Tugging brown loafers off, they fell by the door in a disordered fashion. Plain hemp sandals sat beside them serenely, ever becoming in Leonardo's minimalist home. Setting the stubs of the briefcase down, Donatello hastily pulled a manila folder out. His bare feet pressed discreetly against the rice piping mats.
Leonardo's home always felt cool if not cold. He suspected there was little insulation, which was accordant with what was being paid for the 'penthouse'. It was three thirty; he had left work early, so Leonardo was most likely to be in his meditating room in the back. He jogged through the apartment uncaring of the noise. The precious file clutched in his hands, he slid away the paper door to the side.
His brother, intelligent, but sometimes overly spiritual sat with his shell facing him. In some state of meditation obviously, on the broken tan pillow, he was frozen to a single candle. He knocked on the porous wood framework of the wall and Leo turned instantly.
"Don."
"I've found something." He waved the file, simultaneously undoing his tie. Going across the hall, he swaggered into the study, relatively proud at his own successes that day in spite of what he knew what his own state of off-guard. Leo came up behind him and took his place at the head of the table.
"I couldn't concentrate anyway." He rolled his ever-broad shoulders into a more casual position. "What did you find."
"It's a pretty good shot." Don took the paper out of the file and examined it again himself. "A property invoice." He thankfully saw it still had the substance he had seen, and handed it to Leonardo. He dusted the page off and took a scrutinizing eye to it.
"What am I looking at?" The question begged redundancy, but it was overlooked, as they both knew the pressing matter well enough. And Don knew the paper well enough not to mind the superfluous questions.
"My guess was the sword might've been taken for some artistic pursuit, so I took a look through property invoices of private museums—museums have to file paper work on all their incoming pieces, it's all input into computer systems—so I hacked some of the systems and scanned the recent pieces for antique samurai katanas." Something around the study triggered his memory and he began rooting again in the file. "Needless to say, there weren't a lot of hits. Out of the ones that I got though, this one-" He removed another set of papers. "stuck out."
"Uh huh…" Leonardo drolled, still scanning the print off. It was apparent he wasn't catching the same line Donatello was, which was obligingly remedied.
"These are the same specs as Masters sword! It doesn't include the inscription, but I blew up the photo that was included…" He arranged the papers end to end to display the entire photo, laying it on the tabletop. "I suspect someone scanned a polaroid, then lowered the resolution. All the other photos on these servers were much better." Leon put the invoice down. "But you can see here, where the characters are inscribed…" Leonardo snatched the lower half of the grainy photo.
"Yes, this is it."
"That there ah—what? How are you sure." Don's face scrunched in perplexion. He had been mulling over the papers for the half-hours drive to Leonardo's, and still couldn't say such a thing with complete belief. Leonardo scrutinized the picture more closely, but didn't change his composure.
"This last character is non-traditional. Splinter once explained it, it's clear enough here." He dropped the paper on top of the others.
"So you think it's it." The nod boosted Donatello's ego.
"I know it well enough, even through your piss pot photos." He took up the invoice again. "If it isn't the one, then it's an incredible coincidence that a likeness showed up so soon."
"I agree." Don asserted. "Which begs the next question. Where the invoice is from."
"And?" Leonardo handed the paper over again, near complete gibberish to his eyes.
"Our luck. It wasn't exported. The genius, who couldn't launder it in a flower box, happens to be a genius with three P.h. D's in historical weaponry through archeology. Marius Minde."
"That sounds familiar." Leonardo leaned against the side of the table and looked at his brother.
"Yeah, he was the one buying up the market on gothic torture artifacts about ten years ago. He dropped out of the spotlight after that. But apparently not out of the historical collecting community. He's a member in the national historical society, though not in good standing.
"The databases' profile they kept online of him listed him as one of the wealthiest twenty-five members. He's also the only one not listed there as a philanthropist to any other community other than membership dues." Don pulled out the knot in his necktie and finally undid the top buttons.
"So he's money-wise. If he has it, why would he want the sword?"
"Well, the more the merrier of course." Don chuckled. "But this is a little richer. Minde is a narcassist, borderline megalomaniac. His collections are atrocious, but the bulk of it goes unaccounted for—except when he wants to bring it out for a showing apparently. I assume that's where our sword's got to."
"Well then. I hope there's something else." The corners of Leonardo's mouth pulled down.
"Yes and no. There was no home listing I could find for him, but it just so happens Minde is one of the curators of the Boston Central Historical society in Mass. It's somewhere to start." Leonardo boosted of the side of the table.
"And Raph's already there."
"I'll call him-" Don interjected. "I have to make a few calls anyway." He said, slipping out of the room before his brother.
"Alright. I'll pick up Mike and meet you downstairs in an hour." Leo crossed into the meditation room, approaching a thin table by the back. He removed his swords from their catches and wrapped them in the black scarf. "Make sure-" He came into the kitchen where Donatello was cradling the phone on his shoulder. "to tell Raph not to go without us."
"You think he would? He's not that stupid now."
"It's still Raph. Tell him to stay put. We'll meet him at his apartment tonight." Leonardo hooked his jacket of the back of kitchen chair and grabbed a ring of keys from the counter. "And Don, bring your weapon with you." Don's finger paused over the keys.
"…You think we're going to need them?"
"I don't know. I have a feeling." Leonardo pulled on his coat, his swords held under his arm.
~~
The last light turned out in the stodgy style box building, dropping the rest of the avenue to the glow of street lamps. Alleys painted nearly black with shadows encompassed the world, and draped the buildings with the tired end of the week lightlessness. It was odd that a public facility would be placed down such an out of the way district. There was no campus or sister office, only a few suburban businesses, including several small art galleries. Darkened now after hours. The sun had long left the coast, the cool ocean currents becoming chilly in the night.
Drawing a sheepskin coat tighter around, the girl adjusted her bottom on the deck rail of the closed historical society. She wished she was in the habit of wearing a watch, so she would know just how long this jerk had left her waiting. It felt like an eternity. Of course she was too ashamed to admit how nervous she was about this date, which probably protracted each minute to a painful stretch of time. Just wait until that ass showed up. He would feel her pain.
Maybe it was her own fault for choosing such an out of the way place to meet. Or her fault for listening to Elias in the first place. That idiotic lizard who she had befriended in her T'ai Chi class.
"Go on a date." She mimicked in his squeaky tones. "He's such a great guy." And why had she been talked into it? She never went on blind dates. Or dates for that matter. Men thought with their eyes before their minds. Some of them didn't even get that far. What had made her think this one would be any different.
Maybe the idea of a mutant her age, one who would have to be somewhat humble, would make an excellent date, was a bit unrealistic. Just goes to show never to judge a book by its cover. Especially when it's a book you order through the mail.
"Ugh. All men are jerks." She proclaimed to no one, hopping off the rail onto the slim deck around the historical society. A terrible roar surged slowly through the curves of the road. Each gated tree trembled with wind, looking as though the engine frightened them into rustling. Coming back to the rail, the girl watched as a black plated Harley tore up the pavement. Rubber smoked in brief puffs as it was seared into the road, wheels swerving around to sidle up against the curb. "Rich." She had seen few mutant turtles in the past seven years, outside of the television. This one had to be the most cocky sunofabitch ever to carry a shell. Black leather pants, brown leather jacket, and that hardened 'badass' expression. He even walked like he had a huge package. Something about mutants she had wondered about, but would never wager to ever find out. Especially with this jerk.
He was turning the engine off and stepping off the bike as she walked nobly down the ramp toward the sidewalk. She planned on simply walking off like she was about to before he came. The T wasn't that far anyway. Maybe just pass him by silently with a nasty look to show him how impudent he had been. She wouldn't even say anything to him. There was no way he could salvage this date. Pompous self-centered ass. Maybe she should kick him in the shin too. But damn he was built. She doubted she could do him any pain even if she wanted. Elias had told her as much, but she thought that was just more smoke, like the rest of what he had said.
Coming closer in the lamplight, she found a strange appeal to him. The softened jacket was open to a partly undone white dress shirt, untucked, but still not long enough to not be covered by the jackets bottom hem. His skin looked coarse, but not scaly at all. And his hands were wrapped up with black lacing, like he was a construction worker of some sort. When he finally looked up at her, she could see those inked brown eyes, of almost a flashing quality. There was a strange magnetism there, and she found herself drawing nearer then she had intended. Even going as far as to open her mouth. What happened to a book and its cover?
"Raphael, I assume." She offered in a neutral tone, with a clearly loaded question. Let's see how he does with that one. His face, although she was no expert on reptilian expression, was in some state of stupor that she was still speaking to him in such a civil tone. When realistically she should have been slapping him in the face for leaving her in the windy cold a better part of an hour with no word.
"You're still here?" His voice was incredulous almost. Obviously knowing who she was, there were no apologies spilling forth. Only later would she grasp that. Right now, she was only concerned with his question.
"You sound surprised." What the hell is that supposed to mean? 'You're still here?' Gad! "You were expecting me to leave…" Something she should have done already. The fact that he pointed it out kind of stung. Something inside of her hoped he would be speaking sweeter. It was disappointing.
"Well…" He fidgeted, his uncomfort spilling over. "Yeah." She had to fight against the scowl, her jaw clenching. The kick was sounding better and better. She cried out in indignation in her mind. This was insufferable. And the only way to reclaim some dignity for herself was to walk away. Walk away from this whole affair and go home. Maybe kick his bike over first.
But as the seconds passed, so was her chance to leave. She had frozen in that place, refusing to quit. In growing protest of her brain. To her horror she found that her body was not moving. He was just staring at her, and she was rendered immobile by the option of walking off. She felt her face beginning to burn, and the abject terror of freezing up threatened to melt her into a puddle. Oh god, this is terrible. Jesus, he's watching. Do something before he thinks you're a complete fool! Thinking fast, she sighed and ran her fingers through her blond hair, looking at the sidewalk. Excellent! Progress! Now run! Run like the wind! Her fingers ran down her cheek to quickly cover her mouth, repressing the upcoming laughter. Less laughing, more running!
"Is something funny?" He might end up more confused than she was. Something else he likely deserved. She brushed it off as a cough and shook her head, looking up again under her own faculties. It seemed as though the terrible blushing had subsided as well, a minor pro against the cons of this 'date'. Not that he had the time to notice, already walking off at a brisk pace. Huh?
She watched him hurry toward the historical society, in yet another oddballed dismissal. Was he expecting the date to continue? If so, why in god's name was in going in there?
"Hey!" She called, following tentatively. He was already up the ramp and heading around the deck. Turning around to the rail, he looked down at her on the lawn. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Look, Miss," Miss? "This really ain't the best time for this." She finally heard the New York bite in his accent. "If you wanna call Elias and reschedule or something, fine. I gotta work right now. So, ya know. Peace be wit' ya." He added backing away from the rail. The next moment he had disappeared around the corner. Outraged, the moment after that the fine black motorcycle banged against the pavement.