The Private Scrapbook

by Cadabra

Chapter 31: Wild Goose Chase

Chapter 31: Wild Goose Chase

Applejack couldn’t believe the depths of desperation her grandmother had come to. “Ya were really thinkin’ of murder?” she asked in a frightened whisper as she looked at the innocent faces in the photo of Stinking Rich and Filthy Rich with licorice hanging from their noses.

Granny Smithy nodded as she looked at the ticket stubs taped next to the photo. “I didn’t have the stomach fer it,” she explained. “I sure thought on it a lot. Tried it a couple more times too, but I just kept chickenin’ out.”

Applejack breathed a contented sigh after she learned that her grandmother couldn’t go through with murder. "What a relief!" she exclaimed, her brother adding an "eeyup" to her statement.

Granny Smith shook her head as her granddaughter handed the scrapbook back. “Don’t go assumin’ nothin’ yet,” she explained. “I knew he had to go if I was gonna save Kizzy. I was scared outta mah mind on what I had to do, but I was runnin' outta options. I knew I couldn’t do it alone though. I had to get some help from a few folks in Baltimare if I wanted to get the job done right. Funny soundin’ folks they was. Talked a lot like yer cousin, Babs…”

Baltimare was a city divided, its crime syndicate’s loyalty constantly switching between the Faction of the Stud and the Brotherhood of Steeds. The Brotherhood had ruled this town for years before the Faction challenged them, and were now threatened by the ever growing power that this rival gang of country bumpkins had gained in their territory.

In the three days she had spent in Baltimare, Smithy had discovered who it was that would be buying Kizzy. It was a rich hotel owner who was an ally to the Faction of the Stud, and he was planning to use Kizzy as a glorified dish washer. Having done that work in her youth, Smithy knew of all the soapy aches and pains that awaited her daughter. While she had been given breaks as a child, she had a feeling that Kizzy would not be given that luxury.

Having chickened out over killing her husband for the third time this week, Smithy was convinced that she was too cowardly to go through with her plans on her own. She realized that the only way she was going to be able to get it over with was with help, so she figured that the only ponies to help her were her husband’s rival gang. It was a risky decision, but at this point, she was desperate. Having gone through Stinking Rich’s maps of the city, she was quick to discover potential hot spots where she might be able to find the rivaling Brotherhood of Steeds.

With only three days to spare before Kizzy’s transaction took place, Smithy knew she would have to comb the city quickly for a lead to the mobsters she needed to hire. Using a shopping trip as her excuse to get out of the hotel to find a killer for hire, Smithy was prepared to spend the day going on a wild goose chase.

Having struck out at over a dozen potential locations before lunch time, Smithy was beginning to get discouraged and hungry. She noticed a nearby diner called The Pecan Café, and as luck would have it this restaurant was on her list of potential hot spots.

The Pecan Café had an eclectic cuteness to it, as if more than one woman had argued about decorating the place. The most glaring thing standing out amidst the assorted furnishings were the pictures and paintings of pecan ice cream on the walls. Even the menu was proud to show how well all the food they served complimented the advertised ‘Best Pecan Ice Cream in All of Equestria.’ While all that did sound tempting, Smithy knew that her top priority was hiring a helpful thug. She could enjoy the ice cream after the job was done.

While browsing through the menu, Smithy heard her waiter come up to the table. “Afternoon,” he said in a thick Baltimare accent. “I’m Bruisey, and I’ma be takin’ care a you today. I can I start you off with a drink or somethin’?”

The accent was a bit intimidating for a simple farm girl, especially when the pony who spoke it looked like he didn’t really want to be there, but Smithy knew she had to keep her cool. “Can I see yer manager, young fella?” she asked sweetly.

Bruisey raised an eyebrow to the comment his new customer had made. “Wadda you want him for?” he asked nonchalantly as he took out his order book.

Smithy smiled coyly as she set her menu down. “Nothin’ personal,” she said politely. “Just grab him fer me. After that’s all said and done, I’ll order some of this here pecan ice cream y’all are makin’ such a fuss ‘bout.”

Smithy sat back and waited for the waiter to do as he was told, filling her time with reading the restaurant’s history on the back of the menu. While it had little tidbits of local history that she found interesting, it read nothing about what she was really looking for.

Peeking over the top of the menu, Smithy saw that a burly stallion wearing an apron had approached her table. “Wadda you need here, miss?” he said, his accent just as thick as the waiter’s.

Turning back to the history on the back of the menu, Smithy began some small talk. “I couldn’t help noticin’ y’all don’t mention who runs this here place on the back of yer menu,” she said in a polite tone while batting her eye lashes.

The manager scratched his head at the menu comment, wondering what this customer had to complain about. “Uh… I run it,” he said, hoping that the answer had sufficed. “Is dat whatcha wanted ta know? I take it you ain’t from around here?”

Smithy giggled at the manager’s confusion. Either he knew what she was talking about, or he had no clue at all. “Oh I see by yer apron and yer paper hat that yer the boss,” she said cordially. “What I wanna know is who actually does the runnin’ of the place. Ya know, like are y’all with the Brotherhood of Steeds or the Faction of the Stud. Ya see, I’m lookin’ fer the Brotherhood, and I could sure use yer help.”

The restaurant came to a complete halt at the mention of the two gangs. Smithy could feel all eyes on her, more prevalently the intimidated gaze of the manager.

The manager pointed leaned his angry face in towards his customer. “Listen, lady,” he threatened. “I don’t know if you’re just a dumb tourist or what, but I don’t have ta deal with dis bull spit from nopony. Dis is a place a business, got it? So either order somethin’ or get outta here!”

While Smithy could hear the other patrons applaud the manager’s toughness, she decided not to act intimidated to prove to everypony that she was not a force to be reckoned with. “Place of business?” she asked, batting her eyes innocently. “Who’s business? Studs or Steeds?”

The manager’s face was red with frustration. “Dat’s it, lady!” he said as he lifted her out of her chair and lead her to the door. “I’m done with you! You’re out on your butt!”

Smithy felt her rear end collide painfully with the cobblestones. As she turned to say something, she saw the manager throw her saddlebag in her face. “And stay out!” he hollered before slamming the café door. From behind glass windows, she could see several café patrons making obscene faces and gestures while laughing at her.

While Smithy was disappointed that she didn’t have lunch, she was even more disappointed by the lack of information she was getting from everypony in town. She walked away with her head down in defeat, still able to hear rude caterwauling from inside the café.

As she walked past the entrance to an alley, she heard a voice calling out to her. “Pssssst! Lady!” the voice said from behind a dumpster.

Smithy turned to see Bruisey the waiter was waving her on. “Lady! Hey, you forgot your bill,” he coaxed.

Thinking this was an insult, Smith made a rude face before turning to walk away.

Bruisey grabbed her before she could leave, thrusting the piece of paper in her face. “You’re gonna want dis bill, lady,” he insisted.

Grabbing the piece of paper from the rude waiter, Smithy proceeded to read what it had to say. She was surprised to see that it was just the information she was looking for.

Bruisey smiled smugly as he watched Smithy’s facial expressions change while reading. “Told you you’d want it,” he gloated. “Da kingpin operates out on da docks. He’ll be in tonight, so you’d better get there early.”

Feeling elated to have finally gotten some information out of somepony, Smithy felt compelled to thank the waiter. Bruisey brushed the compliment off with an easy smile. “Fogetta ‘bout it!” he replied. “But if you’re interested in doin’ me a solid, a few bits’ll sure make my day. Tip jar’s runnin’ low, if you know what I mean.”

Bruisey held his hoof out, a teasing smile on his face. Smithy rolled her eyes as she put five bits in his hoof. She should have known that help wouldn’t come free in Baltimare.

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