Mare Do Well: Rebirth

by MagnetBolt

Smile Through It, Part 2

Detective Arabica had about a month of vacation saved up. He didn’t go out much -- it wasn’t that work was his life, but that he usually enjoyed his job. He liked going around the city, helping ponies, and having enough authority to make decisions on his own without asking permission for everything.

He promised himself that if he got out of this, he was going to take that entire month and go somewhere relaxing.

Three ponies frog-marched him up the gangplank to a massive cargo ship docked behind the mango-filled warehouse. Maybe if he’d been a little more observant before he would have noticed that there were two ships, and only one of them was parked near a crane, and maybe he would have asked the dockmaster about when they actually entered and left port. But if he’d been observant he probably wouldn’t have bruises from two officers getting a paycheck from whatever gangster owned the place, and they wouldn’t be two of the three ponies prodding him onboard.

A pony was standing at the top, wearing a suit that was too nice to be rained on. Thankfully, he had another pony standing by with an umbrella in hoof to shield him, just to prove he had the money to pay somepony to do it.

“So, we’ve got ourselves a little troublemaker,” the pony said. When he spoke, Arabica caught a flash of gold.

“I’m just shocked mangos are such serious business around here,” Arabica quipped. “I’m guessing you’re the pony in charge? The manager in the warehouse was a little too nervous to actually do anything ambitious.”

“You’re bucking right about that,” the suited pony said. He grinned. His teeth were golden fangs, like a gilded wolf. “That’s why he’s useful. Pony like that ain’t got no ideas of his own, so he does what he’s told. Too bad you ain’t as smart as he is. If you did what you was told, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“No, but I get to meet so many interesting ponies,” Arabica said. “I didn’t catch your name. I’m Detective Arabica, Seasaddle Police Department, a pony who filed out a lot of paperwork about where he was going and what he was doing before he even left the house. And you are?”

“Rubber Croc. And unfortunately for you, I’m a pony that knows how to make problems go away, and you, Detective, are a problem tonight.”

“I like the teeth. Seems like overkill for mango smoothies, though.”

“I had to get a little work done after a bucking unpleasant mule of a pony decided my jaw needed to be shattered. I figured, why settle for just replacing when you can upgrade?” Rubber started walking away, and Arabica was prodded to follow.

They walked through a hatch and a wave of warmth hit Arabica like he’d taken a turn into a greenhouse, and when they got into the main cargo hold, he found out why.

Ponies in scrubs and full-face masks walked around a space almost as large as a city park, filled with bright overhead lights and trees in planters, every single one with waxy, black leaves.

“You’re growing the Black Khet here,” Arabica said, recognizing the narcotic leaves. Rubber Croc led him through the hold. “That’s bold.”

“It’s smart is what it is,” Rubber said. “See, here’s the thing -- there are plenty of places where it ain’t illegal to grow this stuff. All we had to do was get this heap registered there, and it’s almost a legal operation.”

“Almost.”

“Well, it’s enough that I was able to get that idiot in the warehouse to keep it running even when I was in prison and couldn’t chew him out myself,” Rubber said. “Idiot gets scared too easy. The real trick is that when the heat is on, we can just move the whole thing. That’s practically good news for you. Means you’re gonna go on a little cruise. You ain’t coming back, but, hey, you get a little ride first.”

---

“Now I’m required to warn all of you,” Beeswax -- normally Officer Beeswax but that title was in limbo while she was suspended -- said, more than slightly drunk and extremely outnumbered. “I’m very dangerous and armed. Armed and dangerous, I mean.”

She was backed into an alleyway, where she’d been busy holding on to the wall to keep the world from spinning, and now a gaggle of tough-looking stallions were going to introduce her to the hospital. Beeswax pulled out an extending baton, snapping it to full length.

The thugs with lead pipes and crowbars looked less than impressed.

“To make this fair for you,” Beeswax said, stumbling back a few steps to where a dumpster narrowed the alleyway even more. “I’ll let you choose the order you fight me in. Who wants to go first? Any takers?”

A stallion with his fur dyed black, probably because it was showing pink at the roots, stepped forward with a crowbar. He laughed. “You got a lot of fight in you for a pony about to have four broken legs.”

“I like giving gifts more than getting them,” Beeswax said. “Are you gonna come at me or are we gonna be here all night? I got places to be.”

The stallion shrugged and stomped towards her, raising the crowbar. Beeswax had seen a hundred stallions like him, somepony big and strong enough that they didn’t actually get into a lot of fights because most ponies were smart enough to avoid getting them angry. It usually went with stupid, but always meant they didn’t have real experience. Ponies who didn’t know how to fight always went for the head.

Beeswax swung the tip of her baton into his knee. He yelped and fell, dropping the crowbar and hissing in pain.

“Don’t worry, it probably isn’t broken,” Beeswax said. “You know, I probably should have returned this thing to the armory when I turned my badge in, but I just forgot about it because I was just so angry, you know?”

She adjusted her grip, holding down a button, and cracked the baton across the fallen pony’s face. There was a shower of sparks as the shock baton went off, the pony on the ground shuddering and shaking before going limp.

“Next!” she called, feeling a little better already, until the brick hit her forehead. She swore and fell into the wall, blood trickling from a small cut.

One of the other stallions charged right over his fallen friend. Beeswax tried to get away from the wall, but got pushed back into it by his shoulder charge. She got the baton between them and held the button down. The stallion got the worst of it, letting go and dropping to his knees. She finished him off with a blow to the crown of the head.

Another brick flew at her, but she was ready this time, pushing away from the wall and behind the dumpster partly blocking the alley.

“Buck, now I’ve probably got a concussion,” she groaned, feeling bile rise up in her throat. Unfortunately for the next pony past the dumpster, her body chose that moment to force her hoof and make her upchuck, vomiting all over the poor thug and stopping him in his tracks. He looked down at himself in shock.

Beeswax punched him in the snout, swore when she sprained her fetlock doing it, then swung the baton and caught him at the base of the ear, knocking him down in a groaning heap holding onto the side of his head.

Somepony must have been getting smart, because two stallions came at once, one vaulting on top of the dumpster and grabbing her from above, pulling her up by the neck. Beeswax gasped and struggled, and a second pony came around the other side, swinging a chair leg into her gut. If she hadn’t just vomited, the impact would have made her.

The stallion with the chair leg readied for another swing, and Beeswax went limp. The pony holding onto her lost his grip, and she slipped out. The chair leg went over her head, and the pony lost his grip when it hit the steel dumpster. Beeswax kicked at a very sensitive area that the pony had left unprotected, and he dropped with his legs crossed. The stallion on top of the dumpster grabbed for her, and she nabbed his wrist, throwing him on top of the crying stallion nursing his soft spots.

Another brick just barely missed her head, and Beeswax swore.

“Oh that’s it!” she yelled, bolting after the last stallion, who was grabbing another brick. He yelped and dropped it when he saw her coming. She grabbed him and twisted his hoof around behind his back, popping it a little out of joint and dropping him to the ground.

“Stop, I give!” he yelped.

“You’re gonna tell me where Rubber Croc is, right now,” Beeswax said. “I don’t like him sending ponies after me, and I’m gonna exercise my rights as a civilian and ask him nicely to stop and go buck himself.”

---

“Okay, Detective,” Arabica whispered to himself. “You’re a high-ranking officer. You’ve been in tight situations before. Think. How do you get out of this.”

He was in a cabin, wearing his own hoofcuffs. He had at least a few hours to figure out how to escape. Rubber Croc hadn’t even bothered having him beaten, just searched for weapons and anything that might be useful.

“But they didn’t search everywhere,” he realized. “My spare keys…” he kept a pair in the lining of his coat, just in case. It only made sense to have them, and all he had to do was reach them.

He stretched. He just had to… he winced and tried again, shifting position. He just had to bend his elbow a tiny bit more. And if he could remove one of his hooves, he’d be able to do just that. He tried to contort himself into position. Maybe he could make the coat shift correctly, they’d fall into his grip--

The cabin door opened and a pony in loose-fitting scrubs stared at him from the entrance.

Arabica realized he had his shoulders on the ground, and was up against the wall with his back hooves over his head.

“I know this looks strange,” he said. “I was just doing… calming yoga?”

The pony in scrubs sighed and took off her mask. Even through the black eye and the scrapes, Arabica instantly recognized the pony.

“Beeswax?” he asked. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me, you’re--”

“I came here to kick Rubber Croc’s flank, but then I heard somepony got themselves captured and I had to adjust my plans to save you, too. If you’re busy, though, I can come back. When you’re done with your ‘calming yoga.’”

“Just get me out of these cuffs, Officer.”

“Woah, I’m off-duty,” she said, stepping in and looking at the cuffs. “I’m technically not an anything at the moment. And I don’t have keys.”

“There are some in my coat lining. I was trying to reach them.” Arabica nodded to his side. Beeswax reached in and started rummaging around until she found them.

“Is that what you were doing? Cause I was going to tell you I heard you had to remove some ribs before--”

“This isn’t the time or place, Beeswax. Rubber Croc could have ponies here any second. He’s even got dirty cops on the take.”

“Don’t worry about it, I made sure there was a distraction,” Beeswax said. And that’s when Arabica heard the distant alarms.

“What did you do?” Arabica asked.

“I’m a little tipsy still, so I wasn’t up for being clever, but I thought to myself, it would be a real shame if somepony broke the sprinkler valve and then set a bunch of dumb trees on fire. It might get everypony’s attention. Like a kind of distraction, you might say.”

“You set his crop of Black Khet on fire?” Arabica asked.

“Is that what it was?” Beeswax asked. She got his cuffs off after a few attempts, and they stepped out into the corridor to find a fallen guard. “Anyway, we should go. I heard fires on boats aren’t really fun.”

She grabbed the unconscious guard and tossed him inside the cabin, locking the door behind them.

“You know the way out?” Arabica asked.

“Of course. Probably.” Beeswax hesitated, looking around. “This way, I think.”

“I want the pony who did this found, and I want them turned into shark bait!” screamed an angry pony from that direction.

“Whoops, maybe that’s not--”

Rubber Croc and the pony who’d been holding an umbrella for him turned the corner and spotted Arabica and Beeswax.

“You!” Croc yelled, pointing at Beeswax.

“Oh, hey. You seem busy,” Beeswax said. “We were just leaving.”

“You’re leaving, all right,” Crock said. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to his minion. “But you’re gonna do it in a body bag!”

“You two know each other?” Arabica asked.

“I’m the one who put that pleasant smile on his face,” Beeswax said. “And I can do it again if I have to.”

She ran past Arabica and punched Rubber Croc, right on the chin. She winced in pain and backed off, holding her hoof.

“I remember him having more of a glass jaw,” she said, limping away. Croc grinned and lunged at her. Detective Arabica ducked between them, tackling Croc and rolling on the ground with them, ending up under the pony and taking a solid hit to the face, raising his hooves to cover his snout as Croc rained down blow after blow, not caring so much about who he hurt as long as somepony did.

Beeswax looked around, and spotted a pony running towards the hold, a bright red fire extinguisher in their hooves. She tripped them, grabbing the canister when they dropped it.

“Hey, Croc!” she shouted.

He turned and looked up from Arabica, hoof frozen mid-punch.

“Eat this!” Beeswax yelled, throwing the fire extinguisher at Croc. The pony looked up and snatched it from the air with his teeth, metal jaws snapping shut on the steel extinguisher. On instinct, he bit down.

There was an explosion of foam and steel shrapnel, and the corridor filled with suds and the stink of chemicals. Beeswax coughed and shielded her eyes, running over to dig through the mess.

“Detective, are you okay?”

Arabica sat up and groaned, rubbing his cheek where Croc had sucker-punched him. “I’ve been better. My ears are going to be ringing for a week from that pop. What happened to Croc?”

Beeswax pointed at the groaning gangster. His golden wolf teeth had broken and twisted into ragged shrapnel filling his mouth.

“He ain’t smiling so much anymore,” she said.

---

“And sign the statement right here,” Sergeant Plate said, taking the sheet out of the typewriter and putting it in front of Beeswax.

“First time I’ve had to make a report as a civilian,” Beeswax mumbled, scribbling her name on the paper with the pen in her teeth.

“You’ll get your badge back soon enough,” Detective Arabica promised. “We’re down a few patrol officers. Turns out Boudin and Jambon weren’t the only ones on his payroll, so we need all hooves on deck. They even found a pony in records shredding old files, so now we know how Croc managed to get out early. His lawyer is gonna have to answer some tough questions too.”

“I’d better,” Beeswax said, spitting out the pen. “How’s Croc?”

“He’ll live. You managed to break his jaw again, though. He’s pretty upset about that.”

Beeswax snorted.

“The good news is, you’re still off duty, so you can go home and celebrate,” Arabica said. “I need to do hours of paperwork and explaining about just what happened. I wish I was a civilian right now.”

“Hey, we did pretty good on our own,” Beeswax said. “And we didn’t even need some masked freak to come by and help us collar the--”

Behind them, at the entrance, there was a huge crash, and the entire building shook, dust falling in deeply concerning streams from the ceiling.

“...Be more careful with him,” Mare Do Well said, as she backed through the doors. “That’s it, Steel. Just a little more…”

A pony half-embedded in a concrete block and wearing armor painted with sloppy yellow and black stripes was shoved through the doors and into the precinct. He shouted and cursed at everypony around him, struggling to get out of the concrete that had set around his legs.

“What the buck is this?” Beeswax demanded, looking at the mess.

Mare Do Well shrugged. “He calls himself Killdozer. He decided he really didn’t like his landlord and the best way to deal with that was to knock over every building the pony owned. You’re probably going to want to sedate him before you get the armor off. He’s pretty unhappy.”

“You can’t just leave this kind of bucking thing on our front door!” Beeswax shouted.

“Hey, we saved you the trouble of getting him here,” Mare Do Well countered.

“I carried him,” Steel Braver said, the machine peeking out from the other side of the disturbance. “Hello, Officer Beeswax.”

“I can’t believe this,” Beeswax groaned. “Here I am, sober again, just when I really don’t want to be. Just my bucking luck I get a hangover and this at the same time.”

“Do you need assistance?” Steel Braver asked. “You seem to have many minor injuries.”

“What I need is to get my head examined,” Beeswax said.

“That is an excellent idea. Head trauma can be serious!”

Beeswax gave him a flat look. “Arabica--”

“Go home, Beeswax,” the Detective said. “I’ve got this. Thanks for the help. I’ll buy you a drink next time we go out.”

Beeswax gave him a sharp nod. “Don’t forget it!”

Comments

[Xanni]

Oh, kind of a "Lower Decks" chapter! Brilliant.