Minnie

She sat up in bed slowly straining to hear past the barrier of her bedroom door. There were no heavy, shuffling footsteps, no clanging of kitchen utensils. The staged sitcom laughter she was used to hearing from the living room was non-existent. Was he in there? Was he sleeping? Or had he gone out? She prayed for the latter as she planted her feet on the floor and sat for a few minutes counting the lines in the aged wood.

Sour. Something smelled sour. What was it this time? Dirty laundry? Old food left somewhere it wasn't supposed to be? A little grouping of roaches scuttled their way out from under a pile of clothes in front of her and she immediately looked away, shivering, toes curling. Everything about this place was disgusting. Everything about him was disgusting.

Minnie stood up and made her way over to the door, doing her best to not notice the thick layer of grit on the floor. Cracking it open she peeped out into the dim hallway. It was atrocious as usual with just as many piles of clothes as in the bedroom intermingled with other things like dirty plates, spoons and forks, and boxes of old books and papers. The bathroom door stood wide open, and had she not been paying attention as she tiptoed her way down the hall..she might almost have missed him. Al. Asleep on the toilet dressed to the nines in what he liked to call his 'business suit'. The buttons on the front of his shirt were open, revealing his fat, hairy belly on which rested a fist closed tightly around a bottle of scotch. Light through the window laid plain the muddy brown stain in the underwear he'd clearly forgotten to remove before sitting down. His red silk jacket was bunched under the door, thrown down in his haste to get in most likely.

Clamping her hand over her mouth she takes a step forward, leaning in to get a good look at her husband. He was deep into it. Sleeping, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He wouldn't be getting up from there for a long time. Praise be to god. Tonight was the night. The last night.

Minnie turned towards the archway leading into the living room. Here there were long, dark streaks in the carpet from Al's cigars, and a sickly, yellow stain on the walls from the smoke. The furniture was all cheap discounted finds from thrift stores, junk yards and curb alerts made even shabbier looking from the countless beatings they'd taken in the backs of moving trucks. The couch was a legless ode to the 70's, covered from top to bottom with flowers the brightest colors.

On the coffee table lay the slip of paper she'd been waiting for more than year to see Alfred get his greasy hands on. Picking it up she almost couldn't believe what she was seeing. The symbol of the Foot Clan. The Shredders symbol. Recognition of Al's many 'contributions' to the organization. Of course he'd had to wear that suit. The silk cherry red with cream accents, polished matching shoes. Only the best for Shredder.

Only the best.

Minnie's hands shook, her eyes glossed with tears. She didn't read the message the note contained. She knew already what it said..what it meant. Alfred was now under the protection, and on the payroll of the Clan.

She tore it to pieces. First down the middle, then across and in every other way until it was not but a pile of flakes. Scattering the pieces of the contract, she approached the side closet where she knew he had it hidden. It was locked, but that wasn't a problem. She'd had the spare key for days now. It took some doing, getting the key into the deadbolt. It had a sticky film over it like everything her gormless owner put his hands on but she managed it, nearly tripping over her own feet to get in at the contents. Her knees collide with a rack of weights and it tips dangerously. She scrambles forward to catch it—but it's heavy, and she snatches her hands back before they're crushed. The sound it makes is deafening in the quiet and Minnie stands frozen for what seems like an eternity waiting to hear footsteps coming down the hall. To smell Alfred's rancid, fishy breath at her neck

Nothing happens. Alfred doesn't come and she seizes her opportunity, stepping over the piles and piles of junk to get into the back of the closet. It's dark and she can only just make out what she's touching. There are more boxes filled with refuse. There's more old, musty clothes. Rat traps with the remains peering up at her with their beady black eyes, bodies dry and hollow. More and more filth. Alfred. The sick fuck—he knew it would be the perfect place to stash it. The one place she'd never set foot. Uncharted territory.

Minnie closed her eyes and stretched out her hand pushing back against the nausea, pressing her other palm down into the mess to keep from slipping down onto the dusty little rat corpses. The safe was mere inches away. When she found the handle she pulled back. It was locked. Of course it was locked. She dug the key out from her pocket once again and shoved it into the darkness not knowing whether there was a lock where she struck or not. She pushed hard and snapped it to the left and was rewarded with a faint click. It was open now. The money was hers. Twenty thousand dollars. It was hers to do with as she pleased. She had only to grab it and run. Run away from Alfred and the filthy hovel he lived in. Run away from the even filthier lifestyle he led.

Stack after stack she shoved into the duffle. One, two, three, four—and jewelry too! Diamonds! Pearls! Sapphires! Rubies—things fenced to him from his criminal friends, frequenters of his underground establishment, The Shed. All their handy work was in here including photo evidence of crimes committed by some of the more un-savories. It was Alfred's way of keeping them coming back to him. There were some personal things too. Things that belonged to her that he'd taken away the night she was sold off to him. Why had he kept them?

"Because you're sick that's why." She whispers peering down into the now full bag, answering her own question, remember the sight of him on the toilet, sweating and stinking with his pants twisted up around his ankles. Minnie's conscious prods at her as she roots her way out of the closet, thinking of him in there and what it'll be like for him when he wakes in the morning. She'd told him time and again..

"Shit will kill you Al.", to whit he'd responded, "Shaddup and cook me summin' to eat bitch."

And she had cooked him something to eat. Lots of bowl clogging, artery obstructing meats. With extra grease.

She feels bad, but not too bad as she hauls the heavy bag over her shoulder and heads for the front door. The key to the safe and side closet she tosses across the room and replaces it with the one on the hook. In the grungy mirror before stepping out Minnie sees herself. A gangly, brown skinned frightened looking thing dressed in rags. Hair a tangled mess of sagging black ropes. A quote from a movie she watched a long time ago pops into her mind and she laughs stepping out into the long, red tinted corridor that led down to the entrance of her late husband's business. The Shed. Watering hole for New York's worst kind of people.

Minnie reaches back and pulls the door closed behind her, thinking about her current situation. She hadn't planned this far ahead. What time was it now? Four? Five? The Shed was closed. She wouldn't be able to get out through the bar or the back entrance. She didn't want anyone to see her. Her eyes wander down to her bare feet where the light of the moon from a window to her left illuminates the black and white checker flooring. Immediately in front of her is an elevator, but she can't take it. It led down to the basement where the liquor cases were kept and there wasn't any other way out down there.

She could see the shadow of the fire escape out there, made more prominent by the now steadily falling snow. It was her only way.

Walking to the window, Minnie glances over her shoulder at the red, blinking lights surrounding the door to the bar. How long would Al be able to keep it open without money? What would his associates say when he came and told him he'd lost the goods they'd fenced to him?

Who was she kidding? He could keep it open probably forever now he had the Foot's backing. The money they'd given him was a gift right? A token of their appreciation for services rendered. They'd give him more if he needed it. Sure they would. He let the Foot and the Dragon's sell drugs and run whores out of his place. It was only twenty grand. A drop in the bucket compared to how much their entire Manhattan estate was probably worth.

"Fuck. Why didn't I put on shoes?"

She was standing out in it now, arms wrapped tightly around her-self, feet clenched this time because of cold. Minnie looks around her. There's nothing but dingy brick, and falling snow in front of her. Smells, not unlike those she was used to back inside the apartment assault her senses. It's so cold. She hadn't planned this far ahead. Her freedom was down there in the dark just a quick hop down. But what would she do once she was down there? Where would she go?

A feeling of dread washes over her and she turns back to the window, shivering, looking in that the blinking red lights on the door down the hall.

It would be warm in there. There would be food there. Her brain tells her.

Minnie reaches out, with both hands and slams the window shut. She turns back around and walks to the ladder of the escape, holding onto it tightly with her hands and shaking it to test its strength before descending.

"If I can live in this place…I can live anywhere."