Crime Pays

by chillbook1

The Museum

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“I hired you for a job, a job that I will be paying you handsomely for. Do not get greedy.”

“Just the one rifle is all I want. Take it out of my cut.”

“Absolutely not! You do as you’re told, get what we have discussed, and that is all!”

I glared at the Historian from behind my mask angrily. If I wasn’t on the job, I might’ve punched him in his stupid little goatee. He peered at me from behind his horn-rimmed glasses, his beady little golden eyes looking through me in search of a soul. Dash stood just behind me, twitching nervously. This was her first run in with criminals other than me and Spike, and she was under a lot of pressure not to ruin the job. I could understand her anxiety, especially because I was in the process of ruining the job.

Our disagreement was happening in the Historian’s massive mansion, inside his extremely impressive library. As a librarian myself, I could, and did, appreciate a good collection of literature when I saw it. I made note of some of the dusty, unloved volumes for later. His disregard for his books disgusted me. I could tell just by looking at them that he hadn’t opened them outside of once or twice when he first got them. I decided that I’d probably come and steal some of his books at a later date.

For now, I was focused on getting my hands on a rifle. What irritated me the most was how relatively worthless the rifle was. It was, compared to some of the other pieces he wanted me to get, quite a bit on the lower end of the pool. It wouldn’t be much loss for him to let me keep the gun, but he was being… difficult.

“I think I’m being quite fair with what I expect to be paid,” I said. “I could be charging north of half a mil for what you want from me, but I’m cutting you a deal out of respect. The least you could do is let me keep one of the guns.”

“Ms. Medusa, do not try to pull the wool over my eyes.” The Historian had no weapon, but there were eight guards within shooting range. Either he had an insane amount of trust in me or he greatly underestimated what I was capable of. “I have been more than generous enough to offer you a bonus for extra items. Do not confuse my kindness for weakness.”

“One rifle is all I want. I am willing to take a third off of the price, a third, just for this one rifle,” I said. “I was under the impression that you were a businessman. Negotiate.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Medusa.” The Historian reached into the breast pocket of his very expensive suit (which made my two-piece seem like a cheap sweater) and pulled out a cigar. “I am not a businessman. I am a collector, and I am the boss. I do not like it when those who work for me cannot follow instructions.”

He gestured for one of his goons, who came up and cut the end of his cigar. He offered the Historian a lighter, which he used to ignite the end.

“If you cannot obey, then perhaps our relationship should come to an early end.” The greedy old man didn’t communicate his threat with any sort of malice in his voice. He just sounded as if he was getting tired of talking to me, and that he would love for me to roll over and do as I was told.

Behind my mask, I smirked spitefully. The only differences between me and the Historian was age and career choice.

“If you’re sure I can’t change your mind…” I turned my back on my employer. “We have nothing more to discuss. You’ll have your guns by Tuesday at the latest, depending on circumstances. Have my money ready before then, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Ms. Medusa. I would be happy to,” said the Historian. “I await your return. Perhaps by then you’ll learn to be more like your partner.” I could just imagine the smarmy, sleazy, patronizing look on his face. “Silent. Obedient.”

“Only time will tell, sir,” I said. “Apollo, let’s go.”

Dash didn’t say anything until after we left the mansion. She didn’t seem to understand what went down, but she could tell I was irritated. Still, she managed to keep her questions inside until we were in the van.

“What happened back there?” she asked, pulling off her mask. I turned the key, then put my foot to the gas. I grabbed my burner phone from my pocket, tossed it to Rainbow, then set off down the street and away from the mansion.

“Call Spike,” I said, ignoring her question. She dialed the number, then put it on speaker. Spike answered, swiftly and silently. “We spoke to the Historian. We’re ready when you are.”

“Oh, that sounds like an angry Twilight,” noted Spike. He was at the Museum, dealing with some loose ends. “Didn’t get your guns?”

“The dude is a prick. I want one gun, and that’s all,” I complained. “It’s not even especially valuable, not in a traditional sense.”

“Then why do you want it?” asked Dash.

“Because some people who aren’t idiots appreciate history.” I admit, I probably shouldn’t have snapped at RD like that, but I was angry. “You know? History? That class you slept in, skipped, ignored, or otherwise jerked yourself through? Yeah, some of us care about that sort of thing. Don’t worry your pretty, little, empty head about it.”

“Wow. Someone’s pissy,” said Dash. “Is it Shark Week or what?”

“Oh, don’t mind her, Rainbow,” said Spike. I could almost feel the smirk on his face. “Twilight’s just not used to not getting what she wants.”

“That’s because I normally just steal it. But that’s not going to be an option just yet.” I tapped the steering wheel impatiently. “Stupid old man…”

“Okay, I’m legit lost here,” said Dash, not for the last time. “The Historian is what? Sixty? How old are you exactly, cause I started thinking you’re mid-fifties or something.”

“Forty-seven, but glad to know that I look good for my age,” I sarcastically remarked. “Spike, do you have everything you need?”

“Sure do. Heading back home now. I gotta say, Twi. This plan is…”

“Brilliant?”

“I was gonna say ‘cliche’, but whatever helps you sleep at night,” he joked. “In all seriousness, this is strangely simple.”

“I don’t feel like getting flashy tonight. I just want to get the guy his guns, so I can steal them back,” I said. I reached into Rainbow’s breast pocket and stole a cigarette. “Dash, light this.” She did as she was told, and I stuck the cig in my mouth, puffing thoughtfully.

Only difference was age and career choice.

---

We did one last bout of casing, which carried us into the night. It was amazing what a simple Ventilation Installation & Repair decal could do to my sweet blue Chariot. To the untrained eye (and a few that were trained) we looked like a legitimate repair business. We even had the uniforms. Spike had done a good job of parking us in a place where other vehicles seldom moved from. Movement draws attention, and we needed everyone around us to be just as still as we were.

“We good?” asked Rainbow. “I’m itching to get moving.”

“Geez, smoke a cig or something,” I said, ironically impatient. “Hydra should be back soon.” A short second later, my burner rang. I answered it and put it to my ear. “Canterlot Ventilation Repair, how may I help you?”

“The perimeter checks out,” said Spike. “Head to the roof, I’ll pull the van closer while you set up.”

I disconnected the line and threw the phone into the glovebox. Gesturing to Dash, I hopped to the back and grabbed my supplies: my standard issue duffel bag, which held my mask, cable ties, guns, and other goodies, and another bag with the materials I would need. Dash grabbed two bags herself, though one was rather awkward to carry. It was a roll of thin, metallic thermal insulation, and Dash had to sling it under her arm uncomfortably in order to carry it.

“So, how long do I have to carry shit for you guys?” she whispered.

“Slow your roll there, starter pack,” I teased. “Someone has to do the heavy lifting. Now hush.”

We sat two blocks south of the museum, an area consisting mostly of businesses that were closed by now. It was nothing for us to sneak down the street and to the rear of the museum, belted with a large, barb-wired fence. The gate was padlocked, obviously, so I dropped my bag, masked up, and went digging in search of my lockpicking kit.

“I got this,” said Dash. I looked up to see her aiming her suppressed 12-gauge at the lock. I grabbed the gun and yanked it out of her hands.

“Are you insane, or just stupid?” I demanded. “You can’t just shoot a shotgun at a lock!”

“It’s silenced,” said Dash with a shrug. I swear, it’s like this girl wanted me to kill her.

“No, it’s suppressed. There’s a difference.” I handed the gun back. “And that’s not even the real problem. The problem is that the real world isn’t a movie! You shoot that lock, I guarantee that not only will the lock not break completely, but the parts that do break will end up flying into your face.” I shoved Dash away and started picking the lock. In about thirty seconds, I managed to pop it open and slip it in my pocket.

“You’re such a stiff, boss,” scoffed Dash.

“Get up the goddamn ladder,” I said flatly. We proceeded forward to a ladder that led to the roof, for maintenance purposes. I led Dash up the dented, rusty red ladder and onto the gravelly rooftop. I peered around, picking out the nearest ventilation exhaust. Dash noticed it, made her way to it, and dropped her bag to dig out the insulation sheet. She pulled out the thin plane of metal, which had a small hole in it, taping it to the exhaust fan.

“How is this going to work?” asked Dash. “Isn’t the whole point of these things to keep air moving out?”

“Hydra reversed the spin of the fans,” I said. “They hardly push any air out at all. But that’s also why we have that on there.” I pulled open my secondary bag, pulling out a steel canister and plastic tube. After connecting one end to the canister, I took the roll of tape from Dash and used it to secure the other end of the tube to the hole in the metal sheet. I grabbed two small respirator masks and tossed one to my companion. When our respirators were secured beneath our heist masks, I turned a valve at the top of the canister, flooding the vents, shaft, and, eventually, entire museum, with a gas of my own composition. I glanced at my watch, then shut off the gas after ten minutes. We packed up, slid down the ladder, and headed around the other side of the building. I stopped by the van, which was now missing its decal, and deposited the materials in the back.

Finally, everything was set. The real heist could begin. By the time we made it into the building, the poor bastards who had the misfortune of inhaling my K.O. gas were bound and gagged with duct tape in a corner. Standing opposite of the front door was my favorite dragon, donning the yellowish-brown mask of the Hydra. Its face reassembled an arrowhead in shape, layered with faint scales all down its surface. The big, shining eyes of the mask were just the same shade of green as Spike’s.

“Gas is all clear by now,” he said, twirling his respirator around his finger. “Your little cocktail worked like a charm, Medusa. Out like lights.” Dash and I pulled off our respirators and slipped them into our bags.

“Lead the way, Hydra,” I said, grinning from behind my mask. “Where to?”

“Next room over.”

I practically ran to the next room, to the cases of beautiful, historic, intricate, antique weapons. There were thirteen cases of guns, only seven of which marked by the Historian. The other five were fair game. We could keep them, or sell them piecemeal to my client. Unfortunately, the one rifle I wanted was not of the five cases I could keep.

“Why do you want this gun, anyway?” asked Spike, picking the case that contained the rifle in question. It was a gorgeous, glinting little rifle. I could see it from where I was, the intricate etching in the side, the engraving of “StB” on the stock. Simply beautiful.

“It was owned by a man named Starswirl. Just over 100 years ago, he headed the crew that would eventually become Mythos,” I explained, working on the next case. “He was my grandfather.”

“Cool,” said Dash. “So it’s like a memento, huh?”

“Yeah. Get over here and start bagging, please.” My gaze lingered as Spike raised the dusty, ancient rifle that I so desired and lowered it into the bag.

“What’s with you, Medusa?” asked Spike. “I didn’t peg you as overly sentimental. Especially since the guy got caught.”

“I only want the gun because of how he got caught,” I said. I might’ve explained more, had I not heard the click of a gun behind me.

“Drop your weapon, buddy.” I turned, ready to fire at whoever was behind me. I was met with the end of a cerulean revolver levelled at my forehead. I froze, noticing that my assailant had another gun in his hand, this one aimed at Spike.

“Crap.” Spike lowered his gun gently. I did the same, formulating a way out of the sticky situation I found myself in.

“And you, rookie, I suggest you stay where you are,” said the newcomer. “I’m only getting paid for the leader, but I’ve got no problem spending a bullet on you for insurance.”

“Drop the gun, Apollo,” I said.“And nobody do anything stupid.”

“Let’s not blow this out of proportion,” said our attacker, a stupid grin on his smug little face. I finally got a chance to look at the guy; His skin was dark, contrasting starkly with his bright white hair. His eyes were somewhere in between, a cold, calm steel.

“What’s your name, son?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you mine when I hear yours, ma’am,” he replied.

“Well, considering at least two of us will be dead in a few minutes anyway, my name is Twilight. Yours?”

“Silver.”

“Dash, I need you to lower that gun now,” I said, not taking my eyes off of my opponent. “I have things under control.” I heard Rainbow drop her gun to the ground from somewhere to my left. “So, Silver. What brings you here?”

“I’m getting paid to murder you,” said Silver. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Why?”

“Well, at a guess, I’d say you made an enemy.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spike slowly raise his mask. Instantly, I knew what he intended to do.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, kid. I’ve made a lot of enemies,” I said. “But which one is paying you?”

“Don’t know. Never asked his name. It’s rude in this business, y’know?” Silver grinned. “Some history buff. Golden eyes, horn-rimmed glasses. The douchiest goatee I’ve ever seen. He had a great book collection, there were a few pieces that I really wanted, but...”

“Who does this sound like?” asked Spike rhetorically.

“The Historian?” asked Dash. “Why would he want us dead?”

“Working on it, rookie. Give me a second to think,” I said.

“Sorry, ma’am, but your seconds are running out,” he said. “I’m going to count backwards from three, and then I’m going to pull the trigger. 3.”

I spared a glance at Spike, his mask resting on his nose. Silver still hadn’t noticed.

“2.”

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” I sighed. Spike inhaled deeply, then blew out a huge plume of emerald flames between me and Silver. I ducked under the flames, grabbed him by the wrist, and wrestled him to the ground. I kicked the guns to Spike then, for good measure, planted my foot to Silver’s shoulder. I jerked his arm forcefully until I was met with that sickly satisfying POP!

“Son of a bitch!”

“Alright, boy, I dislocated your shoulder,” I said. “Hopefully, my next step is to kill you.”

“Whoa, boss! That was pretty badass!” cheered Dash. I rolled my unseen eyes.

“You, finish gathering the guns, then bring them over to the Historian. Me and Silver are gonna go for a little walk.” I beckoned for a gun. Spike grabbed one of Silver’s revolvers and tossed it to me.

“Damn it, this hurts!” moaned Silver. I grabbed him by the dislocated arm and wrenched him to his feet, threatening him with his own gun.

“I said walk, but do you have a car?” I asked my new hostage. “I’d rather not have to walk all the way to wherever I decide to bury you.”

“You’re not actually gonna kill him, are you?” asked Rainbow. “I mean, that’s kinda cold, don’t you think?”

“If you don’t have the stomach for dirty work, I suggest you get a real job, Ms. Dash,” I said, completely dodging her question. “Car. Now.”

I marched the hitman right out of the museum, keeping my new gun trained on him the whole time. He led me down the block to an inconspicuous silver sedan. I pulled open the passenger door and shoved him in. Still aiming my gun, I walked around to the driver’s side and slid in next to him.

“Could you make this any more humiliating?” asked Silver. “You’re going to kill me in my own car with my own gun?”

“I’m not going to kill you. Not if you do as I say.”

“Well, I like not being dead, so shoot.” His eyes widened. “You know, in retrospect, that was a poor choice of words.”

“Listen. The guy who hired you to kill me? He also hired me to steal those guns,” I said. “Which means he has no issue with killing his own guys. If he thinks I’m disposable…”

“Then so am I. Alright, boss lady. What do you suggest?” I grinned.

“Follow my directions to the letter and you get those books you wanted.”

---

“Mate,” said Spike, tipping my king in disbelief. “Holy hell, did I just beat you at chess? I should buy a lottery ticket.”

“Huh. Guess I’m still reeling from last night,” I said with a shrug. “It’s been quite a while since we’ve been in a situation like that.” I heard Rainbow unlock the entrance upstairs and start down the ladder.

“You sure she should be here for this?” asked Spike. “I don’t know if she’s ready for something like this.”

“Something like what?”

“Well, we’re going to ice the Historian, aren’t we?”

I remained silent, listening to the approaching footsteps of our newest heister. After a short few seconds, Rainbow pushed open the doors to the Planning Room, holding a large rectangular box in her arms.

“Uh… This was outside of the laundromat,” said Dash. “I figured you would want to check it out.”

“Thanks,” I said. I crossed the room and took the box from her, tearing open one end. I reached in and slowly pulled out an old, dusty, elegant rifle. My thumb traced the swirls carved into the body, then the letters “StB” in the stock.

“Wait, what?” Spike stared incredulously. “How did you get Starswirl’s gun?”

“With my feminine wiles,” I said with a chuckle. “Also, a revolver.”

“Did you…”

“Let’s get to work, gang. Spike, what do we have up for the next one?”

I hardly listened as Spike stowed his questions away and began listing off jobs. I was too busy thinking about where to hang my new rifle.

---

“Why didn’t you kill Silver?”

“That would be a very short-sighted solution. He could still prove useful.”

“Useful in what way?”

“Silver was more than just a hitman. He handled problems. If something came up, it would be very advantageous to have someone like him on the payroll.”

“I see. So, what happened next?”

Twilight’s grin faltered for the first time. As far as she could tell, the next part was the beginning of the end. The situation wasn’t a constant drop, but the decay began a few weeks after the run in with the Historian.

“After that, we laid low for a bit,” said Twilight. “Spike wanted to do a few little things, but Dash wanted a big heist. I agreed with Dash. So, while we waited for a big heist to make itself known, we practiced and we studied.”

“Studied what?” asked the prosecutor.

“Each other.”

“Interesting. You mentioned that you only wanted Starswirl’s rifle because of how he was apprehended.”

“Right, of course. The original Mythos Crew consisted of Starswirl, Clover, Meadowbrook, and my grandfather’s best friend, Discord,” Twilight explained. “They were in the middle of the biggest score of their lives. Just as they were getting away, Clover, Meadow, and Discord decided to cut out one share. My grandfather was shot in the back, with his own gun, by his best friend and left to die.”

“And you wanted the rifle why?”

“To serve as a reminder not to make the same mistake that Starswirl did.” Twilight leaned forward tiredly. “It served as a reminder not to trust anyone.”

Comments

[Bahamut Omega]

The plot begins to thicken.

[The Villain in Glasses]

Ooooh, a hitman! Seems Twilight isn't very good at staying on people's good sides, huh?

[NexusDragon]

Hot damn do I love your banter. How it just carries the story forward and doesn't feel dry. It gets more interesting as things move on, I like the little backstory about Twilight's roots. Of course Discord would be the one to ice her grandfather, pity.

[chillbook1]

7052892 The fearsome Medusa is good at many things. Playing well with others? Not so much.

[chillbook1]

7052934 Thanks for the kind words, friend

[Moonshine-Dusk]

Business is good, but the politics, they're killer.

[Dustchu]

ANd it begins to thicken... quite a bit.

Nice job.

[Ragegamer243]

I just came into reading this and so far, the transitions from one chapter to another reminds me of the first Call of Duty: Black Ops, where Alex Mason is being interrogated by Jason Hudson. That's kind of where I'm gonna take this.

[chillbook1]

7427904 Huh. It is a lot like that, isn't it? Wasn't really thinking about it.

[AMuffinlover]

Niceeee

[Moonlight Dusksinger]

why do i feel a feeling that the historian and discord are the very same.

[chillbook1]

7784506 A plot thread that I never got to properly weave into the story is The Historian being Discord's son or grandson or something. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a way to fit it in eloquently, and the more I thought on it, the less relevant it seemed.