The Runaway Bodyguard

by scifipony

Chapter 40 — Sticky Situation

Author's Note:

Moby’s South Side, with lyrics like “Weapons in hand as we go for a ride” and “I pick up my friends and we hope we won't die,” is a perfect musical accompaniment for the gang vibe presented in this chapter.

If you are reading this during initial serialization, I posted two chapters! When you finish this one, keep reading.

I turned left at the corner, west. Yeah, I exited the apartment grounds quickly, but had the pair decided to follow, they would have caught up quickly—my body felt that wrung out.

I resolved that I had two self-improvement goals. Learn how to use Force when I needed it and learn what I was doing wrong that made me want to climb into bed and hibernate when I used Teleport. The situation did give me the time to reflect on all that I had done wrong, and what I could do next.

Not running away again as soon as Trigger seemed confident he'd domesticated me answered what I'd done wrong. Play the game answered what I would do next.

I was a foal. The whole situation left me spiteful and angry, but intrigued. I could fight and I could think. And if I had to, I could run. The Monster had taught me I wasn't invincible, but also that I could make ponies pay that got in my way.

Play the game. I felt the thick liquid protected by the box shift back and forth as I trotted to the meetup, causing my saddlebags to rub such that they kept reminding me of my opening gambit. I was a target. No doubts there. Anything I'd let slip to Trigger—was he in cahoots with Mustang?—was suspect. I didn't discuss routes with him, and hadn't. He might have seen the destination before he hoofed it over. He might have seen the map pages I poured over.

Change everything.

On the way, I detoured into a Stop-n-Trot and grabbed a black can with a green lightning bolt logo. By the time I arrived at the meetup, the grape Power Mad Pony drink had me buzzing and much recovered, though whether it was the cause of the ache in my stomach was hard to judge.

I found seven ponies milling suspiciously at the corner, with a pegasus chewing gum and leaning on a newspaper rack while another idly kicked a light pole with a hoof and watched the gas light lantern sway. I saw neither Ma'am nor Wagon Wheel, the team leaders I'd worked with previously. As I feared, I was indeed The Pony in Charge.

I recognized Spiker, Breakaleg, Pig Pen, Crystal Skies, and a lemon yellow dude who went by Citron. The green pegasus mare, in a black blouse and a red plaid skirt with the blond hair, and the white earth pony were new, but she looked in her early twenties and he had a torn ear and a healed scar on his jaw. They were likely veterans and somewhat experienced.

Citron made Grimoire seem downright dour. I'd assisted over a dozen deliveries by that point, most with different teams until the last three. That team had included older stallions—we're talking early twenties here–and this second unicorn intern. Citron's yellow coat, amber eyes, and white-streaked blond mane, while seemingly a comical lemon meringue pie combination, together lent him a mean and somehow scary presence. His silent competence worked to maximize that. When a Clydesdale earth pony tried to haze him, he fractured the poor fellow's right-front pastern bone and walked away like a ghost, showing neither glee nor contrition, just disdain that the pony had interfered with getting the job done.

Considering his short leg length to body ratio, I felt confident the fellow was my age or younger. I'd lost my parents and suffered being honed into an evil princess' tool until I'd run away. I could only imagine the horse apples he'd endured to have also runaway at the same age I'd done so. I assumed. I presumed because he had that blank"runaway" look I'd seen in homeless encampments. He could have just been a juvenile delinquent, but I chose not to ask.

"Follow," I said, tossing my empty can into a waste bin before turning back the way I came.

A few glanced at the bin, obviously wondering why I hadn't chosen to litter. The rest noticed the aura around my horn, saw I had spells queued, and realized I was serious. The group, a couple of chains jangling, clattered up to surround me. Their attentive silence confirmed who was in charge.

Me.

The green mare, probably the oldest of us, asked, "What's your name?" Her gum cracked as she chewed. Because she was slightly ahead of me, I smelled the bubblegum.

Keeping my voice low and deep, I said, "Call me, Sir."

Credit where due: None who knew me sniggered.

She said, "Um... Yes, Sir."

I said, "We are going to be hit."

I heard a gasp, and saw everypony start to survey their surroundings, eyes darting, ears swiveling. Citron's horn lit.

"No candy coat. This is dangerous. Anypony who isn't up for a fight can just leave now. I promise I'll vouch for your going AWOL as a choice I gave you. Okay, who's out?"

Spiker said, "Once a puncher, always a puncher."

I waited the time it took to take a dozen steps and asked, "Anypony? Nopony?" I looked around and everypony shook their head.

"In that case, we're splitting up."

"What?"

I stopped between street lamps with a darkened grocery store behind me.

"You!" I pointed at the gum-chewing pegasus. "Give me your gum." When she reached for her mouth with a wing, I added, "The pack."

She passed it over. Lotsobub brand, with a pink bubble logo surrounded by magic sparkles. Seven sticks of ten left. I dropped it in my saddle bag, exchanging it for my larger makeup compact.

The white stallion had a messenger bag strapped across his white tee-shirt under his open jacket. I lifted the flap and levitated the black saucer shaped object inside.

Softly, nervously, he brayed.

I nodded, letting him think he was the mule. I pointed at him, her, Spiker, and Breakaleg. I rattled off streets and intersections. One dozen in total. Spiker might come off as a bit derpy, but he'd shown himself to have a good memory, for grudges if nothing else. I'd had to break his nose a second time, but he'd become my best bud after that.

I told them I'd meet them downtown and escort them to the delivery point. I swatted Breakaleg's flank. He reared and whinnied as they dashed off.

As the four turned left and out of sight, Citron commented, "White Charger is actually their best fighter."

I shrugged and walked to the corner before saying, "I'm the mule."

"No way," Pig Pen said. I had told them about the deal I had thought I had.

"Which is why you suspect opposition," Crystal Skies added, fluffing his feathers. "Sir."

I smiled, shaking my head at his jab. "There were other clues."

Pig Pen, as always, wore a brown knit sweater that blended with his coat. Citron. Well, Citron was weird. He wore a horse blanket. I suspected it was cotton, but it had some weight to it. It was beige, and had streaks of blue, red, and gold running crosswise. And fringe. And tassels.

Only the pegasus wore gang colors. His black jacket and pants, which might have been a silk blend so as not to impede his flight, looked pricey. The tee-shirt was dime-store quality. "How much for your giddy-up?"

He looked right and left. "Uh, four silver. Five with the tailor and all."

"Good." Luckily, as a pegasus, he was about my size. I reached into my saddlebags and pulled out my after-work camouflage and some coins. As he took the coins, I said, "Strip."

He stopped in front of an alley, mouth open. Fortuitous. I handed the clothes over. I pointed with my nose.

I heard some feathery snipping sounds and a minute later, Crystal Skies stepped out in a facsimile of a waitress; uniform, white apron and all. The blue matched his coat. He'd cut wing holes at the hemlines. When he arranged the skirt over his flank, I glimpsed his chef knife cutie mark. The Crystal "The Knife" Skies moniker made extra sense, now.

He looked annoyed.

"Trust me. My route, best we don't stand out. Wait."

I pulled out my smaller makeup compact. I brushed on some blue powder as an eyeliner. The little clues are what make a questionable disguise believable to a cursory review. He stood aghast, saying nothing as I pulled down on one eyelid then the other.

"What's with the makeup?" Citron asked.

"A fetish," I deadpanned. "You can fly?"

"I'd go natural if I couldn't."

"Good." I trotted north.

Citron and Pig Pen flanked me. When Crystal Skies took point a few pony lengths ahead of me, I realized he wore a bouffant. I hissed, called him back, and proceeded to tie his mane into a bun. His hair was silky, and I had to tie it tightly.

When I braided his tail sticking out of his skirt, he complained. "I'm not your action figure."

Citron said, "The proper term is doll."

"Whatevs."

I made my bouffant into a colt-bun, sticking straight up atop my head.

We caught the bus just after we arrived at the stop. Lucky, since it ran hourly at this time of night. The six-and-coach had interior lights. Crystal Skies looked like a mousy waitress heading out for an overnight diner. Pig Pen looked like a tired dropout graveyard worker. Citron looked like somepony recently arrived from Dodge City. I kind of stood out, in a goth sort of way.

Nothing gang here.

Counting us, there were six passengers one of which was a homeless mare lightly snorting on a bench seat. My homies looked to me. We headed north. They knew that was the wrong way.

"What?" I said.

"The plan?" Crystal Skies asked.

"We catch the 3 PM Downtown Local at the station."

They all nodded.

"And this," I said, took out the gum and unwrapped two sticks from the silver foil, stuffing the pink gum in my mouth. Ugh. Sweet. I chewed for a minute trying not to let my jaw cramp, then began working up a spell. The last time I'd used this was the week before Sunburst got his cutie mark. We'd worked hard on getting it right, because we had reasons, which meant I did all the work and studying. Yes, I could do magic, but sometimes I was too dense to get what I read. Sunburst had been good at untangling how I thought.

In retrospect, it meant we'd shared an indirect kiss.

I felt my face grow hot and probably red. What was with me—and him—after all these years!

Whatever it was, it helped me remember clearly enough to get Tin Cans spun up after about five minutes trying. I felt a familiar effervescence in my mouth. As the mnemonic name implied, it kind of worked like a pair of tin cans connected by a taut string.

I gabbed the hunk of gum with my magic, bit it in half and offered the pink gob, around which visible sparkles popped, to Citron. True to his dour form, he just popped it in his mouth without expression.

I whispered, hardly vocalizing. "Can you hear me?"

His amber eyes went wide and a pulled the gum out.

I chuckled and grabbed the gum back, popping it back in my mouth.

Pig Pen said, "Unsanitary."

I said, "You have to keep it in your mouth."

"Contagious magic," Citron said, sounding impressed.

"Foal magic," I amended. "Gotta keep it in your mouth. After five seconds, the spell will evaporate. Let's see what the range is."

I bit off a piece and shoved it into Crystal Skies' mouth. He glared at me, then opened his eyes as I spoke.

He asked, "What's a drover?"

Citron said, "The last pony on left of the team pulling the bus."

"The driver?"

"He's not sitting in the bus, so he's the drover."

He flew the twenty pony lengths from the back to the bus. I then heard, "He says five minutes."

I nodded.

He twisted his wing to point a primary feather upward. "A pinions up," I later learned.

The train waited at the station, and we waited for 45 minutes for the departure. I had us separate, each with about a stick of gum in our mouths. The pegasus flew the length of the six cars, then took the advertising insert from the paper I'd bought. When I asked why, he made a scissoring motion with his primary and secondary feathers.

"Coupons?"

He nodded.

Thus we shared the paper. I took the sports section.

Midtown, twelve sketchy ponies in light blue sweaters climbed aboard. I felt particularly good that we'd decided to stay together in the last car. They didn't seem to notice anypony except the pegasus, though I could tell at least their leader evaluated everypony. When Crystal Skies acted the mousy part, hiding "her" face in her colorful part of the paper, then began noisy clipping out a coupon with her wings, the group lost interest. No telling what she might snip if they got fresh with her. The second stop after entering the first car of the train, they exited the last one.

That wasn't the attack I was expecting Mr. Nopony had set up. I took deep breaths to calm my stuttering heart. For a few minutes, the organ kept rhythm with the train wheels against the rails. Then I saw the bay, docks, and quays all lit up. A few ships were tied in dock, one being unloaded despite the time by husky stevedores. On the water, another ship stood tied up, a red and a green light at each end blinking to mark fore and aft. We were far southwest of our destination as we reached our stop by the steamship terminal near Riverside Park.

I'd trespassed in three territories, as proven by the train inspection. The steamship terminal edged on a fourth. I was mixing it up and trying to act chaotic.

None of my efforts could change the location of my destination, though. If somepony had leaked the time and place to a rival gang, or Mustang and Mr. Nopony had set something up to embarrass me, chances were that we were in for a battle, or for a good gallop.

I absently brayed under my breath, which got the other's attention as we stepped onto the platform. The doors on the train huffed closed, and the locomotive chugged as it pulled the silver cars away. I wondered if I looked as haggard as they did.

To Tartarus with it all. "Bring it on!"

"Yeah!" My three companions replied. That got looks from ponies waiting for the northbound train on benches and by the coffee vending machine, none of whom looked remotely like gangsters.