14. ERUDITE
…
"Raph?"
...
"I don't get it... why aren't you listening to me?!" Muscles tensed along Michelangelo's face, running beneath his green skin to where his neck met his plastron, distorting his face in a way his brothers were not used to seeing.
Raphael snorted.
"It's hard to when you spend most of ya life fuckin' around, Mikey."
Michelangelo shook his head, trying to understand what was so difficult for his brothers to comprehend. He glanced over to Donatello, leaning quietly against a container wall; then back over to Leonardo, who had folded his arms as dark shadows streamed across his rigid stance. Thrusting a hand to his side, he tried to rationalize some sense into them.
"I'm not an idiot. I saw what happened, so will you just trust me on this?"
"What?" Leonardo questioned openly, doubtful, "What could you have possibly seen?"
"I told you. Earlier tonight when we were hauling shell to all four corners of the city for endurance training, I passed by here on the way back home. I saw Karai. And she was pointing down at the assembly warehouse down on the docks. I think the Foot are heading down there."
Leonardo shook his head.
"That's impossible. She gave me her word that she wasn't going to engage in any activity with the turf wars around here. The Mafia have controlled the docks since the dawn of money."
"Oh, she did, did she?" Raphael repeated bitterly.
Leonardo flung a glare back at his brother. The others let the remark slip - but not without note.
"Donnie? Raph?" Michelangelo pleaded.
Donatello hesitated, darting his eyes between his brothers. He grappled with the bo in his hands before arriving a decision.
"I don't think even the Foot are crazy enough to take on the Mob." He shrugged awkwardly, "Maybe you misunderstood her body language?"
"The survey's in." Raphael snickered with an amused grin, "You are an idiot."
Michelangelo grunted in frustration, unhooked his nunchaku, and gripped them tightly.
"You believe her over me? Thanks a lot. If ya lookin' for me, I'll be trying to stop the Foot."
He vaulted from the container, landing without a sound onto the wooden planks lining the ground. Without a backwards glance he slipped into the night.
"What? All by yerself?" Raphael called out after him.
"Mikey!" Leonardo commanded with a loud hiss. He rounded on Raphael, "Great. Thanks for making it worse."
Raphael shook his head, arms spring loaded by his sides and ready to unleash.
"Don't you pin that shit on me. You coulda called it."
Donatello's lips pressed tighter than they had been all year before flipping his bo behind his shell and shoving it into its strap. To no-one's surprise, Leonardo said nothing.
Raphael spat out the next line as dark as tar: "Just what I thought."
"Well." Leonardo said, "You seem to have all the answers. Now what?"
"Either he's gonna get himself killed or he's goin' to be standin' around scratching his shell. I'm goin' after him. Alone." He leapt up and landed gracefully, shooting a dark look up at their leader from the salt encrusted boardwalk below, "But if anythin' goes wrong, you're takin' the fall for it, Fearless. That's the first time I heard any shit 'bout Karai sayin' anything."
.
Raphael entered the dank assembly warehouse through an cracked open side door. It seemed Michelangelo had already made it. Artificial light from the boardwalk streamed through the caged loft windows, sending shards of sterile beams across the piles of stacked crates on the working floor. He looked over to the large tools that hung silently from the walls, noticing nothing amiss or disturbed.
Just what I thought. Empty as a nun's womb.
He sniffed the air, inhaling the odd odor of diesel mixed with rotting seaweed from the polluted water. But nothing out of the ordinary. It didn't take long before he spotted Michelangelo standing wearily in the center of the warehouse, a beam of moonlight clipping his shoulder.
"Like I said," Raphael said as silently approached his brother's defeated form, "You're an idiot."
Michelangelo's face had settled into resignation. He jammed his nunchucks back into the loops on his belt.
"What do you care?" he said, barely contained voice echoing in the sterile chamber, "It's easy for you. You never screw up like I do, right? I'm just the kid. Always standing in the shadows of three bigger brothers." his tone pitched up: "Mikey, you must be seeing things." He turned to face his older brother, tears of betrayal welling in his eyes."I would have backed you." his voice choked as he thrust his finger accusingly towards Raphael, "And I never would've believed someone else over one of you guys. Especially not someone from the Foot. I mean, Karai?! That liar? That's just… insulting."
A strangled, humorless chuckle left Michelangelo. To find the warehouse empty was one thing - but Raphael knew unmistakably, now, to have been brushed aside in favor of their enemy had hurt him unimaginably deep.
"Trust me. I don't believe a single word that lyin' bitch says." he growled slowly, "But what's so hard to believe about thinkin' ya might have got yer wires crossed? It's not personal."
"Not personal? Why would I mess up this kinda stuff? You know that I don't screw around when it comes to the heavy shit, bro. And fuck me for thinking that you – you – would know the difference."
Mikey never swears.
Raphael had never noticed until he did.
"Yeah, about that..." Raphael began uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck, "Look - sometimes Leo lets his dick do the thinkin' where Karai's involved. In case ya can't tell, he's in denial about the whole thing. Me - I think she'd sooner rip off our shells than utter one true word. But he had a fair point about the Mob in this part of town. They don't fuck around, Mikey. They're armed to the teeth with firepower. A happy little byproduct of controllin' the docks. Somethin' the Foot can't compete with."
"Yet." Michelangelo added pointedly.
"Maybe so." Raphael's eyes fell intently onto his brother, gauging his mood. The sense of betrayal still simmered hotly beneath his surface. Raphael couldn't remember ever seeing him this pissed. "And besides that, I screw up plenty. Don't think ya got the market cornered on that one."
"I'm not a joke."
Raphael nodded solemnly, "Never said ya were. Think it was idiot. Which I'm gonna stand by if ya think we don't trust ya. 'Cause I do. Stake my life on it."
A small, relieved sniffle escaped Michelangelo.
"I don't understand. Doesn't it make sense that the Foot would want to control the Docks, too? They're not even the second largest gang in New York. They must be chomping at the bit to take territory."
"I s'pose..." Raphael admitted.
"You know what? I don't even care about it. Fuck the Foot. And the Mob. What's even the point, anyway? They'll just replace the ones they lose and we go and risk our necks all over again. I know Karai was scoping this place. I don't know why, but I saw it. And it just sucks that my own brothers don't even believe me."
"I believe ya, Mikey." he said truthfully. "But look around. I don't hafta tell you it's a ghost town 'round here. Whatever's happenin', it ain't happenin' now. Tell ya what - let's book. Call it a night. Maybe we can catch the late night movie on TV. What do ya say?"
The olive branch was puny and he knew it. He didn't what he'd do if Michelangelo refused. But that was the thing about Mikey. In all things in life, he fought for the war, not the battles. But what exactly was this war, Raphael wondered?
"Don't know if you'd wanna watch it." he sniffled, lifting his head up fractionally, "It's the one with the giant roach monster."
"Funny shoes?"
"Yeah."
Raphael winced in disgust: "Peachy."
Although the hurt still seemed to linger, Michelangelo offered a small yielding nod.
"Thanks."
A small crooked smile broke across Raphael's broad features. Reaching back, he tightened the knot of his mask, flicking his sight wanly over the shadowy expanse of the large warehouse, before settling on pile of stacked loading palettes in the far corner. He narrowed his eyes, thinking he caught a slight bit of movement.
"Don't mention it."
He slung his arm around his brother, swiveling him around before pushing him forward with a pat on his shell.
"C'mon. Let's get the fuck out 'a here."
...
"Turns out you were right, Mikey. Two days later and we would 'a been there. Remember when we found out about the bloodbath that went down at the docks? Twelve men dead in the crossfire, and all swept neatly under the rug as gang violence. 'Course we put two an' two together, and figured out soon enough it was the Mob and the Foot. Forensics musta been pickin' bullets and shuriken outta the walls for weeks. You rubbed it in our faces so bad. But I guess we had that one comin'. In fact, the only good thing that came outta that mess was that the Foot lost that little rough up. So said your friend Mondo down at junkyard city, anyway. Seems like a bunch of our problems were wiped out for us that night. If we hadda been there...I don't wanna know what woulda happened. Maybe it's a good thing we had the wrong day. Still woulda liked to have let loose on a few of those fuckers, though."
Raphael gaze fell to his tightly bundled fists. He flexed his fingers out then in, letting the tension in them subside.
"I want ya to know somethin', Mikey. Somethin' I never told you before, 'cause you know me, I'm not into that sentimental shit: I fuckin' envy you. You just let shit roll off your back, and bounce back without a fuckin' care in the world. But I guess that's not how the rest of us were put together. Do you know how many times Splinter told you ta get yer head outta the clouds and buckle down in trainin'? We heard him say it again and again, 'cause he knew somethin' that pissed the rest of us right off: you had talent, bro. If you had half the mind, you coulda been killin' it. Guess that wasn't on yer agenda though, right? Don't know what pissed me off more, that you had the natural goddamned ability, or that ya weren't interested in usin' it. I mean, Christ. Do you know how hard Leo trains just to get to the same level you start off at? Fuck that. An' you know what else? I think... I think Splinter saw somethin' in you. Marked you for somethin'. But he was takin' his time with you, 'cause you run wide brother. Waitin' til ya grew up a bit, probably. But ya got a big heart and ya more savvy than ya let on. I know it. He knows it. And you'd be good at it. Always with an empty stomach and a fart joke...remind ya of anyone? Cause it sure as hell sounds like the Ancient One in the makin' to me."
His heart beat heavy. His stomach clenched.
"Lookin' back now, I can't help but think you were right all along. That all the fightin' amounts ta jack shit in the scheme of things. You knew. Enjoy the good things in life and take the bullshit with a grain of salt. Leo, Don and I...our scars run deep. It keeps us up at night. Somehow you figured out a way just ta let your wounds mend without leavin' a mark. Like it was some damn magic trick we could never work out. But it was never about the fightin' for you, I suppose. At least Donnie's got April, now, the lucky fuck; and Leo...who knows what the fuck is happenin' with Leo - probably playin' three card Monte with little Miss Shredder, forgettin' that the game's a con. But ya know how he is around a girl he thinks he can 'save'. Me? I'm a mess. Try not to show it, but...guess I never could hide if from ya. Hit the bottle harder than I should, an' wake up with more blackouts than I care to remember. It takes five whacks at the snooze button an' half a packet of tums just to get ta trainin' these days. I keep wakin' up sayin' that this is gonna be the day, this time ya gonna jump out an' scare the shit outta us. But so far, I'm still waitin' for the punchline."
He glanced up.
"Anyway." he said softly, "If ya gonna do it, you should do it soon, 'cause the set-up on this one's been draggin' on way too long."
Raphael suddenly stopped and dropped his head into his broad hands, a soft chuckle erupting from within.
"Heh - I just remembered what ya made us do after we found out you were right about the shit that went down at the warehouse. Thought I'd burnt it outta my memory, but Jesus Christ, how could I forget? Fuck, only you'd wanna play ping pong usin' ya 'chucks. How many times did we hafta tell ya that Bruce Lee video was made usin' special effects? But no. You made us all play until you could hit a hundred in a row. That took weeks, Mikey. And ya broke at least a box worth of damn ping pong balls. We were findin' those things over the lair for nearly six months. Even ya damn cat knocked out a couple out from under ya bed."
Raphael recalled the ecstatic expression on Michelangelo's face when he finally achieved his goal. He had run around the Lair like he was on fire, and lifted everyone off the ground like he had won a Lamborghini on a shitty game show. Later that day he had even treated them all to a cake that he had made... in his own honor. Raphael had taken his slice with a scowl, then smashed the buttery sponge into his brother's face amid a houseful of cackles.
"Guess you were right about that, too."
He heaved a sigh, rubbing at his temples.
"It's funny. We would always go into battle lookin' for victory, and couldn't even see that we took it in with us. A family. Brothers. It's only when ya older ya realize that havin' that is not a given. It's a gift. And I spent a lotta time lookin' that gift horse in the mouth, like I was kinda damn dentist or somethin'" Raphael gave a humorless laugh, "See Mikey - it's like ya were born just knowin' this stuff that took the rest of us a lifetime to work out. You were always the bright spot, remindin' us to leave the heavy shit behind and laugh. So, no. You were never standin' in our shadows. You got it all wrong, 'cause without ya, we're fightin' blind. And I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm so sorry if I ever made ya think different."
...