear towards her.

“Oh... sorry... it’s something I do when I’m nervous.” She tucked her wings back and recited: “Beohoof, General Hurricane, Victoria, Shining Armor, Shimmerstrike, Daring-Do, Aurora Borealis... They’re ponies I admire. They’re the reason I joined. They’re ponies who made Equestria a better place.”

I tapped her folder, which I was certain had neglected to mention this behavior. “Half of those ponies don’t exist, and the other half are dead.”

Swift stuck her lower lip out stubbornly. “Does that mean I shouldn’t try to be more like them?" She stomped her hoof in frustration, a stomp muffled by the carpet. “I’m not stupid! I know I won’t save Canterlot or... or get to fight monsters. I just feel like I should do more with my life than just write silly stories!”

I bit back a particularly nasty retort that was spiraling around the tip of my tongue; instead I stroked my chin fur contemplatively. “Alright, fine. I just need to know you’re not going to do something stupid trying to play hero. I mean, unless you want to become a cautionary tale to tell my next partner.”

Her nostrils flared. “I know what my coaches in basic thought. I will do what is right and if I have to I will lay down my life for this city, but I’m not going to throw myself into a manticore’s jaws!” After a second she added more quietly: "Detective... sir."

I decided to let it go for now, but alarm bells were absolutely screaming that I should be watching this one before she managed to get herself turned into a neon spray all over a wall.

“Fine. Come on, kid. We’ve got a dead pony to see.” I scooted off my chair and strolled around the desk out into the royal audience chamber. After a moment, Swift followed.

****

We found Taxi down in the car park sitting on the hood of the cab again making a loud humming noise that sounded just a little like a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner. Every few seconds she'd take a deep breath, then start again. Swift examined the massive garage with a critical eye, moving past row after row of paddy wagons, chariots, and even some riot tanks. Her eyes lingered on the huge water cannons sticking out of the front of those and she licked her lips avariciously. "Sir... if you don't mind me asking, why are we taking a cab? Why not one of those?"

I growled, “Because I can’t drive.” I called to the cabbie, ”Sweets, are you ready or do you need ten more minutes to open your Tail Chakra?" Her shoulders fell and she eased down off the car’s bonnet, eyes still closed as she unwound from the strange cross-legged meditation posture.

Something was obviously bothering her, but knowing Taxi, it could just be poor energy flow in the garage. "Hardy, do you really need to-" She opened her eyes and caught sight of Swift. Her jaw dropped, and her gaze shot from my partner’s brightly colored face to her badge to her over-sized technicolor wings. "-Homygoddess..."

I wished I’d thought to bring along my hip flask this morning as I made introductions. "Officer Swift, I want you to meet Sweet Shine. She will be our driver. Sweets, make nice. The Chief has seen fit to give me a new partner."

Swift held out her leg and Taxi looked at it like she was being handed a live electrical wire before reaching out and politely tapping hooves. “Call me Taxi.” She turned and gave me a hard stare. “Hardy, you didn’t tell me you asked the Chief for another partner; Particularly one so... colorful.”

I held up my forehooves, placatingly. “Hey, it was news to me. She’s a transfer from PACT.”

Taxi blinked and shifted her pink-tinged gaze back to the pegasus. “Transfer? Was her IQ too high or something?”

Swift looked a little uncomfortable listening to us talk about her, but that discomfort vanished the moment she laid eyes on the cab. Her eyes lit up like a Summer Sun Celebration as she shoved her nose under the hood, getting a smudge of grease on her cheek. “Oh wow! You’ve got an Arcano NightTrotter with a full set of ruby... and sapphire speed runes! How do you keep the wheels from coming off with that kind of power?” She exclaimed excitedly.

Taxi’s chest puffed out and she lifted the hood. “The tire-rods are diamond heads. Trust me, it was totally worth the price.”

That was more or less it as introductions went. I spent the next five minutes listening to the two of them go back and forth on the various aspects of magical motoring. Nothing brings ponies together like a shared hobby.

I finally found an opening when they both paused for a breath. “Right... Taxi, we’ve got a place to be and the scrub wants to know why you’re driving us there. I’m sure you’ll be glad to tell her, but can we please do it on the way?”

Leaping into the back seat Swift danced on the cushion, flapping her wings like an excited pigeon. “Oooh, yes! I never get to go anywhere in a car!”

I eased myself in as Taxi got behind the wheel, putting a leg on Swift’s back and forcing her to sit. “Right, right... I’m thrilled for ya. Mind if I ask how you know so much about cars? I thought pegasi had about as much use for ‘em as they’ve got for hot air balloons. Do you even have a license?”

She shook her head. “No, but my grandmare taught me about cars; we used to watch the races together.”

“Your grandmare?”

She nodded. “Grandmare Glow is amazing! She’s the one who taught me to shoot!”

Taxi threw a look over her shoulder at the tiny firearm tucked under the pegasus’ wing. “I hope she taught you to fire something bigger than that. It might be a gun when it grows up, but right now, I’d toss it back.” Swift squinted at her weapon and her nose wrinkled.

“It’s... standard issue...” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“Yeah, and requisitions will be getting a nasty note about that. We’ll get you an actual gun. Don’t worry about it.” I affirmed with a toss of my black mane.

“Where we headed, boss?” The checker-board maned pony adjusted her side-mirrored casually as I dug out the address from my pocket.

“High Step Hotel... and take your time. We aren’t in a hurry.”

****

As we pulled out of the parking garage and Taxi waved to the charcoal coated guard on duty, I thought back to the dreams of the night before. I’ve never been the kind of pony to believe in omens, but that dream felt like a bad one. There are many things that can ‘go wrong’ in life, and when you think you’ve been blindsided, it’s more often that you just weren’t looking very hard. I was praying that my eyes were open. Princesses save me if they weren’t. Death doesn’t let you go ‘Oops, sorry, wasn’t looking, mind sending that runaway bus at me again?”

This train of thought was derailed by Swift who had cheerfully put both horseshoes up on the windowsill and was watching the city pass as she enjoyed the novelty of being driven. “Ma’am, can I ask-” she began, and Taxi cut her off.

“You call me ‘Ma’am’ again, I will tan your ass with your own tail. Taxi will do nicely. And don’t apologize.” added Taxi. Swift’s nascent apology, correctly predicted, died in her throat.

“Miss Taxi...” Taxi winced at the ‘Miss,’ but Swift plowed ahead anyway. “Why are you driving us?”

The cabbie gave an aggressive jerk of the wheel, swinging us across three lanes of slow moving traffic into a hole between two carriages that I could have sworn wasn’t there a second ago. Swift almost cold cocked herself on the window but managed to press her wings against the glass before she broke her nose.

Taxi smirked at me in the mirror, “Mmm...still won’t tell that one?”

I pretended to study the seat back, trying to make it look like I didn’t care. “Get it over with. I don’t need this day to turn into a game of ‘Get Hardy To Suffocate Himself with his Own Hat.’”

“Oh, fine... Swift, right?” The little pegasus nodded and put her hooves under her chin, listening intently. Sensing she had an easy audience, Taxi puffed up like a peacock. “We’re dipping way back into history, into the dark ages when Hardy still had a sense of humor and Celestia was in diapers.”

I swatted the seatback. "I’m not that old!”

“Chyeah, sure.” She gave a sarcastic whinny then went on, undaunted. "Anyway, this was back when Hardy still had a partner. It's not my place to really put that piece of history on the table, but they had an... arrangement, for the safety of everypony. Hardy rides. Juniper drives. It was the law of the land. Juniper was a genius behind the wheel. Hardy, conversely, may well be the worst driver in Equestrian history."

I put my forelegs over the edge of the seat and protested, "Hey, Sweets, the way I see it, cars have bumpers for a reason, okay?"

Swift looked vaguely disturbed by that for some reason, but Taxi pressed on. "Well, he and Juniper were working a particularly nasty series of gang related deaths. It was the Jewelers and the Cyclone Crew fighting over turf. They got caught in a crossfire and Juniper took a bullet. Thankfully, they'd called for backup and the case was wrapped up pretty neatly but Juniper was out of commission for a month and a half... leaving Hardy driving himself. Mr. Leadhoof here managed to crash four cruisers in that period. Four."

I sniffed indignantly. "I was only driving three of them! The one in the canal wasn't my fault."

The cabbie blew a raspberry at me, "Point being, Juniper got back on his legs and all was well in the world. After they... well...” She stopped and her gaze danced warily in my direction.

I brushed off the unpleasantness. “It’s fine. Just tell the story.”

She thought for a moment then said carefully, “After Juniper passed on, Hardy was left to his own devices. Two weeks before he was set to go back on the beat the Chief dragged him into her office. She had this mealy mouthed little shit who used to work for the Mayor’s Office standing there with about a thousand pages of ‘wasteful expenditures’ he intended to cut.” Closing her eyes to slits she made a face that looked like a constipated goldfish. It was a surprisingly good likeness of the guy.

“It was slimy stuff that might have gotten a lot of ponies killed. Seriously, he wanted to use low-grain shotgun shells and buy this cheap-as-horseapples body armor.” She pursed her lips in disgust.

Swift’s eyes bugged out as the implications sunk in. She quickly patted her police vest, which I just then noticed was one of the armored models, feeling the reinforced plates. I’d long since stopped wearing a vest unless I was going somewhere I knew the bullets would be flying, but I understood the urge. “You’re fine. We’re getting to that.” I offered, trying to calm her fears but she still looked nervy.

“So why was he there?” she asked.

I lifted one side of my coat, flashing the gun strapped against my inner thigh. “He wanted my driver’s license and my gun here.”

The little pegasus let out a delighted squeak and jammed her nose into my coat. “Oh, neat! Is that a magical caliber? That looks like a... I don’t even know! What kind of weapon is that?”

“Hey! You wanna stick your muzzle there, you buy me dinner first!” I shoved her out of my lap with one iron shoe on her forehead. She sat back and looked disappointed, crossing her front knees. She was still casting covetous glances at my weapon. I patted my firearm against my chest protectively and answered. “She doesn’t have a ‘kind’; she was made before they really put standards on magic-caliber weapons.”

“Oooh...” said Swift, her eyes sparkling with interest. “What does it... she... fire?”

“Standard .45’s. Pop had it converted to handle ‘em. I’ve never seen magical ammo for her; They probably don’t make it anymore.”

“Oh... oh well.” sighed Swift, as hopeful images of crystal rays and magical blasts faded from her immediate world. “Why would an accountant want your gun?”

Taxi signaled a passing cart to move into the flow of traffic so she could swerve into the suddenly unoccupied space, narrowly clipping the curb. “It wasn’t so much the gun as what it represented. He was one of these big ‘corporate killer’ types who was of the school of thought that everything should be standardized,” she explained calmly, as Swift grabbed the door handle for dear life. “And, yeah, it keeps costs down if you only have to buy one or two kinds of bullet. But, you get a department as old as ours and everypony tends to use either weapons that’ve been passed down or whatever they buy themselves. He figured if he could get the most successful cop in the office to give up his special piece and use a department issue weapon, he could get everyone else to do the same.”

Swift groaned and fiddled with her trigger bit. I knew how she felt. I wouldn’t have set hoof on the streets of Detrot with that absurd pop-gun on her leg to protect me. The Requisitions office must have read her height/weight profile and laughed their asses off.

A grin spread on our driver’s butter-colored muzzle as she continued. “So Hardy here marches into the office, and that stupid S.O.B. asks for his parking pass, driver’s license, and his cannon real casual like. Hardy told him, in no uncertain terms, to go geld himself. ” Swift snorted, dissolving into a giggling heap at that and Taxi paused, waiting for her to recover.

“You’d have thought nopony had ever told him ‘no’ before. He started shrieking about how he’d read Hardy’s record and it’d be cheaper to hire a cab than let him keep driving, and how he was gonna have him fired and court martialed and charged with treason if he didn’t give up his gun and... It was kind of embarrassing to hear.”

I raised my ears. “Wait, I thought somepony told you this story? You were off running with the buffalo when that went down. How did you hear him?”

Taxi dipped her nose, tapping the brakes so I had to brace myself. “Well... I had to keep some tabs on you to make sure you hadn’t gone off the deep end. What did you expect?”

“I expected a sound-proofed office to be sound proof!”

She fluttered her eyelashes at me, making a face of cherubic innocence. “Telly was just... erm... she might have activated the Chief’s recording gem on her phone and taped the whole thing for posterity. Pure coincidence. I barely had to bribe her to let me hear it.”

“I’m sure.” I grumbled.

“Well, Hardy marched right out and returned five minutes later with one of the old armored vests and one of the new ones. He tossed the old vest over a chair and before the Chief or this accountant could say a word, he pulled his gun and shot it. It took the bullet. Then he shoved the accountant into the chair, threw the new armor over his head, and said ‘You wanna cut costs, answer me this; You think your life is worth what you budgeted for that vest?’ This ‘big bad corporate killer’ almost peed on himself.”

Swift stared at me incredulously. “And... you... got away with it, sir?”

Cheeks puffed up like a blowfish, Taxi tried to hold it in. She managed a full five seconds before bursting out laughing at the memory. “No, my dear rookie, he did not! Jade suspended him on the spot... by his tail! She threw him through the window with her horn and left him hanging over the entire office!”

I put a hoof over my face, waiting for our driver to regain control of her breathing before saying, “I was hoping you’d edit that bit out.”

“Hey, I’ll tell the story like I wanna tell the story! Where was I? Oh yeah! So a couple of days later a recruit was field testing the new armor and a small caliber round punched right through a weakness in that awful ceramic garbage. He’d have ended up with a liver full of pottery and lead if he hadn’t been wearing a ‘lucky coin’ on a chain under his armor. It caught the bullet, and he got away with a nasty bruise.”

I tried not to grit my teeth as I muttered bitterly. “It might as well have been paper mache. It went right through.”

Swift began nervously fiddling with the zippers on one of the armor pockets of her vest. I stopped her again with a little tap on the leg. “I said don’t worry. We don’t use that kind anymore.”

Swift nodded very slightly. “So what does that have to do with you being our driver, Miss Taxi?”

“I’m getting to that!” Taxi replied testily. “Well, the accountant ended up stuck in some backwater assignment cooking the books at a prison. I think he ended up getting busted for embezzlement and locked up himself. The Chief did go over his work, though, and she found out he hadn’t been exaggerating about Hardy’s driving. So she made a ‘deal.’”

My partner, whose infinite naivete was starting to get a little grating, asked “What sort of deal?”

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and replied, “The kind where I never drive again as long as I live and I can have my badge back. Taxi happened to need something to do, so Jade hired her back as a ‘consultant’ on the condition she get a hack license so we could put her on the official payroll.”

My partner shifted in her seat and looked puzzled. “Why can’t she just drive you around? Or rejoin the force?”

Taxi tapped her hoof three times on the gear shifter. “One, I needed to take cop driving courses to get permission to have lights on the car.” Reaching up she touched a button on the dash; gems set around the windscreen at regular intervals flashed blue. “Two, part of my deal was I don’t get shot at, dragged into court to testify, or have to do paperwork.” She waved to the glove box, which she’d once kept absolutely stuffed to the brim with the junk paper crime investigation creates on a daily basis. The box, now empty, had once been a microcosm for my apartment.

“And three; speed wardens have standing orders to ignore me.” An evil smile split her lips as she chose that moment to abuse this particular freedom; she wrenched us over the median into oncoming traffic to get around a slow moving earth pony towing a cart covered in a huge mound of cabbage, sending the cart right up on the sidewalk. We swung inches past a poor traffic cop who very nearly had a heart attack getting out of our way. Swift squeaked, but Taxi quickly yanked us back into the proper lane.

I rolled my eyes at her antics and added, “Your karma is going to look like a pub urinal after that little display. Also, I noticed you’re very carefully not mentioning the other reason you agreed to this scheme.”

Turning her nose in the air she said primly, “I have absolutely no idea what you mean."

“So you’re saying you weren’t sneaking onto crime scenes? By the way, the Chief apparently knew. I don’t know if she twigged to you feeding me tips though.” I snickered.

Taxi gulped loudly. “She knew?”

“Yeah... and speaking of that, are you up for some extra work today? Dead body at a shag stop for rich idiots?”

The cab-pony’s lower lip trembled as she fought an inner conflict. “I... look, I talked to my meditation group leader and he said it’s really bad for my internal balance. I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“Sure. No problem. We can handle this ourselves, right kid?” I tried to make it sound agreeable, but couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. That didn’t seem to matter to Swift, though; the scrub almost vibrated with anticipation.

I knew needling Taxi on a day like the one we’d had was unwise, but the worst she’d do would probably be... well... kick me in a nerve center and stop my heart for several seconds. Regardless, she didn’t reply, and we drove on towards the other side of down town in pleasant quiet. Swift went back to staring out the window and I laid my head against the glass on my side, enjoying the few moments of calm the world offered before I’d have to put my brain in gear. We were nearing our destination and the streets were starting to smooth out. The storefronts were no longer mom-and-pop grocers and porn shops; those were being neatly replaced by organic hay joints, lingerie stores, and organic lingerie stores.

Putting aside the madness of the office and the altogether unpleasant bit of blackmail the Chief laid on me in the form of a rookie so wet behind the ears I was surprised her head didn’t slosh when she nodded, I entertained the thought that it might be a decent day after all.

That feeling lasted all of fifteen minutes.

Chapter 3: Griffin the Third Degree

While some magical analytic tools are used in modern crime scene investigation, magic does not, by itself, solve crimes. You cannot wave a horn and separate the innocent from the guilty, and certainly not for lack of trying on the part of arcane researchers. Various avenues have been attempted, but none have proven sufficiently ironclad.

You can tell if somepony is lying by casting a spell. However, for all but the most simplistic of inquiries, the lie can take almost any form. It becomes very difficult to tell the truth under the influence of a lie detecting spell, because nopony remembers anything with absolute perfection. False positives are far too endemic for lie detection to be reliable.

Detecting guilt is possible within known magic, but what you ultimately get is personal guilt, not legal culpability. Therefore, you will get stronger ‘guilt’ readings from a bereaved widow who feels remorseful because she wasn’t there for her significant other than you will from the depraved multiple serial killer actually responsible for said pony’s demise.

You can extract memories from ponies, but ponies are vast repositories of memories. You might get the memory you want from a pony you’re interrogating. You might also get a dream they had after too many hay fries. Or what they thought of when you described the crime. Or the full lyrics to the pop music hit “Evil Dances.”

Magically divining the cause of the crime is also possible-but-useless, in this case because nopony has been able to beat the legal concept of "proximate cause" into magic. Without that, any given crime contains a functionally infinite number of events and entities without which the crime would not have happened. Such magic proved as likely to point the hoof at Princess Celestia as it might an actual killer, because certainly that murder wouldn’t have happened the way it had if Equestria had spent thousands of years as an absurdist unreality under Discord’s thrall.

For these reasons, the Detrot Police Department does not rely on magic. They instead tend to rely on evidence, deduction, intuition, logic, and the occasional fragment of blind, unadulterated luck.

--The Scholar

I will freely admit that I’m not a fashionable stallion. I’m sure some of the ties in my drawers would have been quite chic during Celestia’s college years. Realizing that about myself was very helpful, because when it came to judging trends, I could more or less lump them into two categories: ugly or ridiculous.

The High Step Hotel called on the worst of both. It looked like somepony had tried to jam a log cabin into the underside of a Canterlot pleasure temple, then stuck a garden on top with no regard for continuity or theme. The front facade was a mass of faux cracked marble with faded white steps leading up to a wide porch in the style of a country plantation. A few lightly molded, whitewashed rocking chairs tilted back and forth in the mid-morning gusts.

Behind the aging edifice's ridiculous porch it seemed to have grown a short skyscraper like a malignant tumor. It stretched up for a full ten stories, then abruptly terminated in a spilling mass of vines that hung down over the eaves of the roof. The styles the rich enjoy will forever mystify me.

Around the hotel was the sort of badly uplifted, socially acceptable poverty which sometimes happens when a city suddenly booms and busts within a single generation. Across the road and on either side, older, smaller hotels still managed to eke out an existence in the shadow of their imposing rival. The High Step sat amongst them like an elderly king gone to fat, holding court with upstarts all seeking to usurp its place as high-lord of kitsch.

Affluent equines still screwed on the hotel’s silken sheets while reminiscing about all the other ponies who’d done the same. They might even have offered a sad lament for the decline of such a fine establishment, all the while not doing a damn thing to stop it.

****

The ring road around the hotel was clogged with press vehicles and police cars all vying for the last few parking spaces. Taxi took one look at the metal melange, then swung us down a side road. We ended up finding an alley into which to wedge the cab, at a fair distance from the crime-scene. I did some advanced gymnastics getting out of the barely cracked door; Swift dragged herself through the sunroof rather than step out into what smelled like a heap of offal from a nearby butcher shop that’d been carelessly dumped in the hoofpath.

Putting my hooves up on the top of the cab, I looked down through the roof at our driver still sitting there, her eyes tightly shut as she murmured incomprehensibly to herself.

“You sure you don’t want to join us, Sweets? It might be something genuinely horrific. There could be intestines hanging from a lamp again. You remember that one?” I grinned with mock nostalgia.

Swift slapped a hoof over her lips, which didn’t prevent the escape of an alarming gurgle. I gave her a glance; she was a little bit green around the gills, which was a bad color on her safety-sticker-colored face.

Shaking my head, I turned back to Taxi, who was also fighting a massive internal conflict, albeit one in her head instead of her gut. She was slumped over the steering wheel, looking like a yellow party balloon somepony had deflated.

“Hardy, I can’t...”

“Sure you can! Come on, it’ll be fun. You can say some prayers or something. Do a little Buffalo dance for the cameras and we might even make it on the six’o’clock news.”

With an irritated scowl she reached over and turned the radio on full blast, twisting the dial like a knife in my skull. I jerked back as the soulful shrieking of a heavy metal band filled the car. At least, I think it was heavy metal, because it sounded like guitars being put through an industrial grinder. Kicking up my rear hooves, I galloped out of the tiny makeshift parking space before my headache could sneak back, stopping only once I’d reached the sidewalk.

Swift was quick on my heels. She dropped onto the pavement, folding her wings against her side as she looked back towards the car with a puzzled expression. “Sir? Didn’t you say Taxi was hired as a consultant?”

“Yep. Sweets might be all ‘goodness and light’ but she’s also one of the most gifted crime scene investigators under Celestia’s sun. Don’t ask me why she went into narcotics and not Equicide.”

“So... Shouldn’t she be coming with us to... um... consult?”

“She’ll be along in a moment. I’ve done this dance with her about once a month since she came back from her ‘vacation.’ Let her stew in her own curiosity for about five minutes.”

I winked at the rookie, then aimed myself at the High Step and its attendant crowd of vulturous news mongers.

They say ponies evolved as herd animals, and I believe it. I’ve seen PACT defensive formations that were less intimidating than the dense aggregation of random bodies between me and the crime scene. Once the press had been pulled off the corpse and pushed behind the police line, they were stuck for anything to do but snap pictures of the cops and the occasional cleaning pony coming in for their shift at the High Step, but they still felt like there was too much of a story here to disperse. Not even the imminent threat of a torrential downpour from the snarling thunderheads gathering in the heavens could get them out of the street; instead, every being in the massive crowd of rubbernecking civilians and hawkishly watching news creatures simply kept their umbrellas close in anticipation.

Come on Hardy! Let’s go! It’s only ten thousand voracious idiots with microphones looking to analyze your every word and declare it policing gospel. What can they possibly do to you?

I’ve never been good with pep talks; I’m even worse with self-administered ones.

Setting off at only slightly less than a full gallop, I simply charged at the crowd, hoping they’d only notice me once I’d managed to get close enough to the police line to duck into the waiting safety of my fellow officers. Swift gamely followed me into the melee of jockeying cameras on hoof rather than leaping over them. I’m sure she thought she was showing support for her poor earthbound superior, but I still resented her a little bit just for having the option.

Using sharp knees, I managed to shove my way through the outer edge of the mass of shifting bodies; but then, like sharks tasting blood in the water, they caught sight of Swift in her crisp uniform. It took the herd ten seconds to put us at the center of a forest of microphones. The flash bulbs sounded like firecrackers going off next to my face, and the ponies themselves were mere shadows behind the bombardment of lights. Swift was all but blinded, standing there helplessly rubbing her dazzled eyes. I grabbed the kid around the shoulders with one leg and began dragging her towards our goal: the yellow police tape on the other side of the herd.

That yellow line was the one boundary they seemed to respect, because they certainly didn’t respect personal space. A particularly pushy almond-coated unicorn, whose auburn mane spilled down her shoulders in thick curls that must have taken an army of beauticians to achieve, shoved her floating mic almost directly into my mouth. “Detective! Detective Boiled! Sugar Lace here from PNN! Can you confirm the identity of the deceased?”

I made to snap at the black rod in front of my muzzle but she jerked it back as I barreled past her. “I haven’t even seen the body yet. Get out of the way. I haven’t had breakfast and I swear I’ll eat that mic!”

The reporter pony twirled breathlessly to a brown colt standing behind her, one with a huge TV camera mounted on his saddle and a focus lens over one eye. “Sugar Lace here with this report from the scene of a violent death just outside of Detrot’s famous High Step Hotel! No word yet from the police on a suspect but we do have a comment from one of our favorite sources, Detective Hard Boiled! We’ll be showing that later on!”

I quailed inwardly as we edged away from the reporter. Despite the fact that most of what I said into microphones was invective, the Chief and I would no doubt have had words later if I’d become a ‘favorite source’ to that overdone news nag. I say ‘words’; what I mean is that she would likely have screamed a lot and flung me around her office until I threw up.

Grasping the edge of one of Swift’s large wings in my teeth, I tugged it until she unfolded the broad appendage. I ducked underneath and put one hoof across her back. She saw what I was doing and swept her other wing forward, shielding her face. The cameras still flashed, but the blasts of light slowly died off as the ponies operating them realized there was no way in Equestria to take a picture of Swift’s ridiculous coloration without some sort of sun-filter, although that didn’t get the ponies out of the way.

Just when I thought I might have to fire warning shots to get through the crowd, a bowel-loosening, primal shriek split the air. Suddenly, the field of shoving bodies scattered to safe distance. Pulling my partner’s wing away from my face, I saw Sugar Lace huddled almost underneath her camera crew, her eyes skyward.

“Sir? What was that?” said Swift.

The black shadow that fell over us was almost as long across as ten ponies standing nose to tail. A thick, rolling brogue seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously: “Aye! Ye vomitous gobshites! Give me mate some feckin’ room!”

As it occurred to me to look up, a heavy, powerful body dropped from on high, crashing onto the road in front of us and yanking me from underneath Swift’s wing with both taloned forelegs. I found myself crushed against a downy breast in an affectionate hug that came inches from actually breaking most of my bones. I managed to choke out something that the huge devil must have taken as a plea for air, because a moment later I was unceremoniously dropped. “Heh, soirry ‘bout that, Hardy me colt! Oi ain’t seen ye in such a long toime oi roightly lost me head!”

The being looming over me might have been the mad breeding of a golden eagle and a great cat. He was wearing a huge yellow tarpaulin around his shoulders like a rain poncho. He looked down at me with an amber-eyed predator’s gaze, his flesh-rending beak clicking softly. It was an audio version of what passes for an affectionate grin in a species without lips.

Once I could breathe, I couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Celestia save me... Sykes?”

“Aye me, tis!” The griffin thumped his broad chest and his cheeks rose a little as he attempted a smile. His oaken brown coat had a few extra grey hairs and his shaggy leg fur had seen better days, but all in all it was the same old Sykes; a skid-row savage with a badge and not one hint of decorum. Never was there a more reliable cop under Celestia’s sun.

“I heard you flew off and went monster hunting or something. What brought you back? And why didn’t you call? I’d have bought you a drink.” I thumped him on the shoulder and he dragged his claws over the asphalt, looking bashful.

“Well, me laddy, truth is oi were on an undercover wid Magical Items in Canterlot. Buncha them noble types smugglin’ zebra artifacts to the dragons. Busted it up right proper oi did! M’soirry oi didn’t ring ye when oi got back.”

I waved off the apology with a slap of my tail against my thigh. “It happens. What brought you back to Equicide? You miss the local flavor?”

Sykes waved one talon in what I assumed was a rude gesture. “Ye eat out of the evidence freezer one time and yer branded fer feckin’ life...”

I chuckled. Whatever else he might be, Sykes was always a laugh. He had the sort of rough carnivore’s humor that I tended to like and a no-nonsense attitude towards police work. It made him an asset on even the most gruesome cases, where morale starts to flag if things don’t get wrapped up in a nice, neat little bow.

He mimed tossing back a pint of beer as he continued. “There was me just coolin’ me heels at the pub when Telly, that sweet siren temptress, rings me up and says ‘Ye want some work that don’t involve watchin’ a buncha poncin’ nobles?’ Methinks the newspaper be breathin’ down Chief Jade’s neck about ‘species doiversity’ in the ranks again.”

Something caught his attention. He peered around my side, tilting his head in that disturbing way only avians can. “Now oo’s this then? Laddy! Did ye bring me lunch? ‘Ow koind!”

I felt that something bump into my rear legs, so I scooted to one side. It was Swift, crouched behind me, her bit-trigger in her teeth and her terrified features fixed on Sykes. Thankfully, the safety on her little pop-gun was still on.

Hooking one rear leg around the rookie, I dragged her forward. The griffin’s honey colored eyes bored into the tiny pegasus; her ancient prey instincts took over and she did her best to make herself very small. It might have been millenia or longer since griffins chased pegasi through the skies over Equestria, but I doubted she’d ever met one of his size or demeanor. If you didn’t know him, he was intimidating even when he was being friendly.

“Officer Swift, I want you to meet Detective Sykes. Don’t mind him. He’s just a big kitty wearing a chicken costume.” I grinned at them, putting one hoof on my partner’s back; I could feel her heart racing even through her police barding. Swift turned her head warily to catch my eye, and I nodded encouragingly. After a deep breath, she shook herself, muttered ‘Beohoof,’ and thrust out one leg. And then, she uttered quite possibly the most intimidating official introduction in the history of the DPD:

“I’m Officer Swift and I’m nobody's lunch!”

I covered myself with a short coughing spell; Sykes didn’t bother. He pitched over onto his back, rolling around on the muddy cement, letting out loud peals of mirth. “Bwaaahahaha! Oh boyo, Oi likes this ‘un!” He howled, clutching his sides.

Trotting over I gave him a prod in the ribs, though I may as well have poked a rock with a piece of limp spaghetti. “Oh, give it a rest. You remember what it’s like your first day.”

Wiping tears from his eyes with the backs of his dark furred forelegs, the griffin rolled over and shook the dirt off his poncho. Reaching up from a sitting position he grasped Swift’s foreleg and give her a shake firm enough to lift her off the ground. “Whooo... Oi needed that! Welcome to Detrot Police Department, Missy. Long may ye live and quick may ye die.”

Swift’s ears flattened against the sides of her head as she regained her balance from the vigorous greeting. “Um... thank you?”

“It’s a griffin’s version of a blessing, kid.” I explained. “When you consider they used to fight dragons bare-clawed and you can live about two days with half your skin burned off, it makes more sense.”

“...Oh.” It was all Swift could apparently think of to say.

The news ponies had moved in again, though they were giving Sykes a wide berth. I flicked my eyes at Sugar Lace, who was practically hanging over the police tape to hear us. “Can we move this over someplace less public?”

Sykes got up, casually flipping his tail in the air and flashing his prodigious rear at the cameras. “Aye, lets. Speakin’ of less public, did oi hear rightly that ye have yerself a driver now? Oi’m afraid Oi been outta the loop.”

“Iris Jade yanked my license. Everypony’s had their laughs already, so I’m afraid you’re a bit late to the party. It was either this or make coffee for the office until the sun goes out.”

Swift followed behind us, staying cautiously close to my side and shooting Sykes guarded looks. She seemed to have relaxed somewhat when she learned Sykes was a fellow officer, but that didn’t completely trump thousands of years of evolution telling her a beasty might just swoop down and have her for dinner.

We were approaching the shifting group of ponies in uniform around the center of the crime scene. Most of them seemed to be standing around trying and failing to look purposeful, but a few of the older ones were clustered around an open box of cupcakes, sipping cheap coffee from the hotel restaurant. The old guard knows when they need to shape up because the boss is coming. They gave me one look and made the determination almost instantly: not the boss.

The crowd parted to let us through, or rather, it parted around Sykes. It was like watching a school of fish shifting around a particularly hungry looking seal. Nopony on the force had ever confirmed the griffin had a genuine taste for pony meat, but he’d never done anything to discourage the idea.

“So what exactly have we got? The Chief was terribly vague.” I asked, shifting my coat and sticking my nose in the pocket to pull out Telly’s initial report. “This damn thing doesn’t even give a gender.”

“Aye, we were still shooin’ off the feckin’ reporters when Oi called that in. Corpse is a mare. No I.D. and nothin’ when we ran her colors and her Cutie Mark. Oi been keepin’ the lab coats off her till ye arrived. Hacks weren’t stupid enough to move the body before we got ’em away, thank the Egg. They tramped all over though.” He waved to a fairly obvious muddy hoofprint where somepony had tried to scrape the muck of the streetcorner off.

The alley was more of a very small backstreet running up one side of the High Step. It was full of overflowing garbage cans and stray bits of trash. A fire-escape spilled down one side of the building, rusty run-off staining the ground and brickwork with a splash of dribbling maroon.

A half dozen ponies in thin, protective clothing lined up against one wall, staring longingly at something behind an industrial dumpster as they passed a steaming flask back and forth between them. The forensics herd was almost dying to get to the body and start poking around. Most of them thought they were the next Fetlock Holmes; I took a smug pleasure in letting them wait.

Just as I rounded the dumpster, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, and the world gradually seemed to pause.

A lot of what Taxi picked up and discarded looked to me like meaningless cosmic babble, but there was something in the basic idea of meditation. Taking a moment to relax, clear and focus your mind was more beneficial than I’d thought early in my career, and I’d probably have been sold on it sooner without all the spiritual frippery. These days I always chose to do it just before laying eyes on a body, while the possibilities of the case were still infinite.

The curious voices of all those reporters and the other officers, muffled only slightly by the confines of the alley, slowly faded to a low hum. Soon, there was nothing to prevent that familiar feeling from welling up in my chest and tingling on my flanks; my Special Talent, making itself tangible. A wrong had been done here. Some primeval part of me that lived in my cutie mark could feel the injustice in front of me, and burned to do something about it.

In that instant, just before I allowed the mystery to reveal itself, I thought myself alive in a way nopony in that crowd out there could possibly imagine.

I opened my eyes.

She was grey as the cloudy skies, her mane and tail both monochrome, though a shade or two lighter than mine. The body lay splayed out on her stomach, like she’d been trying to make a snow-angel in the pavement. Her front legs were bent at unnatural angles and thick, clotted blood had spilled down her face from a head-wound. Her wide, staring eyes were as colorless as the rest of her.

A tattered red dress was draped around her shoulders and down off her rear end. It was the sort one wears on a hot date, simple and slinky. The shiny, silken fabric was ripped, revealing plump and pretty flanks. The girl was a real looker, or at least, she had been. A few years older than Swift, at most.

They say death is always the same. The means and modus operandi of death are virtually limitless but in the end you’re left with a corpse and a hoof-full of questions that will never be answered. A whole life has been snuffed out in an instant and everything they ever thought, felt, or knew is gone. I hated to think I wasn’t fazed by that prospect any longer. It would have meant the job had finally started to take parts of me I wasn’t happy to lose.

Somepony was fazed, though.

“Excuse me, sir...” A blur of orange feathers blasted towards the other end of the alley. Swift jammed her head into a metal pail, loudly emptying her stomach of everything she must have had for breakfast.

Sykes was leering at Swift with one eyebrow raised. “Moi sweet mother, ye’ve got a big stomach there, eh scrubby?” He chided her. The young pegasus was still propped with both hooves over the bucket, panting like she’d flown a hundred miles.

I nosed through my coat until I found an old kerchief, then eased up behind her and dropped it over her muzzle. She made a noise that I took for thanks and wiped her lips of a few bits of half digested hay.

“You saw dead bodies in training, right?” I asked. “I refuse to believe our budget’s been cut so thoroughly they excluded seeing at least a couple of cadavers from the curriculum.”

Swift’s cheeks colored and she held out the soiled kerchief. I shook my head and she quickly folded it and stuffed it in one of the ammo pockets of her black combat vest. “That was different...” A full body shudder shot up her back, making her quake like a technicolor leaf. “Their legs weren’t doing that.” I can’t say I much blamed her. Nothing truly prepares you for the reality of seeing somepony who died violently.

I swept my coat under my rump and sat down, then straightened Swift’s uniform with both hooves. “Alright, Officer Swift.” I began formally. She drew herself to attention. I pointed up towards the gap between the High Step and the adjoining hotel. “Go take a look up there. See what you can see.”

The rookie’s face split into a grateful smile and she rocketed off the ground with two beats of her wings that sent her up past the fire escape, dodging around a hanging clothes line.

Sykes stepped up beside me, watching her go. “Ye sure that’un is gonna hack it?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with the back of one knee. “If she doesn’t, I may as well start taking your order for latte because that’s the closest I’ll get to a crime scene. I’ll make a cop out of her if I don’t end up shooting her first.”

“Black with extra sugar, laddy.”

I swatted in his direction with my tail. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

I was about to kneel down beside the body for a closer look at her cutie mark when a commotion at the other end of the alley pulled my attention. A familiar voice was arguing with somepony. “Ahhh, there’s our consultant.”

I felt a wave of smug satisfaction as I was proven right yet again, but that wave wasn’t long for the world. A young, fresh-faced pink earth pony in a uniform only slightly less starched than Swift’s darted around the garbage can, shouting. “Sir! Sir, come quick! There’s a crazy mare out here and she just poked Sergeant Street Wise and I don’t think he’s breathing!”

Dear Sun and Moon, please let it be some other crazy mare.

****

I left Sykes and raced out of the alley to find Taxi laying face down across the top of a police cruiser in two sets of hoofcuffs, one for her front legs and one for her back. My driver’s eyelids were shut, and she was muttering a mantra of some kind very softly. She seemed a lot more peaceful than the heavy-set pegasus apparently named Street Wise, who was on the ground on his back, being tended to by two other officers. A bit of foam was dripping from one side of his mouth as he stared at the sky, pupils smaller than the holes made by a .22.

I snatched the lapel of the officer who’d called me from the crime scene and drew him up short. “Alright, what did Street Wise say to her before she poked him?”

He looked left, the right, trying to find some support from the other uniforms on scene, but finding none, he lowered his head. “He said she looked like a sneaky reporter trying to get a late scoop.”

I stuck my face less than an inch from his, my voice full of menace. “That’s it?”

He backed up as I advanced on him, bumping his rear against the side of a somber blue paddy wagon. “Uh...he...um...” His eyes darted back and forth as he squirmed like a fly pinned to a wall. “When... when she took her saddlebags off to get her temp badge, he said ‘We don’t need no ponies without talents telling us how to do our jobs.’ Then she hit him and he fell over.” I noticed Taxi’s black and white luggage laying beside her.

His gazed twitched towards Sweet Shine’s prone body, then towards her hips as he added. “Street Wise is new. He just transferred from Los Pegasus. He didn’t know!”

I snatched the hoofcuff keys off his belt and marched over to Taxi before the pink officer could protest. She opened her eyes as she heard me coming and smiled peacefully, like she’d just come from a three day meditation retreat rather than almost crippling somepony. It was the sort of smile that masks a mountain of old pain.

The foothills of that mountain were clearly visible: The scars on her flanks were a vicious sight. They started a few inches from her tail and went right around to her hips in one long, jagged cut. Many smaller slices radiated from the central wound, leaving a blank, irregular patch of healed-over flesh where the fur had never properly grown back.

Picking up her bags I tossed them over her backside, adjusting the strap so they were tight around her belly, then went about the process of unlocking her forelegs. As soon as the metal bracelets came off her knees she rubbed them for a second then shoved herself down off the car. “Thanks, Hardy...”

I couldn’t keep annoyance out of my tone. “Don’t give me ‘Thanks Hardy’. What’s wrong with you today? First that PACT trooper this morning and now this?”

“His fault.” She said, pursing her lips. Her features held all the carefully constructed calm of cut stone.

“Yes, his fault, but are you seriously going to let him get you so riled up you end up charged with assaulting an officer? I’m half inclined to let you spend a night in a cell.”

That might as well have been water off a duck’s back for all the effect it had on her. “If you feel that’s necessary.”

She met my disappointed gaze with her impassive, emotionless expression. Finally, I gave in, and helped her straighten her bags. “Come on, we’ve got a body. Fix the bonehead first.”

Shaking herself as though to cleanse her mind of the last of her embarrassment she walked over beside the fat, supine form of Street Wise. One of the officers beside him moved to stop her, but I waved him off.

Lowering herself to the ground beside the officer she put her lips next to one of his ears and whispered something then gave him a sudden, sharp kick in the ribs. He gasped for breath, spasmed, then fell onto his side as his body started operating again. Fear filled his face and he rolled over, scooting away from Taxi until he fell over the surprised officer in a heap of flailing legs.

“What did you say to him?” I asked as we moved away from the quaking officer and the sea of stunned faces.

“Oh, nothing much. Something about how I’d come back and pull his soul out through his penis if he ever disrespected a mare again.”

“I’m pretty sure you just killed that stallion’s marriage. He’ll be lucky if he can get an erection for the next six months.”

“Hmmmph... His fault.”

****

Sykes froze when he saw us coming. His vast dark wings shot straight out from his sides, brushing the walls on both sides and almost braining one of the forensics ponies. “Laddy, ye never said your droiver was Sweet Shine!”

Taxi, for her part, skidded to a halt faster than her cab could and turned on her heels. She was halfway out of the alley when I caught up to her.

“What? Taxi, talk to me. Don’t tell me you and Sykes are going to have it out this morning, too!”

She turned to face me so fast I almost ran into her, and she hissed through clenched teeth, “You didn’t even tell me Mr. Beam Boom himself would be here. If you had, I’d have let you walk.”

The griffin had silently taken off and now landed behind her, blocking the exit of the alley. “Now, Miss Sweets...”

“Taxi! Don’t you dare call me by that name, Sykes. Not after what you pulled!”

“Oi toldja a thousand times, it weren’t my fault them drugs exploded! Nopony told me that ware-house was full of anythin’ but artifacts. Iffen’ Narcotics had shared that we woulda taken a light touch...” He held his claws out, placating.

The various branches of Detrot P.D. had as diverse a set of operating procedures as there are crimes under Celestia’s sun. Narcotics prefered interception and disposal under controlled conditions. Magical Items found they had the greatest success with high explosives.

There are many contraband enchanted objects which would gleefully enslave, ensnare, desiccate, or rearrange anypony who got close to or mishandled them, and which are contraband for precisely those reasons. The prevailing opinion in Magical Items was that if it was not guaranteed possible to control the artifacts in question, then it was often better to simply destroy them on site. While some magic items had ludicrous and highly specific destruction requirements, like needing to be taken to the fires of an enchanted volcano or crushed under the hoof of an honest pony, the vast majority responded quite well to P4. Slipping a wad of plastic explosives into a crate of illegal artifacts was pretty standard procedure.

That didn’t matter to Taxi right now, though. The cabbie’s facade of calm indifference was gone. Here, then, was Taxi under full steam and with a head full of anger that’d been building since early morning. She jammed her soft, lemon colored nose against his sharp beak. Despite the size difference, Sykes was the one who seemed to shrink under her driving stare.

“I spent six months undercover living above a club for mares-in-socks freaks, wearing earplugs every single night just so I could sleep, to make that bust. Magical Items wanted a jurisdictional pissing contest and you ended it with a hoof-full of explosives!” She snarled at him and his wings clamped tight against his sides.

The griffin’s rear-legs collapsed and he sat heavily, looking for all the world like a very large kitten being scolded for getting into the treats. The scene would have been patently absurd if I hadn’t just watched Taxi incapacitate a pony twice her size with one hoof.

Sykes tried to recover some of his bluster but as he lifted his head he found himself on the level with Taxi’s genuinely terrifying expression. “H-hey! O-oi was l-laid up in hospital for two weeks! Oi had a head full of Beam and thought pigeons was peckin’ me feathers out! Give us a break, lass!”

“Oh, I’ll give you a break --”

I put a hoof on her shoulder, pulling her around. She tried to turn that dangerous, hypnotic gaze on me, but thankfully I’d long since developed an immunity.

“Hardy, you take your leg off --” she started, but I shoved her back against the wall, rearing up to put my legs on either side of her head. Her eyes widened slightly in alarm as she fell on her tail.

“Sweets, that’s enough.” I growled into her ear, too low for eavesdropping lab coats to hear. I felt a ring of curious gazes crawl across the back of my neck. Jerking my chin at them, I whickered irritably. The idle crime scene investigators all discovered an intense interest in examining their legs, coffee mugs, and trash further down the alley.

I turned back to Taxi. I was close enough to detect the strong incense in her fur and, under that, the unique sweetness I’d always associated with her ever since we were foals. Her breathing was husky and shallow.

“Hardy, you can’t --” she began again.

“Quiet.”

“I will not be --”

“Sweet Shine! You’re going to listen.”

She could have broken my nose. I might even have deserved it. Instead, at the sound of her full name, a bit of fear and uncertainty crept into her expression as she slowly nodded. Taking that as a sign I wasn’t due for another trip to the hospital, I kept my voice low and went on.

“Your personal history with Sykes doesn’t mean a damn thing to that dead filly over there. Whatever parasprite has gotten into your bonnet, it’s going to go on hold until we’re done finding out what happened to her so we can give that girl some peace in the Everafter. If that’s an inconvenience, you can get off my crime scene. Is that clear?”

She looked at the contritely crouching griffin and then back at me. Her ears drooped against her checkerboard mane as the anger flowed out of her, leaving an unsettling hollowness.

I stepped back and waited for her reply. It wouldn’t have been the first time her rebuttal had left me in a body-cast, but I like to think I’ve gotten a little more durable since we were foals wrestling on the trampoline in my backyard. Fortunately, I did not have to find out; she lowered her head and pulled away, refusing to meet my eyes. She muttered half-heartedly, “I’m sorry. I should be handling this better.”

“Handling what better? If whatever is going on is going to make you tear off somepony’s head, take a leave of absence. You’re not the only cab in the city.”

Her gaze snapped up and she gave me a push with her forehooves but I managed to keep my balance. “Is that all I am? Your ride?” She sounded hurt, but there wasn’t any real force behind the rebuke.

“You’re the only one I’d choose, Sweets. Come on, I need you today.” I said with a consoling whinny, brushing her braid back from her face.

Drawing in a breath, she called up some strength from her truly staggering inner reserves and got to her hooves, her cool, serene expression settling back into place. It wasn’t so much for my benefit as that of the forensics ponies who were nervously camping around a stinking heap of full garbage bags just inside earshot.

“I’ll... I’ll see the body now. I don’t want to talk about what’s going on right now, but please, ask me later, alright?”

I nodded firmly. “Yes, ma’am. Our karma is on the clock after all. I’ll buy the first round of drinks when you’re ready, even if it’s that Manehattan trash with the fruit in it you like so much.” That brought a tentative smile to her sunflower pigmented lips.

Reaching into the outermost pocket of her saddlebag, I plucked out a pair of jeweler’s goggles and a pair of latex hoof-covers. I tugged the glasses over her head, then lifted her forehooves and pulled the gloves over them with a satisfying snap. She stood there like a foal being dressed for school until I was done.

As I shifted the magnifying lenses on the jeweler’s goggles down over her eyes and she came alive like a puppet whose strings had been pulled taut. Stalking over to the body of the poor dead mare she stopped, dropping onto her haunches beside her and making a few complex motions with her forelegs over the girl’s bloodied form. Taxi blew a kiss at the bottoms of the Jane Pony’s hooves, then touched her cheek then looked up at me expectantly.

“What was the time of death?” Taxi inquired, running an idle hoof over the lovely dress.

Sykes answered before I could. “Best guess, early this mornin’. Cleanin’ crew found ‘er and called the press. Reporters was all over the lass when we arrived.”

“Couldn’t you have told us that before we got unpacked?” groused somepony behind me. I glanced back at the huddle of eggheads swilling the last of their flask down; a unicorn mare only a few inches taller than Swift, who seemed to be the leader, nickered irritably at us. She had an enormous silver nose ring and a swirl of rose petals tattooed along the fur on her neck, just above the neckline of her lab coat. “This scene is totally contaminated. We may as well just take pictures!”

Our griffin compatriot shifted his weight from one set of legs to the other, incidentally flexing his claws and digging deep gouges in the composite cement. “Must of slipped me moind. Yer paid per job, roight? Ye can stand a little waitin’ around.”

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response; instead, she waved her subordinates back. They began dejectedly tucking away their plastic baggies and pulling out the heavy photography lenses.

I snatched a rubber glove from the front pocket of the pony with the nose ring, snapped it on and eased down beside Taxi. “You have a cause of death?”

She glanced up at the skyline then shrugged. “She fell. I’d say somepony or something chased her off the roof. It was a blind jump and she didn’t quite make it. I doubt it was suicide.”

I craned my neck to see the roof nearest the High Step. It was at least a story shorter, but still too far away for a jump.

Sykes butted in. “What makes ye think it’s not suicoide, eh?”

Taxi plucked at the girl’s upper lip lightly, pulling it back to reveal several broken teeth. “She hit the wall face first. If she was trying to kill herself, she’d have stepped off. She was at a full gallop.”

Something sparkled beneath her tangle of hair, so I lifted her matted grey mane off of her ear. The cabbie and I found ourselves both momentarily captivated by a vision of real beauty. Three cherry red rubies hung from a delicately formed golden stem with a single, large green stone which was cut into the shape of a leaf. The earring was a work of art. It managed to be simultaneously flamboyant, subtle, and sexy.

Sykes let out a long, low whistle. “Me oh moi. Our girly had herself some properly noice fashion sense, thinks oi.”

“What would you know about fashion, Sykes? During your first year in the job, you tried to arrest somepony for ‘criminal negligee.’” Taxi smirked, cocking an eye at him.

The griffin puffed his chest feathers up. “Ye didn’t see what they was wearin’!”

I was about to add my own comment to the effect that Sykes was clearly an eclectic bird with an impeccable sense of high fashion, hence his sunflower colored plastic poncho, but at that moment, a hot, sticky mass splashed down my back legs. Time seemed to stop as I looked down at a morass of semi-liquid hay and carrot chunks pooling around my rear hooves.

Swift dropped out of the sky, both forelegs over her mouth as she hung there in front of me. “Oh, sir, I’m so sorry... I found blood on the wall and a tooth on a ledge about seven stories up.... Oh Celestia, I got it all down your tail...”

‘There’s already been a death today, Hardy. Two will not help the amount of paperwork you have to do,’ I thought, clenching my teeth.

Sykes was standing there with an expression like a stunned goose. Taxi’s lower jaw was bobbing up and down like she was trying to find something to say but she only make a soft squeak.

“Officer Swift Cuddles. Get down here, please.”

The pegasus dropped in front of me and lowered her head, clearly expecting me to set fire to her or banish her or something along those lines. I was tempted. I’m pretty sure if I’d ordered her out of the country just then, she’d have asked if she could pack first or if she should just go straight away.

Instead, I shrugged out of the vomit-drenched coat and laid it carefully across her back. “Find the hotel laundry room. Have this cleaned. Cold water only. No magic. Go now.”

The bolt of orange fur that zipped out of the end of the alley could have beaten the goggles off a Wonderbolt in a sprint to the laundromat. As she left, I slapped my tail against a dumpster, shaking off bile and whatever remnants of my new partner’s first meal had still been in her stomach after the first round of nausea. Both Sykes and Taxi were watching me like a rabid mongoose who’d suddenly decided to do a tap-dance.

“What?! If either of you have something to say, say it!” I shouted. They looked at each other, then held up their forelegs.

“I’m nothing but kind thoughts.”

“Moi beak is sealed, lad.”

Settling back beside the cabbie and straightening my tie I took a deep breath. It wasn’t a pleasant breath but then, the mare’s body had been laying out for a while and the rich stink of blood still permeated everything. Thankfully, she hadn’t voided her bowels when she hit the ground, but nothing would dissuade the flies which had started to congregate in a persistently buzzing horde around us.

“Alright, lets see her cutie mark.”

Taxi very gently pushed the slinky red skirt up around the filly’s croup. The image sitting just above her thigh was very similar to her ear-rings; Three grayscale jewels, the stem, and the leaf. Alongside that was a long, curving crescent of deep maroon that started at the top of the mark and swung around, almost like a waning moon.

I scratched my chin and asked nopony in particular, “Huh, gem-working and... something to do with fruit?”

Tracing the shape with her toe, Taxi compared the mark to her jewelry. “I’d be willing to call jewelry her special talent. These are exquisite. They’re measured specifically for her.” She carefully manipulated the mare’s ear in several directions; the accessory didn’t so much as tap against the skull.

“So our victim was a jeweler. In Detrot. That’s terribly unhelpful. Even with the price of uncut stones around here these days, I’ll bet you half the out of towners who come here are artists of different flavors trying to make it rich.” I opined grimly, snatching my hat as a quick blast of wind between the buildings almost swept it off. The storm was coming on at an alarming pace and the forensics ponies were looking antsy.

Taxi squinted at the girl’s forehead, then hummed a little tune as she pushed the hair back from the Jane Pony’s pale, pretty face. “You know, head-wounds bleed a lot but this doesn’t look consistent with blunt force trauma. Swift said she found blood up there. That says to me she was already bleeding when she hit...”

Leaning in close she let out a faint neigh of surprise, pointing at the source of the wound. It seemed to be almost perfectly circular, and around the edges a bony ridge rose slightly above the flesh.

I twisted around to look at the white coats. They’d just finished pulling out their equipment and were in the process of setting up several light sources. I grabbed ‘Nose-Ring’ as she strolled by. “Did any of you see her horn?”

She blinked at me then down at the deceased. “Horn... wait, the dead bint was a unicorn?”

“Yes, and show some respect. Go, look around. See if you can find her horn.”

Sykes dipped his head down below the level of the dumpster, quickly scanning underneath everything nearby. “Oi don’t see it. If it broke in the fall it moight have gone anywhere. One’a them reporters moight have picked it up.”

Taxi brushed a little dried blood away from the hole on one side then adjusted a knob on the side of her glasses. Lenses shifted with an audible click and she peered closely at what was left of the protruding horn. “Huh. This doesn’t look broken at all. It looks like it was cut with something.”

I flicked my tail, driving away another cloud of flies from my back. “Cut? Oog. I hope we’re not dealing with some sort of trophy taker. Can you see any evidence of sexual activity? Assault or something like that?”

She lifted the mare’s rear leg, sticking her head uncomfortably close to her genitals. I looked away from the frank examination. Years on and I’d never gotten used to Taxi’s particularly hooves-on style of investigation. She’d rant and rail about the sacredness of life all day, but until a case was solved, a body was a body.

“I don’t see anything. No fluids, no staining, no blood, or bruising. If you want a more scientific breakdown you’ll have to send her to Slip Stitch. This is exactly the sort of thing that weird little prick would love.”

“Alright, I want to know who had access to that roof last night.”

Sykes signaled to the eggheads who started snapping pictures of seemingly random bits of detritus, starting from a few feet back and slowly working towards the corpse.

Taxi said one last prayer and tenderly closed the girl’s staring eyes, then dusted herself off. Tugging off the stained protective socks she tossed them into one of the forensics unit’s brightly labeled bio-waste containers. I did the same then stopped, hovering there with one hoof towards the light coming down off a street-lamp. It wasn’t yet more than an hour after noon, but the darkness of the quickly oncoming thunderstorm made it seem much later.

Something felt wrong. I couldn’t have put a toe on it for all the bits in Canterlot, but my cutie mark was tingling. I’d missed something. The scene was incomplete. An actor missed his cue and now nopony could leave the stage until the line was said. I swung back to the body.

She seemed so peaceful despite the blood spatter and the terrible angle her front limbs were twisted at when she landed. Her trials were at an end. I almost envied her becalmed state.

Squatting down, I tugged the hemline of her dress straight, covering her cutie-mark again. I’ve no idea why that felt important. Maybe some sentimental part of me wished, however little it might have mattered, to give the broken child some dignity.

But as I did so, something shiny skittered from the edge of her dress, shooting between my rear legs. I dropped a toe in front of it an instant before it could drop into an open drain. It was tiny, and covered in a bit of mud. Nudging it lightly with a hooftip, I glanced around for something to pick it up with so I could get a better look. Nothing in the alley looked particularly tasty. Reluctantly, I tugged off my sanitary glove, turned it inside out, and stuck it over my lips. It tasted foul, but picking up evidence bare-mouthed is discouraged pretty strongly.

“What’ve you got there, Detective? Oooh, is that from the body? Goodie!” Nose-ring was standing behind me, holding a baggy in her glittering levitation field. I spat the object into the waiting bag then wiped my lips, trying to get rid of the awful flavor of talcum powder from the inside of the glove.

She brought it close to her face, using a flicker of magic to reach through and very gently pluck away the dirt. “It looks like some kind of... poop. It’s a lapel pin. I was hoping for something like a spy gem or listening device. That would’ve been juicy!”

I never did get that pony’s name, but Nose Ring seemed to suit her. Her interest wasted, she wandered back to harassing her crew for better angle shots on some of the gravel.

The pin was a stylized dragon or serpent, forming a circle by swallowing its own tail. It looked like the sort of thing you’d pick up in a cheap and cheerful accessory shop for tasteless teens. I couldn’t picture the filly who’d made those fine earrings wearing it decoratively unless somepony held a gun to her head.

I set it on top of one of the garbage cans, watching the crew of investigators crawling over the crime scene. Taxi had found a corner, knelt down, and looked to be cleaning her karma with some humming. Sykes was watching the reporters, radiating a mixture of ‘hungry’ and ‘dangerous.’ I could imagine him any moment trying to sweep one of them up and have fly off somewhere to have a snack. I walked in little circles, looking over each individual element of the crime scene. I don’t know what I was searching for but it was a better use of my time than waiting on Taxi to be done with her meditations.

A rush of flapping wings filled the air. I scanned for the source then almost fell on my rump as Swift landed inches from my nose, breathing heavily, with sweat dotting her forehead. Stupid inconsiderate flying turkey... No, Hardy. Be nice.

“Sir! Cold water, no magic. I couldn’t get anything out of the pockets so I had to do it by hoof. Are they magical or something?”

I nodded. “One day, if you’re smart, you’ll spend a paycheck on a coat that’ll keep you warm in the cold and dry in the rain. It’s essential police gear. Telly laid some of that good ol’ File Cloud magic on the pockets. I’m the only one who can get into them. They’ll carry about a saddlebag worth of stuff in each and weigh about a tenth as much.”

She pulled my carefully folded trench-coat off of her back and laid it reverently in front of me. She couldn’t have been gone more than fifteen minutes but it looked like it’d been professionally cleaned. An old catsup stain on one of the sleeves was gone. I could even detect a hint of lemon.

“Some of those stains were practically historical monuments! How did you get...how did you get this clean and dry?!” I demanded, checking in each pocket to make sure at least the surface layer of items was still in the right place.

Her chest swelled with pride. “Dad was a stickler for cleanliness so he taught me how. It’s just a rain-cloud for washing, a little hail for deep scrubbing, and a quick full speed burst from these babies!” Flaring her wings she gave them a few quick pumps, swirling bits of trash around our knees. “I flew home to get something to help my stomach and dried your coat at the same time!”

Slipping into my coat, I jammed my nose into the under-leg and took a deep whiff, inhaling the scent of a brisk morning wind over a dew dappled field at dawn. I’d thought it’d require fire to get rid of the reek of mold, stale sweat and cheap deodorant.

“I think you got the wrong cutie-mark, kid.” I smiled, sweeping my tail back and forth so the coat fell on either side. It even felt softer.

Swift grinned fit to burst for a while, before her eye caught the shine coming off the sealed evidence bag sitting on the garbage can beside me. “What’s that, sir?”

“Came with the body. Might have fallen off the perp when he cut off her horn-”

The rookie’s eyes got big and round. “Cut off her horn?!” She gasped.

I pressed on despite the interruption. “I’m going to show it to Taxi whenever she’s done with... that.” The cabbie was swaying her hips to a non-existent beat, doing a dance that involved rearing up then dropping to her stomach again and again. Thankfully, she’d picked a corner out of view of the press.

Swift lifted herself up on her forelegs to get enough height, but when she got a close look at the pin, her eyes almost popped out of her head. “Oh no.” She whispered, then fell back on her tail, putting her legs over her face.

“What? What is it? Kid, talk to me.”

Taxi was suddenly there at her side, one leg around her. Swift turned against her shoulder and buried her face in my driver’s checked hair. I started to say something else, but the cabbie gave me a look that could have stripped paint.

It was a tense few minutes as the rookie composed herself. I paced back and forth irritably, my horse-shoes clattering on the pavement. At last, after what felt to my curiosity like an hour, Swift straightened, extracting herself from Taxi’s legs. She dragged the pin off the can and held it between her toes, looking at it sadly.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m fine now.” I wasn’t sure I believed her, but her voice was steady. Her hooves shook as she turned the evidence bag over and over. “I know where this came from.”

Sweets was in full mothering mode, gently rubbing the pegasus’ wing muscles. “Take your time. We’re not in a hurry.”

The kid stroked the pin like it was something precious. “This is from the Vivarium. The proprietor gives them to very special ponies.”

The Vivarium. I dug around in the back of my head, trying to figure where I’d heard the name before. I’ll be the first to admit there are and probably always will be great gaping holes in my knowledge of my city. Detrot is truly immense; only Canterlot itself can claim a greater population. Even then, for sheer width and breadth, we had the capital beaten. Why so many ponies would have chosen to live out here on the edge of Equestria had always been a mystery to me. Adventure or the spirit of entrepreneurial-ism might explain some, but not all.

Then I had it.

“Isn’t that the old whore house near the bay?”

An odd look crossed Swift’s face; a tightening of the lips and a narrowing of the eyes. Its closest relative was probably embarrassed indignation. “It’s not a whore house, sir. It’s a night club and escort service.” The distinction was wasted on me.

“How do you know something like that? You’ll excuse me if I didn’t think you were the type to moonlight as an escort.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, turning her whole face phosphorescent pink. “I’m not, sir! I h-have a f-friend who works t-there!” She stuttered, almost tripping over her own rear legs.

“Ahhh, that’s convenient then. I want to talk to the hotel manager first, but we’ll pay the Vivarium’s owner a visit once we’re done here and maybe get an I.D. on our victim. Your friend can introduce us to the proprietor.”

Swift made a face like she’d swallowed a sour apple full of bad cheese and opened her mouth to say something, but Taxi beat her to it. “Hardy, do you know anything about the proprietor of the Vivarium?”

“I don’t make a habit of associating with brothel owners or their employees unless I run into them professionally, and in general, escorts don’t get killed by their madames. If we find a dead street walker, we look for their pimp, their pusher, or their loan shark. Why do you ask?”

Taxi’s smirk was more than a little off-putting, and I felt my hackles rise. “Oh, no reason. I just think you’ll be very surprised-” She stopped mid-sentence and her ears perked up, flitting this way and that.

“What is it?” I asked, but she shushed me with a hoof to her lips.

She pointed towards where Sykes stood like a silent sentry guarding the alley entrance. “Can’t you hear that?”

Turning one ear towards the street, I listened until I finally caught the discordant strains of a cheerful, electronic piano tune trickling down between the buildings over the babble of the crowd of onlookers.

The hack driver’s left eye did a little twitchy dance and she quickly tore off her jeweler’s glasses, stuffed them into her bags and sprinted for the sidewalk, while calling over one shoulder, “That’s Slip Stitch! Unless you’re up for some singing, we need to get inside now!”

I grabbed Swift by the tail and tossed her onto my back. “Damnit! I thought the rule was he wasn’t supposed to show up until after the press are gone!”

“What do you want to bet Telly is playing pranks again?”

The rookie squeaked as we blew past Sykes. The griffin cursed and dashed after us as he realized what the swelling musical ensemble meant.

“Siiiir-” attempted Swift, bobbing along my spine, “Whoo--oo iii-s Sllliii---p Sstiiic---ch?”

“Coroner! Trust me, we don’t want to be on the crime scene with him and those reporters or tomorrow morning we’re going to be all over the front page wearing party hats at a murder!”

The thought of being caught out on a crime scene with the city’s eccentric pathologist in front of the newspapers was enough to loosen the bowels of even the hardiest political personality, much less me. The forensics crew was moving double speed, simply backing their truck up to the alley and tossing lenses and lights into the back. We squeezed around them and made a beeline for the hotel’s front door.

Chapter 4: Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer, Do

There are reasons that DPD investigative procedure seems haphazard at times. The first is that modern policing only got its start in the last few decades, with the stamping of the Royal Order Preservation Act into law. The Royal Guards and loose association of local sheriffs that used to keep the peace were only deemed inadequate to this task when a Los Pegasus crime wave crested so high that it generated a physical embodiment of larceny, one that actually managed to make off with the city itself for about a week.

This brings us to the second reason: The varied and often bizarre nature of Equestrian crime. Just when the DPD got used to Cutie Mark Fraud and Grand Theft Pastry, they learned that there were ponies making empathy drugs using semi-toxic runoff from the rainbow manufacturing plants, and acts of terrorism involving draconic birthday parties in populated areas.

Most important, however, is that ponies who become police investigators and detectives often do so based on their Special Talents. Some ponies rely on calculation, others more on intuition. Some ponies use spells and artifacts to gather clues, and others are known to have solved crimes with the aid of trained wildlife. The methodology involved in the application of these talents varies far too widely for tightly written procedure to be effective. Case closure rates tend to be higher when investigators are afforded greater leeway for their personal idiosyncrasies, and at this point, Equestrian civilized society needs every closed case it can get its hooves on.

-The Scholar

Sykes muscled the hotel’s revolving door faster than it wanted to turn, letting out an unpleasant squeal from the gears as we all stuffed ourselves into a single cell, which was an extremely cramped and feathery experience. The four of us spilled out into the lobby in a heap of fur, limbs, and tails.

Shoving Swift’s flank off of my face, I dragged myself upright and then began helping her and Taxi up. Celestia was smiling on us in at least one respect: The lobby of the High Step was empty.

It continued the awful thematic failings of the outside in a more reserved fashion. Instead of the ridiculous statuary I’d been expecting, the interior borrowed more from the country ski lodge. The rows of pillars were simply great trunks of oak trees and the sole decorations consisted of a fake Hydra’s head flanked by two dead and mounted cockatrices over a roaring fireplace. Mass produced wooden chairs made to look hoofcrafted ringed the hearth. In every corner of the room and entirely out of place, huge planter pots bursting with all manner of colorful flower added a touch of light and life to the otherwise reputable but unpleasant atmosphere of the place. I spared a thought to how on earth somepony had managed to get them to grow inside a building, particularly in a city that saw sunlight as rarely as Detrot.

Strangely, there were no porters waiting to take our luggage, and the service desk was empty. A divine scent wafted from somewhere, and I realized just how hungry I really was.

Sykes whooped as he spotted a small buffet of breakfast food set in an alcove to one side, which included a few plates of cooked meat. Most of the omnivorous species in the city had their own private restaurants; The hotel must have played regular host to griffin dignitaries. The flesh on display likely hadn’t come from any sentient species, but in Detrot, you can buy almost anything if you know the right creatures.

The griffin tore off his poncho and threw it over an umbrella stand, then shot over and began heaping a plastic dish with heavily spiced morsels from some animal. Taxi went for a dainty dish of strawberries.

At the sight of the food Swift’s stomach growled so loudly I almost thought somepony had left a window open to the thunder outside. She looked longingly at the trays of cooling comestibles, but seemed determined to wait until I pointed her in a direction. I gave her a little shove. “Go on, kid. Let that be ‘cop lesson’ number one. Eat free when you can.”

Stacking a plate with slices of fresh red delicious apples, I flopped down on one of the lounging couches in front of the fire-place. Taxi slid onto the thick shag carpet right in front of the fire and Sykes hunkered down beside her. She gave him a sharp look, but he was either oblivious or ignoring her as he tore into a hunk of something, coating his beak in grease. Eventually, she just huffed and began stuffing her face with strawberries as hunger trumped principle, which I understood. In a cop’s life you’re lucky to eat two solid meals a day during an investigation.

Swift returned from the buffet a minute later than the rest of us, her plate covered in a small monument to excess. I saw no less than six peeled oranges, the cracks between which she’d stuffed with cream and the entire thing was covered in a coating of syrup and cheese. She buried her nose in the mess and I was put in mind of a manticore I’d once seen, feasting on a particularly gruesome kill.

“Hah! Lassy! Oi knew ye was a soul after me own kin!” The griffin officer beamed at the little pegasus who, despite the vicious and voracious way she tore into her food, somehow managed to keep the cream off of her ears.

“What? Ish good!” She said between mouthfuls. Tilting her head she sniffed at the plate in front of Sykes. “Whash zat?” Swallowing half an orange she repeated herself. “What’s that?”

“Ooh, this, lass, is proper food! Ye ponies an yer damn squeamish ways are never willin’ ta give foine cooking it’s due.”

Cocking her head at what she took as a challenge, Swift reached out and picked a piece of meat off the carnivore’s plate, dangling it above her lips.

“Well, I’ll try anything once.”

At that moment both Taxi and I were mid-way through a bite. Panicked horror crossed our driver’s face and she began chewing faster, trying to clear her mouth as quickly as possible. I calmly dipped part of my apple in a bit of ranch dressing and bit off another piece, watching with interest.

Swift dropped the bit of prepared flesh into her muzzle, sucking on it for a moment to get the juices out then shifting it around to the side so she could properly rip it apart. Pony teeth aren’t properly designed for that so it took her a moment, but soon she had it soft enough to talk around. “Mmm... it’s really salty. I kind of like it though.” She swallowed and grinned as though she’d passed some test.

Taxi just sat there with her eyes wide, her mouth open, and her half masticated lunch on her tongue. She started to speak, then fell into a bout of furious coughing as a bit of her meal went down the wrong tube.

I finished my bite, setting my plate aside and carefully out of vomiting range. “It’s meat, kid. Griffin ‘foine cooking’ is meat.”

I wish I’d had a camera just then. Swift’s face cycled through interest to comprehension to disgust then back around several times in a fraction of a second.

“That’s what I taste like?!” She squeaked.

The griffin slurped down another bite and nodded. "Aye. More?" He held out his platter with a cheerful grin on his face. To my surprise, Swift started to reach out; Only Taxi's sharply disapproving frown halted her hoof and stopped her from taking another slice.

"No, that's... okay. Thank you."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Hah! Kid, you're going to have to explain your stomach one of these days. You threw up over a little blood on a wall but eating another mammal doesn't toss your cookies?"

Her nose wrinkled and she scowled at the floor as she went back to her oranges. Taxi set her last few strawberries aside as her appetite left for the moon.

I crunched an apple seed and Sykes continued eating, totally preoccupied, with warm fat dripping off his face feathers. Celestia save us from the insanity of predators.

A loud bell rang somewhere nearby, and an aging, patchy black cow in a tiny red fez and big horn-rimmed glasses toddled through a pair of swinging doors behind the check-in desk. Her mooning brown eyes watched us for several moments before she said: “Can I help you, gentlebeings and fillies?” She spoke with a barely audible Fancee accent; It was just enough to give the impression we were invaders into her realm of suede, fake wood, and high class dinners. “If you’re just coming in to use the bathrooms then I’m afraid those aren’t for anypony but the paying public.”

Sucking apple juice off my toe I tugged my coat open, flashing my badge at her. “Detective Hard Boiled. We’re here to see the manager who was here early this morning. You mind pointing us at him or giving us his card?”

Sykes contemplatively cracked one of the bones on his plate, teasing the marrow out and licking it off of his sharp talons. The snooty cow watched him do so without so much as a flicker of emotion, then turned towards a sign that said ‘Hotel Restaraunt’ in big, looping silver letters. “He’s in the bar, last I saw. Not that it matters. We’ll be lucky to last a week after this. We’ve had four months worth of pre-arrangements canceled in the last hour. Do mind the carpets.”

With that she turned and wandered back into whatever hole she’d crawled out of, slamming the door with her tail.

“What did she mean by that, sir?” asked Swift, polishing off the last of her oranges.

I hopped down from the sofa and stood in front of the fire, straightening my tie. “You think a hotel where somepony got killed is going to get a lot of business from the nobility or the elite? This is a roach motel for big spenders as it is. If it were in Baltimare or Trottingham, it might weather something like this, but here? No way.”

****

The bartender was a youthful and very slender female griffin who was listlessly cleaning already spotless glasses with a perfectly white rag behind a polished wood bar. Canteens and containers of immensely expensive liquor sat behind her, most of them unopened. Sykes eyed her with a certain broad interest, then, at some avian signal I didn’t pick up, his attention was gone. I dragged myself up onto a bar chair.

“Morning, miss.”

She didn’t look up from her pointless little project; she merely dipped her chin to show she’d heard. I dug around in my coat then reached across the bar and put a hoof on the back of her foreleg with a ten bit piece balanced on the back of my knee. Her eyes snapped to the glimmer of metal, then in an instant, it was gone.

“We’re looking for the manager. You know where he is?”

With a loud snort she pointed at the rows of pristine pool tables in the back room alongside yet another fireplace. It must have cost a fortune in wood to keep this place going, unless those fires were magical.

Taxi sat down at the bar and tossed her saddlebags across it, fished out two shot-glasses from Luna knows where, and pushed one across the bar to the young griffin. The bird looked at the glass then up into our driver’s expression. If there had been any pity in Sweet Shine’s face for her impending unemployment, I’m sure the bartender would have tossed it in her face, but there wasn’t.

A tear slowly rolled down her cheek and she grabbed a quart of rum from behind the bar that could have neatly paid my salary for two weeks, upending a shot into both glasses and pushing the farther one back towards Taxi. As Swift, Sykes, and I headed for the games room they shared a last toast to the bloody end of the High Step Hotel.

We found the hotelier in a heap on one of the pool tables, clutching a two-thirds empty bottle of Sweet Apple Acres Whiskey and snoring so loudly he drowned out the crack and rumble of the weather. At first I thought he was an older pony; he wore a heavily tailored, blindingly white tuxedo top and pink cumberbund that might have stepped fresh off the train from Canterlot, if it weren’t such a mess. His sapphire coat had a tinge of silver around the ears, but with roots showing through; a bad dye job. His bushy mustache would have been impressive if it had been real; As it was, it hung half off of his face. A tiny swimming pool of drool ran from his muzzle into the right side corner pocket of his impromptu bed.

I tried to pry the bottle away from him but he clutched it tighter to his chest. “Mrrrergle... towels ‘re in the fuggin’ hall... pish off...”

I waved Sykes over. “Can I get a ‘Griffin Good Morning’?”

“Oi think so... ahem.” Inhaling deeply, he climbed onto the pool table and stood over the manager. I put my hooves over my ears, gesturing for Swift to do the same.

Sykes let out an eardrum-shattering, heart-stopping shriek that echoed through the restaurant. It was a sound used to terrify prey and ward off competitors in the dangerous mesas of the griffin homeland, but in a pinch, it’s also a great adrenaline shot.

The drunk stallion came awake with a yelp, wiggling sideways off the table and tumbling onto the floor. “Whaddafug?!”

Reaching down I casually yanked him up and began brushing off his suit, probably more roughly than was necessary. He made to bat me away, but couldn’t seem to figure out the complicated mechanisms involved in standing on only three hooves and almost pitched onto his face again. I read his nametag quickly.

“Wakey, wakey, Mr... Budding!” Giving him a shake, I pointed my tail at the bar. “Kid, could you go ask the bartender for a Detrot Hangover Cure Number Three and a big cup of black coffee?”

Popping off a quick salute before she could stop herself, Swift zipped back towards the breakfast buffet. Our patient waved his hooves feebly at his whiskey, trying to get it back until I sighed and had Sykes hold him upside down by one leg. This did nothing for his disposition, but in the state of mind I’d started the day, it did wonders for mine.

My pegasus protege returned with a bright green, bubbling concoction balanced on her head and a mug of coffee in her teeth, weaving back to us and carefully setting both down with the practiced ease of a professional waitress. I couldn’t see Swift in one of those little aprons, but then, she was turning out to be one continuous surprise.

“Sir, what’s in this stuff? It looks like squished alligators and smells like gasoline.”

“If she made it right, that’s not a bad guess.”

Grabbing the glass of near-toxic liquid I pulled the manager’s lips open and tilted his head back, pouring the lukewarm go-juice down his throat. He swallowed reflexively, then gagged as his entire body went stiff. His dark blue tail shot out straight, almost smacking my partner in the nose.

We all took two steps back as Mr. Budding suddenly let out a noise like a strangled cat and galloped to the nearest flower pot. For the second time in a day, I waited while somepony finished puking their guts up; a situation substantially improved by them not doing so onto my coat.

Ten minutes later I sat by Mr. Budding on the floor by the vomit soaked planter, feeding him sips of coffee every few seconds as he came around. He held his head between his hooves, moaning unhappily as the after-effects of the whiskey wore off, with a little help from the semi-magical hangover cure. It’s not a cheap way to recover from overindulgence, but the Detrot Number Three is a miracle worker. If you can afford it, I highly recommend it as an alternative to feeling like shit all day.

At last he took the mug from me and downed the scalding liquid all in one go. I’d only found out he was a pegasus when he saw Sykes and his wings shot straight out from his back, further disarranging his wrinkled tux.

“Alright, Mr. Budding, I’m Detective Hard Boiled.”

“Not so loud.” He whimpered, pressing his toes to his temples. I noticed he wore slip-on rubber horseshoes, which were becoming the norm. Probably to keep from scuffing the marble floors. Permanent nail-on shoes were long out of style except among cops and work-horses.

I pulled my badge out and set it in front of him. “We need to ask you some questions. We can either do it here or we can take a quick ride down to the station and ask them there. Our radio pony loves these jazzy tunes with a beat that’ll take the chrome off a police cruiser’s bumper. If you like, I can get her to pump some into one of our interrogation rooms just for your listening pleasure.”

His ears pulled back and a terrible melancholy seemed to settle onto his thin shoulders like a millstone dragging him down. “What’s it matter anymore? A month. I spent a month teaching the staff to speak with a Fancee accent, getting flower arrangements that’ll grow in this awful light, and setting up agreements with local monster hunters. Then what happens? A guest dies on my watch.”

As I got up he remained on the carpet until I gave him a gentle nudge. “How do you know the victim was a guest?”

The answer not forthcoming, I nodded at Sykes who grabbed a pool cue and quietly lined up a shot on one of the tables. The fierce crack of balls colliding with one another jerked Budding back to reality. “Ahh... She... she checked in late last night. She booked the penthouse for one day and one night.”

“Was she alone? How did she pay?”

Smoothing his rumpled tux, he picked up the whiskey under one wing and took an impressive swig. “That’s all in the ledger. I’m not a memory machine.”

He was about to suck down a second hit, but I snatched the alcohol. I thought he might actually cry.

“Let’s go get that ledger. Then, I want to see the penthouse and the roof.”

****

We led the morose Mr. Budding back to his office, half guiding him and half propping him up. He stopped in the restroom just long enough to wash the taste of the hangover cure and stale drink out of his mouth; when he came out, his suit was in a slightly more presentable condition. Considering how I’d woken up that morning, I could certainly sympathize.

The office was tiny and packed with mementos. Both walls were covered with pictures of Budding standing beside various important looking griffins and zebras, holding up various dead animals. There were also more rarified collections of flowers, each healthy and either blooming or about to.

As he turned to open a tiny wall-safe, I got a look at his cutie-mark; a brilliant light blue rose sitting in fresh soil. Another floral mark; Those could mean just about anything.

“You mind if I ask what your talent is?” I inquired, nosing in the direction of his flank.

He reached back and touched his cutie-mark as though making sure it was still there, before answering disconsolately, “I ‘realize potential.’ Some potential, huh? Last place I was at I was working in an ambassadorial hotel for griffin tribe-lords.” He listlessly set a stack of wood-bound notebooks on the table and flipped to the last page with writing on it. “I wish I was still there, even if it meant some stupid bird trying to lick me once a week.” Sykes let out a guttural rumble and Budding quickly added, “No offense to present company, of course.”

Our beaked compatriot went back to boredly playing with the water-cooler in the corner, flicking the tap up and down while Swift and I leaned forward, scanning the ledger. At the bottom of the indicated page it said, ‘Cash paid, Princess Luna, Penthouse, 1 Day.’

I sighed and shoved the book back across his desk. It was too much to hope she’d used her actual name; if anything, such an obvious fake saved me time. “Did your staff already clean the room?”

He nodded, picking up the notebooks and tucking them back in the safe. “It’s one of the little guarantees we give at the High Step. Privacy and discretion.”

“Was there any blood?”

Grabbing a watering can from behind a small bush he began making a slow round of the room, dabbing the soil in his flowers then giving them quick splashes. “Who knows? I’ve seen every bodily fluid that comes out of a creature in those rooms... and a few I’m pretty sure were made up on the spot just to make my life difficult. The cleaning staff don’t keep records of the messes they clean up and we buy carpeting and mattresses in bulk. If there was anything, you can bet it’s been bleached to death by now.”

Before I could stop her, Swift, the voice of innocence, asked, “Why do you need new carpet and mattresses so much?”

The blue hotelier seemed to be someplace else as he stroked an unusual flower that looked like a smiling face. “Oh, we go through them like you wouldn’t believe. Virginities, estrus, messy eaters, weak bladders...” He said it like he wasn’t actually hearing his own words. My full stomach did a little flip as I considered the range of things that get spilled anywhere lots of ponies happen to live one after the other. I had an irrational urge to pick my hooves up off the carpet.

“You know, I moved here because I saw big things in this city? I thought I might save this hotel. The red ink was so thick on the books you’d think the pages were printed that color. I thought I might set up hunting tours with the PACT. See the real frontier, come back with a timberwolf or a quarry eel to mount on your wall! Except the frontier has been the same frontier for over a hundred years and you ponies... you damn ponies!” He all but shouted that last part as he twirled to face us, holding out one hoof protectively over the flora behind him. “You don’t hunt unless you have to! You don’t eat meat! All you want to do is drink and screw and devour my babies!”

Swinging back to his plants, he began gently touching stems. “It’s alright darlings... I won’t let anypony hurt you. You know me... fruits only... I’d never eat one of your precious flowers or roots. It’ll be over soon... they’ll never wipe their dirty juices on you again...”

My well-honed danger sense was ringing like a bell in the back of my head. The thought crossed my mind that the distraught fool in front of me might have killed our filly, but somehow, that didn’t feel right. He’d had all the opportunity in the world to move the corpse and wipe the ledger. Nopony would have been the wiser. Regardless, I decided to get us out of there quickly. “You mind showing us the penthouse?”

Budding finally seemed to realize he had an audience for his crazed botanical ranting. Straightening, he began pulling what remained of his badly frayed sanity back together. Tugging out his cumberbund he tossed it on the desk then pulled a huge ring of dozens of keys off his file cabinet, wincing at the loud jangling as he tucked them under one wing.

“Mmm... Apologies. It’s been a stressful day. Yes. Certainly. I really ought to go back to work in school guidance. I never had to clean sperm off my daisies...”

Swift was huddled up behind me again, peering around my shoulder like she was trying to decide if she wanted to flee or put a bullet in Budding’s kneecaps just to be safe. Again, I couldn’t much blame her. I was tempted to apply a coup-de-grace to the poor fellow’s broken ego myself. It might have been kinder than letting him wander off and try to ‘realize potential’ somewhere else in my sun-forsaken city.

****

Taxi was still back in the restaurant, now with laying on the floor with the bartender’s feathery cheek in her lap. The hen’s beak was streaked with tears but her eyes were closed and she seemed to have passed out a little more peacefully than the hotel manager. The rum was half gone, sitting on the bar.

Budding stopped over them, a chastisement forming and dying on his tongue all in the same instant. Instead, he snatched up the bottle and took a quick swallow. Swift watched the scene with an emotion I couldn’t place; pity, maybe. Sykes just looked uncomfortable.

“Sweets, you know what booze does to you.” I groused, wrestling the expensive drink away from the depressed pegasus before he could down the whole thing.

Taxi lifted the griffin’s head and slid out from under her, easing the hybrid’s cheek onto the carpet. “I just had both hooves up a dead mare’s dress. You, of all ponies, do not get to give me a line of shit about excess alcohol intake.” She got up steadily, putting one knee on the bar for balance and working the others to get her blood flowing. “Besides, I’m good to drive. She had most of it. Are we leaving already?"

“Not yet. I need your eyes. We’re headed up to the roof. Might be the one place our vic’s been that hasn’t been scrubbed with ammonia or had press ponies all over it since early this morning.”

Sykes scratched at his chest feathers. “Ye need me still, laddy?”

I shook my head. “Go organize a few of those lazy asses out front to canvas the neighborhood and see if anypony actually saw our Jane Pony fall, or if anypony knows her. I’m going to stop off at the Vivarium once we’re done here, see if I can get anything resembling an ID.”

Swift’s breath caught. I turned to see her doing her best to maintain a neutral expression.

“Something you’d like to say, kid?”

“N-no, sir... nothing.”

Sykes raised one eyebrow. “The Vivarium... yer goin’ to see Miss Stella then?”

“Who is Miss Stella?”

Sykes opened his beak to educate me when Taxi eased over beside the towering griffin and gently rested a toetip on a spot just below his left foreleg. He winced and his beak snapped shut like a bear trap, almost clipping off the end of his tongue. Before he could recover the cab pony answered for him with a quirky grin, “Oh, Stella’s the madame. I think you’ll find the meeting very interesting, and I don’t want it spoiled for you. I’m sure you understand.”

For emphasis she drove her hooftip a little harder into Sykes’ side. He let out a distinctly kitten-like mewl.

I rubbed my temple with one hoof. “Am I the only pony in this entire city who’s not intimately familiar with this damn whore house?!”

Tapping her chin, Sweets considered the question, then her grin grew a little wider. “Seems like. Anyway, I would like to get out of here sooner rather than later if you don’t mind. This place is clogging my heart chakra.”

****

Sykes left shortly thereafter, stopping just long enough to grab another few savory treats from the lobby as he went out to hunt up the locals and see if there was anything to be gleaned from a thorough questioning. Taxi might have intuition in spades, but knowing when somepony is lying isn’t the same as being able to convince them the truth is the best thing for their health.

I frog-marched Mr. Budding to the elevators, using the rum like a carrot on a stick, before finally passing it to him once we were in the empty hallway leading up to the penthouse. He fumbled with his key-ring outside the door, which simply had a silver knocker rather than a number like the other rooms.

He managed, eventually, to wedge the correct key into the lock, but he turned it so hard that as the door opened it snapped off in his teeth. He hung there, staring at the broken metal jutting out of the keyhole for several seconds, then his brain seemed to shut down and he slid onto his stomach.

Swift started to reach down to pick him up, but I caught her bright red tail in my teeth, “No, kid. We’re here for the filly in the alley-way. We don’t fix the living. Not while we’re on the clock. If you want to do that, go be a therapist.”

“But, shouldn’t we do something?” She murmured discreetly, though I doubt the sloshed pegasus would have heard her if she’d shrieked in his ear. He was in that special alcoholic fugue state that can only be achieved when despair and defeat have had time to fester, burning away everything and leaving a peaceful void. A smile crooked the edges of his muzzle.

There are a few ugly truths in my fair city. I’d watched plenty of idealistic young stallions, carbon copies of Mr. Budding, ground underhoof by the implacable tides of fate and the perverse version of the free market that lives on the borderlands. For many of them the happiest ending they’d ever have was dying too drunk to care. A survey of any halfway house or shelter in the city would net you a dozen stories of ‘might have been’ that the pitiful pony pitched over in the doorway would fit neatly beside.

I didn’t have an immediate response for Swift, though, so I stepped around Buddings prostrate form and into the suite. Taxi gingerly hopped over him, shuffling her bare hooves on the luxurious carpeting. I muttered out of the side of my mouth: “Anything you can do for the poor guy, Sweets? I’d like to go up to the roof and not worry about him taking a dive.”

Taxi’s deep, soulful eyes were full of restrained compassion as they rested on the bottle he was clutching like a life-preserver. “Honestly, I think he’ll be fine. That nestling in the bar had nopony and she needed a kind hoof just then. Budding has his little jungle in his office. His plants need him if nothing else and sometimes that’s all it takes.” I nodded, and turned to examine the sumptuous room before us.

To describe the penthouse suite as ‘big’ would be a crime against opulence; The living space was vigorously and unnecessarily huge. It could have neatly fit my apartment in just the in-room kitchen. The mini-bar was the size of my entire fridge and the bed could have comfortably slept ten or eleven ponies my size.

The carpets were almost bedding by themselves. The floor felt freshly scrubbed, and everything had the sense of having been recently laundered by a professional cleaning crew with a centuries-old vendetta against dust. My heart found a new place in my throat as I realized we were unlikely to get so much as a useable hair from the entire room.

Princess Celestia herself would have found it reasonably comfortable if she could have gotten over the stifling scent coming off the innumerable jasmine and lavender flowers crowding every non-essential surface. The penthouse was easily the worst victim of Mr. Budding’s gardening fetish.

Swift noticed this when she stepped in and almost immediately sneezed a miniature tornado. She blew herself back into the hallway, stumbling backwards over Mr. Budding and tumbling onto her behind. The tornado picked up and scattered a few leaves about the room, but soon dissipated.

“Kid, you really need to take an anti-allergen if you’re going to work a crime scene.”

“Sorry, sir...” She apologized, picking herself up and trying to smooth down her feathers. Mr. Budding did not seem to notice nor care.

I pushed open the door to the bathroom, and let out a groan. Just like the bedroom, every inch was stuffed with blooming greenery. Whatever mad alchemy Budding used to convince rose blooms to open so completely out of season also kept even a single petal from falling. The bar of soap might have been arranged with a ruler. The bathtub was damn near the size of my bedroom. It was dry and didn’t look to have been used.

I stepped back out of the bathroom, letting the door swing shut. “Taxi, you got anything?”

The cabbie moved around the mattress then stuck her nose under the edge of the blanket, sweeping it up on one side so she could take a look underneath. “Mmm... well, whoever cleans these rooms deserves a pay raise. My mother would find this place too clean, and you remember what she was like.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I remember she almost bucked me in the face when I got my muddy hooves on that precious Neighponese carpet when we were eight. Then she grounded you for three weeks.”

A haunted expression crossed my friend’s face, but she quickly buried it under her facade of indifferent professionalism. “This floor has been vacuumed. The lab might find something if they’re willing to shred the carpet and bedding then go over every one of the shrubs with a fine tooth comb. If her horn was removed in here we might find fragments, but considering the environment we could end up pointing the hoof at every rich or noble pony in the city. Every piece of evidence in this room wouldn’t last one round in the ring with reasonable doubt. Not that I condone such violent action."

“Sure, you don’t. Who won last week’s match?” I grinned, bumping her hip with mine.

“Strike Bison, knock out in the fourth. Sunny Piston never had a chance.” She deadpanned, turning back the covers and pinching the pillow between her hooves, lifting it with practiced care then settling it back in place.

Swift was examining what looked like a hall closet, poking her nose around the door. “Sir, there are... um... stairs over here. They go up and down; I thought this was the top floor?”

I glanced down at the hotel manager who’d found a position from which he could lay and nurse at the rum without expending the effort to lift it. “Where do those stairs lead?” I asked, putting my heel on the mouth of the bottle, pushing it away from his lips.

Budding lifted his head shakily, his eyes taking a bit to focus on me then on the door Swift was inspecting. “Heh... night... shpot. Garden onna roof. Only doors are inna penthoushe and through maintenance in my offishe.”

****

Leaving the manager to his quiet self-destruction, we started up the narrow stairwell. It was just wide enough for one pony comfortably and the floor was uncarpeted. Clearly a place ‘behind the scenes.’ A white light-gem dangled from a string, providing sharp illumination.

As we ascended, I felt a sense of deja vu. The filly laid out on the concrete ran up these stairs early that morning. She was exhausted from her ordeal and running on a terror-stricken adrenaline surge. Every step must have been agony. The bone torn off of her forehead sent shooting pains through every inch of her body as she dragged herself along, away from her tormenter. Why she’d chosen the roof rather than the hall is anypony’s guess.

Five steps up, I paused, then put my back leg on Swift’s chest to hold her back. She tilted her head. “Sir?”

“I’ve got dried blood here.” I informed them, swirling my hoof in a circle over the spot.

Taxi pulled her magnifying glasses out and eased them on then squeezed around us. It was a tight fit; Swift had to inhale just to let her by. I ended up with more of Taxi pressed against me than I wanted to think about. Stopping above the blood, our part-time CSI leaned down and sniffed it lightly. “Doesn’t smell much anymore. Seven hours maybe? It’s totally coagulated.”

It was only a few droplets, but further up I spotted half a bloody hoofprint, first on the step then another on the wall. She’d stopped to catch her breath. A pool of brown, mostly-dried liquid was on the landing. Turning, I pushed Swift back and warned her, “There’s more up here. Do you want to wait downstairs?”

Her eyes flitted towards the puddle then back to my face, “I’ll be fine, sir. I took my medicine.”

“Alright, but if you lose your lunch up here...”

Swift set her jaw and, thrusting her chest out, she marched past me to stand over the spilled body fluids. Slowly she dropped her gaze, looking at it intently. Her cheeks colored and for an instant I thought she was going to bolt, but then the moment was gone. Taxi and I waited, watching intently, ready to snatch her back from the evidence if she showed the slightest hint of inclement nausea.

I grumbled, but part of my scarred, wrung out psyche understood she wasn’t being sick to spite me. She was reminding me uncomfortably of myself before I’d put all of my defenses in place, when the horror and shock was still instantaneous and immediate; I’d fought enough battles with a sour belly as a rookie to know what she was going through. Even years on, though, I’d still seen a few things on crime scenes that simply took my breath away; Dead children, pregnant mares beaten with hoofball trophies, and the rare monster in the shape of a pony who felt nothing as they carved up living beings for fun and profit. Carnage and gore are ugly, sure, but nothing is ever quite so sickening as the stories beneath the blood.

Despite knowing exactly where she was coming from, though, a loud and nervous voice in my head wanted to hurry her along.

At last, Swift stepped away from the cooled blood and put her cheek against the wall, resting there with her face on the cool stone. She was breathing evenly, but the smell of nervous sweat and fear came off of her in roiling waves that collected in the tight space, filling my nose.

Taxi gave me a knowing smile. A private, silent conversation ensued between us which could only take place between two ponies who’ve known each other for many years. If one were to listen in with full comprehension it might have sounded something like this:

Taxi: Admit it, Hardy.

Me: Admit what? She was dumped on me, not the other way around. If she wants my respect she has to earn it.

Taxi: Give her a break. You were a bigger fuss-bucket when you started.

Me: Not how I remember it.

Taxi: Keep telling yourself that.

Me: I never threw up on a superior officer.

Taxi: Whatever you say, Mr. Grumpykins. You know she just impressed you.

Me: Stay out of my brain, Sweets.

Not moving from her place against the wall, Swift pulled a notebook out of the front pocket of her vest, set it down and produced a pencil. She talked as she wrote, very clinical and precise. “Hairs in blood. They’re the same color as the decedent's mane. They appear to have been cut to the same length, so it probably happened when the perpetrator removed the victim’s unus arcanas.”

I tapped the floor by her paper. “It’s her horn, kid. I’m not one of your teachers at the Academy, but it would be nice if I could read your notes without a dictionary.”

She chewed the pencil for a second, then crossed out the scientific name and scribbled ‘horn’ beside it.

The door to the roof had a single print, and the lever was wet. Using an old receipt from a local fish and chips shop out of my pocket, I turned the catch whilst touching as little actual surface as I could with my lips and teeth, and stepped out into a private, rooftop paradise.

Mr. Budding’s taste in interior design aside, I couldn’t fault his skills as a gardener, except in terms of his lack of restraint. The mass foliage spread all through the hotel might as well have been a window display for the bursting, barely tamed leafage practically consuming the entire top of the building.

A footpath of smooth stones lead away from the hutch the maintenance door was in, each rock choked on all sides with thick, healthy grass. It looked absolutely delectable. I had to stop myself from leaning down and having a bite right there even after the considerable meal downstairs. Taxi was intently watching a particularly gorgeous blooming chrysanthemum; a bit of saliva almost spilled over her lip. I gave her a swat on the nose with my tail just as she was moving over to nip the stem.

“Nooo, Sweets. The crime scene is not for eating.”

Her cream coat turned an uncharacteristic shade of cherry. “I was just going to taste it!”

“I know you were. Let’s not make Mr. Budding any more insane than he already is. No snacking.”

Taxi humphed and got out fresh rubber socks for the three of us. We all slipped them on just as a drop of water landed on the brim of my hat, splashing onto my ears. I shivered and swept a foreknee left and right along two diverging side paths in the massive abundance that blocked sight of the skyline.

“Spread out and watch your hooves. Try to stay on the rocks if you can, and let’s find where our victim jumped off. Look for blood spatter, torn fabric, and fur.”

Taxi took one direction and Swift the other. The vines and hanging pottings formed an impenetrable wall of green so thick a rabbit would have trouble squirming between the roots and creepers. Every inch was an overwhelming profusion of colors that tantalized the eyes and the palate. Half the plants I couldn’t have named without a guide-book to zebra-lands and the smell was absolutely divine.

The garden was a maze. Overhead, it was enclosed by a grill of wooden slats just wide enough to let sunlight in and for plants to twine around, but not sufficient to let even Swift through for some aerial reconnaissance.

I started trying to navigate my way towards the edges, but quickly found myself turned around. One path would start to look promising then take a slow turn, crossing over itself or leading over a tiny footbridge and then I was in a dead end. I back tracked, wandering in a direction I thought was probably towards the crime scene but that simply brought me around back of the maintanence stairs.

Eventually, coming up against a dead-end with plastic fountain and a wooden bench amidst a small clearing full of daylilies, I had to sit down and catch my breath. Raising my head, I shouted, “You two find any way through this mess?”

Taxi seemed terribly far away when she replied, “Nope! I found one edge but I had to go back around and I lost it.”

Somewhere nearby and off to my left, I heard Swift holler back, “Sir! I found the alley and the edge over here!”

“That’s great, kid! Can you get up in the sky?”

Flapping seemed to come from everywhere, giving no point of reference. There was a loud rattling noise followed by a hard thump and shaking leaves, then silence. I called out, “Swift, are you okay?”

Swift’s very meek reply came back a little muffled. “Yes, sir.”

“You didn’t look up before you took off, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you stuck in a thorn bush?”

More leaves rustled and then I heard a soft whimper, “Yes, sir.”

I began shuffling through my pockets and finally came up with an ancient baggy half full of candy that’d become a near solid mass. Banging it on the edge of the fountain I broke it apart and managed to shake a piece out. I dropped it on the nearest flat stone. Moving to the next junction I looked left, then right, then dropped another piece and moved on.

“Kid, you’re going to owe me a fresh bag of jelly beans!”

“Yes... sir?”

****

I met Taxi five minutes later coming the other direction with a pouch of shiny meditation pebbles in her teeth, dropping them behind her as she went. We’d circled around and somehow missed the trapped pegasus entirely. After a further two minutes and a short game of ‘Mareco Polo’ we found the bramble laden culvert into which she’d managed to get herself wedged, down a side-passage with gorgeous and very pointy rose-bushes on both sides. Swift and the victim might have fit through easily, but I had to wrap my coat around myself tightly and Taxi got a few fresh scratches on her dock.

Once we passed through, the space opened up and there, at the far end, was the end of the roof. Also, my new partner’s bright orange backside sticking half out of a bramble bush, covered in tiny pink blooms that looked like little bells.

I trotted over and Swift squirmed, kicking her back legs as she tried to get leverage to pull herself out.

“Oh my. Taxi, you don’t think we could get one of those news ponies up here right now, could we?” I teased, grinning sideways at the other earth pony.

“Sir, you wouldn’t!” Swift struggled harder, only succeeding in tangling herself more firmly.

“Trust me, I’m thinking about it.”

Taxi suppressed a smile, then put a comforting hoof on the filly’s haunch. “Relax. Lemme see how you’re stuck.”

Swift had somehow, during her landing, managed to wrap a vine tightly around one of her wing joints and pin the other one to her side. She also had a rather nasty bump growing on the back of her head, where she’d hit the wooden canopy.

“You’re lucky pegasi are durable.” said Taxi. “Hold still. I’ve got some scissors here and unless you want your pinions plucked, best not to move too much.” Unstrapping her saddlebags, Taxi set them down and went on a short dig right to the bottom until she found a pair of mouth-scissors. Fitting them into her muzzle so the blades faced out, she climbed into the bush beside Swift and began working away at the thick vines.

I began a slow inspection of the space between the labyrinthine passages. I tried to see back along the path we’d come, looking both directions. “You know, something occurs to me. How did our victim get here? It took us... what, a half hour to find our way through? She must have been scared out of her mind.”

Swift wriggled a little as she replied, “Well, what if she’s been here before?”

I considered that, then nodded. “Possibly. That does lend credence to at least one thing I’ve been thinking.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“That our victim was a prostitute... sorry, an ‘escort.’ You said this Miss Stella gives out those pins to special ponies, right? Employees?”

There was a loud snap as the tendril holding Swift’s wing against her stomach came free and she let out an alarmed yelp. “Eeek! Hey, careful with those things! I almost lost a wingtip there!”.

Taxi shifted the scissors out of her mouth for a second. “Stop squirming then!” She turned to me, and answered, “I think those snake pins are meant to be protection of some sort. Some of the crime families have rings. Stella has those pins. They’re supposed to say ‘Mess with the pony carrying this and the Stilettos will come after you’.”

I scratched my head. “The Stilettos? Where have I heard that name? Are they enforcers of some sort?”

“I don’t know much about them, but then, nopony does. They’re Miss Stella’s personal guard. They’re mostly former escorts, or so the story goes.” My driver went on, holding the mouth scissors in her hooves to try to get a better angle on the vine around Swift’s wing joint. “The Organized Crime unit tried to nail something to them a few years ago, but the worst anypony could prove they’d done was truss up a rapist and dump him in front of the Castle with a list of his crimes superglued to his... his... um...”

Memory flickered. “Oh, wait, I remember that. Didn’t Telly get to him first and read that list-”

“Yeah, and then she got so pissed at whatever she read she magically yanked it right off along with a bunch of skin and fur.”

“Wasn’t that the scream you could hear from the basement firing range?”

“Yes. Sometimes I’m really glad I’m not male.”

At we descended into contemplative silence, I became acutely aware of every twangy snip of Taxi’s scissors.

Thankfully, she had almost finished; some complicated gymnastics allowed her to cut the last of the plant off of Swift, then she pulled herself free and then grabbed the rookie’s vest in her teeth. With a few sharp tugs, they both fell out onto the gravel, scattering pebbles against my hooves.

“Whew! Thanks.” Swift said gratefully, plucking a stray needle from between her feathers and spitting it out. Taxi gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder.

As I continued searching, I found a swatch of bright red dress. It was stuck to a branch about flank height, which seemed unusual; The path was wide enough that anypony, even one suffering from moderate blood loss, could have avoided stumbling into it.

“I wonder if she ran up here and somepony tried to stop her. She dodged around them, caught her dress, and ran off the rooftop?” I mused, examining yet another spot of blood on one of the prickly roses with a few threads stuck to it.

Taxi swung her magnifying goggles back down over her eyes and followed the same track I had, stepping from stone to stone. “Hmmm... no, there was something parked here that’s gone now. Look. She moved around it as she was running and that’s when she ran into the roses.” She traced a long, thin groove dug into the gravel, and another one a body-length away running parallel; she then pointed to two sets of sharp hoofprints side-by-side that dug deep into the surface. “That looks like a sky chariot to me. Two pegasi pulling. Definitely carrying something. Most likely another pony or a zebra.”

I moved around to one side, avoiding the prints. Another group of steps began where the sky chariot’s carriage would have landed; they looked odd for some reason. There were five marks; Four hooves, and one much deeper point out to the side that seemed to be some sort of peg or cane. The unknown equine had leaned heavily on it.

I stuck my head over the side of the roof. Big mistake. I gulped and turned away, getting control of a minor case of vertigo; the ground was a lot further away than it had any right to be. Pegasi might love the heights and unicorns adore their big towers and skyscrapers, but I’m an earth pony, and my hooves need to be on stone, dirt, or at least some real solid concrete.

Right up to the edge, the adjoining roof looked like it might be reachable with a good strong leap, but some trick of the light made it seem closer than it actually was. Down below, the corpse was already gone. The yellow police tape still blocked off the area, but the crowd of officers guarding it was noticeably smaller. Most of the reporters had left, too, and the few holdouts were looking bored.

I wondered at that, then smiled. The coroner had to have sent his assistant to pick up the body. Telly might have been trying to get me back for putting itching powder in her radio headphones a month ago, but nopony was cruel enough to actually send Stitch to a crime scene with so much of the press out front. Prank wars were generally discouraged in the office, but that’d never stopped anypony from engaging in them. Although there was one story involving Iris Jade and a whoopie cushion - Precisely one story.

I spotted something in the marks where the chariot touched down and scraped aside a little bit of the gravel, revealing tarmac underneath. Looking over to the passage Taxi and I had squeezed through, I noted that the pebbles stopped and were replaced by broad, flat stepping stones. They would make finding an actual path taken by the girl or the assailants difficult.

Swift’s face lit up. “Sir, I know what this is! It’s an old PACT runway!” She exclaimed, pointing out towards the sky-line.

I turned in a circle then rubbed my jawline. “A PACT runway? Are you telling me this hotel saw so many monster attacks that PACT needed their own rooftop parking space?”

“Oh, I don’t think this is used anymore. One of the early city building codes said every city had to have a pegasus runway for armored Turtle Class weapons platforms. They had to be able to land anywhere in the city to rest and reload if there was a big attack.” She informed us, putting her rear hooves together as she slid into that comfortable recitation pose.

With a glance towards the drop, I came to a decision. “Alright, let’s get back downstairs and call Telly, then we’ll find the lab coats and get them to at least give this area a once over. I doubt we’ll get much of use, but no sense in not trying.”

****

I left Swift on the roof to guide the forensics ponies to the site. We followed our trail of jelly beans and meditation stones back to the stairs and down, skirting the bloody hoofprints.

We found Budding in the bathroom of the penthouse, laying in the Iron Pony Competition-sized bathtub, surrounded by his ‘babies’ with a look of mad bliss on his face. Could have been worse, to my mind; I had bet pennies to bits we’d come back to find him trying to stuff himself into the incinerator.

I waited just long enough for Taxi to clamber in and pull his head up a safe level above the water, then open the drain. It was a small kindness in an ocean of bad days ahead for the pathetic soul, but I felt slightly better about myself for it. With any luck he’d come out of it in twenty four hours full of fresh ideas. Maybe murder tourism. There were certainly enough morbidly excitable ponies that would pay a pretty bit to stay in the room the murdered filly occupied.

Back downstairs, I found Sykes standing on the porch of the High Step, in his rain- slicker. We were just about to step outside when I was a momentarily blinded by a streak of lightning that rent the sky from the clouds to the horizon. Three seconds later, a blast of thunder shook the foundations of the building; it was as though the weather factories all turned on their rainmakers at once.

“Oi, boyo!” The griffin greeted us as Taxi pushed through the revolving door. I followed a few seconds later, taking deep breaths as I tried to clear my nose of the pervasive perfume of pollinating plants.

Taxi shoved Sykes’ fuzzy rump to one side so she could plop down on one of the ancient rocking chairs, watching the absolutely wild storm breaking over the town.

“Sykes, the eggheads didn’t leave, did they?” I asked with some trepidation. Calling them back would have involved a lot of irritated screaming over pay rates for ‘two jobs.’

Fortunately, he shook his head and pointed down the street to where their big white van was partially concealed behind a squat mini-mart. “Oi caught ’em at that deli up the street when they was havin’ some lunch and made ’em stick around for ye. Ye want Oi should go get’em?”

I moved closer so as to be heard over the ferocious beating of water on the covered porch. “Yes. Send them upstairs through the penthouse. Tell them not to eat any flowers and to ignore the crazy pony in the bathroom. I doubt he’s going to move for at least a few hours unless they start chewing the azaleas. Oh, and if they can’t find Swift, have them follow the jelly beans and shiny rocks through the garden.”

His big yellow eyes blinked as he absorbed the list of silly instructions, then he shrugged and started out into the raging maelstrom. I set myself down beside Taxi and waited for the downpour to abate enough for us to make it out to the cab.

As we sat in comfortable silence, my Cutie Mark began to tingle again.

I’ve only once tried to explain to anypony the feeling I get when I know that something is unjust, and that once I’d made a real hash of it. It had become, in recent years, easier to live my life if I ignored the squirming sensation on both flanks when somepony had suffered needlessly for the greed or cowardice of another.

But not this time. That deceased filly, now off somewhere laid out on a slab, was a tiny piece of something important. I could feel it, right there in that golden scale on my rear end. Something truly sickening had happened in the penthouse of that hotel; an act so black, so full of merciless will, that I found myself enraged.

I watched quietly as the fury built inside me, then consciously unclenched my jaw and let my shoulders slump. Anger wouldn’t help her. Nothing but justice could help her. So, once more, I would be justice because there was nothing else for me to be.

On came the rain.