The Black Hoof

Spike started at the beginning. “I wasn't always in the mob, of course. I used to be a taxi driver, if you can believe that. Even though I didn't make too much money, and I worked from sunrise to sundown, I was glad that I even had a job. Those were the worst years of the depression and there were people with much worse luck than me. It was that very taxi that brought Celestino’s people to me in the first place. This one day, must’ve been in September or October of ‘30, I was on break …”

The dragon descended from taxi for a cigarette break, no small task considering his diminutive stature. It didn't help that the cab, emblazoned across the side with ‘Manehattan Cab Co.’ was an Everfree Eight. Sure, sure; it was more powerful and had more gears than your run-of-the-mill Pansy Model P, but it was big and hard to maneuver, and most of all, tall. He leaned against the rear wheel and lit up a cigarette. The streetlamps flickered on in unison, which meant it was almost exactly seven PM. Even though it was already dark, he still had three more hours before he could return to the rat-infested tenement he called home. For a moment in the evening chill, everything seemed perfectly calm.

Suddenly, he was startled the sound of a tremendous car crash. From around the corner, two ponies emerged, one with an obvious limp.

The limping one shouted, as she tripped and fell over her own hooves, to the white unicorn beside her, “Rarity! They got me, dammit. Right in the wing!”

Rarity pulled the pegasus up by her front legs and said “Don’t stop now, we haven’t time. Look, there’s a taxi, we’ll be fine…”

That’s when the unicorn aimed a nickel-plated pistol square at Spike’s head. It became clear to him that these two needed to get out of there lickety-split, and he wasn't inclined to argue. He nearly dropped his keys while unlocking the cab, and he pulled himself up into his seat as Rarity helped her blue pegasus friend up into the passenger seat. Even though her rainbow mane implied friendliness, this injured mare was anything but.

“Where to?” Spike asked nervously.

“Anywhere! Just get there damn fast, faster than ‘Miss Priss’ over here,” shouted the pegasus.

Rarity might’ve taken offense to that, but she was too busy firing out the back window at the car that had just turned the corner. An Everfree Eight, just like the taxi, it sported a violet paint job. When it got closer, it became obvious that all three passengers were firing right at his cab. Spike stomped the gas - it was clear that if anyone was going to survive, he’d need to lose his new “customers’” pursuers.

Spike made a quick right, threading the taxi between a streetlamp and the corner of a building. His pursuers made the corner wide, on the road. He drove down the alley straight ahead, past the abandoned Tornado Theater, and then swerved left and quickly right. He led them through the office construction project that was abandoned after the market crash; but they were still on him, though the front seat gunman was out of commission thanks to Rarity’s precision with that semi-auto. They even managed to catch up enough to try to knock the taxi off the road, but before they could, Spike squeezed it between an Elevated Rail post and a building - and it was too late for them to avoid it. The other Everfree hit the post head on, going at least forty. The hood folded and shoved back into the passenger compartment, and the front axle split. They certainly didn't hang around to see who survived, but it couldn't have been good for the driver.

After they were in the clear, Rarity exclaimed, “Fantastic! We've made it!”

The rainbow pegasus said, “Thanks, kid - the name’s Dashie, by the way. My mamma called my Dash Rainbondo, but my friends call me Dashie - and you, you’re a friend. Now, take us to Celestino’s Bar; it’s on Sumner Street in Little Canterlot.”

After a short but silent drive, Spike pulled the car up across from the bar. The two ponies exited the car, but Dashie came up to his window and said to him “Wait here for a little, kid; Rarity will get you a little something for your troubles from Ms. Celestino herself.”

Rarity, already a few feet ahead, called back, “Oh yes dear, thank you for the help.”

The two mares entered the bar, passing by a stallion and a mare that stood out in front, guarding the door. One of them, the mare, eyed him suspiciously. Spike felt mighty nervous; didn't ponies like this usually kill witnesses? He was a witness, and he didn't want to end up with a bullet to the head. He tried to reassure himself. Maybe these mares were different. The rainbow one - no, Dashie - Dashie called him a friend. He hyperventilated as he tried to stay calm. Were those stories he heard about this crime family? No, those weren't about the Celestinos, they were about the Lunettis, weren't they? He wasn't sure, but he racked his brain trying to remember.

Rarity emerged from the bar. She trotted across the road, without any kind of giveaway on her face. Spike could feel his heart beating louder and louder. As she used her horn’s telekinesis to reach into a jacket pocket - oh, no, that’s where they keep their guns - Spike tried to start up the taxi. Before he could, Rarity arrived at the car window and presented him with an overstuffed envelope.

“Consider this a thank you from Ms. Celestino, as well as myself and Dashie. It should be enough to cover the damages to your car, as well as a healthy compensation for your services,” said Rarity.

“Yeah, of course, thanks. Give Ms. Celestino my regards,” replied Spike.

“Ms. Celestino would like me to tell you that she is very grateful. If you ever need anything, you know you can come back and ask for help - the don doesn't forgot about friends who have helped her or her mares out. If you were interested, I’m sure we could find you a job here - and it would pay well. We always have positions for poni...dragons with skills like you.

Looking down at his feet, Spike replied with a stutter, “Oh, yeah… I’ll uh, think about it, really, thanks…I’d better go, you know to… uh, fix the car and… other… things.”

Noticing the apprehension, Rarity reassured him. “It’s fine, darling, I understand. Just… consider the offer. And, I hope I don’t need to tell you that this matter is only between ourselves, capiche? Take care.”

Later that evening, after Spike pulled his battered and bullet-ridden cab up to his apartment, he climbed up five flights of stairs and locked the door behind him. When he opened the envelope, he nearly had a heart attack. There was more than enough to fix the cab - hell, there was enough to buy another car! He considered the offer, if only for a moment, but he decided he didn't want to join up with some criminals. He wouldn't last long if a night like this was a routine occurrence! He resolved to get the cab fixed and try to forget about it all as soon as possible.