Disclaimer: We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to write a little fan fiction. Be aware of some naughty words.

A/N: Thanks for the great response to the first chapter everyone! It sounds like there is a brewing interest from a lot of people to write for this fic, so we might have a long one folks. I'm sure that it will make it around eventually to everyone that wants to!

Chapter 2 written by Sassyblondexoxo and Dierdre. Go read their stories.

DOS

Sassyblondexoxo:

(Casey's POV)

Kayla Schultz was beautiful. No, not just beautiful – an absolute knockout. She was standing at the end bar, half smiling at me, absently clicking her long fingernails against the empty glass sitting in front of her. As the bartender came to hand me my change, I shook my head, telling him to keep it for the lady's next drink. He nodded, giving me a wink.

God I wanted her. At least for one night. I mean, how did I know that she wasn't an absolute bitch? I'd never talked to her. I'd seen her here three weekends in a row, bought her a drink each time, and still didn't have the balls to talk to her. Why? Even I wasn't sure. I'd never had trouble talking to women before…or taking them home. But there was something different about Kayla. For some reason, she had me petrified.

"How's it goin' over here?" Raph nudged me in the side with his elbow, nearly sending me sprawling. I gave him a nasty look, then brought my beer bottle back to my lips, savoring the first sips from the cold bottle.

"It's goin'."

"Talk to her yet?" He flicked his head toward Kayla, still at the bar. She was being handed a brand new glass of red wine.

"Nuh uh. But I'm gonna, soon as I finish this one," I replied, nodding at my beer.

Raph chuckled slightly, pulling his head down lower into his shirt collar. "You better start drinking faster."

Shit. She was coming toward us.

Dressed in nothing but a tight red dress and high heels, I was mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she walked. She wasn't wearing any jewelry; she didn't need too. Thick blonde hair hanging nearly to her waist was the only adornment that she needed. Blue eyes, fine bones…achingly beautiful. I felt my mind start to spin. Red dress…slim, tall in her heels…blonde hair, red dress…

Smiling…moist, glistening lips…

Red dress…

And then she was gone. I was left staring at the ceiling, still hungover, laying face up in my bed.

Damn. Just a dream. A partially true account of last night's events, but a dream none the less. I shut my eyes again, trying to bring back the picture of her to my mind. Kayla had been at the bar, and I had bought her a drink…but she'd never talked to me. Nope, the stuck-up girl had taken her wine glass, hardly even looked at me, and then joined her girlfriends back at their table in the corner. I didn't see her the rest of the night. I was doomed to spend the next few hours in the company of Raph and a few of the other guys playing pool, slowly drinking myself into a stupor.

Oh well. There was always next Friday.

The alarm clock sitting beside the bed was blinking red light into the corner. I turned my head, wiping the gunk from my eyes so that I could see the numbers. 9:48. Jeez, I'd slept the entire day away. And I still felt like crap.

Gathering myself up to a sitting position, I paused for several minutes, scratching at my greasy hair and trying to get my bearings. Food. I was starving. Caffeine. There had to be some coffee around here somewhere.

Mustering strength, I climbed my way to the kitchen. As soon as I stepped on to the linoleum, something sharp pierced into my big toe, causing me to wince and yell out a short string of obscenities.

"What the…" A piece of mummified pizza crust had cut into the flesh of my foot. It was so hard, it had to have being lying around for at least a few weeks. Man, when was the last time I'd cleaned? I couldn't even remember.

I tossed the offending crust into the sink, then grabbed the coffee pot out of the nearest cupboard. I filled it with water before opening the freezer.

Of course, the coffee can was empty.

"Crap," I muttered, slamming the freezer door shut and rummaging around in a drawer, relaxing when I found a small bag of instant coffee with enough granules for one good cup. Unwilling to wait for the water to boil, I dumped the powder into a mug, filled it to the brim with hot water, and took a huge swig. It wasn't good. It was barely even mixed. But it had caffeine and just enough taste to settle my nerves and my churning stomach.

Next was the bathroom. My bladder was screaming for release. I sipped the coffee while I walked, continuing to drink even as I stood in front of the toilet. Though the door was mostly closed, the sound of teenagers yelling on the street outside my apartment still tickled my ears. Yep, the Saturday night crowd was just beginning to come out. For once, I didn't feel like joining them. I was ready to kick back on the couch, order in some take-out, and piss away the next few hours watching TV.

I thought about taking a shower. Quickly realizing that I didn't have anyone to impress, I decided instead to just wash my face and pull my hair back into a messy ponytail. Draining the rest of the coffee, I left the mug on the counter, then pulled open the door to leave the bathroom.

I barely made it a step. Sucking in a sharp breath, I felt the sensation of cold steel on the side of my temple. Its touch whisper light, but dangerous enough to make my blood run cold. What the…

I could see three men in my peripheral vision – they each wore black from head to toe, ski masks covering their faces, brandishing automatic weapons across their shoulders. They held a relaxed posture. Obviously they felt no threat from me with a gun to my temple. My head shifted slightly, trying to get a better look at the attacker standing beside me, but as I did so, he grabbed my arm roughly and dug the weapon into my flesh.

His voice was low. Menacing. He meant business.

"I'm only going to ask you once. Where is he?"

Dierdre:

"…Huh?"

Okay, so it wasn't the most brilliant response, but give me a break here. I was feeling a little unbalanced. The hangover gnomes were busily mining a tunnel through my aching skull, my tongue felt furry despite the coffee, and now some goon was waving a gun at me and spouting gibberish. Not a good way to start the day.

He prodded my temple with the muzzle of his weapon, hard enough to make me wince. "Don't be cute with me, Mr. Jones. You haven't got the legs for it."

Either my captor had a sense of humor, or he was coming on to me. Guess which one I was hoping for.

"Look, man," I said, in my best 'talking to crazy people' voice, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Who's he?"

I must have sounded convincingly confused, because the three men at the edges of my sight exchanged glances with one another. One tightened his grip on the stock of his weapon and rocked back slightly on his heels. An unconscious, nervous gesture.

Only the comedian at my back seemed unfazed. "You and that squat friend of yours have spent the last three Fridays at The Deadline. The same bar, coincidentally enough, that Ms. Shultz also frequented. My sources say you bought her a drink on each occasion, and I can only assume information was also exchanged."

Another prod against the side of my head, quick and brutal. In the increasingly unlikely chance I lived to see tomorrow, I was going to have one hell of a bruise. "Just what did she tell you, Mr. Jones?"

This 'Mister' thing was really starting to piss me off, but when I spoke next I was careful to keep my voice mild. Rule 101 of urban survival; no matter how annoyed you get, never raise your voice around gun-wielding sociopaths.

"The only reason I bought her drinks was 'cause I liked the way her tits bounced when she walked. I wasn't 'exchanging information', or any of that James Bond shit. I didn't even talk to her. I was just trying to get laid."

"Ms. Shultz was the key to finding the one we're looking for, but since she has inconveniently disappeared, we're now left with just you. If you'll level with us, then we'll consider letting you live a while longer. Call it a reward for services rendered." The comedian's voice hardened further, changing to a timbre that was as cold and inflexible as steel. "But if you insist on pretending at ignorance…"

He let the sentence trail off, but the threat still hung heavy in the air, no less potent for not having been spoken. Unless I fessed up, this bastard had no qualms about letting daylight into my skull. And since I didn't know jack about any missing people... it was about to get a whole lot messier in here.

On the bright side, at least then I wouldn't have to clean.

I slowly raised my hands until they were even with my collarbones, an apparently submissive gesture that brought my hands closer to the gun. I didn't see a way out of this, short of divine intervention or a timely earthquake, but I was determined to be ready. Just in case.

"I told you the truth, but that doesn't mean you gotta kill me. I've got connections all around New York. I can help you, man. Make… inquiries and stuff. If you just give me some time I can find Kayla and that other guy for you."

It was all complete bull, of course. I didn't know anyone, aside from April and the guys, and my skills leaned more towards skull-bashing than espionage. I was just stalling for time.

Apparently the nervous guy thought so too, because he made an impatient sound and said, "He doesn't know anything, boss. Let's just pop him now and get outta here. We don't have much time left."

The rest of the peanut gallery didn't speak, but simply inclined their heads in silent agreement. Although these two seemed more self-contained, they still exuded a quiet aura of impatience and perpetual anxiety. One surreptitiously wrung his free hand at his side, as if his palms were sweating beneath the gloves.

These guys were frightened and jittery as hell. But why?

I guess I would never know, because Boss Man sighed lowly. His breath tickled the back of my neck, a brief rush of warmth against my chilled skin. "I'm afraid my compatriot is right. We still have much to do before the sun rises."

These enigmatic words were punctuated by the quiet 'snick' of a hammer being cocked. The gesture was unnecessary with most modern pistols, yet still effective at inspiring terror. I glared at the trio beside me and defiantly stiffened my spine, but my mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and it felt like my heart had stopped beating.

Shot execution-style in my underwear. I really, really didn't want to die like this.

"Goodbye, Mr. Jones."

"It's Casey, you fuck."

Boss Man paused as if startled, and then threw back his head and laughed.