Barn Notice

by totallynotabrony


Chapter 11

Calling out Scarlet Sunrise as a Prench intelligence agent, possibly even La Panthère Fuschia herself, was risky, to say the least.  Even if my claims turned out to be baseless, there was no telling if she would fire an accusation right back at me, and who the rest of the gang would choose to believe.

So with the conversational momentum on my side, I said, “Think about it, why would a foreign intelligence agent infiltrate PY-12?  She wants to use us to do her dirty work across Equestria.  That will only bring the guards down on us, and she’ll skip back home.”

“Wait, ‘us?’” said Stapler, who seemed to be a little smarter than Pin.  She was still pointing her gun at me, though.

I nodded to her.  “Yeah.  The bosses in Manehattan asked me to handle this.  Sorry I couldn’t tell you until now, but I didn’t know who I could trust.”

While I was busy spitting lies as fast as I could, I still had no idea what Scarlet’s real angle was, if I had even guessed right about her.

If she was really Prench intelligence, it was hard to say if she knew about and actually believed the underground rumors of Rich’s weapons stock and then had PY-12 order their gofers the Third Street Thugs to kidnap Rich.  I had thought Prance was better than that, particularly since Scarlet Sunrise was a fairly legendary agent of theirs.  That wasn’t her real name of course, but enough that I’d observed so far lined up that there were likely at least even odds that I was correct and I really had stumbled onto a foreign agent.

It all added a new, uncertain wrinkle to the situation.  I had only been trying to contact the gang on the assumption that they - witting or not - might have the underworld contacts to help me find my way back to the company.  Perhaps I could instead use a captured Scarlet as a peace offering.

I had somehow managed to process all of the above before Scarlet managed to fight through her surprise and reply.  I’ve often wondered if my brain is wired in an unusual way.  In addition to the captions I sometimes see in front of my eyes, I’m occasionally also able to go on extended internal monologues even while in the middle of verbal conversations.  These days, it might be what they call “on the spectrum,” but I wouldn’t know about test results, because my mother wouldn’t allow anything that even resembled a stigma for her daughter.

I was apparently still able to have mommy issues in the middle of a Mexicolt Standoff.

Mais enfin!  I’m talking to you!” Scarlet interjected in the middle of my internal monologue.

“Amazing that you think you can still talk your way out of this,” I replied, coming back to the conversation.

“How dare you accuse me,” she snapped, “while you yourself are not who you claim.”

Her expression changed.  Like me, she was trained for these kinds of situations, and letting your anger take over was a great way to get yourself killed. She mastered her emotions, and gave me a contemptuous smile. “Oh yes, I have done my research.  Your real name is Octavia Melody.  You used to be a spy until you were kicked out because nopony liked you and you were so bad at making friends.  So they sent you back here to your backwater hometown to rot. You’ve got nothing but your mother, Harshwhinny, here and no money.”

A couple of the ponies in the room visibly shuddered, as if my mother’s name was one they would prefer to avoid.  Even years of practice, and having identities blown on the spot, there was nothing more gut wrenching than to have not your own name announced, but that of family. Because if they could get that kind of information, who knew what else they were capable of, or willing to do.  The only way Scarlet would have access to my real name and situation was if she really was something more than a gangster.

But I never go anywhere without a plan in case my cover is blown.  I didn’t expect it to be quite this way, but one must always be prepared.  Spying is ike jazz: improvisation is key.

However, what I certainly did not expect was for Pin to laugh just then.  He had been uncertain before, but now shifted to point his gun solely at Scarlet.  “A spy who’s bad at her job?  Can’t make friends?  From a hometown like Ponyville?  Harshwhinny’s daughter?  Nopony’s that pathetic.  Did you really think we’d believe something so ridiculous?”

“But-!” Scarlet stuttered.  She was distracted, so I took the opportunity to hit her over the head with the tube of the rocket launcher.

She dropped like a sack of baguettes. I kicked her gun away.

“Well, that’s that,” I said, turning to put the rocket launcher back in the cello case.  

Some of the PY-12 members began to relax, however Stapler was still suspicious.  She menaced me with her gun.  “Hey, I’ve still got questions!”

“Okay.”  I paused and stared at her.

“Well…”  She glanced at the others, who had already put away their guns.  Peer pressure won out and she lowered hers.  “Give me some time to get my thoughts together.”

That only motivated me to keep her shaken up so she didn’t manage to do so.  Keep your enemies close, the better to keep them confused.

Now that we had Scarlet in hoof, my first priority was to dig into what she might know.  That would be much easier to do without the rest of PY-12 around; they might start to buy into what she was saying about me if she was allowed to say it in front of them.

While I didn’t hold out much hope that Scarlet would have incriminating documents around her residence, that might be one place to start.  To the others, I said, “Where is Scarlet living?  Maybe we can find out if she has conspirators.”

The way a couple of the ponies suddenly looked away, they either didn’t know what that word meant or perhaps thought themselves to be in trouble.  If they believed I was a troubleshooter sent from PY-12 headquarters to ferret out foreign spies, maybe I was also a threat to whatever individual situations they were in, such as side gigs.  Imagine that, gangsters being untrustworthy.

“Maybe she was keeping files on all of you,” I said, adding an edge to my tone.  “She could also have files on your activities here, and I'd rather not have to go back to Manhatten and explain to the bosses why the authorities now have a ton of information on us, unless…”  I made a show out of counting the heads in the room, as though trying to figure out how many body bags I might need.  Then I shook my head.  “But spies are untrustworthy and you’ve all been very helpful tonight.  I’m going to go clean her house out.  I’ll need one of you to come with me.”

Controlling a situation is all about phrasing.  I didn’t want them to come with me.  If I insisted that I go alone, they might be suspicious.  But by asking for one, I could then apply a little extra pressure.

“You, Pin?” I said, a scant second after asking for volunteers.

“Oh, um, sure.”

“Hang on,” said Stapler.  “If she has a file on me, I want to see it.”  A couple of the others muttered in agreement.

Damn it.  I nodded.  “Alright.  Pin, you’re carrying Scarlet.”

This changed the situation.  There were five of them, plus a limp Scarlet.  Once we got outside, Rainbow and Soarin would increase the numbers on my side, plus the two of them had the advantage of surprise.  I also would have been ill-prepared if I didn’t have other, additional surprises ready.

The group of us headed towards the front of the building.  There was some rope on the shelf of the store, so they tied up Scarlet and Pin slung her onto his back.  Walking out the front door with the group, I paused, deliberately taking the cigarette from behind my ear and lighting it.

From the darkness on the other side of the street, there was a corresponding flick of a lighter.  I only caught the sound because I was expecting it.

However, nopony missed the flame-up of a liquor-soaked rag in a bottle as an improvised firebomb was hurled across the street.

“They’re after us!  Scatter!” I shouted.

The bottle shattered on the storefront, starting to burn.  I was already shoving the PY-12 members into action.  Grabbing Pin by the shoulder, I hauled him and his limp cargo of Scarlet in a direction away from the others.  It was towards Scarlet’s place.

After a couple of turns through back alleys and a few blocks of running, I slowed down.  Ponyville had made some great strides at paving since I’d left, but most thoroughfares were still dirt.  No need to risk twisting an ankle in a pothole if I’d already pulled the con.

“Do you think we lost them?” Pin wheezed.

“Quite sure,” I said.  

At that moment, Dirtcheap Discounts exploded.

I didn’t flinch, because I’d been waiting on Rainbow and Soarin to trip the C4.  Still, it played into my conversation.  “But just in case, is there a safe place we can go around here?”

Pin was still blinking at the fireball.  “Oh, um, Scarlet’s place is just around the corner.”

As if called, just then Scarlet kicked Pin in the head, apparently playing on the distraction of the exploding building.  As he fell, she used his back as a springboard to leap at me.  I had thought she was tied up, but apparently I was still overestimating PY-12.

I’d been keeping an eye on her for that very reason, though, so it was easy to block her attack with my cello case.  Her horn lit up as she attempted to tug it away from me, presumably for the weapon inside.  Unfortunately for Scarlet, I was playing with home field advantage.  Literally, but more importantly, figuratively.  Don’t fight an earth pony on dirt.

Most ponies don’t believe in earth pony magic.  To be fair, it’s subtle.  But all my training had been good for something.  It wasn’t exactly a martial art - I had actual martial arts training for that - but it added a little extra something, a special cadenza to the orchestra.

Dear me, back to using musical metaphor.  This trip to Ponyville had brought out all sorts of bad habits.

But there was no time to dwell on that as I set my hooves in the dirt street and punched out Scarlet’s lights for the second time that evening.

I admit, I was getting annoyed.  The operation tonight still hadn’t quite gone off the rails, but there had been a few too many surprises for my liking.  Not to mention, I was fairly certain Scarlet deserved it anyway.  I may have also applied a smidge of my personal frustrations.  It’s good to work it out when you can.

At any rate, I ended up throwing Scarlet through her own front door, which alleviated the need to find a key and pick the lock.  I glanced at Pin, who was still down for the count, and headed inside.

Scarlet was apparently a better spy than I gave her credit for, and had duct tape.  I got her restrained with it and then started picking through her personal effects.  I knew I was limited on time, so I didn’t pause to see if she had any yogurt. 

I knew my search wasn’t going to be easy.  The good news was that Scarlet was not apparently well established in Ponyville and didn’t have a lot of stuff.  The bad news was, it was still much greater than what filled my rented turnip loft.  Plus, there was the possibility of hiding spots.

Spies are great at hiding information. We are trained to hide it in places that people don’t normally think about, or to modify the places we are staying to help easily hide information. Though, when making a knothole, there are two factors one has to consider: how safe you want to make it and how easily accessible. The more secure the hiding place, the harder it is to access, such as hiding it in a wall covered in plaster. Making it more accessible probably means it is going to be easier to find.
  
Still, after about twenty minutes, I found a slim notebook hidden inside a picture frame.  Easy enough to get to if you were in a hurry by simply ripping out the back of the picture.  It was unmarked.  I flipped open the front cover, and my eyes went wide at the contents.

That was when company arrived.  Several sets of hooves clopped up to the front door and walked in.  Maybe breaking the door down when fighting Scarlet had been a bad idea.  I was disappointed the visitors had arrived so soon.

And even more disappointed who it was.  Stapler led the way, struggling to restrain Diamond Tiara.

Letting her personally firebomb the company that was wrapped up in her father’s kidnapping had been a weak moment of concession for me.  I really, really should have laid down the law with her early in our relationship.

Giving in to personal grudges, even if they aren’t your own, is a bad idea.  Not only will it be obvious who did it, but you make mistakes when you add too much emotion.

At the same time, Diamond had begged to help, had access to her mother’s alcohol stash, and an extra set of hooves helped out my short list of ponies.

Shame she’d gotten caught, though.

“Who’s this?” I said.  I asked the group in general.  All of them had apparently regrouped once they’d captured Diamond, and had then proceeded to Scarlet’s place, rousing Pin in the process.

“This is the daughter of the guy who owns Barnyard Bargains,” said Stapler.  “Which is weird, because back when you said ‘they’re after us…’ well, I was kind of expecting a squad of Prench commandos or something, not one filly.  So why did you say it like that?”

“Well, given the circumstances, who were you expecting?” I said.  “I’m not saying it’s a coincidence that your place happened to catch a cocktail tonight, but your gofers, the Third Street Thugs did just kidnap her father.”

I nodded to the bound and gagged Scarlet.  “And this one’s calling card is a spilled Bloody Mary, which Diamond Tiara presumably found at her house and tracked to your door.”

I held up Scarlet’s notebook, flashing the pages and moving it between their faces intentionally too fast for anypony to read.  “There’s a lot of interesting things in Scarlet’s files.  Seems like a lot of you don’t remember what keeping a secret means.”

“Is it coded or anything?” Pin asked.

“Almost.  It’s in Prench.”

Stapler looked annoyed at the sidebar.  She gestured to Diamond.  “But how do you know her name?  How do you know what she found?  How did she connect those dots and lead back to us?”

Maybe Stapler wasn’t the smart one, maybe she was just the kid that always asked ‘why’ even when given an answer.  Even still, I thought I still had control of the situation and was about to answer all those questions, but Stapler further proved that she wasn’t actually smart, just annoying, and pointed her gun at me.  I nearly sighed and rolled my eyes as I pulled out my rocket launcher again.  The others followed Stapler’s example with their own guns.

It really was disappointing that this had happened twice in one night.  Pin said, “Looks like we got ourselves-”

I shot him a glare so sharp that he shut up mid sentence.  To be fair, these were small-time crooks, and being able to say something like that might be the highlight of their career, so maybe I could give them a break.  Still, I was not really in the mood right now.

And if that wasn’t enough, Rainbow suddenly burst into the room through the window, apparently after seeing my predicament.  She was wearing a tactical vest and had camouflage paint on her face, though neglecting the rest of her colorful body.  She had a gun in either forehoof and one in each wing.

“Nopony move!” she shouted, pointing her guns at everypony in the room in turn, even me a time or two.

To be fair, nopony moved, except to occasionally point their guns at somepony else.

There came the sound of hooves near the open front door.  Somepony was coming.  That was good as a distraction, at least partially because I think Rainbow was also just about ready to comment on the standoff.

A white unicorn walked into the room.  Her name was Vinyl Scratch.  “Okay guys, everypony just calm down, chill out, be cool.”

Everypony promptly pointed their guns at her.