Just Don't Get Caught
Chapter 1: Trust Me
“Damn.”
Trust. It's a simple concept. You put your confidence in someone and they—hopefully—put their confidence in you. Easy enough to say, but a little harder to put into practice. Trust takes time to build, a long time. You don't always have a long time though, and in my line of work that is so often the case. Generally it's controlled though. The only ponies I don't know that I have to trust are my clients. It's a simple trust too. They trust me to do my job, and I trust them to pay me. I don't build relationships and I don't make friends, especially not with my clients; things get messy that way. Got messy, I should say.
Anyway, that's not important right now. What is important is the gun being pressed against the back of my head.
Trust can be tricky sometimes. For now—let's go back six months; back to when this all started.
-----
I exhaled slowly, letting my breath escape in a steady stream of fog. I could feel the cold cement beneath my hooves and the left side of my body felt the cool touch of metal as I leaned against the street lamp on 32nd street where we were supposed to be meeting. Warm tendrils of air snaked towards me from the open door I was standing in front of. I could hear the patrons inside talking, arguing, and—occasionally—shouting. I took another drag of my cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke and allowing it to mingle with the fog from my breath. I watched as the two gasses mixed and swirled about in the light breeze, all under the warm light of the street lamp.
Normally I don't smoke, but when you're trying to blend in you sometimes have to do things you wouldn't normally do. No one questions why a guy has been standing in front of a bar for half an hour smoking the same pack of cigarettes. On the other hand, ponies—cops especially—start to ask questions if you spend the same amount of time hanging around an art gallery this late at night. After midnight it becomes harder to convince cops that you're just a simple art enthusiast.
I shivered as a shrill gust of wind blew past me. I hate cold, I hate this city, and most of all—I hate waiting. I don't like doing jobs with other ponies, things tend to get messy that way. I prefer to remain solo. That way I keep my liabilities to a minimum. But oh no, they insisted that I bring him along. I don't even know anything about him outside a vague description and the fact that he's my client's son. If there's one thing I hate more than anything, it's putting my trust in someone I've never met. But, the money was there. How could I refuse?
I have a few simple rules that have kept me out of trouble all these years. Rule number one: I don't accept any payment that isn't cold, hard, cash. I once had a Phillydelphian businessman pay me with illegal unicorn horn stimulants. He assured me that they were “as good as cash.” I quickly found out that it isn't easy to move narcotics and it quickly becomes dangerous if you don't have the right connections. Needless to say, rule number one was implemented shortly afterward. Rule number two: I work alone unless I decide otherwise. I won't be handed lackeys to babysit while I do my work. If I need help then I'll find it on my own. Finally, rule number three: I don't kill—ever. Killing only causes problems and it becomes easier to get caught the more dead bodies you leave behind.
By following these three rules I have managed to keep myself out of trouble—outside of that one incident with the drug cartel—and kept my nose clean. In the eyes of the police I'm a model citizen: no arrests, no criminal history of any kind, and certainly no reason to suspect me of any wrongdoing. I may have a large cashflow into my bank account each month, but that's just thanks to good ol' great-uncle Picket. Unfortunately, he died several years ago due to heart-related issues. But, he was good enough to name me in his will—despite his having never met me. Apparently I was very dear to him as he left me his entire fortune, or at least that's what it says on paper. I'll admit, finding somepony willing to forge those documents and then launder my money through my “great-uncle's” endless font of wealth was not easy, nor was it cheap. It was worth it though—I'm sure of that.
The point is this: I don't break my rules unless it's for a damn good reason. So, when my client told me that I had to bring his son along for the job I turned him down immediately and without a second thought. Then, a few weeks later he came back and offered to double the money if I brought his son. It went against every fiber of my being, but when I saw those six zeroes next to that one—I couldn't turn him down. So here I am, freezing my ass off in this cold, waiting for some rich guy's son outside a bar in the middle of Manehattan: Luna's icebox.
Another gust of wind blew past me, causing me to involuntarily shiver again. I hate this city. I always have, even when I was living here in my youth. The first opportunity I had I ran—ran as far as I could from this damn city. Unfortunately, I keep finding myself drawn back for one job or another. I blew out another puff of smoke, watching as it slowly drifted away. I had been thinking about adding a fourth rule: I don't work in Manehattan. But, the money is usually too good to turn down, so that rule has never made it.
I gazed down the dimly lit street, watching ponies stumble away as they left the bar. I could taste the sickly scent of cigar smoke and smell the combined odors of bitter alcohol and salty sweat coming from the bar. I loved the smell of alcohol—whiskey especially: the smell, the taste, the way it burned running down your throat, I loved every bit of whiskey. Once this was all over I was going to pour myself a tall shot of Firehoove's. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of it as a smile tugged at my cheeks. It quickly faded however, when the bitter cold hit me again. Damn, where are you? I pulled the cigarette from my mouth and released another puff of smoke. As I watched it fade away I noticed that it was starting to snow. Perfect.
The little white flakes of crystallized water rained down. It was slow at first. I could barely even tell it was snowing without carefully watching the lights. But, within a minute it had picked up significantly. Luckily it wasn't windy or the snow would be coming down hard and fast. At least this way it snowed heavily, but slowly.
I brought my fore-hooves up to my mouth and blew warm breath into them, rubbing them together to generate heat. I shivered, shaking the accumulated snow off my head and shoulders. It fell like angel dust to the ground, adding to the steadily growing pile near my hooves. I stuck the cigarette back in my mouth and took a long drag before realizing that it had burned down to the filter. I tossed the cigarette next to the others as I fished a pack of smokes from my jacket and—hitting the bottom of the pack against my hoof—popped a fresh cigarette out. I grabbed it with my mouth, slipping the pack back into my pocket while producing a small metal lighter with my other hoof.
I fumbled with the lighter, clumsily attempting to light it. They didn't make these things easy to use without magic. Annoyed, I tapped the lighter against the post and tried again. No luck. I sighed; using this damn thing was always such a hassle. I shook it violently, hoping that would somehow get it to light.
“Need some help?”
A cheery voice came from behind me. It was almost bell-like the way his voice chimed; and it seemed like he was barely holding back a chuckle. I turned to face him—my lighter still held awkwardly in one hoof and the cigarette dangling from my mouth.
His voice certainly didn't lie; he was young. I guessed that he was maybe twenty-two or twenty-three at the oldest. His face was clean and pretty, it had an almost boyish charm to it. His cobalt eyes seemed to sparkle, though that was probably just the light from the bar reflecting in his iris. He seemed to be quite lean, rather tall, and fairly lanky. His ocean blue mane swam across his scalp, parting around the horn protruding from his forehead. His mane appeared slick, suave even; it was well-cared for and there were telltale signs of professional styling and just the right amount of mousse. His tan coat was equally elegant without so much as a speck of dust to dirty him. He wore a loose-fitting gray jacket, that seemed to hang effortlessly on him. Just under his neckline he wore a small blue bow tie that matched perfectly with his mane.
He was standing just outside the bar, the light washing over him, making him appear to glow with an inner radiance. He was flashing me a gleaming smile; even his teeth were perfect. They seemed to glow all on their own, bringing more light to his already bright image. The only thing ruining his perfect persona was the snow falling gently on his mane. He didn't seem to mind though, he didn't even look cold. I'll admit, he looked damn good standing there. His beauty was in sharp contrast to the bar patrons mere feet behind him, he couldn't look like he belonged less. I sighed. He may be pretty, but he was still an amateur. I hate amateurs.
His horn flashed, glowing a bright blue, followed quickly by the lighter I held in my hoof. He pulled it smoothly from my grasp and floated it beneath the unlit cigarette. I heard the click of the lighter being struck as he created a small, steady flame. He held it under the cigarette. I closed my mouth, getting a better grip on it before taking a long drag. Satisfied that it was successfully lit, he moved the lighter to my pocket, dropping it carefully inside. I let out a wave of gray smoke as he took a step towards me, smile still spread across his face.
I rolled the cigarette to the right side of my mouth, allowing it to smolder while I spoke. “You're late.”
He chuckled—I didn't. “Sorry, I was busy,” he apologized as he moved a little closer.
“Busy?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
His smile grew, showing his gleaming white teeth. “Business.”
He was close enough now that I could smell that familiar scent of alcohol on his breath. I took another drag before dropping the cigarette on the ground and exhaling a plume of smoke. “I don't care what you do in your free time. But, when I tell you to be somewhere at a certain time, then you better make damn sure that you're there on-time. Understand?” I spoke harshly but not unkindly.
His smile wavered for but a second and then he returned to his jubilant state. “Calm down,” he said. “I'm here now aren't I? Better late than never.”
I put my hoof over the cigarette I dropped, crushing it into the snow without saying anything. I moved away from the warmth of the bar and inviting light of the street lamp and began walking north, up the street. Moments later he was beside me. We trudged through the building snow—it was about an inch deep now—our hooves making small prints in the snow and our manes and coats becoming cold and wet. There were very few ponies out this late at night, even in a city as large as this one, so we weren't particularly worried about unwanted attention. Though, we were still careful to avoid any patrolling police officers. From the bar it took roughly ten minutes to reach our destination.
We came upon a large domed building that was nestled between two towering apartment complexes. All the small convenience stores and grocers that lined the ground floor were closed, their metal doors pulled down to protect them from would-be thieves. Luckily for them, they were not our target. I gestured to the sign adorning the building's grand entrance. Situated above a row of decorative columns that each stood fifteen feet tall was an engraving that read: Manehattan Art Gallery.
Between the gallery and the apartments on the left was an alley that dead-ended a hundred feet down; that would be our entrance. I motioned towards the alley, moving quickly but quietly into position. The alley smelled awful—and it was filled with trash—but it provided good cover from the street. I wiped the snow off a dumpster and produced a folded piece of paper from my left pocket. Unfolding the paper, I lay it out, displaying the blueprints for the art gallery.
“So, these are the—”
“Yeah. Did you bring everything I asked for?”
“Of course.” His horn began to glow blue as he levitated a small saddlebag from beneath his jacket and on to the blueprints. I opened the bag and inspected the contents. Satisfied, I closed the bag and set it back down.
“Good. Now, we'll enter through this maintenance closet here,” I said as I tapped my hoof on a tiny room located in the upper-left corner of the blueprint. Judging by its to-scale size it was going to be a tight fit.
“How are we going to get in though?” he asked. “There's no door to this on the roof.”
“All in good time. You'll see once we get on the roof.” I handed the bag to him and told him to put it back on. Meanwhile, I folded the blueprints up and replaced them in my pocket. Then, from my own small saddlebag, I brought out a length of thin rope with a small, black, metal bobble at one end. As I began uncoiling the rope he looked at me questioningly.
“It's a grappling hook,” I explained as I pressed a small button on the underside of the bobble which made the ends flare out. It looked like a five-legged spider with hooks on the end of each leg. He raised an eyebrow, but seemed to understand. I held on tightly to the rope a foot or so down from the hooked end and began spinning it in circles. “Watch closely,” I said as I spun the hook faster and faster. It whipped across the ground kicking up snow before I let it go at its peak.
The hook soared upwards, slightly angled towards the roof. As the hook flew four stories up I held on to the other end, gripping it tightly. A few seconds later we heard the clang of the metal hook landing on the roof. I pulled gently on the rope until I felt it snag on something. I yanked hard, making sure it was secure. Satisfied that the rope was reasonably safe, I wrapped the excess around my waist and pulled it into a tight knot.
“Are you sure that hook is secure?”
I tugged the rope to show him it was safe. “As sure as I can be.”
“Well, what about the rope? It looks pretty thin to me,” he said, eyeing the rope suspiciously.
“This?” I said as I displayed a loose end of the rope, “This is nylon rope. It has a tensile strength of up to 92,000 pounds and it's incredibly lightweight. And the hook,” I said, pointing to the roof, “I'd like to see you pry one of those legs off.”
“All right, point taken. But, how are we going to climb it?”
I raised an eyebrow. “We use the rope. What else?”
“I know that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But how?”
I brushed the snow from my mane and shook my head. Wet hair hung in my eyes. I ran a hoof over my head, slicking the hair back. I sighed. “Look kid, I don't have time to sit here and explain everything to you. We're going to climb this rope,” I shook the rope for emphasis, “using the most valuable tools we have.” He raised his other eyebrow to match the first. I smiled, showing off my teeth as I held up my hooves.
“I don't think I can do that. Especially not now,” he said as he scooped a pile of snow off the dumpster. “Look,” he said holding the snow up, “this crap is going to make everything slick. We'll never be able to hold on to that rope.”
I ran my hoof up the rope, feeling that it was indeed fairly slick. “You may be right,” I replied after a moment. “But, this is our only option. I don't see any wings on your back. So, unless you have a better plan—we climb.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I'm all ears.”
“I may have something,” he smirked.
“Oh? Like wha—”
I was interrupted by a flash of white. I clenched my eyes shut, shielding them from the blinding light. It felt as if I was weightless. I had no idea where I was. In fact, I can't say that I felt like I was anywhere. For a brief moment I experienced a total loss of all senses. However, as quickly as it began, it was over. All my senses came rushing back to me and I felt cold again. I could taste the dry air and smell the city. I opened my eyes.
In front of me was a large glass dome. The steel support beams curved upwards to the center where a ring of steel held the structure together. Besides that—and the odd air conditioning vent—the roof was relatively free of obstructions. I looked to my right and he was standing next to me—his mane wet with snow, but a smile on his face.
“How about we do that?” he said smugly.
I couldn't help but let a small smile escape. I had to admit: the kid had skill. “Only a very small number of unicorns are able to perform teleportation magic,” I said. “I'm impressed.”
His smile grew ever so slightly as he brushed the snow from his mane and straightened his jacket. He shook his head, his damp mane thrashing around. Once he was done, he ran his right hoof through his hair, slicking his mane back. “I've always had a special talent for magic,” he said as he walked to the roof edge. His horn glowed dimly as the same glow surrounded the grappling hook and rope. He unhooked it and began pulling the rope up, coiling it as he went. His eyes were fixed on the it as he spoke softly: “I have more control over my magic than most unicorns. Dad never seemed to appreciate it though,” he said with a hint of sadness—or disappointment. “He said that I needed to do something with my talent. Something that wasn't impressing young girls with 'parlor tricks' as he called them. That's why I'm here now,” he said as he untied the end of the rope and finished coiling it. Scooping it up, he walked the rope to me before handing it over.
I took the rope, it was slick with snow, but neatly coiled. He had retracted the hook and looped the bobble through the rope, holding it tight. I slipped the rope into my bag without saying anything. I looked up. He was staring off into the distance, his eyes were glazed over. I approached him slowly, sliding up next to him. “Come on, let's finish this,” I said softly. He nodded after a moment.
The snow was falling much slower now, though the roof was still covered with an inch or so of it. We shuffled our way to the far corner of the roof, leaving a trail of hoofprints in the white snow. Stopping, I pointed to the ground. “Here,” I said. “We need to clear out a square: two feet by two feet.” I dragged my hoof through the snow, drawing a rough square on the roof. I started to wipe the snow away when the whole of it lifted in to the air and then fell a few feet to the right. “That works too.”
He grinned but it slipped away when he realized: “Wait, how are we getting through the roof?” He tapped his hoof against the cleared surface, eliciting a dull thudding sound. “It sounds like solid concrete.”
I reached into my saddlebag and removed a plastic tube filled with a gray, powdery substance. I held the tube up, shaking it slightly. “We use this.”
“This?”
I unscrewed the cap and tossed it aside. Carefully, I poured the gray powder in an oval shape around the clear portion of the roof, making sure to keep the amount of powder uniform. Once the tube was empty I tossed it aside, letting it bounce through the snow.
“That,” I said, indicating the powder, “is thermite.” I held up a hoof, stopping him before he could even ask. “Thermite is mixture of a metal powder and a metal oxide. It burns very hot and very bright. This stuff'll reach temperatures of over two and half thousand degrees and burn right through the concrete.”
“Uhh, won't the 'very bright' part be a problem though?”
It was my turn to smirk now. “I'm particularly proud of this actually. Normally, thermite burns with the intensity of a small sun. But, I discovered that by adding different species of crushed dragon scales I can not only control the amount of time it burns, but also the color. This brand of thermite burns a very dark and dull purple and only for a few seconds. If you're standing more than ten feet away, it would be very difficult to tell that it's burning at all.” I pulled the lighter from my pocket and began trying to strike it. I glanced up at him: “Give me that sparkler I asked you to bring.”
I couldn't see his face since I was concentrating on the lighter, but I could feel his smile. I had a few tricks up my sleeve as well. He rummaged through his bag, pulling a small stick out and handing it to me. I didn't take it, but continued to manipulate the lighter.
“Why don't you just use the lighter to light it?”
There we go. I finally managed to produce a flame. Proudly I held the lighter up and lit the sparkler. It burned brightly, throwing sparks everywhere. I took the sparkler from him and slipped the lighter back into my pocket.
“The flame created by the butane in the lighter doesn't burn near hot enough to light the thermite. However,” I added, displaying the burning stick, “the magnesium in this sparkler will be more than adequate.”
He laughed. “You're something else. How do you know all this stuff?”
“You have your talents, and I have mine,” I said, watching the sparkler burn away. “You may want to step back though,” I warned. “This crap still burns hot as hell.” I tossed the sparkler, causing him to jump away. I took a step back as the sparkler landed on the pile of powder, igniting it almost immediately.
It was actually quite beautiful. The ring of thermite caught fire like dominoes. It was almost like watching burning amethyst. The purple flames were dark and—even at this distance—it was difficult to see what was happening, but it was extraordinary. The thermite would catch fire and burn so hot that it would create molten slag which would melt right through the concrete. My special blend would prevent it from burning all the way through though, stopping just short of the inside of the building. I wanted to prevent burning the entire building down if possible.
We watched in silence as the thermite did its work, burning that luscious violet that I loved so much. I smiled as I glanced over to see his jaw dropping slowly. I chuckled silently. I couldn't help but notice that the snow had stopped now. That was good. Snow and thermite can cause problems if mixed together. Luckily there wasn't enough for it to be a problem.
The flames burned away after a time, leaving a jagged-edged hole in the roof. I approached the scar, leaning down to examine it. I felt the edges of the ring, they were rough, but more than wide enough to allow us to enter. I waved him over and told him to remove his saddlebag. Once he had handed it to me, I opened it and removed a thick metal pole that was about a foot long. It was tapered at one end and made of strong metal alloy that made it very durable. I wedged the pole into the crevice—at the narrowest point in the oval—angling it away from the ring.
“You're just going to pry off that concrete slab?”
I shrugged: “Sure, just give it a good buck and it should pop right off.”
I made sure the pole was secured and then lined myself up so that my rear right leg would be in the perfect position to buck the pole. I raised my leg, feeling the muscles in my hindquarters tense, and then kicked with all my strength. There was a loud cracking sound as the concrete slab broke away from the roof and flipped. It landed upside-down on the other side of the hole, chipped and cracked. The pole had been knocked to the side and it lay a foot or so away in the snow. I gestured towards it and he nodded, lifting it with his magic and replacing it in his bag.
I peered into the hole. It was dark and difficult to see, but I could make out the framework of a false ceiling. I grinned: “Bingo.”
After fixing his bag and straightening his jacket, my partner approached the hole, leaning down to peer inside. His eyes strained as he gazed into the maw. After awhile he said: “It looks like a false ceiling.”
I nodded my head. “Yeah, just like the blueprints said. Now, all we need to do is remove one of the tiles and lower ourselves down. It's about a ten foot drop, but if you bend your legs just as you hit the ground you should be able to disperse the impact—and remain quiet,” I explained.
He stepped away from the chasm, glancing sidelong at me. “I could be wrong,” he said. “But, wouldn't it be easier if I just teleported us inside?”
“No,” I said quickly. “If we keep teleporting all over the place someone is going to notice the flashes of light, especially inside. We're lucky no one saw us teleport to the roof.” I shook my head. “No, teleportation is out of the question for now. Plus,” I added, smirking, “it's more fun this way.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, shrugging.
“Hand me the weighted line I had you bring,” I said, as I pulled away from the hole to watch him fish through his bags for the supplies. As he handed them to me I said sternly: “Look, this is my job and we'll do things my way. No more magic, and no more suggestions. Trust me—I know what I'm doing.” I grabbed the line with my mouth and began lowering it into the hole.
At the end of the line was a strong epoxy bonded to a strip of metal. The wire was too fine to manipulate with my hooves but, using my mouth, I was able to control it more effectively. I slowly lowered it into the hole until I felt it hit the ceiling tile. I tugged the wire to be sure it had stuck before I started backing away, pulling the line with me. I was about two feet from the hole before the tile popped out of the hole and began to drag through the snow. I dropped the wire and said: “Does it look clear now?”
He leaned over, gazing into the hole. “It's hard to tell, but I can see the floor.”
“Excellent.” I trotted up next to him and leaned in to match his position. He was right, it was quite dark and hard to tell, but the floor was visible through the false ceiling.
“Ladies first,” he said, motioning towards the jagged hole we were about to jump through.
Ignoring him, I stepped over the hole and splayed my legs out, straddling it. It was lucky we were both relatively small, otherwise we might not have fit through the hole. Snapping my legs together I jumped slightly, and then quickly fell through the ceiling. I bent my knees as I hit the ground, absorbing the impact while also muffling the sound of my landing. I moved away from my landing zone and a few seconds later my partner hit the ground next to me—far less gracefully I might add.
He hit the ground hard, his knees more buckling than anything. It was loud too, loud enough that I was sure someone must've heard him. He moaned as he gathered himself up. I held up a hoof and shushed him. My ears rotated around as I listened intently. After a solid twenty seconds of silence I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I guess Lady Luck is on our side,” I joked.
“I did say ladies first,” he chuckled quietly before muffling a cough.
I helped him up and we dusted ourselves off. Taking stock of our surroundings, I noticed that we were in a small room with shelves stacked with cleaning supplies on either side. I moved to the door and put my ear against it. I felt the cool wood press against my ear, but I heard nothing. I looked over my shoulder at him.
“We're in the wrong room,” I said. “We need to be one door over.”
“What?”
I pulled on the door, opening it slightly. I peered through the crack into the hallway where I saw a lone guard patrolling. From where we were, I could tell that we were at the end of the hallway which was separate from the gallery rooms. I counted under my breath, waiting for the guard to pass again. A full minute passed before I saw him again. A few lights had been left on in the gallery, but he carried a flashlight with him as well. In the dim light I could see that he carried a nightstick on his side, and—worst of all—he was a unicorn.
“The guard passes every two minutes. My guess is that he rotates between floors, and it's just our luck that he's on this floor right now,” I said as I pulled the door closed again and rested my head against it. “So much for Lady Luck,” I whispered under my breath.
“Why don't we just wait for him to move on to the next floor?” he asked.
I shook my head: “We don't know how long that could take. It may be a few minutes, but it could also be a few hours. We'll have to move to the next room during that two-minute window.” I reached beneath my coat and searched through my bag for my tool set. Pulling it out, I set it on the ground and said, “Don't worry, I've got a plan. But first, we need to get inside that other room.”
My eyes had adjusted to the dark by now and I could see the gears turning in his head as he thought. His eyes fell on the objects I had removed from my bag and I saw his mouth start to open as he realized what they were. “You're going to pick the lock? Can you do it that fast?”
I grinned. “You have your talents, and I have mine.” I gathered the tools I would need in my mouth and put the rest away. I leaned against the door and pushed it open slightly, peering once again into the dark hallway. A few seconds later I saw the guard pass by, his flashlight held in his mouth, sweeping the room. As soon as he was out of sight I opened the door and slipped out, him following behind me. I began tiptoeing my way down the hall as he silently closed the door. Luckily the door we needed was only a few feet down the hallway.
I reached the door and breathed a sigh of relief. I was worried that the lock might be electronic, but fortunately it was just a simple handle lock. I held two pieces of equipment in my mouth, a hook and a tension wrench. I dropped the wrench into my hoof and placed it in the lock, twisting it away from me while using my mouth to manipulate the hook. As I held the wrench in place, providing constant pressure, I moved the hook to the back of the lock.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him sidle up next to me, his eyes darted back and forth between the lock and the hall. His mane, still wet from the snow, had fallen from its slicked back position and now hung in his face. I saw his hoof move to clear away his hair as he looked over me towards the hall. I turned my attention to the lock, focusing on delicately moving the hook back and forth until I felt it hit one of the pins. Gritting the hook with my teeth, I used my tongue to move it up and down until I felt a click, indicating that I had cleared the first pin.
“Hurry up,” he said urgently. “I hear the guard coming back.”
I ignored him and continued to work. I moved the hook to the next pin and repeated the process. Since the lock was so simple it only had three pins and thus was relatively simple to pick. A few seconds later I had finished and I was turning the wrench to open the lock. Success. The lock opened and the door with it. We snuck in the room and closed the door behind us just as the guard rounded the corner. I replaced the tools in my bag and began searching the room. I told him to stand next to the door and keep his ear pressed against it, to listen in case he heard the guard.
In front of me was wall that was covered in pipes and electronic equipment. I began examining the wall until I found what I was looking for. “Here we go.”
“What is it?”
I didn't turn to look at him, but instead focused on opening the fuse box. “I'm going to cut the power,” I said. “If I cut it then I can shut the lights off for this floor. The guard will get curious and most likely come check the breakers.” I pried open the box and began separating the wires. “Then, when he comes in we'll,” I made a punching motion with my hoof. “That should knock him out. Ah ha!” I pulled a yellow wire from the bunch and held it apart from the rest. “Can you use your magic to cut this?” I asked.
His ear still pressed against the door, his horn glowed dimly and a moment later the wire was split in half. “I thought you didn't want me to use magic,” he said.
“Only if I ask you to. Now come on, move away from the door. The guard should be here any second.”
We pressed ourselves against the wall, waiting for the guard to enter. Silence permeated the room as we stood perfectly still. I tensed my muscles in preparation, waiting for the door to open to spring the trap. We waited for a full thirty seconds before I began to wonder what was taking the guard so long. I inched towards the door, my ears perked for any suspicious sounds. I heard nothing, not a single hoof hitting the floor, or the clank of a nightstick against a belt. I pressed my head against the wood, hearing nothing.
“Oh crap,” I whispered quietly, pulling my head away to look at my companion. “No one's coming.”
He looked at me incredulously: “Well, isn't that a good thing?”
I threw open the door and jumped into the hallway. Nothing; no one came running at the sound and I couldn't see the guard's flashlight anywhere in the total darkness. Cutting the wire had worked, all the lights were off. But, it didn't have the intended repercussions.
“No, that's a very bad thing,” I muttered. “The fact that no one came means they know something is up. I doubt they know it's a break-in, but they know that's it's not the breakers, and that's bad news.”
“What do you mean they know something is up?” he asked as he stepped into the hallway.
“I don't know,” I sighed, “But, I can bet that guard from before has gone off to call in some of his buddies. We're gonna have to move fast.” I pursed my lips and furrowed my brow. “All right, the paintings are on the floor below us. Let's go.” He nodded, then we turned tail and hurried towards the gallery.
We moved quickly but quietly into the wooden-floored exhibition hall. It was on the top floor where the art gallery kept its most valuable pieces of art. However, these were not our targets. For some reason, my client—his father—had asked for two relatively small pieces from a rather unknown artist. They weren't particularly valuable and so I was curious as to why we wanted them, but I didn't ask questions. The money was good and that was all that mattered.
As we made our way through the room, the sound of our footfalls echoed dully. We inched across the floor, careful to avoid knocking anything over. There were paintings lining every wall. Each had its own set of lights to illuminate it, but they were all dark now. Scattered throughout the hall were statues and other free-standing pieces, each with its own lights just like the paintings. We were passing a large statue of a pegasus pony wearing full-body armor and holding a large spear when my ears picked up the sound of footsteps. I grabbed my partner and pulled him to the ground behind the statue. “Shh,” I whispered.
His mouth opened as his eyebrow rose, but I covered his mouth with my hoof and pointed over my shoulder between the statue's legs. We rolled over onto our stomachs and peered into the dark. My ears twitched, I could hear them coming up the stairs in front of us. A few moments later the bouncing light from flashlights appeared, accompanied by two voices.
“I'm telling you, the lights just went off all of the sudden. Don't you think that's weird?”
“I think you're being paranoid. I'm sure it's just a flipped breaker.”
“One breaker doesn't control all of the lights for one floor. Something's going on here, and I'm going to find out what it is.”
“Then why'd you bring me?”
“I'm not going to search this whole building in the dark by myself!”
“Fine, let's hurry this up. You go check the electrical closet and I'll sweep this room.”
The two lights split up and one began walking towards us. With lights off it would be difficult to spot us hiding behind this large statue, but the guard had a flashlight and he would no doubt find us, and even if he didn't the other one sweeping the room certainly would. I needed to think of something, and fast. As I racked my brain for ideas I noticed my companion's face contorted in concentration.
His eyes were fixated on the pony walking towards us as he bit his lip and sweat beaded on his brow. They narrowed, his attention fully focused on the guard. I put my hoof on his shoulder causing him to turn his head. I shook my head and mouthed, “No magic.” He stared at me, fire in his eyes. The look of determination on his face took me by surprise.
He mouthed back, “Trust me.”
I didn't know what else to do, so I took my hoof off his shoulder and he turned back to look through the statue. I watched as the guard walked slowly towards us. My own brow began to bead with sweat as I watched him approach. I sucked in my breath, waiting for him to spot us. I clenched my eyes shut, waiting for the blinding light to wash over me. It never came though. I heard a dull thudding sound and my eyes shot open. The guard's flashlight had fallen from his grasp and hit the ground where it was rolling around.
“Whoops,” the guard said as he bent down to pick up the flashlight. He reached for it, but as he did it shot up and hit him right between the eyes. He stumbled backwards, dazed. He put a hoof to his head, wincing as he touched his new bruise. “Was that you?” he asked, looking at his partner who was surveying a group of plaster ponies with her flashlight.
“Was what me?” she replied without looking up.
“My flashlight just jumped up and hit me in the face.”
“Well, did it have an orange glow around it?”
“No.”
“Then it wasn't me,” she said matter-of-factly. She stopped suddenly, whipping around and shining her light on him. “Wait, if it wasn't me. Then who was it?” she asked.
They both looked at the ground where the flashlight sat. The male guard leaned in closer as the female guard focused her light on it. As the guard leaned in the flashlight lifted into the air, and turned itself on. It shined in his face then began spinning in circles and flying around the room. I looked at my partner. He had a smile plastered across his face and it was growing every second. The two guards followed the flashlight, their heads spinning.
“What the hell?” said the female guard. “Who's moving it?”
“It's not me,” answered the other. “I told you something weird was going on here.”
The flashlight suddenly stopped and fell to the ground, thudding against the hardwood. It rolled to the female guard's feet, bumping into them. Her horn glowed orange as she lifted it up, turning the light to examine it. As she did the other guard approached her. They both had their attention so focused on the flashlight that they failed to notice the nightsticks being removed from their belts and raised above their heads. The nightsticks fell on their skulls with a sickening crunch. They fell to the ground in a heap, their weapons landing on top of them.
I turned to my partner and said: “Did you kill them?”
He wiped his brow free of the accumulated sweat before responding: “Nah, I just hit them hard enough to knock them out. They won't have any real damage besides a massive headache,” he chuckled.
I stood up and went to their unconscious forms. I knelt beside them and put my ear near the male guard's mouth. I heard a soft sound that indicated he was still breathing. “That was impressive,” I said to my partner as he appeared by my side. “How can you move things without that glow?”
The corners of his mouth raised into a broad smile. “I discovered I could do that when I was younger and still studying magic in school.” He picked up the nightstick and began absentmindedly twirling it. “I hadn't found a real application for it until now,” he said.
“Parlor tricks, huh? But, did you really have to put on that show?” I joked as I watched him twirl the stick. My brow furrowed as my mouth curled into a tiny frown. I wonder what else he has up his sleeve? He noticed my expression and dropped the nightstick, his smile fading. He was about to say something when I interrupted him: “We should hide them in the closet,” I suggested, gesturing first to their bodies and then to the closet. “They'll probably be waking up in a few minutes.”
He agreed, so we each took hold of one of the guards and dragged them to the closet. I was quick to grab the lighter female guard, much to his annoyance. Unconscious ponies are heavier than you might expect and it took a good minute or so to pull them both across the gallery hall and into the electrical closet. Once we brought them inside we placed them back-to-back—one facing the door and the other the wall—and took their radios. Rather than be cruel and smash them, they were probably expensive after all, we just took the batteries out and pocketed them.
“Okay,” I said. “Now we just need to tie them together... somehow.” I began searching the room, scanning for anything I could use as makeshift rope.
“Why don't we use the grappling hook rope?” he suggested.
I glared at him.
“Or we could use something else,” he said, holding up his hooves
I returned to my search and was rewarded with a dozen feet of extension cord lying in the corner of the room. “Aha,” I said happily. “This'll do nicely.”
As I began to unwrap the cord it suddenly lifted from my hooves and untangled itself and then proceeded to wrap around our captives and then tie them securely to each other. I tugged the knot to make sure it was secure and then said to my partner: “I've been wondering. How come you don't use that glow-less magic all the time?” I looked over my shoulder at him. I saw a smile tug at his lips, but he held it back.
“It requires a lot of concentration and it's quite taxing,” he explained. “So, I don't do it very often. I also can't do it over long distances,” he added. “I usually have to be within a few feet to pull it off.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I shrugged. “I don't know much about magic besides the little we learn in school when we're studying other types of ponies.”
He laughed: “You have your talents and I have mine.”
After sharing a laugh we finished readying our hostages and then closed the door, locking it behind us. We made our way back to the hall and down the staircase. The wooden stairs made our hoofsteps echo loudly, so we tried to walk as slowly as we could to minimize the noise. It didn't help that the stairwell was lined with stone, it would have echoed less had it been cement.
As we reached the foot of the stairs it rounded into a short hallway the led to another gallery floor. The lights for this floor were still on, but I could see that there was some kind of partition blocking my view. We were pressed against the wall as I peered around the corner. I looked over to my shoulder and nodded to my partner. We inched around the edge, keeping our backs to the wall.
As we entered the dimly lit room I held up a hoof to stop him. I could hear the sound of someone shuffling around behind the partition. I whispered to him: “I hear another guard, but I have a plan. You still have some sparklers left—right?” He smiled, understanding coming over his face. I motioned towards the far edge of the wall and directed my partner to wait for my signal. As he moved into position I slid the the other end of the partition, avoiding the paintings hanging above me. I leaned my head around the wall and saw a guard pacing back and forth. Pulling my head back, I looked at my partner and waved my hoof as he nodded.
A dozen sparklers floated out of his hooves and high into the air, my lighter with them. He gathered all the sparklers into a bunch and lit them. As he did the guard took notice and raised his head to see a dozen blazing sticks circling above him, shooting out sparks and burnt magnesium. While he was distracted by the show I slowly crept up behind him. The sparklers whirled around, drawing his attention, so he didn't notice when raised my hoof above his head; and he didn't notice—at least not until it was too late—when my hoof fell upon the back of his head and I dropped him to the ground.
The sparklers fell to the ground in a pile, no longer suspended by magic as my partner came around the corner with a smile on his face. He chuckled quietly, looking down at the unconscious guard. “Three down,” he joked. “I certainly hope there won't be anymore.”
“There shouldn't be, not on this floor anyway,” I said as I looked down at the guard. “We should probably tie him up too.”
“With what? Last I checked we were fresh out of extension cord.”
I sighed: “What about his belt? It won't hold him for long—but then again we don't need it to.”
After some grumbling we eventually agreed and removed the belt then used it to hogtie his hooves together. A minute or so later we had finished and we were on our way. The room we were in was divided by three partial walls and on the one farthest from us we found the two paintings we had come for—hanging on the wall.
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You just need to assassinate the heralds and tear down the wanted posters.
Or he was in the bathroom taking a dump when you cut the lights.
You mean they now have a concussion and possible brain damage.
*Grins* Definitely feels a bit telly and confusing, like the characters don't entirely know why they're doing what they're doing. Still interesting