Ourobouros Complex
By: Serendipity
Chapter Eleven: gainfully employed
April opened the store at noon every day, which left her mornings free to either sleep in or laze around with some coffee. Today had been a 'sleep in' day, mainly because the night before had been spent catching up with some old friends and she hadn't realized where the time had gone.
That said, she wasn't at her sprightliest when she hung up the 'open' sign, and by the time four o'clock rolled around, she was wishing she could take a break for a nap. Some might call it unprofessional, but there you had it.
Too bad the store was actually pretty busy for a weekday; a handful of women looking at the jewelry and some of the furniture, and a couple men inspecting various pieces of memorabilia. She leaned an elbow on the counter and let her mind drift a bit, watching the window blankly.
I should probably check to see if any of the customers need help, she thought, a bit self-reproachfully. Maybe I should brew some coffee or tea for caffeine. That might give her some extra pick-me-up, and it didn't lose her any business. Winning situation. Now to persuade herself to get up and do it.
April was aware of the door opening; it was kind of difficult not to with the bells tied to it, jingling to alert her of someone walking through. She didn't bother to glance at it, though, so she wasn't aware of who her newest customer was at first.
"Can I help you?" she asked in her friendly, professional voice, glancing toward whoever it was who had just walked in. She narrowed her eyes when the whoever it was turned out to be the kid who'd been sneaking around in her basement- and apparently in the guys' old homes. "What did you want today?" she asked, her tone a little more edged, "A candy bar? Another trip to the basement?"
Steve at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "Uh, no. Um. Look, I'm sorry about that. I was- I don't even know. Sorry." He seemed increasingly uncomfortable with each word that came out of his mouth. "Sorry," he repeated, then looked down at the countertop, averting his eyes from her gaze.
"Who are you, anyway?" she asked without any inflection whatsoever.
He chose the most obvious interpretation of that question. "Oh, right. I'm Steve. Kalawinsky?" he added with a note of inquiry, as if he himself was not aware that was his name.
"Mmhm." April tried to gauge what was going on in this kid's mind. He'd tried to come in here to gather information about something, and he must know that the guys were on to him by now, if what Donatello had told her was in any way accurate. Which, of course, it was. He didn't have much to gain by coming back here and trying to speak with her about anything, which meant he was either a really stupid or a really desperate spy. Either option wasn't really safe for her.
"Did you come back here just to apologize for sneaking into my basement?" she asked flatly, tensing her muscles as she shifted slightly into a more solid stance. She didn't necessarily expect an attack in her store, in broad daylight, but as she'd previously thought, stupid or desperate spies didn't behave sensibly.
"No," he said quickly, glancing back up, "I mean, no. I guess I should have, right? Wow. I'm sorry. That was pretty stupid of me. Um. Let me start over? I'm really sorry about going down there, I shouldn't have, that was really dumb."
She just raised an eyebrow at him, clearly demanding for the kid to just get to the point already.
"I just wanted to ask something," he added, interpreting the look quickly enough. "About the, uh, the people. Um, who were in your basement. You know. That one time." Steve crossed his arms, looking extremely uncomfortable about this whole conversation.
This was quite possibly the clumsiest interrogation she'd been subjected to. Either the guys had been really over-exaggerating his effectiveness when they talked about him being a spy, or he was purposefully trying to look inept.
April crossed her own arms and kept her eyebrow raised. "You sure you want to talk about 'the people in the basement' around all these people in the store?"
Steve glanced around and seemed to finally realize that there were people in the store. None of them were looking at them with rapt attention or anything, but still, clearly onlookers and passersby. Not a good place to talk about giant turtles or maybe threaten people, if it came to that.
"I guess not?" he said, stating it as a question rather than anything definite.
"No," she said firmly.
"No?"
"No." April turned back to the register as a customer drifted up with a selection of teacups and gave them a bright smile. "Did you find everything you wanted? Good!" she said, ringing them up with the foolish hope that the kid had taken the message and left. There were only so many ways you could take 'no,' after all. When she'd finished wrapping up the china, putting it in a bag, and had waved a cheerful farewell to the customer, it was a bit of a surprise to see him standing there still, looking a lot like a lost lamb.
But only a bit of a surprise. He was clearly bad at taking hints.
"You're still here," she said flatly, giving him a severe look. "Why?"
Steve looked like he'd rather be suffering five root canals than standing in this store at the moment. "I just- look, all I wanted was to ask a question, that's all. I'll leave after that, just- can you please answer it? It's kind of important." he looked at her entreatingly.
She narrowed her eyes at him with great suspicion. "What kind of question, kid? I might not answer. And I'm definitely not answering questions about my basement people when there're customers here, so just put that idea out of your mind."
"I can wait," he said quickly.
April surveyed his expression. He didn't look like someone eager to question her, although he was obviously quite keen on getting the answer to whatever the question was. In fact, he looked…worried. Very worried, as a matter of fact, something that went a touch beyond normal concern. Whatever it was he wanted to ask, it seemed to be important. He either wasn't good at schooling his features or he just left all of his emotions open on his face- one was more likely for a spy, the other more likely for a normal teenager.
Screw it, she decided. If worst came to worst, she could take him. "Fine," she said. "Stand right there where I can see you and don't try any funny business, or you're out on your ear."
He nodded compliantly, still looking abashed, and stood by the counter as the remaining customers shuffled through the store, making their selections or simply browsing. Her store didn't get much traffic, so it didn't take too long for the customers to clear out, but it was long enough she expected the kid felt he'd waited for ages.
April watched him out of the corner of her eye as she helped wrap things up and directed people to various purchases. Steve didn't stand still, but no kid his age really did. His restless energy made him shift position, fold his arms, glance at the clock, pick things up and look at them and then glance back to her and put them guiltily down. Eventually he folded his arms again and sat on a customer-friendly chair by the door, staring blankly at no direction whatsoever, still not looking inclined to leave.
"All right," she said briskly, once the door had closed on the last customer. Steve startled and looked up at her, and she gave him a non-nonsense look. "What is it that you want to ask me? Remember, I might choose not to answer." Especially if it was anything that compromised the safety of her friends. Of course, a smart person should have factored that in by now, but kids these days.
Steve seemed hesitant at first, but seemed to realize that her patience level for him was set at low. He went to stand by the counter again, not comfortable with discussing this from any distance away. Fine with her. Close enough to grab him if he tried anything. "Well," he started, "I was doing some urban exploration, um, down in the sewers a couple days ago-"
"I know," she said brusquely. "You ran into them, they kicked you out again. What did you expect?"
"Uh, not to run into giant turtles?" he exclaimed, then toned down the noise level as the fact he was in a somewhat public place sunk in. "I mean, I really didn't expect to meet them- like… anywhere. Especially not there. Anyway. They said that if I ever came back, I wouldn't be coming back again. So-"
"Which makes me wonder why you're showing up here," April interrupted dryly. Was he seriously coming crying to her that the guys had gotten rough with him after he'd intruded again? That was what this surreptitious meeting was about?
"Look, I just wanted to ask a question, okay?" Steve said, sounding frustrated. "I'm not trying to cause trouble or anything, I just want to know. I mean, do they attack everyone who shows up in the sewer? It can't be everyone, right, because there would have been news or…something about giant turtles attacking!"
April smiled slightly. "Well, yes, but that sort of requires witnesses, doesn't it?" she asked in perfect deadpan. Instead of being irritated, Steve paled at her joke. She blinked, surprised.
"So- they do attack people, then?" he asked, with a note of urgency in his tone, "I mean, just to anyone who happens to be down there?" He had his hands on the counter, his fingers curled slightly to give him the look that he was gripping it. "Are they going to threaten them first, or just- would they just kill someone if they were there?"
"No!" April said, with more force behind the word than she'd intended. Steve stared at her and she lowered her voice. "No," she added, stressing the word, "They don't just randomly attack people." You should know that, she wanted to add, but kept herself from saying it. What kind of spy was he, anyway? Didn't they tell him these things before sending him down.
The thought occurred to her that no, they actually told him nothing before sending him down after the guys. They really could have just given him locations and numbers and nothing else. She felt a little bit of pity stir up.
"It really depends on what that hypothetical person is doing down there, first of all," she continued, "Anyone sneaking around where they shouldn't? Yeah, they'd probably be upset at that." April raised her eyebrow at him, silently asking for elaboration. Honestly, he could be trying to make them look like the bad guys and get her on his side. Which was new, she gave him props for that, but only new because it was completely ridiculous.
Steve hesitated a moment.
"I don't have all day," she pointed out, glancing meaningfully at the clock.
"It's about my dad," he said finally, "He's working on a project down there and he's not doing anything- he's doing something for the government, I don't know what it is, but he's just fixing the sewers or something. Or watching people fix the sewers, I guess, 'cause he's not like a maintenance worker. So, would they attack him if he's down there? Are they going to just show up and start throwing them around or something?"
For a moment she studied his expression and found nothing but honest concern, nothing in it that would make her think that he came to her for any other reason but to ask about his parent's safety. He met her gaze easily enough, if not nervously and as if he was expecting bad news. She hesitated, trying to think of what to say to him. April knew who his father was and who he worked for, and none of it would endear him to the turtles. She didn't think they'd kill him, but she wasn't honestly certain what the dad was after, either. If he came after them with weapons, they would fight back. Maybe even lethally.
Her silence seemed to frighten him more. "If they are, I don't know what I'm going to do," he added, clearly frustrated, "I mean, what am I going to tell him? Stop coming to work because of the giant turtles? I can't say anything to keep him out! They won't- like, eat him, will they?" His eyes widened as this new horrific thought occurred to him.
At that, April stepped in. "No," she said firmly, "They don't eat people. They're not monsters."
He looked at her dubiously.
Rolling her eyes, she continued. "Really," she said sincerely, "They're really great people. They just don't like strange humans poking around their business. That doesn't mean they'll attack workers or anyone who actually has a right to be messing around in the sewers."
"But-" Steve started, clearly about to air his grievances about his treatment.
"But nothing. They threw you out because you were alone, unauthorized to be there, taking pictures where you shouldn't have been, and were poking around in one of their private areas," she said, looking at him sternly. "That said, they didn't kill you on the spot, did they? You seem to be walking around just fine."
"I wasn't a couple of weeks ago," Steve muttered under his breath.
April pretended not to hear that. She'd gotten the full account of Leonardo 'maliciously breaking the kid's ankle' from Donatello, who seemed slightly, if inappropriately, amused at his brother's guilt complex. Still, she wasn't about to undo all their hard intimidation work by telling him that the big, scary turtles were really sorry about the whole injury thing.
"They don't kill innocent people," she said, finally.
His expression was doubtful. "Are you sure?" he asked, catching her gaze and trying to see if he could see the certainty in her face. She realized then that it wasn't just concern in his tone, it was fear. The kid was terrified of them and terrified to think of them attacking his father, and small wonder. To normal human beings they seemed monstrous, and the idea of having them after one of his parents must have made him feel extremely helpless.
It was that note of terror that softened her expression. "I'd stake my life on it," she said, trying to sound soothing. "Look, I've known the two of them for a very long time. Longer than you've been alive. They've never attacked someone who wasn't doing them harm."
It probably wouldn't do to add that meant if his father wasn't an innocent, if he had harm in mind, then they wouldn't stick to just scaring him off. There wasn't any reason for her to frighten him into talking to his dad, especially since she didn't understand the whole situation as it was.
The guys didn't seem to, either- they'd just told her the kid seemed to be skulking around their places for some undisclosed reason that they couldn't fathom, but seemed to have something to do with Bishop. Was the father forcing the kid to do that? Or was he just sending him to places in the sewers without telling him why? If his father was responsible for sending him to those places, he couldn't be aware of this meeting. Steve clearly had sought her out by himself on his behalf, not that his father deserved the concern. Something to think about, anyway.
"Does your father know about you visiting the sewers?" she asked, watching his face for any signs of dishonesty.
He looked well, he looked guilty to be sure, but there wasn't any of the nervous eye-flickering or the surreptitious gestures that came with a lie. "No," he said slowly. "Well. It's not like I'm not allowed to. It's just that I haven't…actually told them that I do it yet." 'Yet' was set in there with the definite implication that Steve didn't intend to tell his parents about traveling around in the sewers until long after he'd stopped.
April hid a smile, despite the gravity of the discussion. Either completely honest, or a very good actor. And as there simply weren't many actors that good at this kid's age, she was starting to learn towards 'probably honest.'
Steve glanced around the empty shop and leaned towards the counter slightly, the pose so distinctly one of someone about to tell a secret that she leaned forward herself, unbidden.
"Did you get dreams about them too?" he asked, quietly and more hurried, like he was already regretting that he let the words leave his mouth.
She just stared at him.
Sensing that this was perhaps a horribly creepy thing to say, Steve tried to do some immediate backpedaling. "I mean, like, before you met them," he tried to explain. "You know?"
"Nooo," she said slowly. "In fact, not at all." April looked at him with some amount of suspicion, trying to calculate his sanity. He didn't look like a raving lunatic, but those could be deceptive. "Do you?" she asked, curious to hear how he described dreams about the turtles.
However, the complete skepticism in her tone seemed to turn the kid off on explaining anything. He just looked away and sighed, the line of his shoulders clearly disappointed in her response. "Never mind. Well. If you didn't- I mean, how did you meet them, then?"
"They saved my life," she said simply, watching his eyes widen with surprise. April sighed, trying not to get irritated on her friends' behalf. "And wipe that disbelieving look off your face, kid. You people all think they're something that walked out of a B-rated horror flick, but they're not. They're just- people. And they're really great ones at that."
"They attacked me for no reason," Steve ground out.
She leaned forward and pointed a finger at him. "No, you broke into one of their places and were sneaking around inside, and then they decided to chase you out. Have you even seen them before that? And don't bring up my basement. They had really good cause to chase you out of the basement that you decided to enter without my permission. Seems to me you have a long history of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
Steve looked embarrassed at the mention of his escape from her basement. "I didn't- I don't mean to," he said quietly.
Snorting, she turned her head away and examined her nails. "Well, forgive me if I don't exactly believe you on that point." Especially since he had at least given the appearance of staking her place out for quite a while before finally making the move to broach the security of her store's lower level. Seriously, that looked nothing but planned.
"If you weren't planning on breaking into the basement, then why go down there anyway?" she asked, "You couldn't possibly have thought it was an add-on to the store proper."
At that, he looked awkward. "I- it's hard to explain." he said.
"Kid, I am friends with two giant turtles," she offered. "Try me."
He hesitated, opening his mouth slightly and closing it again as he deliberated.
April considered rolling her eyes again and decided against it on the grounds that it wouldn't be very helpful to persuading this kid to talk. "Is this about the dream thing you were talking about earlier?" she asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of her voice and only being moderately successful.
"Not…really? Well, maybe. Sometimes," he said, watching her expression as he fumbled through the explanation. She attempted to look patient, which apparently worked well enough because he kept on going. "I mean, it wasn't for the basement. I just, I don't know," he looked down for a moment. "I just really felt like I should go to the store, at first. Kind of like I remembered it, maybe? Only I don't think I've ever really been here."
At that, she couldn't keep the expression of doubt off of her face. "You found yourself inexplicably drawn to my store," she said flatly. Really? This was probably the worst excuse of the decade. She saw his expression closing off again and tried to tone down the disbelief, if only for the sake of questioning him. "Why down to the basement then, if it was just the store that you wanted to visit?"
Steve glanced at the basement door and looked embarrassed. "I don't know. Just another, uh, I guess feeling that I should go down there. No, I felt like I was supposed to be looking for something. I'm sorry, I know that sounds really weird."
No, it sounds unbelievable, she thought, as well as poorly fabricated. But you honestly sound like you believe it.
However, that was not what she chose to say, since she figured it would keep him from talking for good. What she said was: "And what about dreaming about them? What did you mean about that?"
"It happens sometimes," he said shortly, obviously not willing to discuss it. Probably hadn't figured out all of the details in that particular cover story, or he was realizing how much of a really bad lie it had been.
April folded her arms in front of her, leaning forward a bit. "Before you met them?" she questioned, pressing for more.
"Yeah," Steve answered, reluctantly. "For a while, anyway. Not a lot of them, though," he added, looking away.
He opened his mouth as though he was going to add something to that too, but decided against it at the last second and instead glanced at the clock. It had barely been an hour, but he raised his eyebrows as if a lot of time had passed, anyway.
"Well, I'd better go home," he said, slinging his backpack a little more securely on his shoulder. "Uh, thanks for answering my questions, anyway. It's kind of good to talk to someone who's also seen, y'know, giant reptiles. Makes me feel a little less… like I'm going nuts."
Her lips quirked up into a wry smile at that, she understood the feeling from her first few meetings with the guys and the bizarre happenings that seemed to follow them. "No problem," she said. "If you feel like feeling sane again, feel free to drop by."
She got a smile for that, shy and hesitant. It even seemed genuine. All of his expressions did, really. The label 'spy' was ill-fitting for this boy, who seemed only confused and worried, not interested in information about the turtles so much as proof that they were real and not a threat. Her offer had been prompted by that, the worry and the fear. Is this kid really even dangerous? she thought, watching him. Considering his previous actions, he seemed too clumsy to be a true threat.
No doubt he'd stop by without the invitation anyway, if he was truly spying on them. Maybe not, depending on what the reason was for him dropping by this way. Still, the offer sparked something in her mind.
"Hey," she added, impulsively, "Steve. Do you have any time open after school?"
The kid looked at her, confusion in lines across his brow. "Yeah," he said. "Some, when I don't have band practice."
April smiled at him, unfolding her arms and leaning back in her seat. "Well," she started pleasantly, "How would you like it if I offered you a job?"
The position would actually be stock boy, but really the bulk of the work she required from him would be organizing the stock, so to speak, in the room downstairs. It was a storage room, and in it she'd placed years and years worth of items she hadn't bothered to take out of their boxes, stuff she'd found a bother to sort, items she had an overabundance of, and even boxes that had been donated to her, stuff people had taken out of their attics or basements or old houses and had no use for.
She'd started organizing them at some point, and had tried to keep them in some kind of basic sorting system, but really it was a collection of piled-up boxes and shelves that were half-empty with this and that. It looked like some kind of fantasy land of junk when the door was open. Very imposing.
Steve stared at it with kind of an impressed horror. "What happened here?" he asked, clearly thinking out loud without any real expectation to be answered.
April answered anyway. "An overabundance of stock and a lot of failed attempts to clean. Fortunately, I have you here, right?" she patted Steve heavily on the shoulder. He seemed to be wondering about whether or not obtaining that work permit was a really good idea. "Come on, look at it this way. You spent a good deal of time trying to get down here, and now here you are."
He reddened a little at that comment, still embarrassed about his short stint in breaking and entering. "I wasn't trying to-" he started, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"Yes, I know, I know. Anyway, you'll mainly be working down here unless I need you to stock the shelves upstairs or restock the candy, which is pretty much the only thing that needs restocking on a regular basis. Your main duties are organizing this mess, which I actually suspect is going to be a life's work."
"Organize it how?" he asked, clearly still dazzled by the clutter.
April laughed. "That is a good question, isn't it? I'm assuming the usual ways.. You know, taking the boxes out, looking through them, putting things on shelves. Feel free to get creative if you feel like it, though. If you feel like you need storage bins or labels, don't hesitate to ask. I have a label maker upstairs I can give you to start out with, even." There's furniture in there, and it's important that it's kept in one piece, so don't try to move it if you think you can't.
Steve was now looking around inside the room, peering around the stacks of boxes and staring at the occasional table or cabinet, which were also laden with boxes or random items of clothing and merchandise. He turned back to look at her, his eyebrows raised in a helpless expression. "Okay?" he said, unsurely. "Any way you want me to put anything?" he asked, clearly looking for some kind of direction.
"Surprise me," she said, mercilessly. Hey, as long as he was poking around, he could be useful. "You have three hours a day, Tuesday and Thursday, so try to figure out a system that'll work for you. I may or may not call you in on Saturday, depending on whether or not I want extra hands, but I will contact you on Thursday or Friday beforehand. You get paid eight dollars an hour. Sound good?"
Steve seemed a little overwhelmed. "Sure," he said. "I mean, I have to ask my parents, but it sounds- good, yeah. Why, though?"
"Because that's the minimum wage," April said, absentmindedly looking at a couple of snow globes sitting on a dilapidated metal shelf. They were pretty dusty, so whatever was inside them was obscured by a thin film of fluff. "Try to dust a little in here too, will you?"
"No," he said, coming over to stand by the door frame, poised to leave. "I mean…why offer me a job?"
She focused on his expression. Open, honest, curious, still awkward. Not even the slightest trace of duplicity. "Because you obviously have too much time on your hands," she said slowly, watching his expression go from curious to uncomfortable and embarrassed, "And as you can see, someone needs to fix this mess. Why not you?"
It was a reasonable question to ask, she thought, after she'd herded Steve out with some information for his parents to read. Why was she doing this? Sure, he didn't seem like the most skilled informant in the world, and he seemed like a nice enough kid, but he was still pretty suspicious on the whole. Capable, at least, of getting through Donatello's security, and that was too impressive to be pure happenstance. Somehow knew where they used to live and even about her store, which was also on the suspicious list. Even if he wasn't a spy, he wasn't immediately trustworthy.
But there were other things about him that just didn't seem to add up to what the turtles had told her. His genuine fear for his father's safety, for one thing, where an honest-to-god spy would at least know that the guys didn't attack on sight. How he seemed to know very little about the guys at all. Sure, that could be a front and a lie, but she really didn't think so. She considered herself a pretty good judge of character, partially out of self preservation at this point, and the kid had never seemed anything but genuine. Then, the excuses that would be clumsy and ridiculous coming from an actual spy's mouth. Wouldn't someone working for Bishop have formulated a better excuse than that? Didn't add up.
Steve, taken as an informant, was full of contradictions. The most she could think was that he might just be a tool, that someone was giving him the vaguest of information- locations and numbers, and sending him off from there. Maybe to see where the guys lived, but coming from the man Steve's father worked for, she would expect something a lot more subtle and efficient. No, it didn't really make much sense for them to be using a kid like that. So why? The kid was, she admitted, something of a mystery, and she'd always liked those, had an irrepressible urge to try and solve them. April couldn't really help being curious about just who Steve was and what he was trying to accomplish, especially when he seemed to be going at it haphazardly.
That, and the fact that she felt sorry for him. Whatever he was, he was just a kid, and he was clearly being used. By his own father, it looked like. How could she not pity that? It wasn't even like she could do much for him. Although, maybe being offered a job with her could keep him from stumbling into any more dangerous sewer locations. Maybe.
She smiled slightly, self-deprecatingly. Admit it. You're just nosy.
And it was a given that the guys wouldn't be too happy about her offering someone they thought was a threat a job at her store. So, that mean not disclosing this information for a while. It was her store, after all, she could hire who she wanted, presumably.
As for threatening, how much of a threat could a single teenager be, really? Steve wasn't physically intimidating, didn't seem hostile so much as worried, scared and confused, and the only information he'd asked for was whether the turtles were a threat to his father.
Even if he was out for information, any that he could possibly glean from her would be everything the enemies already knew: she was friends with the turtles, and they visited her from time to time. Perhaps he could also memorize the layout of her store, but that would be useless information as well. If he turned out to be an informant, he'd be getting nothing interesting out of her and she might be able to do something about him. If he didn't, she'd still have a new stock boy.
Having convinced herself that this was actually a valid decision on her part, she turned to the more difficult issue: how to convince the guys that this wasn't a horrible action. It wasn't as if they'd never find out, although they very rarely visited as early as Steve would be working. With any luck, he'd be with her for a while before they did.
Steve was punctual, which was good for a kid his age. Well, he showed up at about four o'clock, but she wasn't going to get upset about a couple minutes difference. He had his backpack dangling loosely from his shoulder by a strap and still seemed uncomfortable about the thing. She imagined that might have to do with having broken into her basement and stalked the place for a while.
April handed him a clipboard and a label-maker, and directed him downstairs.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked with a note of helplessness, gesturing at the clipboard.
"What I said before," she said, taking it from him. "Look. At this point, I don't even know what I have in there. I do to some degree, but mainly I'm clueless because it would take a lot of time to sort out, time that I either don't have or I don't want to spend. Steve, you are that time-spender."
The kid nodded as if he understood, when the expression on his face told her that what he was thinking was more along the lines of 'I will wait until sense is made.'
She sighed. "Before you try coming up with an organization system, I'd like to have an idea of what exactly I have down there. Open up the boxes, sort through them, write down basically what I have. You don't have to get super specific and you don't need to bother with coming up with price estimates- leave that to me, but just generally jot down what you find. I have a bunch of unused, flattened boxes down there you can use for storage if you want, so throw the ratty ones you find away."
"Okay," he said, taking the clipboard back. "Uh, what if I find something broken?"
"If it's broken or moth-eaten or dead, throw it out," April said, waving a hand and ignoring the look he gave her when she said 'dead'. "There's a trash can down there; one of the big, black plastic kinds. You'll be able to spot it. All the cleaning supplies, including trash cans, are located in the closet. Second door to the right. There's a restroom down there as well, the door under the stairwell."
Steve seemed to take all of this in, standing in the doorway leading down to the basement. He glanced down uncertainly, like he was expecting something. April read into that look and made a face, neither a smile or a frown, more of a tightening of the mouth. "They're not down there," she said, patiently. "They usually only visit at night, anyway, and it's still afternoon. Besides, they're never here when they know I have customers."
Relief flashed over his face. "Oh," he said, "Yeah, I guess they wouldn't." Like he hadn't even thought about it before.
She waved a hand at him, tired of trying to decipher what he was planning on doing here. "Go on, go to work," she said, not unkindly. "Make sure you be careful with the stuff, some of it is very fragile. Don't sling the boxes around."
"Kay," he said, already heading down the stairs. After a second and a quiet click there was light shining from the stairwell, flat and yellow, and his footsteps headed down. She heard a door opening and then stopped paying attention, deciding to head down occasionally to check on his progress. It wasn't like he could get in much trouble down there, anyway, even with the door to the sewers. Especially since that door was locked.
She sat back at the register and went back to fiddling with an antique radio that needed fixing. "If I hear a crash or an explosion, that kid is fired," she muttered under her breath.
As it turned out, she didn't have to worry. To his credit, Steve was actually a good worker once he figured out what he was supposed to be doing. He had careful hands, some patience, and a pretty admirable organization system going on.
The first time she went down to check on him, April walked downstairs with a sense of trepidation, expecting to see carnage and a confused fifteen year-old. Instead, she saw- well, she did she carnage, but also a fifteen year-old who seemed at least moderately confident about this stage of the operation. Steve was sitting at a folding chair, surrounded by the contents of several gutted boxes, putting some articles of clothing in a pile to his left.
"Hey," he greeted. He didn't look overwhelmed so much as just bored. God knew how long he'd been sorting the paraphernalia in there. She glanced over the stuff on the floor. Mainly clothing, some fragile objects wrapped in brown paper, a handful of knick-knacks, and some kitchen utensils. Nothing stellar as of yet, but he'd only just begun to unearth the stuff in there.
"How's everything going?" she asked, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe.
"Okay," he said, drawing the word out unsurely. "Some of this stuff is really weird. Did you know I found a box, like, completely full of ceramic dogs? Just dogs. I don't even know why someone would have that."
She smiled. "Part of working here. We get sent almost anything and you can find almost everything. Sometimes it's genuine antiques, sometimes it's just stuff people had lying around the house. Although I'd really like to just open up a plain old antique shop, instead of the mismatched operation I've got right now." Antiques sounded a lot more reputable than plain old secondhand stuff, and she sold both of them but definitely favored the former. Besides, they were more interesting than secondhand clothes and appliances. It wasn't like she sold most of the really crappy stuff she bought- that she donated or just threw away, but still.
Steve looked confused. "I thought it was an antique shop?" he asked.
She smiled. "Well, I do like to call it that, but 2nd Time Around has its share of secondhand merchandise as well as antiques. Most antique stores sell collectibles as well, which is the word for anything too young to be considered an antique, which means anything about a century old. Secondhand stuff is not as pricey and people buy more of it, which is good for me. Kind of like how I sell candy, too? Especially the old-fashioned kind, for the nostalgic types. We're more high end than a thrift store, less so than someone who actually specializes in restored antiques. And let me tell you, restoring is a pain in the neck."
Speaking of which, there was that table in the back that needed repair work on one of the legs. Ugh.
He was looking a little lost, so she patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. You won't actually need to know most of this stuff with what I have you doing." His work ran more along the lines of cleaning, organizing, and occasionally ringing something up, so she didn't worry much about teaching him the language of the trade. There was that, and the fact that she didn't know how long the kid intended to stay if she was actually being spied on. There wasn't much he could learn here, so she expected him to give up in at least a month, if information was his goal.
"Oh, cool," he said, sounding relieved. "Anyway, uh, I think I'm going to organize them by- you know, what they're used for? Like, clothes go in one place, and then stuff for your house, and maybe another shelf for the glass and things?" he ended it all on a questioning note, as if waiting to be immediately corrected.
"Sounds fine." April turned back towards the staircase. "Well, if you need anything, just come upstairs. Business isn't really booming at any time of day, so I should be good to help if you need it."
Steve nodded at her, frowning at a grotesque Harlequin doll that seemed to be a cross between a Picasso blue period and Ronald McDonald. As she left, he stuck it in a box to the side, presumably to be placed in the shelf of Things Too God-Awful to Consider For Resale.
She wondered, idly, if this was going to make it to the mission report: "Dear Bishop, today the O'Neil woman made me sort a lot of tacky frippery and sweep her floor. The evil plans are otherwise progressing. Mwahahaha."
Ah, the joys of hiring possible teen spies. Her life really was a bizarre made-for-TV movie.
Over the next couple of weeks, he continued to make some progress in the room, which meant of course that her basement floor was sacrificed for the master plan. Not that it wasn't possible to walk through it: he'd made a nice little path cutting through some of the piles, making it easy for her to access the main storage room and the bathroom and very little else. She decided to go with the idea that all of this mess meant some kind of progress and left it at that, but still checked up on him at random intervals to see what he was up to. Usually he was packing something in a box, unpacking something in a box, or dragging a box somewhere, so nothing overtly suspicious-looking was happening in the basement.
Heck, maybe the whole awkward situation with the possible spy would just end up with her being able to find stuff yet again. He certainly didn't seem interested in talking about the turtles too much, keeping their conversations strictly in the realm of employer and teenage employee; the topics stuck mainly to what a nice day it was, how to organize the storage room, all the really weird stuff he'd found in the storage room, and where he was supposed to put this random thing, anyway. It had just been a couple weeks and all, but so far, so good.
April didn't press for too much information about his dream excuse- she'd tried to get more details about his story, but he seemed to be embarrassed about talking about them and even that he'd brought it up in the first place. She couldn't blame him, the story was horribly unbelievable and didn't make him look particularly good, either. Seriously, mysterious dreams about people you've never met? Sounded like a fantasy novel.
Anyway, with her stock boy buzzing around downstairs and taking care of the cleaning for her when he wasn't making headway on her mess, she was getting a nice chunk of free time after hours.
She was using some of it to start restoring an antique fireplace- sanding off the flaking, yellowed paint to expose the pristine wood beneath it. It was done in rococo style, curls and curving designs, all of which were a pain in the ass to sand properly, but she was making pretty good headway on it. April was considering staining the thing afterwards, maybe a nice cherry wood color.
The phone rang, penetrating the thick silence that settled after the store had closed its doors to customers. She'd brought the cordless one from her computer desk down to the basement with her, and it cut through her thoughts with its shrill, harsh ring. Sighing, she answered it, clicking the speaker button. "Hello?"
"Babe?" The familiar voice was enough to make her drop the sandpaper, it fell to the floor, half-worn and shabby.
"Casey," she said, toning down the excitement she felt in the tone she answered him with. "It's been a while." She felt rather than saw his answering cringe, the pause speaking for his awkwardness. It wasn't as though she'd asked for him to call every week, but he hadn't called in almost a month, and although they'd communicated using email, she always preferred the more personal method of the phone.
He finally just sighed. "Right. Well, uh, I'm sorry. She- well, she wasn't bein' as honest as I thought about sticking to the diet, so her insulin levels started showing it and she went hypoglycemic. And then we got into a fight and I had to spend some time calming her down, you know how she gets, and meanwhile the car broke down and that was a real b- a real pain in the butt to fix."
That admission made her feel selfish for being upset when he was dealing with so much over there. "Oh god, is she okay?" she asked, half-ready to drive over to lend a helping hand, store or no store.
"Yeah, it's just something wrong with the fuel injector, so I have to drive over-"
She snorted and relaxed a little. Silly her for worrying. "Casey, you know I meant your mother. Although with a response like that, I guess I can assume she's fine."
"Fine now," he said, sounding fondly frustrated. "Sometimes I feel like she's givin' me a hard time outta spite for me being a punk when I was a kid, y'know? Like some kind of mom revenge thing. She's usually the most sensible in this whole family."
April privately thought that Casey's mom retained as much of a stubborn streak as any of them, and that usually led to the opposite of sensible behavior, but didn't bother saying it. "Could be," she said, "I'm not sure if I could survive raising you as a kid. Your mom must have nerves of steel by now."
"Yeah, well," he said, sounding awkward again. "I keep trying to get her to move in with me back at my place, but she's having none of it."
She snorted. "Casey, have you seen the state of your apartment lately? That's probably for her own sanity." Him not living in it for a while had actually been good for its overall state- instead of looking cluttered with mess, it simply looked disused. Still, she'd seen it while he was living there, and it was a quintessential bachelor pad, complete with dirty dishes, clothes lying about, and random paraphernalia all over the floor. And weights. Lots of weights.
Shaking her head, she shifted the phone to her shoulder. "She'd probably have a stroke trying to clean the place up."
Casey laughed. "Who said she'd be cleaning it? She'd be working me into a stroke cleaning up my own place. Come on, you should know her better than that by now."
That was true enough, her own first meeting with Mrs. Jones had her peeling a whole heap of apples. She wouldn't be at all averse to making Casey clean up his own mess, and good for her. "Well then, I see no negative side to her moving in with you at all. It'd be a good influence on the place."
"That's what I said, but she's not much of a city-dweller. Likes it better on the outskirts, she says, although I'm thinking of taking her to the farmhouse for some fresh air and R&R, you know? Not like she'll actually take it, but I figure it'd be good for her. The place is looking good now, actually, with all the work we've been doin' to it."
The 'we' he used included the guys, who had taken to occasionally heading over to the farmhouse to rest and use as a place to hunt for food to add to their supply. Hunting for their meat was less costly than using what money they had to buy it, and easier on the conscience than stealing. They'd fixed a shed up for smoking and curing, which had been fun to explain to Mrs. Jones when she walked in on hooks hanging from the ceiling and a big bag of coarse salt. At some point she gave up, deciding that as long as they weren't burning the place down, it was fine.
"Sounds good," she said. "How is she doing now? Better?"
He snorted. "Complaining about me riding her ass about the diet all the time. I say 'darn straight, I want to still have a mom around for my grandkids,' and she says I'm being a nag. Me! A nag! From my own mom! Anyway, I dunno what I'm gonna do with her. I think the hospital trip made her see some sense, maybe."
"Great," she selected a strip of sandpaper and inspected the grit size. Too fine for this stage of the proceedings. "How's the outlook on the job?"
Casey made a noncommittal sound in response, but didn't seem frustrated about it. "Eh, lookin' okay. I might get something as a youth counselor in a hospital, hopefully. The commute won't be fun, but it won't be this crappy-ass construction job."
"Don't let the kiddies hear you talking like that," April smiled, "You'll get fired the first day. Be a role model. I still can't believe you got a degree in child psychology of all things. Seriously. You. Mister loose cannon himself."
He chuckled. "Yeah, well. Being a butt-kicking vigilante wasn't on the options."
Despite her surprise that he'd decided to further his education, and her double surprise in his choice of subject- although, in hindsight, it shouldn't have been too much of a shocker, she really was proud of him for going the extra mile. She had to admit she didn't think Casey'd had it in him to pursue something academically, but despite struggling with the structure, he'd managed to make it through. His mother had been particularly proud of him, too, something she thought had added weight to his decision to get a degree.
"How are the guys?" he asked. "Raph still wandering around?"
"Yes. Well, he still checks up with me to say he's doing fine, so there's that." She couldn't keep the melancholy out of her voice. It had never sat well with her- with anyone, really, that he'd broken off from them so completely after Splinter's death. And while of course he did come back for visits, she wondered how his brothers, especially Donatello, must feel about it. She'd heard enough of his rants on the subject to know he'd been hurt and upset by his departure, and that he still felt upset about his sporadic visits and frequent silence. As someone with a sibling of her own, she couldn't imagine breaking contact so completely.
Sensing her discomfort, Casey tried to lighten the mood. "Yeah, uh, well. That's great! At least we know he hasn't crashed his bike somewhere, right?" The joke fell flat, since Raphael had smashed up his motorcycle before, sometimes with disastrous results. He cleared his throat and moved on. "Ah, well, you know Raph. He always comes back sometimes, right? Didn't you make him swear to come by for Christmas this year?"
She half-smiled. "True." And only with proto-big sister threats and nagging did she manage to get that out of him. "How about you?" she asked, impulsively, "Are you coming by any time soon?" It came out with an edge she hadn't meant it to have, turning it into an almost accusation instead of a question. She could have sworn she hadn't used to be this pushy.
Casey paused before answering. "Well, of course," he said, sounding put on the spot, "I mean, I always try to come by soon."
"I know," she said, "I'm sorry." She said it quietly, under her breath, almost an undertone. "It's just- been a while since I've seen you."
"You want me to come by?" he asked awkwardly. "I mean, I can try to swing it sometime soon, if you're really- I mean, if you want me to-"
"No, it's fine. Don't put yourself out on my account." April cringed at the way the words came out, sounding too acidic, too biting. She sighed, irritated with herself. "I mean, it's just me being... edgy right now. It's been a long day, I'm sanding down something and I hate doing that, and I haven't eaten yet. Don't mind me being moody."
"Well, hey," he said, stumbling with the words, "It's not a trouble or nothing. Hey! You can come on down to the farmhouse whenever I drag mom over and it can be like a family trip! How about that?"
The thought of the two of them united in bossing him around startled her into a laugh. "You sure you'd want that? It couldn't mean anything good for you. You know what happens when the two of us team up, Casey."
"Well, it'd be worth it, right?" he said, sounding relieved by her change in mood. " 'Sides, you sound like you need some cheering up."
"I don't know, I might be busy with the new guy in my life," she said teasingly.
"What?"
"New stock boy. Fifteen years old, polite, good at following directions, and possibly a spy."
Casey snorted. "For what? Toys R' Us?"
They spent the next few hours catching up, talking about silly things like April's disaster with an old sewing machine and Casey's attempts to bake pie, not so silly things like Casey's mom and her hospital stay and the suspicions about her new employee as well as what the guys were going through, and just stupid, boring things like the weather and how much taxes stunk. It was calming for her, engaging in some perfectly normal, mundane conversation about nothing and even having another human being to discuss some of this weirdness with.
That was the problem with most of her problems: too frustrating not to talk about, too weird to talk about with anyone normal.
"So," Casey said, when the tale was finally unwoven. "When are you planning on telling the guys you hired this kid? You know you gotta tell them, right?"
April deliberated. "Well, I was hoping to have him work for me for a while before I spill the beans," she said. "You know how they can get. I don't want them getting upset and worried and overprotective."
He snorted. "Babe, you could have the kid working with you for a month and they'd still be worried. Especially when he sounds that suspicious. Not saying he's not a great stock boy, maybe even an okay kid, but you gotta admit something's up."
"Well, yes," she admitted. "I'll just need to think of a good way to bring it up to them. Something that won't end up in them flipping out or waving their weapons at someone. You know. A nice, calm, subtle way."
"Well, better you than me," he said, sounding amused and a little concerned. "Keep sharp with that kid around, though."
As if she didn't know that, she thought, hanging up the phone a short goodbye later. As if she hadn't been trained to some degree herself. Of course she'd be careful. She was being careful.
Still, she figured it was better the guys didn't know about her new employee just yet. After all, what they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them, right?
Right.