//------------------------------// // 5. Crumble // Story: Masks // by -Jules //------------------------------// Dead Line was writing when the phone started ringing. She’d been trying to work on her article on the extent of organized crime in the city, but her research had come to a dead stop. Her informants were being less than cooperative, but she knew she could get what she needed with enough time. Standing up to stretch her legs, she reached for the phone. “Hello?” “Hey, sorry I’m late,” the caller began rapidly, “but I got a little distracted.” Dead Line sighed. Film was a good friend, but a little scatterbrained. “Just tell me you’ve got something on the vigilante, Film.” “Couldn’t find anything concrete, but there are a few rumors that they showed up by The Belfry, but nothing I can confirm, no one’s coming forward. Batsy did a piece of a silhouette with glowing eyes fighting off three angry looking ponies with knives. Maybe that’s related?” “Maybe, but we can’t use graffiti as a source for a column. We were pushing it when we tried to pass off a dozen receipts as ‘important financial records.’” “Hey, that was only for the editors; everything in that article was true. But fine, we’ll save the Batsy thing until we get more info. But what are you gonna do for now, Line? You’ve got all your eggs in that gang basket. Are you just not going to write articles ‘till then?” “I write about what happens in this city. Right now there’s one big thing and that’s the vigilante. Without information on her I’ve got no choice but to keep working and poking around until something interesting jumps out for us. Monochrome’s been busy a lot lately though, so there’s definitely something going on behind the scenes. I’ve just got to wait.” “Alright, Line. I should get back to photography. Just got a message from Ink Blot, she wants something new for that awful column of hers. Why doesn’t anyone fun ever want me?” Dead Line rolled her eyes. “Good luck, Film.” She hung up and sat back, glaring at the half-written article. She read over her work again and sighed. She just didn’t have enough yet. These organizations had managed to last this long because they were careful, and made it difficult to find any proof of their actions. Beyond the shady, but not technically illegal, business practices of the Orange family and Filthy Rich, she had very little on the two major syndicates in the city. The “Glaciers” had plenty of evidence against them up until about a decade ago, when the pony in charge met a rather gruesome death. After that, whoever took over definitely made a change of pace toward caution. In Dead Line’s opinion, it was a wonder they’d kept them in line this long. On the other hand, she had plenty on a smaller gang that called themselves the "Jackals,” as they’d never been very subtle. But they spent their time out in Discord’s Walk, the slums near the river, and the police didn’t have much presence or influence in that area these days. Now the Jackals produced more than half of the city’s drugs in peace, and ruled the slums with little opposition. But even worse than the two syndicates and the small-time gangs were the two complete enigmas. The “Ironclads,” allegedly a large group of Griffon smugglers, were thought to be the source of most of the guns on the streets of Manehatten. They were like a shadow in the city; most ponies knew the stories, but the gang was simply too careful. There’d never been an arrest or bust by the police that had ever turned up any proof of a smuggling ring in the city. Every now and then the police would raid somewhere and find a few people bringing something in illegally, but the suppliers were never connected. And then there were the “Starbursts.” They were something else entirely. They were something new. As far as her research could tell, they were a small, recently-formed group of unicorns located somewhere on the North-East shores of Manehattan. The few members the police had brought in looked like they were cult members at first. Each of them had several runes drawn or tattooed on their bodies, an ancient and mostly forgotten form of magic. No two patterns were alike, but all the unicorns shared an identical rune where the spine met the skull. The official MPD reports on the arrests stated that the common rune was supposed to enhance magical ability, but the reports also pointed out they shouldn’t need that as they were all sparklers off their meds. “Sparkler” was the term given to unicorns who suffered from Magical Overload Syndrome, an ailment that caused unicorns to produce significantly more magic than they could normally handle. Without the help of special medicine, a constant low level spell to burn the excess power, or a combination of both, their magic reserves will eventually reach a critical point, causing their bodies to discharge the excess magic, usually in a very violent and catastrophic manner that will leave the unicorn without magic at best, and dead or comatose at worst. The term “sparkler” came from the colloquial name for the syndrome, “Twilight Sparkle Syndrome.” Unlike the city’s other gangs however, there was no pattern to their actions beyond their general location. The police caught one unicorn extorting “security” payments from a shopkeeper in Little Neighjing, one stealing a car in Discord’s Walk, one pushing drugs at the edges of Windsoar, and so on. No pattern. She was re-examining the police reports on the Starburst arrests when her phone rang again. She tapped the button to put the call on speaker. “Dead Line,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “We’ve got a visitor here, Line. Says you’re expecting him.” “What’s his name?” she asked absentmindedly while staring at one of the mugshots. “Apple Crumble.” The name jolted Dead Line back to reality. "Send him in." She quickly placed the police reports and files from her article back in her folder and slipped it into her bag, taking a second folder out and placing it on the desk. She waited a minute for the knock on her office door to signal her visitor's arrival. "The door's unlocked," she called. The stallion who walked in had a bright yellow coat, a pale green mane and orange eyes. Dead Line examined his dark suit as he closed the door and took a seat across the table from her. I wonder if he's got a gun. I can't tell if he could hide a holster in that jacket. Dead Line did her best to keep emotion out of her face as the stallion returned her gaze, looking both annoyed and just a bit nervous. "So Crumble," Dead Line finally began, "you got your two weeks. Do you have what I asked for?" "What you want isn't something I can just get. The files you're asking for could get ponies killed. Mr. Orange has too much money invested into his business to let something like this be easily accessible. You may just have to take my word for it." Dead Line's eyes narrowed. "You know damn well I can't write this with 'one of Orange's people said...' I need something that proves he's connected to these shell companies you're talking about. I need proof that the stuff you've said is true. I need proof Orange is at the head of all of this." Crumble stood up and started walking to the door. "Well, what you've got is the best you get." He doesn't usually push back this much. Time for something drastic. "That's a shame. I guess I'll just have to publish it as is then." Crumble hesitated, and turned to look questioningly at the reporter. "If this is the best I get then I'll just be sure to mention who told me. I'll toss your name in there and some snipping from your report here," she flipped the file on the desk open revealing Apple Crumble's scowling mugshot and three police reports, "and no one will think to question the authenticity of my source." Crumble stared at her, trying vainly to hide his fear. "I... Dead, if you do that, he'll kill me. He'll kill my family." Dead Line stared back at him as calmly as she could manage. "Well, if I had something else to use as proof..." Crumble sighed, his shoulders drooping. He walked across the room to the potted plant sitting on the shelf near her desk. "Okay. I'll find you something, but you need to work with me. The books you want, that conclusively prove everything goes back to Orange, they don't exist. And if they do, I could never lay a hoof on them." Dead Line fell silent, thinking hard for a moment. At least he's cooperating now. I don’t know what would have happened if he left. Would I really have outed him? “Is this real?” the stallion asked as he poked at the dirt in the pot on the shelf. “Yes.” Dead Line watched him move some of the soil around with confusion. “Um. Do you... want to talk about the job?” “Ha! Job? No, no, no, you’re blackmailing me into informing on my boss. That’s not a job.” Crumble returned to his seat, wiping the dirt that remained on his hoof on the side of the chair. “Regardless, I need something solid. I don’t need everything, but I can’t just give them your word if you want to remain anonymous. Work with me here. What can you get?” He looked through the window and thought for a moment. “If you give me more time, I can connect him to a few of the shell corporations. And I can prove that ponies on his payroll were responsible for the bank robbery last year.” That was a sudden turn around. “You never mentioned that before. Why did he rob the bank?” “It wasn’t for the money. Something in some of the safe deposit boxes. I don’t ask questions, I just do my job.” “How can you prove these things?” “I can get financial records that should let you connect to Rich Enterprises for a few of the shadow companies without raising suspicion. And I have… let’s say, firsthand evidence that the robbery was under his orders. I’ll find a way to connect it to one of his lieutenants if you can get me the police report.” “Are you telling me you were in the bank?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. He glared back at her. “I’m not going to confirm or deny that, because if any mention of your informant being involved with that gets into the paper, the search for the rat narrows.” She held his gaze for several seconds before replying. “Fine. See how much easier this is when you work with me?” Crumble got up from his chair with a scowl and started for the door. He stopped with a hoof on the doorknob and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, Dead Line? There’s something else I’m going to need from you. When this goes public, you’re going to help me frame another pony as the rat. Because if this blows back on me, I’m making sure the boss has your real name. Do you understand?” She looked up and nodded, waiting for him to leave and close the door behind him. As soon as the door closed she sucked in a deep breath. If Orange finds out what I’m doing, I’m dead. She continued to hyperventilate for a moment, desperately trying to calm herself down. Don’t worry, Crumble can’t sell you out now. You’ve got too much on him, and he knows that. It’s mutually-assured destruction if either of us rats. When she’d finally calmed down enough to behave normally, she decided she’d take a break and leave the office. Walking out into the hallway she ducked past the editor-in-chief’s open door, hoping he wouldn't ask about the vigilante. After a short walk and elevator ride, Dead Line found herself in the breakroom a few floors below her office. It was as deserted as usual, with only three other ponies in the room, one of which was asleep. She wandered over to the table in the corner where the coffee pot sat, somehow always half-full. Dead Line poured herself a cup and found a seat near one of the windows. She looked out the window at the city of Manehattan. The breakroom was situated on the twenty-fifth floor of the towering skyscraper that the offices of the Manehattan Times were situated in, high above many of the neighboring buildings. Dead Line sipped her coffee as her eyes wandered across the neat grid of buildings and the bustling streets in between, watching hundreds, if not thousands, of ponies for just a moment without hardly noticing. There was a parent chasing after her children as they led the way into a toy store, or the stallion stepping in to browse suits, the college student staring longingly at the glass front of a videogame store, and a repair crew on the roof of a building. She watched the ponies push and crowd up and down the streets by hoof and by car, like blood through the veins of some vast creature. There’s so much life in this city, she thought,  and so much of it is unaware of what’s happening around it. How many of these ponies even notice each other? How many of them know what happens down the street from their homes or in the neighborhood over? The paper’s still selling, so at least ponies are reading something about current events. Even if it takes a vigilante to get them interested. She drank more of her coffee while watching an airship carefully moving in to dock at a nearby skyscraper. She watched in wonder as the ponies in charge of mooring it jumped deftly from the rigging to the extended dock, tossing ropes back and forth to tie it off, and the one pegasus who climbed to the top of the balloon that carried it to search for damage. I wonder though, she thought as she watched the pegasus strut confidently around the balloon, where does our vigilante go from here? Is she going to make a name for herself before the papers just make one up? Her thoughts strayed to the article she’d been working on and Apple Crumble. I hope she makes a difference in the city. Celestia knows we could use a real hero. The cops can only do so much, and ponies who work on their own time like Monochrome can’t do much more. Dead Line paused. Monochrome was investigating the vigilante too, wasn’t she? She was sure she’d said something about that at breakfast the other day. Maybe she found a lead that Film and I haven’t been able to turn up. Come to think of it, Monochrome could have all kinds of useful information I could use. Finding criminals is what she does for a living. If she doesn’t have anything on the vigilante maybe she can at least shed some light on a few of these gangs. If anypony I know would know something about the Ironclads or Starbursts, it’s her. Dead Line’s thoughts drifted back to the vigilante. Film missed her chance to go ask the police about her too. Maybe I can go talk to them. She watched the city for a few more minutes before sending a quick text message to the editor in chief, telling him she was going out to get some field research done, and moved quickly to the elevator. As the door opened to the parking garage, two very angry-looking unicorns pushed past her to get inside. She was surprised at the touch. Besides being simply rude they were both incredibly hot to the touch, as if they’d recently been on fire. She stumbled out past them and turned to glare back at the pair as the elevator doors closed, sizing up the two rude unicorns. One was a mare, with a dull yellow coat and pale green mane, and the other was a stallion with a very dark coat and mane. They both wore simple black suits and glared right back at her. Dead Line caught a whisper of a bright white pinstripe tattoo on the neck of the stallion, hidden mostly by his collar before the doors closed. That was odd. I’ve never seen the two of them before, who else would be coming and going at this hour? And why were they so warm? Dead Line pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, and instead focused on the herculean task of finding her car in the cramped garage. The two unicorns rode the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor in silence, both glaring straight ahead at the stainless steel doors. Eventually it came to a stop and the doors opened. The two calmly walked out, their steps in time with each other. “You remember where to go, Romeo?” The mare asked, looking down the hallway they found themselves standing in. “Of course I do. This way.” The stallion began to trot confidently down the hall. The two of them had learned years ago that if you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, the best way to keep people from noticing was to strut around like you owned the place. Eventually Romeo stopped in front of a door to one of the many offices on the floor. The mare stepped forward and examined the small plaque sitting in the center of the door. “Dead Line, Special Correspondent,” she read aloud. Romeo said nothing and pointed at the door knob. She quickly tried to open the door only to find it locked. She snorted and examined the lock, before starting to manipulate the tumblers with her magic. With a click, the door swung open. “Three seconds. You’re getting slow,” Romeo said as he walked into the office. The mare followed right behind him and stopped in the center of the room. They both looked around the office before turning to face each other. “She’s not here.” “Well I can see that, Juliet. The question is, why? She didn’t have anything today. She can’t be far. See if you can find anything that could give us a clue.” Juliet rolled her eyes and walked to the journalist’s desk. The computer was powered down and there were only a few loose papers sitting out. She looked through them quickly, and found nothing but notes for an article. She looked up to see if her partner had had any luck when a framed photograph of three ponies on the boardwalks caught her eye. She carefully picked the photograph up with her magic, staring at the three ponies: a beige earth pony, a gray unicorn, and a familiar green pegasus. “Romeo, we just saw her.” “What?” The stallion turned to look at her. “The mare, in the elevator. That was her.” He was silent for several seconds, pondering the implications. “So, we know what she looks like. Now we need to find her.” Juliet put the photo back down. “There’s nothing here about a meeting or any phone calls in, she must be out on something unscheduled. We’ve wasted enough time already, she could be almost anywhere in the city right now.” Romeo nodded. “Then we leave. Tell the boss she wasn’t here and try to catch her somewhere else.” Juliet got up and the two of them walked back into the hallway and towards the elevator. “We can’t come back here, we’re on the cameras now. One unscheduled visit won’t look suspicious, but two visits from the same ponies moving directly to and from her private office? We can’t risk it.” Romeo nodded. “Like I said, we’ll have to catch her somewhere else.” Dead Line pulled into the parking lot outside One Police Plaza, headquarters of the Manehattan Police Department. She knew that the Bureau of Detectives was situated here, and it made the most sense for them to be in charge of the vigilante case. She leaned over and pulled a copy of the Freedom of Information Act from the glovebox. They can’t claim the vigilante wouldn’t know there’s an investigation, it was literally on the front page of every paper in the city. That means they’ve got to share something with me. She slung a bag containing a notebook and a few pens across her shoulder, letting it hang on her right side, and tucked the paper into it. Dead Line pushed the doors of the imposing building and entered the lobby. The air conditioning hit her like a wall. She’d never liked that. They kept the lobby incredibly cold year-round, whether it was ninety degrees outside or forty. It’d probably be nicer and cheaper to just open one of the thousand windows. That’s probably a security risk or something though, she mused as she trotted through the vast foyer up to the receptionists desk. “Can I help you miss?” A bored-looking Unicorn in a crisp slate-gray uniform asked without looking up. “I’m with the Manehattan Times. I was wondering who I could speak with to get more information on the investigation into the vigilante that appeared several nights ago.” She thought for a minute. “That would be Inspe– Detective Roseluck. Let me call her office and see if she’s in.” Dead Line watched as the receptionist consulted a long list of names and extensions before dialing the four digits on the desk phone. The receptionist hit the button labeled “intercom” and they waited patiently as it began to ring. Eventually a voice came from the other side. “Hello?” “Hello, Detective Roseluck, this is Miss Neat from the lobby, we have a reporter asking for you from–” “Ha!” the detective’s voice cut her off– “Voicemail. Leave a message.” The tone followed to indicate that it was really a voicemail message. Neat slammed the phone down angrily and looked up at Dead Line apologetically. “Roseluck can be… difficult. I’ll try her chief, if anyone knows where she is it’ll be him.” Dead Line nodded and waited for her to enter the new extension. I think that that constitutes a bad sign as far as willingness to share information goes. To Dead Line’s relief the chief picked up almost immediately and seemed to be a real pony. “What is it, Neat?” “I’ve got a reporter here for Rose, but she’s not in her office. Or at least not answering her phone. Do you know where we could find her?” The chief was silent for a few seconds. “Actually yes. She’s in my office right now, uninvited. Send the reporter up, I’ll make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.” He hung up without waiting for a reply. Neat turned back to Dead Line. “Roseluck is in the Chief of Detectives’ office, up on the eighth floor. Just take the elevator up, the hallway in front of you all the way to the end, turn right and then all the way to the end again. And good luck with Rose. Don’t let her intimidate you, or you’ll never get anything out of her.” Dead Line thanked her and hurried over to the elevator. She stepped into the bleak aluminum elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. Okay. Roseluck is apparently going to make this difficult. Just keep it straightforward. Do they have any leads on an identity or motive, have they discovered anything to do with the fight on the rooftop, do they intend to prosecute the vigilante. Simple. A bell rang and the door slid open, revealing an office-lined hallway. She stepped out onto the marble tiles and started walking to the end of the hallway like Neat had told her to. She looked at the doors as she passed, simple dark wood with a frosted glass window and a name and rank drawn in black ink. It’s funny. I’ve been interviewing police for so long, but I’ve never actually been in any of their offices before. She noted Roseluck’s door as as she passed, three doors down from the fork in the hallway. The writing read “Inspector Roseluck” but it looked as if someone had crossed “inspector” out with a permanent marker and hastily written “Detective” above it. Odd. Neat made a point of that too. There must be a story there.  She found herself at the end of the hallway, looking at a door that bore the inscription “Blue Steel, Chief of Detectives” and three stars below the name. Dead Line tentatively lifted a hoof and rapped on the wood. “Are you the reporter?” called the gruff voice from the phone. The chief. “Yes,” she answered. “Come in.” “Go away.” The two responses came simultaneously from inside. Dead Line decided to obey the chief’s voice and turned the knob. The door swung open and she saw two scowling ponies. Closest to her a cream colored mare with a deep red mane and piercing green eyes scowled at Dead Line while a large light-grey stallion wearing a crisp white shirt and golden eagle on his chest scowled at her. The chief gestured towards the unoccupied seat in front of his desk. “Take a seat. Who’re you with?” Dead Line glanced around the room as she sat. The filing cabinets against the wall and bulletin board on the back wall were both covered in what appeared to be polaroid photographs and newspaper pages. All across the desk and any free horizontal surface was a collection of what appeared to be random odds and ends, but she got the feeling there was a story behind each and every one of them. “The Manehattan Times. I’m currently credited as a ‘special correspondent’ but I’m really more of an investigative journalist.” Roseluck made a face but the chief just nodded. “And your name?” “Dead Line.” The chief nodded again, his face as blank as a slate. “You wrote that first piece on the vigilante a few nights ago. I haven’t seen an article stir up so much talk in this city in a long time.” Dead Line blushed. “Well, it was the editor’s idea to go with the attention-grabbing headline and the ‘beginning of a new era’ angle. We just wrote up what we had and why it was significant.” He stared back at her. “You were on the scene well before anyone else could have been. Your photographer must have been very lucky.” Dead Line was a little put off by that statement and did her best not to show anything. Is he implying something? “Yes she was, she’s always been that way.” The chief simply nodded and glanced over at Roseluck, who was staring intently at the side of Dead Line’s head. “So what’s this about, Dead Line? Did you come looking for Rose specifically? Did she do something I need to be aware of?” Dead Line shook her head. “No, I came to see if there was any official information I could get regarding the vigilante, and was told Roseluck was the detective on the case.” Rose seemed to be appeased by something she’d said. Dead Line wasn’t quite sure what, but Rose was no longer staring as intensely at her. “You’ll have to forgive Rose,” the chief said, “or don’t, but she’s not very fond of talking to the press. Or other police officers. Or ponies in general. But she can answer your questions.” “What do you want to know?” Rose asked without moving her gaze. Dead Line turned to face her, meeting the green eyes. “Do you have any information on the rooftop disturbance you are able to release to the public?” Rose’s gaze changed just briefly, a slight change in the focus of her eyes. “Nothing that hasn’t already been released.” “Do you have any information on the vigilante?” “No.” “Do you have any current leads?” “We believe we have identified one of the stallions from the rooftop via security camera footage, and will be questioning him as soon as he can be tracked down.” “Thank you. Last question. Should the vigilante’s identity come to light, does the MPD intend to prosecute them for their actions?” Rose’s eyes flickered again. “Yes.” The chief chimed in, feeling the need to break up the scene in front of him. “Of course we do. Unregistered vigilantism is a crime under Equestrian and city law, and what she’s done constitutes assault and possibly even kidnapping.” Rose snapped to face the chief. “Kidnapping? Really? She was almost certainly trying to get that pony away from whatever was happening on the roof. There’s no evidence she was doing anything else.” “There’s no evidence she was only getting involved out of the kindness of her heart either.” "So the logical conclusion is kidnapping?" "Rose, until that pony comes forward we have to assume him missing." "Well, what if they just don't want to come to the cops? That's not exactly a rare occurrence in this city." "And if the vigilante is rescuing criminals from other criminals then everyone involved needs to be arrested." "But if she's only going after criminals why should we even interfere?" Rose was fairly agitated now. "We know everyone she fought was a criminal, and we got two arrests out of the deal. As long as she's going after the right ponies I think it's a good thing!" The chief sighed, and Dead Line wished she'd left before asking that last question. "I know your thoughts on the matter Rose, but vigilantism is a crime for a reason. No pony gets to be above the law." Rose looked like she was about to fire back another retort, but Dead Line interrupted. "Thank you both for your time, I can see myself out." Rose looked towards her with a confused look on her face, as if she hadn’t noticed her before. The chief nodded and bid her farewell. Dead Line hurried down the hall and back to the elevator. Miss Neat waved to her as she passed and walked back to her car. Well, that was certainly... interesting, she thought as she joined the flow of traffic. The police seem to have about as much information as we do, but that Rose seems like she's determined to find something. I'll have to either count on her sharing or find a way to get info on my own. Something tells me she doesn't like the press. Maybe Monochrome's got something. She reached for her cell phone and quickly dialed Monochrome's number. She picked up on the third ring. "Dead Line?" "Yeah, hi. I was wondering if you'd answer a few questions real quick." "Dead, you don't need to use your reporter mode on me. What do you want to know?" "You said you were looking into that vigilante from a few nights back. You haven't found anything new, have you?" Monochrome was silent for several seconds. "No, nothing you don't have, I think." Dead Line frowned. Guess I'll have to get investigative myself. "One more, a general one this time, for my article." "Shoot." "What can you tell me, with evidence, about the Ironclads?" Monochrome was silent for a moment. "Well, officially they were broken up a few years ago, back when Silver Dollar and Dark Star were cracking down. But you also know that there's still some kind of powerful smuggling operation in the city, and every time a smuggler gets busted someone tries to link it to the Ironclads, and usually has some kind of evidence. And you probably know that although Silver Dollar's shooters were never identified, the weapons match up with the sort the Ironclads prefer. Other than a few odd cases that really make me suspect the Ironclads are still around, I can't help you all that much." Dead Line nodded, a little disappointed. "Thanks Chrome. I'll let you go, we still on for breakfast next weekend?" "I'd never miss it."