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: Wow! Lots of great reviews, and I appreciate every single one. On author alerts, which has been mentioned several times … I'm not getting them either, so something is broken.
Pacphys: Juliet's situation was horrible and sick making, and it is also something that happens all around us. (On the soapbox) If you, or someone you know, are in this kind of situation, please seek out a shelter and counseling service. Nearly every city of any size has these types of services available. (Off the soapbox)
Reinbeauchaser: On the mushing of words and other edit problem. Yes, I intend to go back after everything is posted and fix all that stuff. I don't want to do it now, because with my luck the author alerts will come back on and everyone will think new chapters were posted. On Raphael, it is entirely possible he will not remain a total jerk for the entirety of this story (like, in the next installment – Book 4).
Sporksareweird: Yes! I'm glad someone caught my little CSI joke.
Fallen Hikari: This chapter does not really require the evil laugh. The next two … (insert evil laugh).
To BubblyShell, Reluctant Dragon, Kristy99, Rizzle, and Sassy (yay! New chapter of 'Plague') thank you for your encouraging comments.
Chapter 3:
Six years earlier …
She had made pork chops. That was all it had taken to set him off this time.
Juliet had managed to get away, grab Rachel, and hide in a closet on the second floor. So far, he hadn't found them. She could hear him downstairs, smashing dishes in the kitchen – her family heirloom dishes from her grandmother. She would have wept over the loss, but her eyes were dry and sore. Too much crying had left her with nothing to give to this new assault.
Cuddling her barely two-year-old daughter, Juliet leaned her head back against the wall and tried to relax. Sleep was out of the question, but she needed to rest her mind for a few minutes. Her eyes drifted closed.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs roused her quickly. Cautiously, Juliet slipped a hand over her little girl's mouth to prevent the child from giving away their hiding spot. She saw a tall shadow pass in front of the levered doors of the closet. Rachel struggled a little in her arms, trying to get her mouth free. Juliet hung on, and watched the shadow.
Finally, he left the room, and Juliet heard his footsteps go back downstairs. The crashing sounds resumed, and Juliet took her hand away.
Rachel started to cry a little, and Juliet hugged her child close, both giving and receiving comfort.
Sam entered the room she had only been in once before, and dropped onto the bed gratefully. She had arrived too late to have lunch, and hadn't been able to find Don to apologize. She flung an arm over her eyes, and tried to bring her thoughts to a halt. She needed some sleep before she went searching for Sherry.
Looking for Carl's killer was most likely an exercise in futility, and really, why go to the trouble? He had been a client – almost. In some way, Sam felt like she owed this much to Carl, and to his uncle, her old neighbor Richard. It was unlikely that the police would make much effort to find whoever had gunned down someone like Carl.
The door opened, and soft footsteps crossed the room. She heard the clink of dishes being set on the bedside table. She lowered her arm to see a plate with a sandwich and chips, and a glass of iced tea resting beside her head.
"I'm sorry," she offered to her quiet visitor.
"Did you find Russell's mother?" Don asked, looking down into her bloodshot eyes.
"Another lead," Sam replied vaguely. She sat up, and picked up a chip. She looked at it for a while, and debated how much to say. "Not much, but I'm going to keep trying."
Don's eyes narrowed, and had Sam looked up she would have realized that Don sensed some deception in her. It was in the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders and the slightly higher tone of voice. She might have fooled someone else, but Don had been trained in observation.
"Thank you for lunch," she said, and waved the chip a bit, finally meeting his eyes. Don had smoothed his expression over to something she would read as simple friendliness. She popped the chip into her mouth, and her eyes slid away from his.
He used an internal meditation technique to retain a hold on his temper. She was fortunate he wasn't Raphael, because he was sorely tempted to shake her and demand to know what she was up to. Instead, he maintained his calm, and gave her a smile.
"Enjoy," he replied, and headed back out. "Get some sleep." Once the door was closed, he took a moment to breathe deeply. The anger trembled inside of him again, and Mike, passing by, stopped to look at him sharply.
"You okay, bro?" Mike asked, his expression concerned.
"I'll be fine, Mikey," Don responded. "Could you take my patrol tonight with Raph? I have something to do."
"Okay, watch me, Rachel," Mike instructed. He demonstrated a kata, showing strong blocking. Noelle, standing not far away, mimicked him, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she put in an effort to copy the move exactly. Rachel remained with her arms crossed over her chest, and a mutinous expression on her face. Mike straightened, and studied the girl, puzzled.
"What's going on, Rach?" Mike asked.
"I don't wanna do this anymore," Rachel replied contemptuously. "It's stupid."
Mike's eye ridges shot up in surprise at the turn around in her attitude. "I thought you wanted to be a butt-kicking ninja?"
"I don't wanna be like you," Rachel shot back. Juliet, hopping down into the practice space, froze in surprise at the venom in her daughter's voice.
"Ninjitsu isn't something you get to drop in and out of whenever you feel like it, Rachel," Mike said, taking a hard line approach. "It's a commitment."
"You can't tell me what to do!" Rachel shouted. "You're not my dad!"
"Rachel …," Juliet started.
"I hate it here!" Rachel shrieked, turning on her mother with tears starting in her eyes. "I want to go home! I want to go back to Dad's!" At the horrified look on her mother's face, Rachel fled the practice area, and ran to her room. The door slammed shut behind her, cutting off her sobs.
Mike and Juliet stared at each other, equally shocked by the turn of events. For the life of her, Juliet couldn't think of what had brought this on.
Noelle, silent and wide-eyed through all of this, reached out to pat Mike's hand. He looked down at the four-year-old, and she gave him a sad look.
"Rachel's mad," Noelle noted. Mike swallowed, and put a hand on the little girl's head.
"Yeah, she is," he responded in what he hoped was a calm tone of voice.
"You can be my dad," Noelle offered brightly, in the same way she would offer a toy to another child. Mike replied with a lopsided grin, and tousled her hair.
"You wanna practice some more?" he asked. Noelle nodded, and he glanced over at Juliet. She pointed upstairs, and gave him a reassuring smile. Mike nodded, and turned back to Noelle. "Okay, how about you show me how well you do that side kick?"
Getting out of the lair unseen had been an exercise in patience and intestinal fortitude, but she had made it. Sam wished she had been able to change into something more undercover than jeans and a t-shirt. But if she had dressed like a hooker, Don might have suspected something.
She parked her rattletrap car – the replacement she could afford for the one she had blown up – some distance away and walked to her destination. A three-block strip that served as a red light district, sex shops, and strip clubs populated this section of 26th. Out front, a collection women and teens strolled up and down their sections of sidewalk, calling to the cars.
In front of the ill-named 'World of Dolls', Sam spotted the person she assumed was Sherry. The description had been pretty good. Late teens, lavender streaked hair, and made up like some horrific combination of Goth girl and child prostitute. Sam approached her, and was recognized immediately.
"Oh, God, you look like a cop," the girl complained before Sam had an opportunity to speak.
"All the more reason to get this interview over with quickly," Sam retorted, stuffing her hands in her pockets self-consciously.
"Couldn't you have brought a guy with you, or something, so you look like a customer?" the girl whined, as she nervously looked around.
"I could have brought a big turtle," Sam muttered as she glanced up the street, wondering whom the girl was watching for.
"Hey, leave your kinks at home, okay? Vonda said you wanted information, and that you'd pay," Sherry demanded. Sam's expression soured with frustration. Helpful Vonda.
"How much for Bright's address?" Sam asked, getting right to the point.
"Hundred dollars," Sherry replied without pause. Sam's eyes nearly bugged out.
"A hundred? That's more than you probably make in a night!" Sam protested, thinking about the meager contents of her wallet.
"God, you cops are so cheap," Sherry said with distaste. "Fifty, or forget it."
Grumbling under her breath, Sam pulled out her wallet, and handed over two twenties and a ten. Sherry counted them, and then stuffed them into the front pocket of her skirt. "The address?" Sam reminded.
"The apartment building on 102nd and Eastman. Room 303," Sherry replied. "Now get lost, 'cause you're scaring away my customers." Sherry offered a smile across the street to some guy in a trench coat, and Sam rolled her eyes.
On the other side of the late-night traffic, Agent Greg Sanders returned the young prostitute's smile with one of his own. He turned his face into the turned up collar of his coat when Gallagher looked over. He watched from the corner of his eye as Sam left the hooker. Once she was out of sight, Sanders stepped across to the girl, and grinned down at her.
"I need some information," he stated in his gentlest voice. "Do you think you could help me?"
"Sure baby," Sherry simpered, batting her made up eyes at him. "Anything's available for the right price."
"Rachel, may I speak with you?"
The girl looked up at her door, surprised by the voice. She had expected her mother to come storming in demanding an explanation for her behavior. Rachel stood up, and brushed at her wet eyes before opening the door.
"Hello, Sensei," she greeted the elderly rat. Splinter smiled down at her.
"May I come in?" he queried. She nodded, and Splinter entered the room. He moved over to the center of the room, and lowered himself to the rug. "Please, come and sit beside me, Rachel." Rachel obeyed, and waited for whatever the rat had come to say.
"You have been crying," Splinter noted. Rachel brushed at her cheeks in an effort to hide the evidence. "It is alright to cry when you are upset. Would you tell me what has made you cry today?"
"I …," Rachel hesitated. "Mike is like your son, right?" Splinter nodded. "Then I don't think you can help me."
"And why not?" Splinter asked, resting his cane across his bent knees.
"'Cause I don't like him," Rachel explained, her temper showing in her tone. Splinter tilted his furry head, and studied the girl carefully.
"I do not think that is true. I think, instead, that you do not wish to like him." The rat's whiskers twitched, and Rachel frowned trying to understand his words. "You do not wish to be disloyal to your father."
"Mike's not my dad," Rachel said angrily. "I want him to quit acting like he is."
"I do not believe that Michaelangelo is trying to replace your father in your heart, Rachel," Splinter soothed. "The place in your heart that belongs to your father can never be taken away without your consent. Michaelangelo wishes to be in your heart as well, but not to take anything away from you." Splinter glanced up, noting a movement in the open doorway.
"He wants to take my dad's place in Mom's heart," Rachel noted darkly. Splinter met Juliet's eyes, and shook his head very slightly. The woman seemed to understand the message, and backed away silently.
"Over time, Rachel, hearts may change. When you are older, this will be easier for you to understand," Splinter said, but he could see that this explanation did not satisfy by the deep line between the girl's brows, and the hurt expression on her face. "Do you believe that your mother and father should be together?"
Rachel turned her face away, a pout beginning to form on her soft mouth.
"Was your mother happy?"
"No," Rachel admitted softly. Her throat was getting tight and achy again.
"Is your mother happy now?" Splinter prodded.
"Yes, but she shouldn't be!" Rachel cried. "She should be with Dad so we can be a family again."
Splinter patted the weeping girl's shoulder. "I am an old rat, and I do not have all the answers to ease your pain. But I do know this. A thing, once broken, can never be put back together the same way again. Pieces are always missing, and there are visible cracks. It is better to leave it broken, and find a new use for the pieces that you have."
"So I should be nice to Mike," Rachel interpreted, drying her eyes. Splinter smiled through his fur at her, still patting, and nodded.