The address, 204 Spring Graze Avenue, looked like most abandoned warehouses did: Big and dark. The large windows on its sides were shattered, the victims of listless and down-on-their-luck ponies throwing rocks through them. A few rats could be heard slinking down the alleyways, squeaking and shuffling in the darkness.
Ugh, Price thought. I’m already starting to regret this. But he kept walking to the alleyway beside the warehouse. He looked down at the camera wrapped around his neck where the convention badge once hung. He lifted it up into the streetlights, peering at the settings scrawled onto its top. The most important was Flash, now switched to OFF.
Good, Price thought. Last thing I need is to tip off-
RRRRRR-RRRRR!
Price ducked further into the alleyway. He knew the sounds of wagon carts like the back of his hoof. He watched as a series of shadows crossed the adjacent building, portraying a group of stallions pulling an especially big cart. He heard the doors open and shut, seeing the silhouettes of numerous ponies creeping out of the contraption and toward the warehouse. The metal doors screeched open.
“Is he here yet?” a low voice growled.
“Not yet, boss. But he will be,” another responded.
“Better be. I don’t want to be late for my date.”
The doors closed with a thunk, and Price snuck a peek around the corner. Only one pony stood by the cart, a bored looking fellow in rusty shoes and a beaten down handkerchief. Price turned back toward the ally. He saw a large pile of pine boxes stacked next to the windows.
Perfect, he thought. He began to climb them, careful to place his hooves in the right positions and tread as softly as possible. The progress was slow, but he eventually reached the top box. It was just below the window, so he stood on his back hooves to look into the place. A small foldout table sat in the middle of the room, with four ponies playing cards with each other. One wore a fancy red hat and sported a fancy blue outfit far more extravagant than his cohorts.
Johnny Trottelli, no doubt, Price thought. Just the stallion I wanted to see. He lifted the camera and took a quick snapshot. The rest of the gang appeared to have the same slick-backed mane upon their heads and blue jackets.
Bang, bang, bang! The door knocks reverberated throughout the warehouse. One stallion got up from the card game and wandered to the doors while the others stayed near their cards. The doors opened and a large stallion with a bombastic beard filling his face entered. His grey jacket made small swishes in the air with each step he took.
“Hey, Johnny,” he said, flashing a small grin. “Long time no see.”
“Mmm,” Johnny mumbled. “I’m sure there’s a reason for that.”
“Indeed. But our little turf war last spring isn’t important right now. You want the product, yes?”
Johnny nodded. The large stallion clopped his hooves, and two stallions in matching grey jackets came inside with a box on their back. They dropped the container at Johnny’s feet and opened it. Price put the camera to his eye and snapped a picture, then hit the Zoom button. He could just make out a series of emerald spheres within the box, various colors shifting about within their glass containers.
“Pure obsidian,” the large stallion said. “Leftovers from that clown the Storm King. Apparently had a few of them stashed away in a location I’m not at liberty to disclose.” He picked one of them up, holding it carefully in both his hooves. “Powerful little suckers. Friend of mine was at Canterlot when Tempest Shadow used these on the Princesses. Says they went down faster than any knockout spell he’d seen.”
Johnny nodded. “Impressive. Now how much do you want for them?”
The large stallion shrugged. “Depends. How bad do you want them?”
Price snapped another picture. This really is big, he thought.
“Don’t play games, Vice. How much do you want?”
Vice walked around a little bit, rubbing his whiskers in mocking display. “Mmm…I’d say about 500,000 bits per orb.”
“What?!” cried one of Johnny’s lackeys. “That’s more than we make in a month!”
Vice shrugged. “Powerful weapons require powerful coins, friend.”
Johnny waved his hoof dismissively. “Sure, whatever. We’ve got enough dough.”
Price snapped another picture. Boy, this is going to be so-
Just then, the box beneath him wavered. Price boggled for a moment, twisting every way he could to stay balanced. The box’s sides soon gave way and he found himself crashing down each box to the ground.
“The hay was that?!” the lackey yelled.
“Somepony’s here!” Vice hollered. “You set us up!”
“What?! No!” Johnny said. “Sock, Morrow! Go check that out!”
Price just managed to get up when he heard hooves beating around the side of the building. He flung himself up and stumbled further down the alleyway.
“Hey, you!” he heard a rough voice say. “Come here!”
Price picked up the pace, running as fast as he could to the other side of the warehouse. He could hear their hoofbeats coming behind him, a loud gadda-lump, gadda-lump, gadda-lump ringing out through the alley. He soon picked up the pace, throwing himself forward with all his might.
He burst onto the next street, and his eyes shot up and down the street. A few buildings down, he could just make out a lollygagging taxi and its bulky driver.
“Hey!” he shouted, dashing towards the taxi.
The taxi driver lifted his head up as if just awakened. “What, what?” he groaned.
“I need a ride!” Price hollered, leaping up into the taxi.
“A-Okay,” the large stallion said. He reared up his legs and began running down the street. Price glanced behind, catching the two goons running out into the street just as they pulled away. They clung too close to the darkness to visualize clearly, but Price could still see their jackets flapping in the rushing air. They tried to run after them for a few moments, but soon gave up as the cabbie began to pick up speed.
“Say, where are you going, mister?” the stallion yelled over his shoulder.
“Drop me off at the Convention Center,” Price said between pants. He looked down at the camera, then back where the warehouse had been.
Well, I got what I wanted, he thought. Now I need to make sure I don’t end up in some ditch.