"Don't worry about a thing.

'Cuz every little thing

gonna be alright." -Bob Marley & the Wailers, Three Little Birds

Chapter 10 - Everyone has a Price

He rapped his knuckles against the door; tottering back on his heels where he stood in the short carpeted hallway. Doing his best to sweep away the clinging worry, the gnawing sense that he should be home right now. With his brothers.

But he had a job to do. He couldn't let the kids down. Rotten little monsters or not, he just couldn't stand to think of their disappointment if he blew off this gig.

The elevator had been out so he'd had to hoof it up to the top floor. What a crappy place for a kids party, Mikey thought for the second time that evening. Four floors wasn't a problem for him, he hadn't even broken a sweat, but as he ascended to his destination, he felt bad for the kids coming to the party.

Lightning flashed, making the small rectangular window at the end of the corridor wink with light before going dark. The sound of distant thunder rumbled above, shaking the floor slightly with its power. A thunderstorm rolling in on top of it all. Bad luck all around.

"Maybe it'll be over by the time I'm heading home," Mikey mumbled hopefully as he readjusted the goofy turtle head he wore.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped his attention to the door just as it opened. A man he didn't recognize stared at him with an expression of dull suspicion. Mikey had met some of the kids' fathers during the gigs he worked. He'd never seen this hulk. The guy was easily six four, maybe more, with a crew-cut shaved so close he was nearly bald. One of the kids' dads, had to be, he guessed.

Or the lady had hired a bouncer for the party.

Mikey felt his fake head threatening to topple off as he tipped back to meet the man's gray eyes.

"Erm," he said, voice muffled by the over-sized turtle head covering his own. He cleared his throat. "Cowabunga Carl reporting for duty!" He snapped his heels together and saluted.

The giant of a man continued his cold stare.

Mikey's chuckling died back to a nervous cough. They stood there, facing each other in silence for another drawn out minute. A shiver ran down Mikey's spine. He rubbed his palms against the sides of his body, then pulled the card out of his belt and peered through the uneven eye holes of his mask at the address. He stepped to one side and leaned over to glance at the numbers on the door behind the man.

"I'm at the right . . . Uh, this is, hmm," he fidgeted, feeling himself begin to sweat. "A, uh, Ms. Strumpf hired me? Fiona Strumpf? Is, uh, she here? Blonde lady . . ."

"Dieter," a familiar voice called from behind the man, "let our little performer inside."

The man named Dieter considered him for a moment longer, then nodded and stepped aside. He smirked, cracking his smooth face into a riot of angled lines. "Come in dancing turtle," he said with a thick accent.

An image of Arnold Schwarzenegger popped into Michelangelo's head. Unable to help himself, he clapped his hands together, pointed at the man, and quipped in an attempt at a German-accented voice, "I vant to pamp you ahup!"

Mikey laughed and faked a few jabs at the guy who stood rigid and unmoving. "Right? Am I right?"

The man's smirk dropped. His eyes flashed. He stared at Michelangelo with a look that could only be described at murderous.

Mikey gulped. "Well, I gotta job to do!" He dropped his hands and skipped his feet. Skirting around the man. Moving a bit faster into the apartment. Getting out of grabbing reach. That guy gave him the willies.

Before he got far, Fiona came out of nowhere and grabbed him by the shoulders, ushering him hastily into one of the open doors on either side of the hall. For being such a wispy woman, she was surprisingly strong. She shoved him inside.

"Whoa!"

His heels slid against a throw rug before he caught himself, nearly toppling over. He righted the mask to see Fiona closing the door behind her.

"First," she said and with quick strides crossed the short distance between them. She reached over and yanked the mask off his head.

"Hey! What the helll . . . heyo, Miss Fiona," he amended. He cleared his throat and chuckled. He pointed at the mask as she chucked aside. It bounced and rolled to a stop next to a writing desk coated in dust.

Mikey took a half-step back, hoping she hadn't dented the head, "Er, Wait. I need that. For the act."

"No, you really don't." She sidled closer to him.

The sharp peppermint-cigar scent of her breath made his nose crinkle.

"Uh, heh, yeah, I really do." He coughed and turned his head. This woman had a way of standing too close to him, crowding his personal space, which usually he was pretty lenient about. But there was just something creepy about this lady that he couldn't pinpoint.

She tipped her face to one side, considering him. The white-blond bangs brushed diagonally across her thinned brows. She pursed her pink lips. Her finger raised and she bobbed him gently on the tip of his snout. "Don't you remember what we talked about at Jackie's party?"

Mikey blinked. "Uh," he rubbed the back of his head and inched back a bit, trying not to be rude, but needing the breathing room. He snapped his fingers, "You'd pay me double," he grinned.

At that she laughed. It was an odd sound. Mechanical. Like rattling utensils. Or garbage cans tipping into an alley. He swallowed and wanted more than anything to bolt.

"Aw, look at those dimples. You little doll."

He felt his face heat unintentionally at the comment. "Heh, yeah. Okay." He moved a step, twisted, and stooped to retrieve his mask. "No, but I really do need this. The kids like the mask. Much cuter than this," he said and pointed to his face.

She kicked the head before his fingers could close around the sides. He paused, frowning, still reaching. It bounced across the sparely furnished room. In fact, from what he'd seen of the place, it had a vacated, abandoned feel to it. The fake head made a soft resounding thud as it hit the wall.

He straightened up. Anger flared. "Not so rough! Take it easy with the head."

Fiona smiled her shark-like grin, all even teeth, slightly pointed. "Aw, but I always play rough, especially with the head."

Mikey froze. He felt his face flush and his body reflexively heat. There was no other way to take what she just said to him. And yet, he couldn't believe that those words had actually come out of her mouth.

His eyes darted from side to side. What the hell was going on here? Was she hitting on him? He started to stammer something that he didn't even know what he was trying to say when she spoke over him.

"Trust me. There's no problem with your," her eyes scanned over him. Top to bottom. He felt it crawl across his skin, marking him in slime trails. "Appearance."

He held one arm with his opposite hand, unconsciously covering his body. Feeling strangely naked. All of the earlier anger ebbed away, replaced with growing discomfort. Anxiety. Arousal that he did not want to feel. It was clouded by his unease, but there, nonetheless. He swallowed.

"But. Th-The kids, they won't -" he tried to insist, to retrain his thoughts back to the point at hand. Wanting more than ever to hide inside that over-sized mask.

"There aren't any kids here, Carl." She narrowed her eyes. "Is that really your name? Or is that just your stage name?"

Mikey frowned, catching on and focusing on one important piece of information and ignoring her question. "Uh, you know, I, uh, I think maybe we aren't understanding one another. I thought this was a party. But . . . there's no kids here?"

She sucked in her heavily glossed lips and shook her head. Blinking innocently.

"Th-Then who am I performing for?"

"Me," she said.

Mikey shifted his feet back in surprise as she creeped up on him. She stopped an inch from his body. She rested her arms onto his shoulders, toyed with the straps of his bandana behind his head, raking her long black and blue-tipped manicured nails along his skin.

He repressed a shudder even as his body grew uncomfortably warm.

"Oh, and a few friends. After Jackie's party, I told them all about you. And they really wanted to see you. Just like I knew they would. I knew they'd be interested in such a," there came a hungry gleam in her eyes that had Mikey swallowing reflexively, "unique act."

Mikey, unsure, suddenly feeling as though he were in way over his head, feeling this was all a big mistake, opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she cut him off.

She stepped back and straightened her blouse. "It's a little something I do on the side."

Mikey frowned. "I'm not sure I understand . . ."

"Oh, it's simple." She flashed her shark-grin. "I locate, uhmm, special acts for this little group of friends I know."

This was beginning to sound like a really bad idea. More than ever he wished he had Donatello's voice in his ear, picking up on the conversation and backing him up with advice. He had a feeling that if Donnie were listening to this, he'd be screaming, ABORT! ABORT! And instructing Michelangelo on just how exactly he should extract himself from this woman, this apartment, this messed-up situation.

Mikey stepped back and inched towards the door. Trying and failing to look casual. "I-I think I'd better . . . I mean, can I use your, uh, bathroom? On second thought, I forgot something in the van! Yeah, that's it!"

She reached out with one bony arm and blocked him from going forward.

"Ah-ah-ah! Don't get cold feet, doll. You're going out this door here," she spun him roughly on his heels, "and you're going to dance for us. Show us what you've got, understand?"

"W-Well, I dunno. I really should go get my, uhm, uh," he stammered at a loss.

She stopped, crossed her arms. Gave him an angry, disappointed look. "Don't ruin the fun. I'm paying good money for this."

The mention of money stilled his panic. He hesitated, scratching at his chest and glancing around at the dingy room. This was wrong. This was bad. He didn't like this at all.

"Look, I'm happy to pay more."

His face shot up. "More?"

She shrugged. "It makes no difference what I pay you." Her grin spread wider.

"Oh, really? Oh, hmm."

He wrapped his arms around himself. Thinking suddenly of Donatello last night in Leonardo's empty room. Hearing that repressed sob echo in his mind. Remembering the sound of him being sick in the bathroom after Splinter reprimanded him for whatever it was that he'd done wrong that day. The fight with April only making everything so much worse.

He felt his chest tighten with sympathy at the pressure his older brother was under.

He remembered then what she said to Raph. About Donnie having to keep tabs on him like he was a baby – a helpless baby - how Donnie was the only one helping the family in any real way.

A flash of hurt went through him. He grimaced.

He looked up and met her anticipatory gaze, held it. This was his chance.

"Yeah, you know what? Yes," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I'll do it. I mean, you're paying me to be here. And I am already here."

She nodded eagerly. Took him by the shoulders again, herding him towards a side door before he could negotiate his price. Well, he'd have to handle that later.

He became aware of the music thumping from the other side. He twisted away, feeling a surge of self-doubt about this decision, "M-Maybe I should stretch out first."

She said nothing as she pulled open the door and thrust him through.

The swirling, flashing lights threw him for a moment; blinded him as they flared across his vision. He winced and squinted. Fiona gave him another little shove. His feet stuttered forward across the laminate flooring. He came to a stop near the center of a decent-sized, window-less room. He looked over his shoulder to see an opening which led to a hallway. Having spotted the exit, he felt instantly better.

A heaving drumbeat assaulted him. The electronic thrum vibrating through his body and trembling his shell in a not-all-that-unpleasant way. It tickled. A wavering grin danced across his mouth as he started a bouncing step into the center of the room where an open space awaited his performance.

Chairs were set up in a wide semi-circle. The flashing lights made it hard to make out more than the dark silhouettes of the people gathered as his audience. But he could tell they were all adults.

A wave of anxiety had him falter. But Fiona's voice called out behind him, making him jump.

"C'mon, Carl. Show us those moves!"

Okay, Mikey. Time to earn some real dough. Prove to my family that I'm capable of helping. Like seriously helping! And show these folks how a ninja breaks it down!

In a burst of adrenaline, he shot forward, snapped his feet apart and together, weaving his head and popping his arms. He spun. Dropped and swept his legs around, over and up, balancing on his hands before jumping up only to drop back and kick. He rolled backwards up to a hand stand, did a push up and popped back to his feet all in perfect time with the rhythmic beat of the music.

Someone whistled their approval and he could just make out the sound of applause beneath the thundering music.

His grin was wide and genuine. This is actually pretty fun! Man, if they like that, they'll love this!

He hadn't brought his chucks inside. He never did. They were tucked safely under the passenger-side seat in the van.

Though he'd have liked to show off his mad skills at the parties, Donatello had expressed his firm opinion that bringing weapons into a crowded room full of children was not a good idea. No matter how careful Mikey promised he'd be. He'd settled for a pair of over-sized foam chucks.

How could he be a ninja master without a weapon?

Mikey pulled them out now. The balance was poor and the chain was plastic, but he made it work. It was all in good fun, anyway.

He weaved side to side as he whipped the goofy implements around. He imagined blocking the little circles of light as he spun them. Defending his body from the furious attack. He laughed out loud as he went through a short-modified kata that he improvised on the spot. His arms and legs moved in symmetrical patterns, never losing control of the spinning foam chucks.

I'm on fire!

He dropped into splits, popped up and spun the chucks over his head, threw them up and caught them behind his back. Ending with them tucked under one arm. He leaped into the air, grabbed his thighs, and did a backwards summersault, landing with a final split and blowing kisses in general to the group around him.

Movement caught the corner of his eye.

Panting, he turned his head, smiling widely, just as a fist knocked him back. A flash of pain blinded him. Sputtering and scrambling back, stunned by the unexpected attack, he jumped up. His face darted around.

He thought he heard the outraged cry of a woman, but he wasn't sure. He couldn't see anything between the twirling lights and the flashing strobe. But the silhouettes were gone. He could just make out that the audience were no longer seated in their chairs. A few had backed off towards the walls, but several forms moved towards him.

"Whoa, hey now, let's calm down, okay?"

He didn't know what was going on, but apparently he'd done something to piss his audience off. Face throbbing, he glanced around trying to get his bearings; hands up, defensively; foam chucks clutched in one fist.

"Geez, my dancin' wasn't that bad!"

A roundhouse clipped his side as he just barely jumped back in time to avoid the full blow. The party lights blinked and went out. A switch was flicked. The room lit up, blinding him.

He blinked rapidly and spun the toy nunchucks out in front of him defensively. "Don't make me use these!"

Someone knocked the chucks from his hands with a vicious kick to his wrist and grabbed his upper arms. Before he could react, he was head-butted. His head rocked back. His knees buckled as his stomach took a blow from a knee, knocking the wind from him. He crumbled forward. Then lurched back as hard as he could, freeing himself.

He staggered backwards out of their grasping hands and twisted his hips, gasping for air, as he threw a front and back hook kick at his attacker. One landed and he heard a grunt of pain. He felt his shell hit the wall as he fell back to catch his breath.

His watering gaze darted around. The men crowded him. Above them all was the giant, Dieter. None of them looked happy. They all wore the same determined expression. That same fierce hunger for a fight.

Oh shit. I gotta get outta here.

He braced himself. Bouncing his knees once, then dashed forward, head down, in an attempt to barrel through the bodies cornering him. He'd seen Raph do this on occasion when fighting the Foot and he had no problem clearing the floor. Of course, if Mikey had time to think it through, Raph had about fifty additional pounds of rage-fueled muscle to help propel him like a wrecking ball through the opposing force.

While he knocked back the first guy, he didn't get any further. A set of meaty hands caught him, stopping his forward momentum. He glanced up to find Dieter holding him. He dragged himself back, using his heels, but the giant man's fingers wrapped securely around Mikey's forearms, squeezing painfully. Dieter tugged him forward.

"Where do you think you're going, little freak?"

He was violently shaken back and forth until his teeth rattled in his skull. The man paused to adjust his grip. Head spinning, Mikey tried to use the guy's body as leverage to climb up and kick him in the jaw. Only before he could, the guy head butted him again, then spun him around.

Dazed and tasting blood, he felt the giant paws pulling at him, spinning him around to face outwards. From the corner of his vision, he made out three men coming up fast.

From the side, he heard Fiona say, "Stop! Not so rough!"

Mikey bucked and struggled, but couldn't break lose as the man's arms looped under his armpits to lock behind his head.

This was bad. Really bad. Really, Really bad.

"Argh! Lemme go, you big lug!"

"Why must you always be so violent!?"

"Quiet, whore," Dieter snarled. "I don't have time to listen to you whine."

He kicked and buckled his knees, bouncing up and down, but the man didn't loosen his grip. He tried to throw his aching head back, but couldn't do more than wriggle like an impaled worm. Panic had him in its icy grip. His eyes rolled wildly, trying to find an opening, some way out of this.

He just spotted Fiona as she hesitantly approached. She stopped, looking unsure. Her hands at her sides balled into fists.

"F-Fiona! H-Help me!"

She folded her arms as he stared desperately from the corner of his eyes at her. "Fine, Dieter. Do it your way. But I'm not taking a loss if you damage him. He was intact when I brought him in for inspection. It isn't my fault you ended the party before I had the chance to test his sexual abilities. I get paid, the full amount, for delivering him."

His stomach sank.

What the hell had he gotten himself into? The panic flared bright and sharp in his chest. He had to get away from these people! He had to get away!

He renewed his thrashing. Clumsy and unskillfully, trapped as he was in Dieter's hold. Coughing and growling. Shifting and kicking. Bucking and shaking. It was like fighting a concrete slab glued to his back.

In the second he paused in his struggling to adjust his footing, the attack came on. In full force.

A knee came up, driving into his midsection. Then another. What little breath he had left in his body was forced out. His vision went dark with bright splotches as he tried to suck air into his gaping mouth. His lungs screamed as his stomach contracted with pain, making his knees shake. A string of crimson saliva dangled from his lower lip. His throbbing head spun. His body convulsed as his lungs squeezed and struggled for air. His feet stumbled and knocked into one another.

Someone kicked his ankles, knocking his feet out from under him. Dieter propped him up as fists alternated with legs and feet pummeled him in blows and kicks. Mercilessly, they beat him. Without end, they hammered into him. Taking turns flogging him senseless.

Until; finally, he hung limp and without resistance in the giants arms.

Half-unconscious, he vaguely felt himself dropped. The world tumbled. It seemed to take a long time before his battered body made contact with the floor. When he landed, pain cramped through his body in electric waves. The vibrations of the music came like prickling fingers through his flesh and shell. But sound was muffled by the racing of his blood through his ears. Ringing with deafening resonance.

His fingers clawed weakly alongside his tear-streaked face. His toes clumsily sought leverage as he tried to crawl away, but only succeeded in writhing on the floor. He gagged. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to breathe. Trying to get his body to move correctly.

Thinking only, Donnie, Donnie. Oh god, I screwed up, Donnie. I screwed up.

A foot kicked him in the face. The world turned white. Bleached of color. Alive with anguish. He rolled to one side, barely registering the crippling pain as it pulsed from his bloodied snout through his skull to the back of his head. His mouth filled with blood. He was drowning in it. His vision went dark and cleared, then doubled.

He made a congested squeak and choked.

Someone grabbed his ankles and began dragging him from the room. His head bumped against the divider between the hall and living room.

His eyes rolled and he moaned. Mouth opening and closing as he tried to breathe. Making small strangled, gurgling noises. His fingers tried loosely to catch hold of something to stop them from taking him wherever it was he was being taken to.

He tried to speak; to protest, but he could only groan meekly between wheezing. The thin breath he was able to take coming out in a high, thin whine of pain. The sound of shame. Defeat.

His face tipped to one side as his body's movement paused. Tears blinded him as they spilled over his swollen face. Through his blurred vision, he made out a woman, strangely familiar, standing in the doorway.

Her eyes were wide and round in terror. She was staring at him with a hand over her mouth.

He heard voices but couldn't understand what they were saying.

Then Fiona's sharp voice cut through the fog, "Bonnie, I told you to stay in the room until I came to get you for our flight."

Bonnie? Where did he know that name?

But it didn't matter. The edges of his vision darkened. His grasp on reality was slipping. He was receding through a long dark tunnel.

In the center of the light, Dieter's face came into view as it hovered over him. He felt the man's thick fingers slap his cheek several times. His vision cleared a bit. Then his face was grabbed roughly. His cheeks squeezed until the blood welled and choked him once again. He flailed tepidly, but could only writhe and weep.

There came a prick at the side of his neck.

He struggled feebly before feeling his entire body grow cold. Dieter's face returned.

Mikey blinked up at him as his eyes glazed and the world grew distant. The giant looming over him, however, remained in focus. In all his cruel glory.

Mikey wanted to spit in the guy's face, swear at him with the worst words he'd ever heard Raphael utter in his darkest mood.

"Rghhlghk," Mikey muttered weakly.

The man's face broke into a riot of lines as he grinned, reminding Mikey of a wrinkled pumpkin.

"I didn't catch that. You'll have to speak clearer." The man slapped him again, Mikey barely felt it.

Mikey rolled his shoulders and lifted his head from the floor by half an inch. His fingers felt heavy and clumsy as he grappled with the man's pant leg. Laughter pelted him. Mocking his sad attempt to fight them.

Fiona's disembodied voice floated over him, "Will you stop playing with him. You ruined my chance at fun, you shouldn't have any, either."

"You can have fun with me later, Fiona," Dieter grinned above Mikey wolfishly. A hand swatted at him.

Mikey wanted with all his might to punch the guy in the face. He reached out, shaking tremendously. After a second, he slumped back. All his strength fled. His eyes rolled up and the world went black.

Dieter looked down and said, "Nighty-night, little freak."

A/N: Sorry for the long delay! I appreciate your patience and would happily make your favorite dessert and mail it to you to show my gratitude.*

*Shipping and handling extra. Extra for overnight delivers. Cannot ship outside my mind.

XD

It's gonna go dark, folks. I'm just warning ya'll right now. It's remaining T, but it's gonna go dark. Real soon. And a certain salamander mutant is gonna make her long-awaited debut! Yay!

Don't forget to participate in the 2014 Stealthystories Fanfiction Competition! Voting on winners will begin soon. For the ballot and other information or just for hanging with a few fellow fans of TMNT - find a link on my profile or search google for Stealthystories II. It comes right up! xo