All In - An Applejack Noir

by Belligerent Sock

Chapter Eleven

I caught a train heading south from Barnyard. No cabs dared to go into the Six Points.

The shadows were longer here. Deeper. They reached out at the uneven cobblestones, stared out from broken windows, stood at the entrances of alleys like sentries on a wall. Even the moon seemed to shine more dimly here. Blackness ruled these narrow ways.

There were lights, rarely. A candle sputtering in a bent streetlight. A flicker of movement behind the blinds of the overbearing buildings. Colored, pulsing glows from the horns of unicorns crossing the streets. If you looked hard enough, you might even see some light reflected from the eyes of somepony across the way, if only for a moment. Most of the crowd kept their heads low and shoulders hunched. I suppose things felt safer that way. I settled for turning up the collar on my coat.

The Six Points took their name from the intersection of Barb, Muleberry, and Cross. Three streets, as old as Manehattan, all meeting at one spot like the spokes of some great wagon wheel. And like six knife blades, the rows of tenements and flimsy storefronts all stabbed themselves toward the central axle. Looking to the south, you could see the towers of the Financial District lighting the sky with their fiery glow.

I wondered what they saw from those towers, whether they ever looked to this part of town—whether they could even see it through the darkness. Walking its crumbling sidewalks, though, you saw it. You saw it in the stallions leering from alleys with makeshift clubs across their shoulders, in the three skinny colts slumped around a small barrel, sleeping on their arms for comfort and each other for warmth. You heard it in the shouts echoing from the doorway of a ramshackle saloon, in the cough of the old donkey peddling his pile of used goods. You smelled it in the mud of the streets and the masses of bodies which choked them.

If Manehattan had a beating heart, it wasn’t here. The Six Points were its writhing guts.

No friendly faces here. Plenty of faces looking down, though. And plenty of faces watching. I could feel it the moment I stepped down the bend of Muleberry Street. This was the sort of neighborhood where everypony knew everypony, if only so they knew who owed who. Outsiders were easy to spot.

I weaved through the masses of ponies criss-crossing the square. There was a small park at the point where the streets met, just a little triangle of unpaved dirt that somepony had decided to fence off. It was vintage dirt, had been there since the streets were nothing but wagon tracks between rows of houses. I went and stood in the center of it, near an old, dead tree, and looked down each of the streets. A breeze sent litter from a nearby trash heap skipping across the way.

It was a big tree to buck, this neighborhood. I’d have to work my way in from the branches, and there were no shortages there. The bars would be a good place to start. If Mr. Greenback did own this whole neighborhood, his eyes and ears would pick me up sooner or later.

And as long as I was at it, I might as well start with the worst dive I could find. The place across the way, with its battered door and ancient sign, ought to work.

I’d never have stepped into it if not for the job. Floors like the inside of a barn. A mirror too filthy and scarred to hold a reflection. The air thick with musk and a stench that would’ve gagged a roach. A few lamps hung over the bar like wilting tulips. Wilting ponies sat beneath them.

The bartender was well-built for his trade, with a mug on his flank and a face that could peel the lacquer from a countertop. He looked me up and down like a griffon fisher eyeing his catch. “What’s your pleasure, doll?”

“A stallion in a penthouse up by Central Park, but you wouldn’t know him.”

He grinned. “All right, what’s your poison, then?”

“Something soft. You got any cider?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I’m working.”

“Hm. Must be a nice line of work if you’re here.”

“I wish. I’m kind of looking for another employer, as it happens.”

“And you’re here?”

“Just casting some lines, is all.”

“Here?”

“Here, there, anywhere I can, really.”

He looked at me funny, then went in back. He spent far more time there than it’d usually take to find a single bottle. I looked around, finding plenty of gazes being sent my way. No more than would usually be sent to an outsider. Not yet, anyway.

When he came back, he had a bottle of Hackney in his hoof. Cheap swill. He hammered the edge of the cap against the countertop, and it hissed as it opened.

He slid it across to me. “So, you said you’re looking for employment?”

“Nope, I said I was looking for an employer. I hear he employs a lot of folks around these parts.” I grinned. “Mr. Greenback. You know him?”

He stepped back from the bar. All trace of cheer was buried under his frown. “Are you stupid or something?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Well, I suggest you show your dumb face out.”

“Hm… Welcome wears quick around here, huh?”

“I mean it. Get out.”

I swept my open drink into a hoof and carried it out the door. As I crossed the threshold, I glanced back, and saw him talking to a pair of burly stallions at the end of the bar. Their gazes locked onto me as they started getting up.

Keeping a steady pace, I sipped at the bottle and made my way down the street. As I passed the alley next to the bar, the two stallions stepped out of the shadows, corralling me against the corner of the building.

“Well, hey there, little lady,” said one. “Goin’ someplace?”

I stopped, tossing the bottle off to the side. “Wow, you boys work fast. You do that for all the girls?”

“Just the ones who ask too many questions.”

The other guy was busy circling around to my side. I took a few steps into the alley. “Well listen, boys. I didn’t come all this way to talk with the small fries. You point me to your boss, and I’ll be out of your manes.”

He chuckled. “Big words, little mare. It’s very funny.”

“What, are you saying you don’t work for Papa?”

“Oh no, you’re talking to the right gang. And maybe you didn’t hear, but we don’t take kindly to cops around here.”

I braced myself in a steady stance. “Good thing I’m not a cop, then.”

“Oh, yeah? Even better. Means nopony will miss you.”

A shrill whistle blew through the alley, and all three of us turned to look at the source.

Standing there was the a stallion. He was thin, with high cheekbones, and wore a dark suit with thick pinstripes. Perched on his head was a hat of the Haflinger style, which let his pale horn poke out above his forehead. Beneath the brim of the hat, his grey eyes flickered in the shadows.

He lowered his hoof from his mouth, and he said three words in a language I wasn’t familiar with. But I could take a guess at what they meant. So could the other guys, because they backed off.

The gaunt stallion stared at them a moment. Then his horn glowed. A cigarette and lighter floated out of his coat pocket, and he lit up and took a long pull. He kept staring at them. His eyes turned to me, and he reached a hoof up, beckoning toward the street.

I spared a glance at the other two guys. They’d suddenly found the ground to be very interesting. I turned, taking a few cautious steps toward the alley’s entrance. The stallion’s shadow swallowed up my hooves.

“Well, howdy, neighbor,” I said. “Fancy seeing you ‘round these parts.”

He said nothing. His horn glowed, plucking the cigarette from his mouth, and he flicked a few ashes onto the ground. He motioned again.

I followed, stepping past him and out into the flickering lamplight of the street.

“Lucky you just happened to be in the neighborhood, huh?” I looked up at him. His eyes were as hard and unflinching as a pair of stones. “So, am I right in thinking you’re here to escort me to your employer?”

Without a word, he spun on his heel and started walking down the sidewalk. I fell into step alongside him.

“Y’know, I didn’t get the chance to say it, but thanks for yesterday. Don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up.”

He said nothing.

“By the looks of things, you don’t have a scratch on you. So that’s good.”

He took a loud puff of his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose.

“That’s the second time I owe you. Thanks, by the way.”

He grumbled something under his breath. I didn’t bother trying to catch it.

“So, where we headed?”

Of course, he didn’t answer that.

---

We followed Muleberry toward the docks, to where it intersected with the southern end of Bowery. You could hear the trains rumbling in the distance. If you tried hard enough, you could catch a glimpse of the Broncolyn Bridge down the way, past all the crumbling buildings.

The place we came to looked like it might have been something, once. Four stories of brownstone opulence, wide windows—it was probably an old hotel. Its ground floor was done up with all the trappings of one, with a double-door entrance beneath a brass awning and a lighter strip on the front steps where a carpet had once lain. The corners of the building were done up like towers, and on the roof was a large metal dome. Nearly all of its windows were lit; formless shapes moved behind the panes and curtains, flickering and fading and then disappearing altogether. The sign above the awning proclaimed that this was “2222 South.” The sign just above that made it known as “The Four Deuces.”

There were ponies standing watch all around. They probably had some pegasi on the roof too, up out of reach of the streetlights. Couldn’t leave the battlements of your fortress unguarded, after all. We passed them all by with just a glance from my escort.

Inside, it was definitely a hotel. The luggage elevator near the stairs was a dead giveaway. The stairs themselves were carved from rich wood; jade-colored rugs spilled down the steps and across the middle of the room. A few brass sconces shined out from the pine-needle walls, showing off the pocks and torn bits of wallpaper. Smoke and laughter spilled in from the adjoining doorways—lounges, by the looks of them. I caught a glimpse of a group of ponies around a bar, several more playing cards around some tables, and even a few griffons scattered here and there.

We drew to a halt in the middle of the foyer. There were several stallions on the upper balustrade, nearly hidden in the dim light, their eyes shadowed by the brims of their hats. One had his forehoof all-too-casually stuck into the breast of his jacket. All of them were watching us.

A slate-grey stallion in a blue suit was leaning against the banister, smoking a cigarette and doing nothing important. He put it out against the metal of one of his horseshoes before slipping it into his coat pocket, and came at us with a frown.

“Who’s the broad?” he rumbled.

I answered myself. “Name’s Applejack. I’m here to meet Mr. Greenback, apparently.”

He raised an eyebrow at the gaunt pony by my side. It dropped at some unspoken something in the stallion’s gaze. It was a nice trick. I’d have to see about learning it sometime, if I had the face for it.

“I’ll stay with her, you go on up,” he said, letting him by.

My escort climbed the steps, a little slower than the pace he’d set on the way in.

“All right, now you hold still,” he said. “You make any sudden moves, and next thing you know I’ll be pouring you down the drain out back, capice?”

I did as I was told, and he patted his hooves up and down my sleeves and across my chest. Satisfied, he leaned against the railing again, lighting his cigarette anew. “Don’t go nowhere,” he growled.

“Where else is there?” I settled back, listening to the sounds from the side rooms. Pony voices mingled with the scratching, reedy tones of griffons. Clinking glasses and the occasional laugh worked their way through the haze. I tapped a hoof against the floor, cast a glance at the guy. I thought about cracking a joke, even opened my mouth once, but thought better. So I waited.

It took my escort a good ten minutes before he showed up again, his coming heralded by the creak of the steps overhead. His expression, when he came up to us, was as neutral as ever.

“Well?” said the stallion.

The unicorn met his gaze, and jerked his head up the stairs.

“Hmph.“ He snorted, and turned to me. “All right, then. Come on.”

We swapped places, the pair of us going up, and him going down. I spared one last glance as we passed by. He wasn’t looking at me. All he did was light another cigarette and turn away, disappearing into the smoke and noise of the bar.

The heavy hoofsteps of my guard thudded on the old boards of the stairs. At the next landing, we turned and headed down a long hallway, toward the rear of the building. Lines of doors surrounded us, as still and silent as a row of tombs in Neigh Orleans. At the end of the hall was one last door, set behind a wall of muscle.

A deep red minotaur stood in front of the door. He was almost taller than the ceiling would allow, with coal eyes and a face like a lost battle. A patch of fur was missing from his right shoulder, where a long, ragged scar puckered the flesh. Two golden rings hung from his left ear, and they jingled together as he stepped forward, a bell chime amid an earthquake. He kept his hands clasped in front of him, as though he were cradling some dark secret between his palms.

“This is her, then?” he said. His voice was dark molasses.

“Yep,” said my guard.

He turned to me. I was a mouse in front of a grandfather clock. “Well, Miss, you’re very lucky. We don’t get many visitors up here.”

“Somehow, this doesn’t feel much like a visit to me.”

His grin was yellow and cracked. “You’re still in one piece. It’s a visit.”

Something trickled down my neck. I kept my expression even.

“Now, before you see the boss…” He splayed his palms. “Sorry about the hands, Miss. It’s just my job, see?”

“You boys sure like your searches. Do what you have to.”

He nodded, and his hands engulfed my sleeves, squeezing and rolling them tight against my forelegs. He was thorough, sweeping along my collar and around my neck like he was spinning a roulette wheel. Moving to my sides, he patted down across my ribs, then moved to my back legs. He flipped up the hem of my coat, and paused. As his gaze fell on my flank, it stayed there for a long, quiet moment.

“Hey,” I said, “keep your eyes moving, buddy. I ain’t got all night.”

He glanced at me, swallowed, and straightened up again. “Good to go, Miss. Just wait one more moment.”

He wrenched the door open quickly and slipped through, shutting it with barely a click. When he came back, his hands were clasped in that same non-threatening, threatening way. “He—” his gaze flicked to the open door. “He’ll see you now, Miss.”

I nodded, but that was all. Slowly, carefully, I walked into the room. Shame I didn’t have a sword and shield with me. Usually they had those when going into a dragon’s den.

Comments

[Crack-Fic Casey]

FIRST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, the apples are fairly well recognized by the general populace. Interesting.

[Midnight Maniac]

Usually they had those when going into a dragon’s den.

I wonder if it isn't a metaphor.

[BlackRoseBrony]

Good writing, as always. Can't wait the next chapter! What kind of an boss this Mr. Greenback is ought to be?

[celelorien]

5543237 Well Spike DOES have a green ridge down his back... If our little Spikey-Wikey is a vicious crime boss, things in Equestria are definitely terrible all over. An interesting (if upsetting) theory to be sure!

Can't wait to see how this meeting plays out, for sure.

[Electronic Pony]

More on Applejack's history, eh? I can't wait to see where that goes.

[Monanniverse]

You're killing me, man. All these one-off characters are going to be a pain in the ass. If all goes to plan I'll be able to pop in an additional guy to do them. Also, what's Greenback's voice suppose to sound like? If he's that important (as I'm assuming he'll be) I might as well ask the guy I'm asking to voice these one-shots to voice him as well. The guy I'm asking has an Irish accent. Is that going to be a prob?

[Ajizbestpony]

Do you realize how much I love this story so far??

[CoffeeMinion]

I look forward to seeing more of this awesomeness.

[Maran]

Hey, Sock? Are you gonna update soon? Don't give up on this story, it's so good!

[TheRealCoolRock]

Hey, Sock? Are you gonna update soon?