CHAPTER 2

See disclaimer at the heading of chapter 1 and do not sue. Please.

Mikey raced along with Raph. He had caught up with his brother and kept pace with him ever since. The smaller turtle grinned widely. The air rushed against his face as he plowed along through the darkness. Mike ran sharp eyes on the streets as they flew over another alley. "Queens," Mike muttered randomly, "Yanno, I always wondered where people got these names for places...I mean...is there a Kings some where?"

Raph answered off-handedly. "Why the hell do people do half the shit they do, Mike? 'Sides. There prolly was a 'Kings' somewhere--but if it was any where near Queens, she prolly knifed 'im." Raph flashed white teeth at Mikey. "S' a mean neighborhood."

Well pleased with his joke, Raph flipped over the next alleyway. He scanned his surroundings as well, looking for a fight. The darkness and the prospect of violence elevated his mood and his adrenaline. Anything that ran into Raphael tonight might not last long enough to regret it. The bridge loomed ahead of them in the darkness, and Raph put on a burst of speed.

Mikey picked up his pace to match his brother. His excitement ran on a different level altogether. Mikey always had so much energy; tonight's excursion gave him the perfect excuse to just run. He certainly liked the idea of some action, but it was not the fighting so much as the winning: getting a chance to play the 'good guy,' that put a smile on his face. "Yeah," Mikey noted in reply, "They really broke the bitch-mold when they made her, didn't they?"

Raph let his silence convey his agreement. He vaulted over the fire escape and plowed down the alley. Raphael paused briefly to peer around the edge of the building, before darting across the road. On the far side he leapt the guardrail, and disappeared into the tangle of scraggly undergrowth. He made his way down the hill and over to the point where the bottom of the bridge touched the shoreline.

A set of stairs led down below the main roadway of the bridge to the construction and maintenance walkways floored with a thick metal mesh. The catwalks hung beneath the bridge as it spanned the Hudson. Chain-link fencing caged the entrance to the stairwell and a stout pad-lock and chain barred intruders, but hardly discouraged a ninja. The wind blew hard along the riverbed and howled through the supports of the bridge. The narrow catwalks swung gracefully among the struts and beams under the road. Once onto the gratings, the turtles would have nothing but a pair of handrails to stop the wind from sweeping them off into the river far below.

Raphael loved the bridge. Mike had found him here plenty of times, though neither of them ever let Leonardo know where Raph had been. The height, the freedom, the danger and the solitude made the catwalks an excellent place for Raph's retreats.

If Leo knew, not only would he interrupt, he would take every opportunity to point out all the dangers of the location. The catwalks had limited escape routes if Raphael was followed and attacked. The bridge was chilly even in the summer, and Raphael could suffer hypothermia by staying there over the winter. Raphael was certain the list would stretch to the Jersey shore and back as to why the bridge was bad news--but what Leo did not know, did not give Raph a headache.

Mike beat Raph to the locked stairwell with ease. He opened his mouth to call Raphael a pipe-licker, but read his brother's face and closed his beak on it. "So, I'll just pick the lock then, shall I?" Mike grinned at Raph who had taken up lookout duties without skipping a beat. "So how often da ya think they replace this padlock? I mean, I got a professional touch with the picks, but even a hand with finesse is gonna damage the lock after a while." Mike did not wait for Raphael's response. He pulled out a small leather kit with his tools and made quick work of the padlock as he carried on. "Somebody somewhere is spending a lot of money on these locks. With as frequently as you hang out here, and the way I've seen you rip up Don's practice locks… You're costing the city a fortune!"

Raphael let his brother prattle away. They had the side of the bridge to themselves. Mike finally folded his tools and moved the chain. "Got it? Good." Raphael asked and answered in the same breath.

"After you!" Mike bowed Raph into the stairwell only to have his hat jerked down over his eyes for his trouble. "Hey!" By the time Mike got his hat unstuck and the padlock reset, Raphael had descended the cold metal stairwell into the deep shadows under the bridge. Joining his brother on the catwalks, Mike only had eyes for the midnight river flowing through the heart of a blackened city.

The walkways swung under his feet and his coat flapped around his legs. Mike held his hat on with one hand and walked carefully, trying not to lose his balance. The wind raced fiercely beneath the bridge and Raphael set a fast pace across the open water. Late fall was not a season for lingering over the river. Mike trotted to keep up with his brother, one hand on the rail that framed the rocking pathways. After the second sharp spur from the cold, uneven metal of the handrail, Mike turned his attention away from the river and began to watch carefully for upcoming rust spots or rough bits on the rails in front of him.

More than half way across, Raphael picked up the pace again. His brother jogged behind him, just as eager as he to get out of the cold on the bridge. Raphael reached the far stairwell, putting his foot down on the first step when he heard, "WHOA-SH--!!" He spun around, not sure what kind of attack to expect. His eyes scanned the air, the water and the bridge behind his crouched brother. Both sais out, Raphael stalked forward slowly. "Mike?" Raphael's eyes watched everything but his brother, still not seeing what had dropped him.

"Ow!!" Mike pressed hands and knees to the metal of the grating, watching the trash that floated along the shoreline though the holes in the mesh as he panted with surprise and pain. "Raph. My Foot. I kinda gotta problem here dude."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Rapheal quit scanning for an attack and eyed his little brother, "What is yer problem!?"

Mike had worked himself into a squatting position. In the deep shadows under the bridge and concealed by his coat, Mike's predicament was not immediately obvious. As Raph approached though, it became plain. Mikey narrowed his eyes and gestured at his foot. "My big, fat toe got stuck in the grating," he said as he tried pulling his leg up. "I'm sorry, but they did NOT have the big-toed in mind when they built this thing," he states.

The turtle grumbled and started trying to work his toe out without a great amount of success. Pain coursed through the large digit with the attempts, causing the ninja to glare at the grating and give a small snarl. He winced and muttered profanities under his breath, shivering in the wind off the river as he studied his toe.

Raph looked back towards the stairwell. They still had the bridge to themselves. Raphael replaced his sais in their holsters. "Aw fer chrissakes, Mike." He watched his little brother jerk at his own leg.

The younger turtle glared in his brother's direction. "Oh come on," Mike said, "Don't tell me this could never have happened to you."

"Ninjas don't get stuck in bridges," Raphael informed him. "Now straighten yer toe and pull it straight out. We got shit ta do tonight..."

"I am a ninja, Raph," Mikey protested, "And I already tried that; 's not working."

Raph grunted and walked over beside his brother. "Pull harder. Lemme help" He gripped Mike's ankle. "On three. One... Two... Three..." He gave the leg a firm tug.

Mikey winced as they both tugged at his leg. "Quit it! It's not working!" The younger turtle tried to wave off the older turtle. "It's not working," he grumbled, "And you'll probably pull my freakin' toe off trying to get it out."

"You wouldn't be stuck then. Here." Raph dug in his belt, searching for his lock pick kit. He fished out a small packet of grease. "Take my lock-grease. If you use it an' yours, you might have enough ta slip the damn thing out." Raph handed it over. "Join me at the top a' the stairs when yer out--if you ain't up there in 10 minutes, i'm comin' back and we're yanking on it till it falls off or comes out."

Mikey frowned at that last part of the statement. He took the grease and nodded before he started working at his toe with both their kits.

Satisfied that Mike could lube his own toe, Raph set off up the stairs. He kept his little brother within earshot, but he was not Leo. He did not need to stand there and baby Mike. Mike was perfectly capable--he could get himself out of there. Raph reached the top of the stairs that emptied out onto the access roads at the base of the bridge. He immediately dropped to a low crouch behind the chain-link gates that barred this end of the catwalks.

A black mercedes benz lurked in the shadows beneath the bridge. The waxed paint and the polished chrome gleamed like liquid where it sat on the pothole-ridden access road. In a poor stretch of town like Queens, the car practically screamed "money." Sure enough, the headlights, the only lights for blocks, had drawn some of the more colorful locals. A gaggle of prostitutes surrounded the car. Very few reasons brought an executive-class vehicle to slum around in Queens--and most of those reasons involved a big paycheck for the girl who got there first.

Raph grunted as the back window rolled down slowly. A few of the girls pressed forward, obviously talking with someone in the car. He toyed with the idea of skipping the drug-dealers and just mugging this rich sonuvabitch. One good look at those women in the light of the car's reflected lights changed his mind quickly.

None of them wore new fashions. None of them looked beautiful anymore. Most were emaciated, either from starvation or drug abuse. An air of desperation and need permeated the group. These were not professional call girls. Raph shook his head. Hanging out on the service roads, these women were at the end of their ropes--back road women: crack whores and other addicts, homeless and turning twenty or ten-dollar sessions because they could not get any better.

Raph bit back another curse and headed back down towards Mikey. Sure, each of them probably had a heart of gold, but odds were they had AIDS too. He snarled as he headed back down the stairs, and vowed to take more canned food and cash by some rehab centers and homeless shelters. He hated this part of living in the city--there were too many folks to ever possibly help.

"Mike? You loose yet?" Raph's voice seemed flatter now. It had lost its urgent edge. Even his stance made it plain he was deeply bothered by something. "Can we go yet?"

Mikey frowned and shook his head. "I dunno how the heck I got this in here in the first place, but it does not want to come back out," he stated. He looked worriedly up at Raph, as though he believed that his brother would have to remove his toe. "How are we gonna explain this to the others," the younger brother worried.

Raph stared past Mike for a moment before shaking his head in return. "First we get you out. Then we say you caught it on a grate. No biggie." He frowned deeply and squatted beside his brother. The wind off the river blew up through the grating. The water and all its garbage made quiet clunking noises as it washed against the shore. Raph felt around the toe. It had been well greased, but was starting to swell. Raphael knew this would hurt his brother a lot, but could not be avoided. "Okay Mike. I need you to take a deep breath. On the count of three, we're gonna start pulling. Slow pressure, so we don't yank yer damn toe off... but it ain't gonna feel good." Raph braced himself and gripped Mike's ankle. "One.... "

Several cries from the head of the stairs ripped through the night and stopped abruptly. Raph reacted instantly, shoving off with both legs in a powerful thrust. His grip on Mike's ankle had not lessened and the toe came lose with pop. The sudden pressure on his arms as he lunged forward jerked Raphael off balance and he snagged a handrail to keep upright. His brother's foot completely forgotten, he charged up the stairwell just in time to see the hulking shadow of a suited figure stuffing something scrawny and limp into the back of the Mercedes.

Mike cried out in surprise. He knew he should be in agonizing pain, but the wind, the cold, the grease, and the adrenaline surge deadened his nerves. The younger brother struggled to stand, his numb digit throwing off his balance. He floundered up the stairs, trying to keep pace with his brother, slower and clumsier despite his efforts. "What's goin' on up there Raph," he called as he stumbled along.

Mike caught Raph's attention for a split second. Seeing his brother standing, Raphael dismissed concern for him and launched a powerful spin-kick at the chain that held the gates closed. If he was lucky, the lock or the chain itself would snap with the cold. Both held firm, the fencing clanging and jangling with the force of his blow. Raphael snarled with frustration. Not only had he alerted the abductor to his presence, he was still barred from any kind of meaningful attack.

The bulky figure startled and scanned the darkness for whatever had come from the gates. The fencing remained closed, but it rattled and banged as Raphael fought to pry the lock open with the long prong of his sai. Spooked and watching over its shoulder, the figure quickly tucked itself into the back seat of the car. The car sat for a split-second longer before the driver to nailed the gas and sent the car squealing onto the bridge. Raph swore loudly, jerking his sai from the stubborn chain with a loud clatter of links and pivoted, nearly trampling Mike in his hurry to beat the car back across the bridge. "C'mon!" Raphael's focus drove his thoughts now—only one problem registered in his mind: the rich man who'd just taken at least one woman against her will. He grabbed at Mike's arm and jerked him to follow. Raphael piled down the stairs, adrenaline surging.

Michaelangelo staggered but spun and chased after his brother as best he could. Feeling slowly returned to his toe with his movement, and he grit his teeth hoping it would pass. "Raph! What happened up there? What are we chasing? Why are we running?"

Raph called behind himself as he ran, "Fuckers Jus'-- Whores-- Trunk!!!" The wind from the river snatched every other word as he charged down the swaying catwalks.

Mikey swallowed his questions and his complaints. Raph did not get this worked up over things that were not important. He grunted every time his injured foot hit the ground, but determinedly pushed onward after his brother.

Raphael had covered more than half the span of the bridge at a break-neck pace when it occurred to him that Mike had fallen behind. He took a quick look over his shoulder and growled. His brother limped along a good 20 yards back favoring his left foot. Raph looked ahead at all the distance yet to cover and snarled. The Mercedes would be long gone by the time he and Mikey got to the other side. Cursing under his breath, Raphael slowed his frantic dash. He slammed a fist into a support girder as Mikey got closer. He strained to remember the full license plate, but only recalled part of the plate: TQ4. "Damnit!"

Mikey came to a stop and frowned at Raph's anger. "Sorry Raph," the younger one spoke through pants and hisses as his foot throbbed. He lifted his left foot and winced. "What was it," he asked, "I couldn't hear ya..."

Raphael gripped the handrail with two hands and stared out across the water. "Some uptown sackashit just stuffed at least one prostitute inta his trunk--but there were way more'a them around the firs' time I looked an' more'n one scream... Sunovabitch's got more than one'uv'em." For the first time, Raph pulled up short and peered over at his brother. His eyes followed Mike's ankle downward. The rage over the mercedes' owner broke suddenly under a cold wave of guilt. "So... what's the foot like...?"

"I'm sorry," Mikey said again, more upset now that he finally understood the situation. He looked down at his toe and tried to move it before wincing again. "Well it doesn't hurt too much...but then, it doesn't do much of anything..."

Raph waved it off. "Ferget the whores. We'll have Donnie file another 'anonymous tip' through the NYPD. Doubt we coulda caught the fuckin' mercedes even without yer toe there." Raph squatted down. "Lift yer bad foot and rest it on my knee. I wanna see this thing."

Mikey furrowed his brows but raised the foot with the injured toe per Raph's request. He rested the foot on his big brother's knee, showing his good and bad toes. The green digit suffered a cut across the top of the joint. It had swollen and Raph could plainly see how it bent at an odd angle. His carelessness had dislocated Mike's toe.

Raphael gave no warning. He gripped the toe and jerked it back towards its proper socket. His other hand came up quickly to steady his brother. The toe snapped into place with a loud crack. Mike went wide-eyed and bit on his lip in an attempt to keep from crying out; the unforeseen pain crackled through his foot and up his leg.

Raph looked down quickly to give his brother as much privacy as he could. "I ain't got nothin ta bind it with... but leavin' it dislocated wasn' an option. I ain't gonna carry yer ass home. ...but if ya need ta lean a bit, s'fine." Raph put Mike's foot on the ground with more care than his tone would suggest. He stood, still not looking at Mike, giving his brother time to get it under control.

Guilt and frustration filled him as he tried to shut out the lecture he could already hear Leonardo giving him. Raph promised himself he'd make it up to Mike. Not in words—Leo put too much stock in spoken apologies and promises. Raphael's apologies were subtler: less teasing, more support, letting Mike pick what they did, and other thoughtful things that avoided a big emotional production or too much fuss. Raphael knew Mike understood. Raph would never have hurt him intentionally. By the same token, Raph would never embarrass either of them by offering some kind of tearful, heart-felt apology. Raphael looked over at his little brother carefully checking for any more damage before offering his shoulder.

The younger brother inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Th-thanks Raph," he said. He hesitated to lean on Raphael's shoulder. Over the years, Mike had come to despise his 'baby brother' status. At times it could be exploited to his benefit, but far more often, it made it difficult for him to earn his brothers' respect as a warrior, ninja, and equal clan member. Mike made a concentrated effort to hide suffering; he hated feeling like the wuss of the family. Yet even with his pride, he had to admit that his foot stabbed with pain. He snuck a peek at Raphael's guilty expression and knew that his brother would not ridicule him for this. Feeling relieved, Mike took Raph's shoulder and they began the long, slow trek back to the lair.

Within the sub-basement levels of the power plant, the three warlocks, clothed in wrinkled patchwork robes, circled their captive six times. They lit candles at six points in the room, corresponding to the six points of the etching chiseled into the ceiling and chalked directly beneath it on the floor. Their victim sat on an iron chair on a raised platform at the center of the arcane markings. Beneath the slats of the chair, a deep and narrow pit pulsed with a malignant heartbeat. The darkness from the pit seemed to radiate outward as light would and repulsed the sputtering, sallow glow of the tapers.

The warlocks' victim stared straight ahead, an expression of rage and disgust twisting her features. Her eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance and she paid no mind to the figures that chanted slurred syllables around her. She spat out insults and slurs, damning her children and her husband, her sisters and her mother, herself and her God. Frothing, bubbling saliva dribbled down her chin from between her yellowing and rotted teeth. Her hate flowed from her as if pulled, and on the currents of magic wound into the room, it funneled downward, feeding the object in the pit beneath her chair.

To Be Continued!!
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Hey gang! Carrots here again! I swear there ARE two of us. Peas is very shy... but there ARE two of us. Hope you're approaching the edge of your seat, because we've shown you just the tip of the iceburg. The fic will plummet into "R" rating after this, as we find out more about the Villians and their gruesome MASTERPLAN (tm). I do hope you enjoyed it and continue to read, even after we drop off the main "TMNT FanFic" page and you have to SEARCH for "all RATINGS" to pull up our fic. Again, we're anxious for feedback... who isn't? though i think it's cause we don't get hugged enough at home. ;P

Thank you for your time, regardless of reviews or not. And NO. I'm not rooting for the baddies or encouraging anyone to turn their OWN lives to that of crime and murder. ...it's strictly a "Kids, Don't Try This At Home," kinda thing. Children should eat all their broccoli and read lots and lots of comics. Not play with candles.

--Carrots