Fillydelphia doesn't have a lot going for it, but one thing it's never been accused of lacking is booze. You can find a bar, tavern or saloon on almost every street corner, split about halfway between joints catering only to a certain ethnic group and those willing to take money from anypony. On the rich side of town, you've got places like the Horn and Feather, where everything's white marble and tuxedos and velvet carpets (or so I'd heard; not like I'd been there). Down in the slums – also known as "the rest of the city" – you've got dives like the Bloody Foal (griffons only), Bad Ass (donkeys and ponies who can stand terrible puns only), and the Rat Hole, which serves as sort of an all-purpose hive of scum and villainy.

I try to stay out of places like those. I've been doing this job for a long time, and I've put away some of those peoples' friends. I can throw a punch and take a few in return, but I don't go looking for beatings.

Instead, I headed to just about the most middle-of-the-ground bar in town: the Chestnut Mane. It's a nice enough joint, just classy enough to keep out the riff-raff, but not too classy to keep out thirsty P.I.'s looking for some information. Years ago, it started as a tiny hole-in-the-wall sitting roughly halfway between the worst parts of town and the comparatively nice ones. Its location, quality, and entrepreneurial owner helped it grow to include the floors above it and the buildings on either side. During the evening it's a bustling place, but the number of old walls and support pillars make it easy to have a quiet conversation where nopony can see you.

The bell chimed as I pulled open the door and stepped in from the sweltering street. I paused there for a minute, letting my eyes adjust and enjoying the stale coolness of the air. It still being pretty early in the afternoon, the place was empty save from the most hopeless of drunks and the unicorn I knew as Smilin' Steed, owner and proprietor, dressed in an old-timey barkeep's outfit and polishing a whiskey glass. He nodded when my eyes found his, motioned to an empty corner of the bar, and set about pouring a drink for me.

I took a seat and waited patiently until he thunked my usual – cherry whiskey, on the rocks – down on the bar in front of me. He picked up another glass and began polishing it, never looking at me as he asked, "What ken I do ye for, Glass?"

I took a sip and winced as it burned a trail down my throat. "Information, Steed. What do you know about Silver Coin?"

"Aye?" He paused in his cleaning and arched an eyebrow at me. "The railroad-"

"The railroad magnate, yes," I interrupted tiredly.

He blew on his glass and resumed wiping it. "What're ye needin' to know?"

"Anything and everything."

"He's a powerful pony, Glass. I know a lot."

I sighed, dug into my duster pocket, and produced a few bits. Without even looking at them, Steed swiped them into his apron. "Well, fer starters, ye know already he owns the Grand Eastern Railway, aye?"

I didn't – freaking politics – but I nodded anyway. The Grand Eastern ran from Manehattan to Canterlot, and included Fillydelphia and several smaller towns on its route.

"Well, then ye also know that he owns massive tracts o' land on either side of the rails, all through the countryside. Most anything built on that land is his, or at least pays him rent. That includes a big chunk o' the city, naturally."

I motioned for him to get on with it. "Okay, he's really freaking rich. I already knew that."

"Well, see, that's only part of it. He didn't build the Grand Eastern, his father did. But almost as soon as the final spike was pounded inta the groun', ol' Gold Coin had himself a mysterious accident an' Silver inherited the whole shebang."

I whistled. "You saying he-?"

Steed shook his head. "I ain't sayin' anything, Glass, just pointin' out coincidence. But needless ta say, a lot of his da's old business partners didn't much trust him after."

I pulled out my notepad and scribbled a few things down. "What else?"

Steed coughed and looked theatrically thoughtful. I sighed and tossed him a few more bits.

"He's in good with the First Equestrian Bank, an' ye know how much power they throw around in this city."

"Sure," I only half-lied. Everyone knew the First Equestrian had their hooves in everything that happened in Fillydelphia, though rumors of their influence ranged from simple corruption to world domination.

"In fact, the First Equestrian's president is a unicorn named Crown Jewel, who was also the only one of ol' Gold Coin's associates to stick with Silver after the accident."

"Okay, so Silver was involved in some shadowy stuff and had enemies among the Fillydelphia elite. What about the Weather Union?"

Steed looked at me in surprise. "Had?"

Crap. I'd just tipped my hoof to the city's most notorious information broker. I liked Steed well enough, but I had no illusions that he'd keep his mouth shut when there was money to be made. I sighed. "He's missing. His fiance hired me to look for him."

Steed still looked surprised. "Fiance?"

"Huh?"

"What d'ye mean, 'fiance?' That pony's a famous bachelor. And a bit of a lech, I hear."

"She called herself 'Miss Calla...'"

Steed burst out laughing. "Calla Lily? The escort?"

I was started to get annoyed, and a little embarrassed. Though a small part of my brain cheered, "Called it!"

"Yer getting' played from the get-go, Glass," Steed laughed, loud enough to draw looks from the drunks in the room. He let his laughter play itself out in a series of hiccuping chuckles; each one made me want to flatten his muzzle across his face. Finally, he quieted and leaned on the bar conspiratorially. "So, she pointed ye at the Union?"

I shook my head. "No, that's just my main lead. He had a dust-up with them over the strike, and I wouldn't put it past them to knock him off."

"Ye got that right," he said with a shrug, "but Silver Coin's a powerful pony. The Union's a lot o' roughnecks, but they've more brains than to just go killin' influential ponies."

"Something you know that I don't?" I asked, reaching into my pocket again.

Steed shook his head. "Nothin' worth payin' for, Glass. Just strikes me as a dumb move, is all."

I nodded. "Well, it's a lead, so I'm not going to drop it. Still, you're right...maybe I should be looking into this Crown Jewel guy."

Steed snorted. "Good luck with that. Silver was a secretive enough pony, but Crown Jewel borders on paranoid. No one ever even sees him leave his mansion; rumor says he's got some sort o' tunnel that goes straight from his home to his office at the bank. Or that he just lives there somewhere."

I scribbled down a few more notes. "Nnythung mlse?"

"Pardon?"

I spat the pencil out with a sigh. "Anything else?"

"Always, Glass, but it'll cost ye."

I felt in my pocket. Barely enough left for dinner. "I'll manage."

"Aye, I'm sure ye will. Luck, Glass."

I grunted some sort of reply, downed the rest of my drink, and left without another word.