Ice stopped as the four American soldiers entered the cafe Omid had told her about. The building itself was an unimpressive single-story square with plaster walls and a sagging, rusty tin roof. Dim, hazy light flooded out of the open door, illuminating the street in front of it, and the skunky stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke wrapped around her nostrils and curled inside of them. The sounds of loud American alternative rock music pumped from inside. Clearly, the cafe was catering towards foreign soldiers rather than local clients. Then again, the majority of the locals were probably too poor to frequent cafes. She took a deep breath, feeling like she was about ready to walk into a nest of rats, then continued towards the cafe, reaching the door and stepping through it.

Inside, the angry sounding rock music blasted like rocket propelled grenades from the large speakers. How could any of the soldiers even hear each other talk over that? A quick glance at the flags on their uniforms told her that most of them were American. The few patrons who weren’t in uniform were likely civilian contractors working for the military. The interior of the building itself was remarkably plain. No pictures or posters adorned the plaster walls. They looked to have once been white, but years of cigarette smoke stained them a sickly yellow color. The tables scattered throughout the room had been arranged carelessly, with no particular symmetry in mind. It seemed fitting then, that no two tables were alike in height, width, or decor. Some were square, others were round, some were constructed from wood, others plastic, others metal. It was obvious they’d been scavenged from various sources and that aesthetics was not a primary concern here. Most of the tables were occupied by groups of American soldiers, drinking mugs of beer and talking. A card game was going at one table. They were playing for real money. The loud roar of conversation competed with the blaring, grinding guitars flying from the speakers that were mounted high on the walls, making it impossible to pick out any single conversation through the battle of competing sounds.

The room was dimly lit by exposed light bulbs hanging from cords that were attached to the rafters of the ceiling. Moths swirled and danced around the bulbs, and a haze of cigarette smoke floated lazily in the light like smoke over a battlefield. On one wall, an electronic insect zapper tried and failed to repel the invasion of buzzing flies that were no doubt attracted to the gallons of beer that had likely been spilled in this building over time. On the far end of the room stood a crudely constructed plywood bar with American soldiers seated at it. The wood on the countertop looked like it had never been sanded and would be a good place to pick up splinters.

She continued to scan the room. Her eyes stopped on one soldier. Early twenties, brown eyes, short sandy hair completely visible now that he wasn’t wearing his cap. She glanced at his name tag. Duncan, the soldier who had seemed interested in her earlier. He’d noticed her enter and was eyeing her. But as soon as her gaze was on him, he turned his attention to the other Marines sitting at his table and began talking with them. It was impossible to hear what they were saying over the pounding bass of the speakers. Asshole is probably tired of the local prostitutes and wants an experience that’s a bit more exotic. She turned her attention away from him and walked up to the bar, rose up on her hind legs, placed her forehooves on the rough, splintered top. A bearded bartender eyed her suspiciously as he wiped down glasses. His olive complexion indicated he was a local, and he wore a turban like the other locals, but his clothes were western. Blue jeans and a black Harley Davidson t-shirt. A large, silver-plated belt buckle sporting the Stars and Bars adorned his waist. Did he had any idea of the history that went along with that flag? Nothing like selling your soul to make a buck. The crude thought occurred to her that with the sunlight reflecting on that giant belt buckle, she could have shot him in the groin with a Hellfire cannon from a thousand yards away if she aimed a couple of inches below the buckle. Already, she disliked this man. But then again, she disliked all humans except for Dolphin, who she didn’t have to think of as a human. Okay, maybe she could tolerate the boy from the inn too. He seemed nice enough. The bartender continued to watch her and wipe down his glasses, making no move to approach her. She narrowed her eyes and flicked her tail once.

“So are you gonna give me service? Or am I not welcome here because I’m not human?” she spat at him.

“I’ll give you service, honey,” a uniformed man sitting to her right said in a slurred voice, almost knocking his beer over as he reached out with his arm and placed his hand on top of her foreleg.

“Take your hand off of me before I break your arm,” she warned, shooting daggers at the soldier with her eyes and curling her lips up, revealing the full extent of her razor-sharp fangs.

The drunk soldier yanked his hand back as if she had bitten him. Then he picked up his mug, sloshing some of the piss-yellow American beer out on the countertop as he stood up.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he slurred, starggering his way to the other end of the bar.

She watched him teeter away for a moment, cursing her quick anger, Had she had just blown an opportunity by threatening him? She decided she probably hadn’t. He was too drunk to have been of any use to her anyway. She turned her attention to the bartender who was finally standing in front of her.

“I don’t care what you are,” the man said in near perfect English. “Human, pony, griffon, giant walking rat. Makes no difference to me as long as you pay your bar tab. Just wondering why a pony would want to come here. That’s all.”

A sudden crashing noise from the right caused her to turn her head. The soldier who had hit on her had fallen off his new stool and was lying sprawled on the floor like a man dead. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

Hope you feel it tomorrow, asshole, she mumbled under her breath as she returned her attention to the bartender. “Sparkling water with lemon.”

He waited for a moment longer, then frowned when he finally accepted she wasn’t going to tell him why she had come here. He turned and went to get the drink she’d requested. A few seconds later, he brought it back to her, set it on the counter, and quickly walked away to serve another customer.

I can’t imagine why a pony would want to come here either. It’s not like she had wanted to come here. It was just the only way she could think of to get the information she needed on her case. She tensed slightly as the American soldier seated on her left side slid a little closer to her, leaning towards her ear.

“Can I uh … give you a piece of advice, ma’am?” Well, at least this one wasn’t drunk, and was making an effort to be respectful and civil.

“Depends on what it is,” she said without looking at him.

“I don’t mean to sound … well, like I’m suggesting females can’t take care of themselves. But it’s not safe for females to wander around here alone.”

“So I noticed,” she said with venom in her voice as she glanced down at the drunk soldier who had hit on her. Some of his friends had helped him back up onto his stool. They’d be better off taking him to a table. Sitting him in a chair with a back on it to prevent him from falling over backwards. And if he did fall again, the chair would be a lot closer to the ground than the stool.

“Not cause of soldiers like him, ma’am. There’s a few like him, but he’s harmless. Tucker just gets a little too flirty and forward when he’s had too much to drink. The men are just a little pent up and sometimes get a little crude with their talk … But the locals … Well, some of them treat females as property around here.”

“Is that so?” she said, raising an eyebrow. Perhaps this one had potential. At least he seemed more willing to talk. “What about the local police?”

“They usually don’t do anything about it. It’s kind of local culture for females to be treated that way. I’m just sayin’ be careful.”

“Thank you for your concern.” She thought for a moment, then turned and looked at the soldier. “If … that were to happen to me … would one of you come to my aid if you saw it happening? Or if you wouldn’t because I’m a pony … would you if I were a human?” It was difficult, but she did her best to play up the illusion of being a stereotypical damsel in distress who needs a man to come save her.

The soldier averted his eyes downward and lowered his head, almost as if he were ashamed. Like he held some dark secret he wanted to reveal to her, but could not.

“All’s I’m saying is please be careful, ma’am. There’s a reason guys like Tucker drink too much,” he mumbled. Then, he stood up and started to walk away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she called after him. But he ignored her and just walked over to a table where he began conversing with other soldiers.

Now that was definitely interesting. His avoidance of her question about whether any of the soldiers would come to her aid or not was more than intriguing. She wanted to go talk to him. To ask him the question again, but she resisted the urge. She couldn’t afford to be seen as prying. If she pressed the issue, he would start to suspect she was some kind of undercover agent from Equestria trying to get information. And if that rumor spread, the odds that any of them would be willing to talk to her would drop to damn near zero. No, she couldn’t take the initiative here. She had to let them come to her. She had to let them decide if they wanted to talk to her, and if so, what they wanted to say.

For the next hour, she sipped her sparkling water. Once in a while, a soldier would glance at her, but no more approached her. Occasionally, she looked over at Duncan and would catch his eyes on her. But then he would turn back to the other soldiers at his table and start talking again. Part of her wanted to go over and talk to him. But she knew she had to let him come to her. She got a refill from the bartender and briefly considered asking him if he knew any information. She decided against it. He was probably loyal to his regular customers. If some pony started prying him for information, he’d probably rat her out. The effect on her chances of getting any of them to talk to her would be the same as if she’d pressed one of the soldiers themselves.

Another hour passed. Frustration started to bubble up inside of her like a tea kettle starting to boil. Duncan still occasionally glanced at her, but made no move to come over to her. If she got up and left, would he follow her? She doubted it. It would attract too much attention. Either way, she was about to get up and leave. This plan was a bust. She reached into her saddlebag, pulling out some American dollars and paying the bartender, as well as leaving him a tip. She started to stand up, then stopped. Another American soldier was standing up from a table and walking towards her. He halted, turned back towards the table like he was having second thoughts, but gestures from his friends urged him to turn around and start walking towards her again. She frowned into her glass as she took another sip. This was almost certainly going to be a bust. It was clear his friends had put him up to it as some kind of dare or challenge, just to see if he was man enough to do it. She rolled her eyes as he sat down next to her, looking at her for a moment before leaning in a bit closer.

“So … you got a stallion back home?”

Really? That was the best pickup line he had to lead off with? Well, she might as well play along for a few minutes, just in case he proved useful. It’s not like any more promising fish had taken the bait so far.

“No,” she answered.

“Sometimes it … gets a little lonely here. Away from the women back home and all.”

Oh spare me, she thought to herself, but instead said, “How long have you been over here?”

“A day shy of eleven months. I count each day.”

“It must be hard. Being away from home that long,” she said, sipping her sparkling water and not looking at him.

“It is … So … so how much for an hour with you?”

“Probably more than you have, soldier,” she said. The truth was, she had no intention of letting any of them get in bed with her. But giving the impression that she did would be a way to attract attention and start conversations. At least, that’s what she had hoped when she’d learned what some of the soldiers used the inn for. So far, it had only netted her two fish, and she had had to throw both of them back. The plan wasn’t working nearly as well as she’d hoped it would.

“I can get one of the local women for cheap.”

“Then go get one of the local women. I don’t come cheap, soldier. When was the last time you saw a thestral around here? You think you’ll ever see another one? This is a once in a lifetime chance for something truly exotic. So pay up if you want it. Five hundred U.S. dollars.” That was probably a safe amount. There was almost no chance he had that much cash on him.

“That’s insane. I can get one of the locals for a Hamilton.”

“Like I said, get one of the locals then. Five Franklins if you want me. Take it or leave it.”

Anger creased his face as he got up and turned away from her. No doubt, he’d just lost a bet with his friends and it was going to end up costing him some money, even though he wouldn’t get any satisfaction out of it. He turned back to her for a moment.

“Maybe if you were a real thestral you’d be worth it. I didn’t want to fuck a wingless mutant bat pony anyway,” he spat before turning and starting to walk away again.

Ice lost it. Anger exploded inside of her. A volcano blowing its top and spewing fire high into the sky. She tensed her hind legs, preparing to spring on him. She’d show him just how dangerous a former member of Bat Team Alpha could be even if she didn’t have any wings. He was lonely here and wanted to go back home? She’d give him his wish. She’d give him a free trip to a military hospital back in the States, followed by a medical discharge. She bared her fangs and was just about to spring off her hind legs and attack when an arm reached around her from behind, a hand resting on her chest.

She cursed herself. She’d lost situational awareness, oblivious to the fact that someone had come up behind her when she’d lost her temper with the soldier who had insulted her. Instinctively, her Bat Team Alpha training kicked in and she shifted her focus of attack to the more immediate threat. She was about to spring into action against the man behind her when he spoke, giving her pause.

“You look like you’re a bit down on your luck and could use some help,” he said not unkindly. He spread the fingers of his hand that was resting on her chest slightly. American money peaked out from between his fingers, folded so it would fit under his hand and no one would be able to see he was holding it.

She shifted her eyes, glancing behind her without turning her head. It was Duncan, the one she’d been hoping would approach her all night. She reached a foreleg up to her chest, placing her hoof over the top of his hand. He pulled his hand away, but intentionally left the money underneath her hoof. She slid her hoof down her chest, taking the money with it and discretely slipping it into the small saddlebag she was wearing. She gave no reaction or acknowledgment of him at all. He backed up, turned around and went back to his friends, sitting down and resuming his conversation.

Ice stood up, turned and trotted out of the cafe putting on an intentional show of storming out in a huff to make sure her anger over the way she had been treated was known. Yes, she was angry at the way two of the soldiers had treated her, but normally she wouldn’t have shown it. The show was mainly for Duncan’s benefit, so that his fellow soldiers would think he had failed to gain her favor just as all the others had.

When she was outside, she trotted quickly back to the inn, up the stairs, and into her room. She pulled the door shut, then used her mouth to reach into her saddlebag and retrieve the money Duncan had given her. She placed the two five dollar bills on the bed. There was nothing at all remarkable about them on the Abraham Lincoln side. She used a forehoof to turn them over. One bill had writing across the top of it:

23:15 Bahram’s Coffee

There was Persian script following the English words. It must be the Persian characters she’d see on the sign of the building. She looked at the other five dollar bill. It had a crudely drawn map starting from the cafe she’d just left and ending with a star a couple of streets over. She smiled, but didn’t allow herself to get too hopeful. After her experiences with the two other soldiers, she wouldn’t be surprised if Duncan just wanted erotic, kinky sex with a thestral and had been too shy or embarrassed to ask for it in front of any other soldiers. But this was the best catch she’d had all night. If this one wasn’t a keeper, she didn’t know what she’d try next. The dark part of her mind suggested kidnapping and torture, but the rational part of her mind knew that was completely out of the question. That and some part of her moral fabric rebelled at the thought of doing that. Even to a human. She looked at the watch she wore around her left forehoof. 22:05. Just fifty more minutes, and she’d find out of this trip had paid off. Next Chapter: X Estimated time remaining: 3 Hours, 5 Minutes