Book 3 of Cat and Mouse
Title: Startup Costs
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and adult situations
Summary: Sam, former FBI agent and friend of the turtles starts a private security business in New York City, while back in the lair Mike deals with family life, and the return of Agent Sanders.
Credits: Thanks to the beautifully talented and endlessly patient Sassy for the beta read.
Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles, Splinter, Casey, April, or a toaster oven. Not for profit – only for fun.
Author's Notes: I'm back! (evil laughter, courtesy of Fallen Hikari). Wow, some lovely reviews thus far! Thank you. To answer some older questions from the reviews: Sam's father is still alive, but is in a 'home' as he cannot take care of himself. Sam's brother is dead. I, too, watch CSI, and I live for plot twists. So, on with the show!
Chapter 2:
10 years earlier …
What was supposed to be the happiest day of your life? Many would say, your wedding day. But for Juliet, it had been one long and arduous day of watching her happiness slowly unravel. Which would explain how she had now spent her first night as married woman curled up in a chair in a hotel room, alternately crying quietly and staring at the bed, where her new husband slept the sleep of the inebriated.
Maybe it had been the alcohol.
The ceremony and dinner following had gone well, she thought, but as the evening wore on she saw that Greg was starting to glare at her parents, at her, at the food. Nothing seemed to meet with his satisfaction.
The food had been too ethnic for his tastes, he had complained upon seeing the buffet her parents had arranged and paid for. After a couple of more hours, he had been convinced that her father hated him. He had to. Look at the miserable place he had chosen for their reception?
Through it all, Juliet had tried to maintain some level of calm. It was nerves, or drink, or all the people were setting him on edge.
They had gotten to the hotel around midnight, and she had been ready to relax a bit. But as soon as the door closed behind them, he had started shouting into her face. Her dress had been too revealing, he said. She looked like a whore, not a bride. He had torn her ivory dress that she had thought so beautiful and classic, shoved her on the bed, and violently entered her.
She refused to call it rape, even in her own mind. The word would surface as she took in the purple bruises that marred her arms, and then she would push it down into the black pit that had formed in her mind. She would also curl more tightly into the chair she had chosen to spend the night in. Better to sit upright and avoid sleep than to lie down next to him.
He had been drunk. That's all.
Her own husband wouldn't rape her on her wedding night. Would he?
"Don?"
Sam drew her head back out of the partitioned work area that served as Don's home most of the time. He wasn't there. She bit her lip, and looked down at the boy at her side. He was studying the area carefully, his eyes widening at the array of television screens along one wall.
"They got cable?" Russell asked her, shoving his hands into his pockets. Sam smiled, and nodded. The boy had to belong somewhere, but so far she had no idea where. She had checked in with her neighbor, Richard, to learn that indeed this was not Carl Adams' son. Russell hadn't been much help on the topic, only telling her that he stayed with various people in different places. He would not discuss his mother at all.
"Hey, Sam," a friendly masculine voice called from the other side of the couch. Sam looked over, and her smile widened.
"Leo. I'm very glad to see you," Sam greeted him. Leo paused several steps away, and looked at the boy. Sam glanced down and saw the completely shocked look on Russell's face. "Um, Russell, this is a friend of mine. Leo, this is Russell." Mentally, Sam was berating herself for forgetting to warn the child about her unusual friends.
"Hello, Russell," Leo said, his voice gentle and calm, but he was giving Sam a significant look just the same. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"Yeah, sure," Russell replied, still gaping. Leo gestured for the humans to follow, and led them to the kitchen. Once there, Russell sat down at the end of the table, and rested his chin in his hands.
"I've got cereal. That okay?" Leo questioned. The boy nodded, and Leo got out a bowl from the cupboard. "So, busy night, Sam?"
She winced at the dry tone the turtle had used, and leaned against the counter. "You could say that. I found a client."
"That's great," Leo said, turning to look at her.
"He's dead," she continued. Leo's eyes flickered to the child, and then back to Sam again. "No relation. In fact, I'm having a little trouble figuring out where Russell is supposed to be." She eyed the boy for a moment, but his attention was caught up with the turtle. Leo poured cereal into the bowl, and got the milk out of the fridge.
"How old are you Russell?" Leo asked, setting the bowl and spoon down in front of the boy. Leo pulled out a chair, and sat down.
"Eleven," Russell answered shortly. He spooned up some cereal, and ate it quickly, nearly choking on it in his haste.
"What's your last name?" Leo queried.
"Why you wanna know?" the boy answered. He quickly polished off the bowl of cereal.
"Do you want some more?" Leo asked, noting the boy's obvious hunger. Russell nodded, and pushed his bowl over towards Leo. "Then tell me your last name," Leo stated, not moving from his chair. Russell frowned, and Leo sat back in his chair, at ease, and waited.
Sam smirked a little at the scene. In her opinion, Leo should be a cop. He had that scary kind of patience needed for questioning suspects.
Russell studied the empty bowl for a few minutes. His stomach growled audibly. "Dumont," he said a little angrily. Leo stood up, and fetched another bowl of cereal. Russell ate it a little more slowly this time.
"You've got something to start with," Leo noted, returning to his chair. "I could watch him, if you need to get going."
Sam started a little at the sudden offer. "If you're sure it's not a problem …"
"No, I think we'll do fine," Leo stated. And to Russell, he posed another question. "Do you want more cereal?"
"Do I gotta do anything for it?" the boy retorted smartly.
Leo smiled. "Not yet."
"What do ya think yer doin'?"
Sam spun around at the growl, and frowned at the turtle who had just stepped off the elevator.
"Anyone tell you this isn't foster care?" Raph grumbled.
"Anyone tell you that you need to stay out of it?" Sam retorted. Raph's lip curled back to reveal his clenched teeth and his brow furrowed down. Sam took a moment to reflect on the wisdom of baiting Raphael, as well as a quick review of the exit points from the warehouse.
"This isn't your personal dumping ground for stray humans," he ground out. "You bring enough of 'em here, and we won't be a secret anymore."
"Look, he's a kid, and he needs to be somewhere while I find his family. I'm sorry if that cramps your style, Raphael," Sam replied flippantly. She turned away, intending to return to her car. Instead, she felt a hand on her shoulder spin her around, and her shoulder blades struck the side of the converted armored car parked in the warehouse.
"Get this straight," Raph snarled softly. Sam went to jerk away, and found herself held in place by strong hands on her biceps. "We are not your pets, or your deputies in your fight against crime."
"Gee, this feels familiar," Sam snapped, ignoring the warning. "It's been weeks since you smacked me around."
The pair glared at each other, both breathing harshly and gearing up for more of the argument, when they were interrupted.
"Raph," Don called from the front of the warehouse, where he had just arrived from the rooftop. "Problem?"
"No," Raph muttered. He released Sam's arms, leaving red indents behind. He straightened, and ambled away to the elevator without a backward glance.
"You know, I'm continually surprised that Juliet didn't take up with him," Sam noted, trying for a jest. "He's such a fun guy." The slight shaking in her voice spoiled the joke. "I was just heading out," Sam explained. Don nodded.
"Did you get any sleep?"
Sam had to smirk at that. "Am I on a curfew now?" Don sighed, and looked away to study the concrete floor under his feet. Sam scrubbed at her face, and tried to get her thoughts and emotions sorted out. "I'm sorry. I'm having a bad day, following a bad night. May I start over?"
"Yes, you may," Don responded. His mouth twitched up into a small smile. "Good morning, Sam."
"Good morning, Don. How are you?" Sam queried, pushing off from the truck and walking towards the turtle.
"Fine. You?" Sam reached his side, and they shared a genuine smile.
"Not so great, but hopefully things will improve," she replied lightly.
"Do you have time for breakfast?" Don asked.
"No. I've got some investigating to do, but I promise I'll be back for lunch."
Children sometimes perceive their world in terms of black and white – right and wrong – with little space in between for the vagaries of emotion.
Rachel walked into her mother's bedroom, looking for a pair of socks, and froze in the doorway. Light from the hall revealed two on the bed where there should only be one. Rachel felt a strange tightness in her throat and chest as she backed up, and shut the door again. She headed back to her room, but paused outside the door. She didn't want to go in and wake up Noelle. Her sister would likely make a fuss.
Instead, Rachel headed for the stairs, her head hurting her a little while she tried to puzzle it all out. She walked down, and found that the lair was still mostly dark. She could hear Leo's voice in the kitchen. Cautiously moving through the dimness, Rachel found her way to the little bridge. This was her favorite place, and she sat down to rest her head against the railing while she watched the water.
She knew, of course, that things had changed. They lived here now, with Leo, Don, Raph, Mike and Sensei Splinter. And Samantha was moving in, too. It was a big place, so that was okay. What Rachel didn't understand, was why her mother was so close to Mike.
Rachel found herself feeling two things at once. She did like Mike's jokes, and he was always nice to her and Noelle, but at the same time she didn't want him being so nice to her mom. Because, well, because it didn't make her feel good inside.
She could remember the divorce quite well. She could recall moving out of the nice house they had lived in, and all the relocating that had followed. She knew her dad had done some things that weren't good. She wrapped her hands around the support bars of the railing, and glowered at the swirling water.
Just because her dad had done some bad things didn't mean that Mike got to be her dad now. That wasn't fair, really. No one had asked her, Rachel, if it was okay. And it wasn't okay for her mom to let Mike sleep in her bed.
It wasn't okay at all.
Detective Dan Wa entered the interrogation room, and yawned hugely. A man stood up from the table, and offered a large cup of coffee.
"I'm sorry to drag you in after a long night, Detective," the man said apologetically. Dan nodded, and accepted the coffee with a tired smile.
"That's alright, Agent …," Dan sat down, still fumbling in his mind for the name.
"Sanders," Greg noted, as he, too, resumed his seat. "But it is important that I speak with you. You may recall a report you filed on a car bomb some weeks ago. Another agent was involved …"
"Samantha, right," Dan said, nodding, and then he took a gulp of his coffee. He missed the widening of Agent Sanders' eyes at Dan's familiar use of Gallagher's given name.
"Samantha Gallagher, yes. There is a problem with the report you filed, and I hoped we could clear it up," Sanders added smoothly.
Dan set down his coffee, and studied the agent. "Problem?"
"There is insufficient physical evidence of a victim in the vehicle. Yet, your eyewitness account is that a brunette female was in the car," Sanders stated, tapping his manicured nails on the table. Dan frowned, both at the man's words, and his tapping.
"There was a woman in that car. I saw her," Dan affirmed, his tone less friendly now.
"Are you quite certain, Detective," Sanders said, leaning forward to stare hard at Dan. "That your dear friend Samantha didn't ask you to say there was a woman in the car?"
"No, I'm quite certain that is not what happened," Dan gritted out. "I think we're done here, Agent Sanders." Dan stood up, and prepared to leave.
"Detective," Sanders interrupted, and when Dan turned back, the Agent smiled broadly. "Don't forget your coffee."
Known associates: it was police lingo for the other people with arrest records three miles long that appeared in your file. In the case of Carl Adams, dealers, addicts, petty thieves and prostitutes populated it. There was a 'Dumont' on the list. Josephine Dumont, age 25, prostitute, and deceased as of yesterday. No coroner's report as yet, but the tech she had talked to figured it for a drug overdose.
Sam set the case file down, and rubbed her eyes. The lack of sleep was starting to get to her, and she glanced at the clock. Ten a.m., but the day was not improving at all. She shut the file, and rested her elbows on the table, holding up her head with effort. Russell Dumont's birth records listed no father, and Josephine Dumont listed no family on any of her records. It was a big fat zero all the way around. As far as the system was concerned, this kid had absolutely no one.
Taking out thelist of known associates again; Sam wrote the names and supposed addressesof several of the prostitutes. Tonight, she could try questioning some of these women to see if any of them had known Josephine. This task complete, she stood up and stretched out the kinks in her neck. She packed up her things, and walked out of the bustling homicide division. Dan had given her far more leeway than he should have, but Sam was grateful. This was almost like working again, and it felt good to being doing something.
"Hey," a voice called from the hallway behind her. Sam turned, and offered Dan a smile. "Find anything?"
"Some names to follow up on. You look like hell," Sam noted. Dan rubbed at the back of his neck, and regarded her with a strange expression on his face.
"I had a visitor today," he began, when someone shouted from down the hall.
"Dan, Captain wants to see you!" Dan groaned. "Now!"
"I'll call you later, Sam. Be careful," Dan offered as he hurried away. Sam watched her friend disappear through a doorway.
She left out the front door, and winced at the bright sunshine. She hurriedly slipped on her sunglasses on her way to her car. She climbed in, and flinched at the hot plastic steering wheel. Soon, she could slip into the cool, dim lair. Maybe catch a few hours of sleep, and a meal that had actually been cooked.
Who knew that the sewer could feel so homey?
Her cell phone chose that moment to ring, and she briefly debated tossing it out the window. Instead, she retrieved it from her bag and answered it. Before she could even start to say hello, a female voice screeched out at her.
"Who is this?"
"Um, I'm Samantha Gallagher. And you are?" Sam asked, frowning at the shrill voice that had assaulted her eardrums.
"Why's Carl got your phone number?" the woman questioned suspiciously.
"He was going to hire me to help with a security problem," Sam explained as patiently as she could.
"Oh," the woman said, apparently mollified. "Well, if you see him, you tell him that we got a problem with one of the new girls on 26th."
Sam closed her eyes, and fought down a mildly hysterical chuckle. From FBI agent to taking messages for a pimp/drug dealer – now that's a fall from grace. She was getting a little punch drunk from exhaustion.
"Carl is dead, Miss …?"
"Oh, shit!" The woman exclaimed. "What am I gonna do? Jesus!" The woman started to sob uncontrollably, and Sam held the phone away as the woman wailed in a wild display of grief. After the storm seemed to abate somewhat, Sam tried talking to the caller again.
"Would you know a Josephine Dumont?" Sam queried gently.
A loud sniff returned over the phone. "Josie? She's dead," the woman reported.
"Yes, I know, but I was wondering if she had any family I could contact. You see, her son is …"
"Russell? Well thank God! I was out of my mind worrying over that child," the woman said, her grief apparently forgotten for now. "You just bring him here. I take care of all the kids, really. He can stay with me."
"And where would 'here' be?" Sam asked, already rooting around for a pen and paper.
An hour later, Sam pulled up in front of a tenement building that looked like it might have seen better days during the Jurassic period. She locked her car with a brief prayer that it would still be there when she returned, and went inside. The caller, who had eventually given her name as Vonda, had provided directions to this address. Finding the elevator out of order, Sam climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. Standing in front of the apartment door, she knocked lightly, and listened to the sound of chattering children coming from inside.
The door opened a moment later, and Sam got her first look at Vonda. The woman was quite tall, with nearly orange streaks in her hair.
"You gotta be Samantha," Vonda greeted, offering a wide and toothy grin showing a couple of gold teeth. "Where's Russell?"
"With friends of mine," Sam replied. "I thought perhaps we could talk a little first?"
"Sure, come on in." Sam entered the apartment, and found herself in a fairly bright and sunny living room. Four little boys and girls were coloring pictures on the coffee table. "I was just feedin' the baby," Vonda explained, continuing on into a clean but clearly old kitchen. True to her word, a baby sat in a high chair at the end of the kitchen table with a tipped over bowl of some mashed food. "Have a seat, Samantha, while I clean this child up."
Sam sat down in one of the vinyl covered kitchen chairs, and watched as Vonda efficiently wiped up the mess, and started feeding the child again.
"You're not here to find Russell's father, I hope, 'cause I got no idea who he is," Vonda said firmly. "Josie was on the street workin' for another man before she got on with Carl. Could be just about anyone." Sam nodded. She had figured that was the case. "But I have a number for his grandmother, if you need it."
It was so out of the blue, and so simple, that Sam couldn't believe she had heard correctly. "His grandmother?"
"Mmm hmm. She lives upstate, but she'd take him in. You want me to give her a call?"
"Yes. Yes, please," Sam replied. She watched, quietly amazed, as Vonda made the call, fed the infant, dealt with the other children, and did all of it with a calm assurance Sam couldn't hope to match in any part of her life.
"Well, I can send him on the bus tomorrow, if you bring him by here in the morning." Sam nodded agreeably, but she didn't get up to leave. "So what else are you here for? 'Cause I doubt you're stickin' around here because you like the sound of my voice." Vonda offered her a wink, and Sam smiled.
"I would like to find out who killed Carl Adams," Sam stated. Vonda tilted her head, and seemed to be thinking about that fairly seriously.
"Carl had a lotta enemies. Other dealers, pimps, customers …," Vonda listed. "I heard a lot about it, takin' his calls and stuff."
"He had said he was having 'security' problems. Could there be a connection?" Sam questioned. Vonda nodded.
"Oh, yes. That would be Larry Bright. He took some of Carl's girls, and shot one of Carl's suppliers," Vonda recalled, lifting the baby from the seat and holding the child with practiced ease.
"Larry Bright," Sam repeated, committing the name to memory. "Would you know where I could find him?"
"No, but I know one of his girls. Sherry. You go to 26th, and ask for her by name. I'll let her know you're comin'."
"So what do you do down here all day?" Russell asked, sitting on the ledge surrounding the practice area. Leo halted his kata, and answered.
"We train, and patrol at night." Leo started again, and waited for the next question.
"Is that …? What you're doing …? Is that training?" Russell craned his neck, and tried to get a better view of the turtle from his distant seat.
"Yes, it is," Leo responded. He noted the boy's problem, and waved a hand in invitation. "You may come closer."
"You sure you won't stick me with those?" Russell worried, but he got up from his resting place, and came down the steps to the practice floor. Leo sheathed his swords to make the boy a little less nervous. "Well, aren't you gonna do any more?" Russell asked once he reached Leo's side.
"Well, how about you do some?" Leo offered. The boy's dark eyes widened, and a grin broke out on his face.
"For real? Yeah," Russell said, accepting. "What do I do?"
"Follow what I do, for now. As you progress, we'll move onto other levels of difficulty," Leo explained briefly. He started a simple form, and Russell copied him. Each movement was slow, and Russell's balance wasn't very good, but it didn't matter to the boy. His eyes lit up with the open joy of a child who had been denied many opportunities to accomplish something.
One half hour later, Leo called a halt. Russell wiped at the sweat on his forehead as he followed Leo to the kitchen. The turtle dug out two bottles of water, and handed one to Russell. The child drank it gratefully.
His thirst quenched, Russell beamed up at Leo. "That was great. Thanks for teachin' me."
"We'll do some more tomorrow," Leo replied, pleased at the boy's happiness with the lesson.
"So, what am I supposed to call you? Mr. Leo, or what?" Russell asked, sipping at his water.
"How about 'sensei'?"
"Yeah, I guess. So now what, Sensei?"
Leo grimaced, and made a show of waving away an offensive smell. "Shower and change."
"I don't got any other clothes here," Russell noted unhappily.
Leo slipped an arm around the boy's thin shoulders. "We'll find some, and then I'll show you where Mike hid the video games."