The Private Scrapbook

by Cadabra

Chapter 32: So, What Brings You to the Docks After Dark?

Chapter 32: So, What Brings You to the Docks After Dark?

Walking on the vacant docks alone on a foggy night is a frightening thing for a young woman to do, but Smithy was used to being afraid. She’d spent most of the last decade in a perpetual state of anxiety, but she was aggravated by how intimidated she felt by her surroundings. Her body pulsed with adrenaline beneath her black dress and heavy black veil as the fog thickened, making every one of her senses tingle with the anticipation needed to run for her life.

Smithy nearly jumped out of her horseshoes when she heard a ‘psssst!’ coming from behind her. She turned to slap whoever it was that had frightened her, only to have her hoof grabbed by Bruisey.

Bruisey was less than impressed with the sudden swing, but let it go quickly because of the business he had to attend to. “You made it. Now cool your jets,” he said as he set her hoof back on the ground. “Da boss is waitin’ for you. I told him a little about you already. He’s lookin’ forward ta dis. Salty Ron even made some pecan ice cream for you.”

At a time like this, Smithy couldn’t even think of food. “So yer kingpin’s name is Salty Ron?” she said as they made their way through the dense fog, crinkling her nose at what sounded like the worst mobster name ever.

Bruisey began to laugh at the simple guess. “Na! You got it all wrong,” he said as they turned an even darker corner. “Salty Ron’s his ziggler, and he makes all dat ice cream for da café. Da boss is called Crab Apple.”

Bruisey opened a door to a poorly lit warehouse, allowing his guest to go inside. “Whatcha waitin' for, a written invite?" he asked sarcastically, noticing Smithy's hesitance.

Taking a deep breath, Smithy took a few shaky steps inside. “Y’all got a match?” she asked, freaking out a bit as she walked into a spider web. She could hear somepony laughing heartily as he granted her request.

From the match light she saw a grizzled looking zebra lighting an oil lamp. His face was lined with a few scars, and he wore an eye patch over his left eye. “You must be here for the boss,” he said in an eerily calm voice. “I am Salty Ron. Please follow me, and do be wary of the spiders. They do not take kindly to invaders.”

Smithy swallowed back her fears that the comment brought to her mind as she followed the lamp light closely, hoping not to run into anything she couldn’t handle.

Salty Ron lead the way through the dark warehouse as if by memory. Smithy could barely keep track of where she was going, let alone where Bruisey had gotten off to. She was too distracted by the amount of spiders she saw crawling around to keep her thoughts strait. Salty Ron chuckled each time he heard her yelp at the sight of them.

At this point, Smithy knew she was at the mercy of the zebra with the oil lamp, and the last thing she thought would be wise was to aggravate him with how rude she felt he was behaving. Smithy followed behind him cautiously as he lead her up a set of wrought iron stairs and onto a catwalk. Just knowing that she was up in the air, in the dark, and surrounded by spiders the size of her face made her feel completely helpless. She had to keep thinking about Kizzy or else she wouldn’t have been able to put one hoof in front of the other.

After what felt like an hour in the dark, the two had finally reached their destination. Smithy could hear voices coming from behind the door that Salty Ron knocked on. “Password,” a gruff voice said through a crack in the door.

Salty Ron set the lap down as he looked over the pony in the door crack. “Mushy Surprise,” he said, the door opening to the sound of the correct password.

The guard and the zebra exchanged a series of hoof bumps before entrance was fully permitted. “Who’s da dame?” the guard asked, eyeballing Smithy from top to bottom.

Salty Ron held the lamp out for the guard so that he could properly frisk his guest. “Somepony looking to make a deal, from what I hear,” he explained as the guard searched Smithy, all the while listening to his guest protesting the search. “Miss, you must be cooperative or you will not see Mr. Crab Apple. You must understand that these are precautions.”

Smithy scrunched up her face obstinately as the guard gave his okay that she was not armed. “Ya sure got a way of showin’ it!” she complained as she pulled her black veil back over her face. She had taken special precaution not to be recognizable to the gang boss, so having her outfit messed with bothered her.

She was lead into an office where she saw an orange pony with a red mane and tail sitting behind a desk with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. He wore a white button down shirt under a grey pin striped vest, wearing a matching fedora hat on his head. He looked up from a large ledger book he had been pouring over as soon as he realized he had company. “Ah, dis must be da gal Bruisey went on about,” he said with a big smile. “Sit down, lady. You wanna bowl a pecan ice cream? Salty Ron here makes da best you ever tasted!”

Smithy waved a dismissive hoof to the offer. “No thanks,” she said as the zebra held out a bowl for her. In spite of her protest, he set the bowl down in front of her anyway.

She watched the kingpin accept a bowl of ice cream from Salty Ron and take an eager spoonful of the treat. He kicked his feet up on the desk to enjoy his ice cream, revealing a cutie mark showing a cluster of three crab apples. “Great batch here,” he complimented as he smacked his lips.

Salty Ron smiled genuinely as he and the kingpin exchanged an enthusiastic hoof bump. “I thank you, Crab Apple,” Salty Ron replied happily, much to Smithy’s surprise. She had never heard a slave call his master by his first name before without first saying ‘mister’ or ‘master’ or 'sir', or seen one behave so casually toward his master. “Will there be anything else you might need, or shall I go?”

Crab Apple turned to the black dressed mare sitting on the other side of the desk. “I dunno,” he replied sarcastically. “Unless she jumps outta dat widow get up and throttles me, I should be okay. Wadda you think?”

The two shared a laugh at Smithy’s expense, another first she noticed between master and slave. Salty Ron gave Smithy an untrusting look as he walked past her. “I will be close by if I am to be needed,” he said as he and the guard exited the room.

There was an awkward silence as Crab Apple finished his ice cream. “So, what brings you all da way out here after dark?” he asked as he wiped smudged ice cream from his freckled cheeks with the back of his hoof.

Smithy picked up her bowl of ice cream, looking at the chunks of pecan sticking out of the large scoops. “I… need somepony killed,” she said, looking at the bowl in her hooves instead of the pony she wished to hire. In spite of the fact that she had thought about what to say all day, it was still hard to put into words in front of a total stranger.

Crab Apple leaned forward to hear more, resting his elbows on the desk as he cradled his chin in his hooves. “From da way you’re dressed, I’da thought somepony whacked him already,” he replied, glad to see his guest raise her head to make eye contact. “Is da get up preemptive or somethin’?”

Going back to staring at her melting ice cream, Smithy took a deep breath as she thought about what she would say next. “He’s a gangster,” she explained as calmly as she could. “He’s with the Faction of the Stud. It’s kinda important that he goes in the next couple days.”

The mystery intrigued Crab Apple, especially since he could barely see who he was talking to due to the heavy black lace veil covering this mystery pony’s face. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, hoping to get some more information as he put his cigar back in his mouth. All he got was a head shake from the black dressed mare. “Fair enough. So, what can you tell me about dis guy? Where’s he from, and why do you want him gone?”

Smithy slid a picture across the desk that she had carried with her in her saddlebag. “He’s the Ponyville kingpin,” she explained as flatly as she could. “I need him taken down in two days time before an important transaction is made.”

Crab Apple took the picture in his hooves to examine it. “Cute kid he’s got there,” he said upon examination. “What gave him da idea ta put licorice in his nose?”

Immediately regretting printing the most recent photo of her husband, Smithy reached out to retrieve it. “Leave mah boy out of it,” she said as she tried to get the photo back.

Crab Apple smiled broadly as held the photo out of Smithy’s reach. “Your boy?” he exclaimed, a big grin on his face as he noticed Smithy flinch. “So dis here’s your husband? What, did he forget an anniversary or somethin’?”

Smithy snatched the photo out of her laughing colleague’s hooves. “Just stop him before he sells a slave,” she said, feeling stupid for letting too much information slip out. “I’ll compensate ya fer yer time. How many bits will it take?”

Smithy took a sack of bits out of her saddlebag to pay for Crab Apple’s services, but was shocked to see him push it away. “Keep your money, Mrs. Rich,” he said in a sudden serious tone. “Use it ta hire somepony else ta negotiate for you next time you want somepony else whacked.”

Smithy stood ram rod still, too shocked to retrieve the sack of coins on the desk. “How’d ya know mah name?” she asked in a weak voice.

Crab Apple pointed to the photo still laying on the desk where Smithy had left it. “Lucky guess,” he said sarcastically, resting a hoof on the image of Stinking Rich. “Mean time, I think we can barter with bigger stuff than cash, dontcha think?”

Smithy sat nervously, staring down at the fully melted puddle of pecan ice cream in her bowl. She was at a complete loss for words at this point, cursing herself for being so stupid. “What’d ya have in mind?” she said softly, trying hard to keep her composure.

Crab Apple stared at the possibility for potential that sat before him. “Whadda you call dat farm you two live at again? Sweet Apple Trees?” he teased, realizing that he could get whatever answers he wanted out of this mare if he asked the right questions.

Smithy grit her teeth at the uncomfortable teasing. “Acres,” she corrected, annoyance making its way into her voice.

Crab Apple smirked at the correction. “Acres, right,” he teased. “Big plot a land then, buncha slaves I bet. A fella could get himself in a lotta trouble with space like dat.”

Smithy stood up quickly and slammed her hooves on the desk, letting the bowl of melted ice cream fall to the floor with a loud clang. “Yer not takin’ mah home!” she hollered, hoping to intimidate.

Instead of acting intimidated like Smithy had hoped, Crab Apple sat there calmly and took another drag off his cigar. “Don’t getcha veil in a knot,” he replied, blowing a large smoke ring around her face. “I don’t wanna take away your land. I just wanna get some use outta it. Dat's all.”

Smithy’s jaw tensed up as she listened to his demands, not sure what to expect from him. “What if I refuse?” she asked, hoping to sound more businesslike than intimidated.

Crab Apple took one last long drag off of his cigar, casually blowing one last smoke ring into the air. “Than good luck gettin’ outta here,” he said as he put out his cigar butt in the ash tray. “Even if you do find a way out, we’ll know where ta find you now. And we know about dat boy. How much fun could a kidnappin’ be, am I right? I bet hubby won’t like dat either, ‘specially knowin’ his wifey caused it!”

Smithy was once again cornered by a gangster, with no time to think and nowhere to run. The only way she was going to get herself and her daughter out of this situation was to agree to the terms. “It’s a deal,” she sighed weakly.

She held out a hoof to shake on it, but Crab Apple brushed it away. “We ain’t gotta deal yet,” he said slyly. “I need info on where I can find dis rascal before I accept anythin'. Whadda you got for me?”