/ Chp 23: Concrete Jungle arc (part 6): Murder Mystery / Story: Pucci's bizarre adventure: Made in Equestria / by TheGunslinger12 /-/
Private Eye (3rd person)
Hours ago…
"There, there, kid." Private Eye passively said, gently patting Pucci's back, the astronomer emptying his stomach from the seventh-floor window behind the hanging stallion.
Ignoring how this could contaminate the crime scene, Private stole a glance behind himself; he was never one to care for such trivial cautions when his helper couldn't handle a dead body. Ponies may call him cynical and jaded, but they never worked in his profession. If they mingled in the shit he dealt with- and the ponies torturing him with their unwanted presence -they'd also have a crippling smoking addiction. Sometimes, Private preferred an occasional mangled mare corpse over upper management- at least the former couldn't nag him out for an hour.
Nevertheless, a dead stallion needed to talk, and he and Pucci couldn't find out what he knew if they kept wasting time.
"Alright, son, you done?" Private rushed Pucci, retreating from the ill astronomer, pulling a fresh cigarette from its tin prison.
Having leaned his head away and closed the window, Pucci whipped his mouth using the underside of his sleeve, "I…apologize. A hanging corpse isn't a usual sight on my travels to the food market." He sarcastically replied with a snort. Private blew a cloud of smoke, storing his matches away, to see Pucci grimacing at the corpse.
"Really? Keep looking then- you'd be surprised." Private joked. A disgusted grimace temporarily crossed Private's face; the poor sap living here might have gotten killed over his terrible wallpaper choice- pink flowers over a white background? His eighty-year-old grandmother had better interior design skills. Wallpaper design aside, the detective pointed a hoof to the corpse. "Judging by your delightful reaction, you haven't done something like this? If so, then my class is in session." Private said, Pucci walking over to the grizzled detective.
Grimacing, Pucci reluctantly scanned the body, failing to notice anything. "Is there something I should be seeing? To me, this looks to be a normal suicide." He said, hesitating upon the last word.
Private blew another smoke cloud in his partner's direction, causing Pucci to cough, "Not quite. Somepony like you would think, but it isn't so simple. When you get in situations like this- trust me, you will -it's best to gather everything relating to the case. Example: the front desk mare and the owner running the joint informed local authorities about a pony duo asking to make a surprise visit to our John Doe- they were "friends" apparently." He explained.
"Were they?"
The grizzled detective gave a dismissive snort, "Givin' the fact they presented little Id and ignored the mare's plea for such, then no." Private mused, huffing in amusement, "It's the cause for the police coming out here. Well, until they found this guy-" He motioned his head to John Doe. "-and a lack of two ponies. When they arrived, the poor bastard's body was strung up like a skinned pig."
Pucci looked to ponder Private's rundown, which gave the grizzled a prideful smirk. A rich Canterlot pony giving actual effort for somepony other than himself- the world must be ending. "If it wasn't a suicide, maybe it was murder?" He guessed. Pucci's brow furrowed in confusion, "If that's the case, whoever did this will be arrested in no time if they're that reckless. Were there any hoof-prints or loose hair?" He reasoned. Private didn't blame him- without the vanishing act, the perps would be behind bars hours ago.
"Close, but no cigar." Private chuckled, knocking ashes to the hardwood floor.
"What do you mean?"
With another puff, Private moved closer to the corpse, extracting a pair of surgical gloves from his coat and putting them on. "If you use your eyes and gander a bit closer," Private adjusted his backward to gain more visibility before grabbing John Doe's forearms and hindlegs, pulling them out, and twisting them carefully. "You'd see there isn't a single injury on this body, ruling out assault or self-defense. And the front desk mare said they had gloves and tights suits on, so no luck on that end." He passively examined.
Rigor mortis is starting to rear its head, and time is running thin to get clues. The last thing Private needed was nosy doctors taking his new friend away.
Controlling his urge to throw up, Pucci averted his eyes until Private stepped away from the corpse. "If it wasn't murder or suicide, they must've used some sort of drug and hung him afterward." He said.
"Most likely, but without lab results, we can't confirm that." Private retorted. Or maybe the site of them gave John Doe a heart attack: and then they tried to cover themselves. Either these pair of criminals were masterminds or extremely lucky. "But the fact the slippery lil' shits came in, killed him, and left quickly shows this was planned out by whoever wanted him dead." He said. Pucci turned to Private, "In addition, they knew he was staying in this specific hotel. It could be a personal connection." The astronomer added.
"Looks like somepony's learning." Private chuckled, "But this doesn't seem personal, considering there isn't a trace of identification for this poor guy." He said, motioning to John Doe. "We found traces of ashes scattered on the floor- and this guy doesn't look like a smoker." The detective blew a puff of cigarette smoke, "And I checked for any identification so I could contact family members; imagine my surprise when he didn't have a wallet or crystal." The most frustrating part was that the front desk mare didn't have a name for our deceased face. The documents on John Doe's residence were with him, most likely ash by now. So much for 'safe keeping', huh?
Glancing down at the floor, Pucci could still see the smear of ashes staining the floor, dark gray streaks running across the surface. "Well, there had to be something else; not even a piece of mail addressed to him or a receipt?" He asked, receiving a head shake from Private Eye. Taking a drag from his almost-finished cigarette, Private pulled out a small emerald-shaped crystal. "Sadly, no. As I said, I searched every inch of this place and couldn't find anything."
Private said, rounding the corpse and walking to the door connecting the main room and bedroom, stopping once he reached it. "But I trust you. Go wild, look for clues, junior detective. Just don't destroy anything. And if you do, use that fancy power of yours." He said before entering the bedroom, closing the door behind himself.
Pucci, bewildered, raised a brow, "Huh?"
Pucci (1st person)
As the door quietly shut, I stood tensely in the middle of the room, awkwardly glancing at random objects in the hotel room. I swore the pale stallion was staring at me, those glass-like eyes conveniently pointing in my direction.
At this point, it doesn't surprise me why I question everything leading up until now. "I could've been at home, finalizing reports, reading a book while drinking tea, or anything else other than this!" I complained under my breath. Look at me, acting desultory around a dead body like some shy colt too shy to ask for a date- tis' an insult to my upbringing. But it's Moondancer and Equestria I'm cooperating in this unpleasing scene- and more likely similar moments in the future. I'd imagine the former would have fared far worse than me upon seeing John Doe.
Ignoring my internal cripes, this situation is troublesome as it is perturbing. An unknown pony is deceased in their hotel room via a noose connected to a ceiling fan, thought to be caused by two ruffians.
From what Sir Private Eye told me, and going off my limited knowledge, about a few hours passed between the front desk mare's phone call and the police arrival.
The time frame eliminates the notion of poisoning. One: most commonly available products used for poisons act- rat poison, cyanide in apple seeds, mushrooms -are slower than high-end variants; and Two: I doubt John Doe would willingly ingest such vile concoctions without a fight, contradicting his unmarked corpse. Either the first responders' station is far from the hotel, or they have resources for high-end poison.
"Even if either of those reasons is true, why the noose? What was the point of setting his body up like that?" I speak to myself, putting a hoof to my chin.
It's almost like they wanted witnesses to their atrocity, which could explain their carelessness, like a deranged calling car. The two topics of one discussion were perplexing in their own right- the thought of ponies of all creatures causing such horrible misdeeds sickened me. Of course, pony murders weren't unheard of; not every pony was passive, as every other creature thinks. But those ponies weren't all sound in the head, being mentally disturbed- much like the Valiant Heart miscreant and Godfree, the griffon that attacked my assistant.
This, however, was completely different. As I theorized earlier, this murder was planned before being carried out. The fact those ponies had the time to find the stallion's room, kill the victim, display the corpse, and escape just as the police arrived was all too coherent, if a bit flawed. What I was witnessing was some mere murder: it was an assassination.
And looking around for any evidence only furthered my point, or rather, Private Eye's point of no physical confrontation.
The kitchen, while spartan, was mainly organized despite the police tape webbing its inside, blocking anypony from entering. Passing the archway, counters with marble tops covered the remaining walls as a microwave hung above a stove opposite the entryway. Miscellaneous objects such as spices, pictures, and a random assortment of knick-knacks littered the room in an orderly fashion, giving a homely feeling to the kitchen. I smiled slightly, remembering when my family would gather in the kitchen, cooking the grandest meals. More often than not, they'd end up mostly a mess due to my insurance of making them, forgetting I severely lacked any culinary experience.
However, the only thing I found out of place was the knives. In a wooded block standing next to the stove and against the wall, one of the larger knives was out of place; judging by the size, it was a small chef's knife. Finding the missing cutting utensil wasn't a challenge; looking down at the black and red checkered floor, I spotted the blade under a triangle-shaped card resting beside it.
Coating its edge was a site that forced a wince out of me: a streak of crimson blood, likely belonging to one of the criminals.
"So Private insisted there was no sign of self-defense, implying there wasn't a surprise attack or forced break-in." I murmured, moving away from the kitchen.
So, an ordinary stallion, minding his own business, gets a sudden greeting from two assailants via the front door. Assuming he opens the door unknowingly, he runs and grabs a knife from the kitchen in a panic, cutting one of the two ponies. Either one of the criminals was a unicorn using a spell, or my poison theory still held some merit- the confrontation probably didn't start violently. Sadly, the latter is admittedly flimsy.
But a mainspring linked to this case, and the second scenario, was the smell of burnt ozone.
When a unicorn carries out any form of magic, they have a specific 'smell' they leave in the arcane performances' trail. With everypony, this smell is different. For example, Twilight's magic reminds me of a freshly opened book, while Celestia's is like a sunny spring morning; or Vinyl's having a fizzy smell- like a soda. This smell was nowhere near pleasant as those; the smell of burnt air plagued the apartment- it was strong enough that I could smell it the second I stepped inside. One of the criminals was a unicorn; that fact was absolute. If it's the case, a magical presence still lingers in the room, another unicorn can trace the signature back to the owner- like a hoofprint.
"Although, if the smell of magic is so potent in here, then shouldn't the police utilize it?" I thought. Why were they conducting this investigation if an obvious clue was standing right in front of them?
A feeling of uncertainty crept into my chest as I did another scan of the main room. All of this seemed strange now that I thought about it more. The police officers all gathered either outside or on the first floor of the hotel, not in the room itself. But the yellow tape closing off the kitchen showed they entered the dead stallion's room, but only that room. Why weren't there any more evidence markers or tape?
Looking down at the floor as a thought whispered in the back of my mind, my eyes once more caught the sight of the ash stain on the floor. Bending down, I summoned Made in Heaven and mentally ordered it to grab a sizable flack of burnt paper. Carefully bringing the flake closer to me, my stand waited patiently while I focused on channeling my mana. Seconds passed before I allowed the familiar yet foreign magic to flow through my veins, the multicolored aura enveloping the flake. I watched as the flake slowly rose above my hoof by a couple of centimeters as multiple smaller ashes flew toward it and clung on. It wasn't long before a small stack of papers rested in my stand's hoof, which I gladly took before returning Made in Heaven.
Flipping through the papers, I was disappointed by the variety. "Damn, they're only bills and a random assortment of junk mail." I grumbled. At least I knew of the stallion's name: Shimmering Comet.
But just as I was about to toss the papers onto the table, something near the bottom caught my eye. Pulling it out, I grazed over the simple but elegant designs and brief words decorating its surface. "You are cordially invited to this year's Commerce de l'objectif, Shimmering Comet! All guests are obligated to provide their own confectionaries and masks." I repeated out loud.
What was a Commerce de l'objectif? And why would Shimmering Comet burn an invite?
KNOCK KNOCK!
My eyes widened as I jolted back, startled by the sudden knocking from the front door; it took me a few seconds to rest before composing my posture. Look at me, getting scared of a simple knock! With a self-disappointed sigh, I shook my head, briefly crossing the short distance to the front door- it was probably the cops coming to check on us.
However, as I grabbed the doorknob, I was knocked violently flung backward as the wood barrier burst open, causing me to crash into the corpse. Oblivious to what I had collided with, I quickly rose onto my hooves while summoning Made in Heaven as three figures entered the room. They each looked similar to the three ponies I helped face outside the city- ragged clothing with equally disheveled appearances. This time the trio consisted of all stallions of equal average strength, the one at the back being the tallest.
I had little time to interrogate them before the first stallion to enter the hotel room rushed at me with a hoof raised. Narrowly ducking the attack, I let the stallion fumble forward before spinning around and bucking him in the side, cracking a rib and sending the stallion to the floor. The second immediately followed, getting in a surprise head-butt to my temple. I stumbled to my right with a grunt, not seeing the largest one about to return a meaner buck than mine. Luckily, however, I summoned Made in Heaven and had the ghost-like pony throw a punch to parry the blow. But as my stand's left hoof and the third stallion's legs collided, I struggled to keep my footing as the third stallion pushed its hindlegs down on Made in Heaven. "How can he touch my stand? I don't sense any strange magic on him." I mentally panicked.
But before the first stallion, who recovered from my buck, could tackle me, I heard a hoof smacking against flesh, following another door flying open. "Geez, kid, I leave you alone for one Celestia-damned second." A husky voice complained.
Stealing a glance behind me, I saw Private Eye standing over the second stallion, the latter looking to be unconscious with a red mark on his left cheek. Blowing a cloud of smoke from a newly lit cigarette, Private turned to face me and the other two stallions. The first stallion, recovering from his shock the quickest, grabbed the stack of papers and threw them at Private as a distraction. He ran at Private, grinning victoriously when the detective's face was struck by the mail, and went to throw a punch at his throat. However, a faint animal-like silhouette intercepted the stallion, jaws clamping down on the assailant's foreleg and dragging him to the ground.
He screamed bloody murder as the unseen presence mauled his limb, chunks of flesh ripping away and disappearing into thin air. The animal-like silhouette relieved the first stallion of further torture, dropping the unmoving appendage to the ground, leaving a bone with scraps of flesh hanging off.
Frightened by the sight of his partner being stallion-handled and forced to bleed out caused him to falter in his assault on me, allowing Made in Heaven to kick back from him. Not giving the third stallion a second to breathe, Made in Heaven's hooves reeled back, shooting forward shortly after into a barrage of punches. The stallion flailed wildly as each punch connected to his body, blood flying away as bruises formed. Finally, Made in Heaven sent one last punch into the third stallion's solar plexus, knocking whatever air was in his lungs out as the stand returned to my body. And just as a shopped tree fell to the forest floor, the stallion groaned in pain, slowly falling back and slamming onto the carpet.
"Heh, not bad for a rookie," Private remarked, dragging his cigarette. "Besides fucking up the crime scene." He added.
Ignoring the crude remark, I listened intently for any more hoofsteps as I heavily panted in exhaustion- I hadn't fully recovered from the last fight. And sure enough, a small force of clopping hooves grew in volume as they approached, along with angered yelling. "Where in the high heavens are your stallions, Private?" I asked, summoning Made in Heaven.
Private knocked off cigarette ashes. "Oh, they aren't mine." He said, not seeing my bewildered expression locked onto him.
"What?!" I shouted.
"Yeah, my stallions don't accompany me on assignment." He sighed, walking closer to the front door. "This is why."
Before I could ask anything else, Private suddenly dashed out the door with surprising speed for a smoker, leaving a gray streak in his path. I cleared my head by shaking it, furrowing my brow as I ran after the grizzled detective into the hallway…only to barely miss a flying unicorn mare dressed in ragged clothing from hitting me.
As the mare hit the end wall of the hall, I turned to where she came from to see a crowd of ponies surrounding Private. In a surprising display of agility and combat, Private Eye dodged and blocked the many magic bolts, punches, and bucks thrown at him while the detective threw his attacks. Pegasi attempted to flank him from above, but Private easily evaded them, using his teeth to catch one and slam them into the hardwood floor, causing it to break. A burly stallion came close to taking out the detective but succeeded in grazing Private's neck as he twisted around and knocked out the big stallion with a roundhouse to the jaw. Both hooves and blood flew in the air, and I stood in amazement all the while.
But I was attacked from behind the mare, who latched to my barrel in my momentary stunned state. I threw my body side to side to throw her off, but the mare's tight grip suffocated my airway as I felt cold metal hug the area directly below the base of my skull. And when I finally got her off- quickly backing into the end wall, the mare crying out before she fell -I went to summon Made in Heaven.
As I tried to channel the foreign magic to summon my stand, a spark of pain hit my body, making me kneel in pain. Doing it a second time, the same spark of lighting-like pain struck me, the mare chuckling at my expense.
"Try all you, you filthy Everfree scum. Nothing you do can break that magic inhibiting ring." She declared, grinning smugly at my shocked expression.
She then charged at me, and I uselessly pulled a ring.
It didn't work.
There was a feeling of her body ramming into me.
And then…darkness.
Private Eye (3rd person)
Grunting in pain, Private's hoof befriended the glabella of another pony with a solid thud, sending them crying to the floor, clutching their eyes. The detective then dropped down, sweeping two others off their hooves, following up by uppercutting a pony from below.
Private Eye grimaced, dismissing the aching in his limbs, growling in frustration as his attention switched to Pucci, tilting his head to the side to dodge a hoof and bucking the flanking assailant. From a small crack in the wall of mobbing ponies, Private watched as the mare he hurled earlier tackled Pucci, a metal ring around his neck, with her horn lit.
Gritting his teeth, Private swiftly removed his jacket- leaving a white dress shirt with a leather gun holster in its place -and threw it at the crowd. The detective's legs then tensed up and exploded in a sudden jump forward as the animal silhouette distracted the ponies behind him. Wobbly landing on the confused jacket-covered crowd, Private Eye quickly did a follow-up leap off the crowd section, knocking down a few mob attendees. It was all for not, unfortunately, Private Eye practically digging his hooves into the wooden floor as he ran at Pucci and the mare. In a flash of light, Private clenched his eyes involuntarily, passing where they should have been and crashing into the wall in a hollow thunk, leaving a shallow depression in the painted drywall.
Once his eyesight returned, Private snarled at a scorch mark in the place where Pucci and the mare would have been. "Dammit!" He yelled, shakingly stepping out of his impromptu crater to his full height. It had been a minute since the grizzled detective fought so many ponies; the anger he felt boiling in his chest at losing track of his partner and his fight stole nearly all the energy from his aged body.
"Fucking bastard, leaving me to clean up your mess." He unintentionally slurred, going to remove the cigarette from his mouth. However, his hoof was met with only air when it reached Private's muzzle, a touch of blood coating its tip- it must've fallen out earlier. "Typical." He muttered.
Looking back at the crowd, Private frowned as his precious jacket got repeatedly trampled by the mob of ponies charging at him, bloodlust in their eyes.
Facing the doorway to John Doe's room, Private immediately B-lined to the broken entrance, grabbing the left corner with a hoof, swinging himself forward to gain more momentum and avoid crashing into the opposite one. The detective continued his sprint, the mod flooding into the room shortly after as the distance between him and a window rapidly shortened.
Leaping a meter from his destination, Private rolled into a ball, his forelegs protecting his head as the old stallion crashed through the window. And as he flew out, Private braced himself just in time to take the force of the railing of a fire escape striking directly into his ribs. With the window's position, Private bounced and rebounded off the walls of an alleyway, grunting and crying out at every impact. Along the way, the right side of Private's abdomen was cut open by a wall-mounted flag pole, staining his shirt with crimson.
Finally, the detective's descent ended with his body landing on a collection of overflowing trash cans, knocking them over and further littering the dirty alley.
A nearby stray cat hissed in fright, moving on from his arched stance to run away as Private picked himself up and rolled off the blood-covered crushed trash cans. "I'm too old for this shit," He groaned, fully standing and limping away until stopping at the alley's front, propping himself against the wall. "Time to make my smooth getaway." He chuckled bitterly.
With some encouragement from the distant barked orders from the mob, Private ended his small rest and continued limping along the sidewalk. But when he found a small black car parked next to the sidewalk, he quickly moved to its driver's side. Private used his elbow to break the window, wincing from the blaring alarm as his hoof pulled the indoor handle, opening the door. The battered detective climbed onto the seat, reaching down and pulling a panel under the steering wheel open.
Was it Illegal? Yes. Was it the right thing to do in this situation? Maybe. Was the car illegally parked in a no-parking zone? Yes.
Fiddling the wires with shaky, pain-filled hooves, Private cursed under his breath at every electrical spark, the sound of the ragged mob not far in the distance. Unfortunately, the mob had caught up with Private, jumping onto the vehicle and attacking the windows, yelling profanities and taunts. But another spark of electricity stung Private's hooves; this time, it was followed by a brief roar and a coasting hum, bringing a ghost of a smirk to Private's muzzle. Leaning back into the driver's seat, Private saw the mob about to shatter the newly acquired car's windows. The bloody and battered detective grabbed the stick shift and set the car into gear, slamming his fractured hind hoof on the gas pedal.
Tires screeched against the pavement, and Private's car bursted forth while throwing off the attacking ponies as the vehicle ran down the road.
Private weaved in and out of traffic, almost causing a few crashes due to his blurry vision and groggy mind- the loss of blood was getting to him. Taking out a spare crystal from a holster pocket, Private poured his remaining magic into it, nearly throwing up from the sickening feeling as a voice called out to him.
"Hey, Private, buddy! How's it going?" Vinyl's voice chuckled in his mind, panting slightly.
Gritting his teeth- both from pain and shame -Private narrowed his as he turned a corner sharply.
"Vinyl, Pucci's been foalnapped!"