Part 10

On the camera screen, grainy footage came in and out of focus. The camera tilted wildly, pointing at the ground for a moment as someone adjusted the resolution, and then came up again to better film what was now obviously a brick wall. A row of lights evenly dotted the wall near the ceiling.

"Dude." Michelangelo breathed out in surprise. "Check out the far wall. Are those electric lights still burning?"

From somewhere out of sight, Donatello answered.

"I don't think those are electrical. I think it's holes in the wall. They would have put long rivets or screws through the bricks to anchor either track lighting or electrical casings, but those rusted over time. The screws fall out and you get little shafts of light left behind."

"Cooool."

The video blurred, then sharpened, zooming in on what was now obviously cracked mortar. The camera slowly swept across piles of debris and the broken beams in the ceiling where parts of the ceiling had caved in.

"Dunno how far we wanna go in. That roof doesn't look all that steady."

"I don't think we want to climb over all that stuff, either. Very loose. It could shift under you and then a hundred years of rusted steel is falling on top of you."

"Then we can just film here. I mean, you found the train. That's pretty amazing in itself."

"Dude, right? Okay." Michelangelo took a deep breath and put on his best presenter voice. "We're under the old Atlantic Avenue tunnel, also known as Cobble Hill. Not easy to find, but hey, that means no security guards, right? They used to give tours here, but as you can kinda see, the ground is really dangerous and the ceiling looks like it might come down any minute."

"Don't exaggerate," Donatello said. "It's not that bad unless there's an earthquake."

"Which could totally strike at any moment," Michelangelo added. "Don't listen to my brother. He's a big worry wart usually. Not as bad as my other brothers, but yeah."

"Hey, you invited me to come—"

"Anyway, there was always a kind of legend that there was a train walled up somewhere down here, kinda like that episode of Thomas the Tank Engine. Seriously, that was one messed up kids show. Who the heck walls up someone—?"

"Focus, Mikey."

"Yeah, yeah, you realize I gotta bleep that out." Michelangelo sighed and kept talking to the audience. "Okay, sorry about the little jump cut—my bro' said my name and I wanna keep this totally anonymous. Too risky legally, know what I'm saying?"

"Sorry, sorry." Donatello huffed. "I'm not used to having to watch what I say."

"It's the first time I brought a camera with us," Michelangelo said for the audience. "But me and my bros do this so often that this is pretty normal. Discovering weird new things, I mean. Like, Donny is sweeping the light over—oh dammit, I did it this time."

"S'okay, just go straight to the train."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, so here's the train. You can kinda make out the shape of it in the light, but dude, that is one deep tunnel there. We brought a huge flashlight and it's barely reaching the bell back there. But if you look close, you can also make out the...what is that?"

"The smokestack," Donatello said. "You can see its axles just above the rails, but the whole thing is really rusted over. There must have been a flood, or lots of floods. Look, you can even see the high water mark on the walls. Good thing there hasn't been a storm for awhile."

"Man," Michelangelo sighed, tilting the camera and annoyed at how the dark swallowed up the light. "I really wanna get in there. This thing is practically mythological! No fair that I can't get in for a good look."

"Well..."

Donatello's voice bore all the exhaustion of months and years of creating machines for his brother, and all the hesitation of someone who simply can't say no.

"If you got your hands on a drone," Donatello said. "I could put a camera on it. It doesn't have to be a great drone, just one that hovers pretty steady."

"Really?"

If they could have recorded themselves, the audience would have seen Michelangelo's big puppy eyes focused squarely on Donatello. With a long suffering sigh, Donatello turned and started leading the way from the train, heading down another tunnel. Behind him, Michelangelo turned the light to its dimmest setting and pointed it down, blocking most of the light.

"It would have to be steady," Donatello said, cautioning him, trying to put limits on the sun and the moon that might Michelangelo might ask for. "Nothing expensive, but it can't be junk, either. It needs to be reliable."

"That means we'll have to test it out, right?" Michelangelo grinned. "That means we can fly it all through the underground to make sure it's good. I can take shots of the lair—"

"Not if you don't want Leo to brain you."

"He'd never so much as bruise me," Michelangelo said. "But Raph...now him, I'll have to hide from after I buzz him a few times."

"No buzzing anyone," Donatello said.

"Aw, but Donny..."

"You buzz Raph and he'll pin the poor drone to the wall."

"Yeah, that's probably true. We could—"

A light had swung down the tunnel and vanished again.

They both fell silent. Someone was moving further in the tunnel.

"How far do you think that was?" Michelangelo whispered.

"Too far to tell," Donatello whispered back. "This tunnel has three main access points. But I'll bet it's down near the end. They probably didn't even hear us."

"Should we follow them?"

Donatello grimaced. He did not like being in the position of taking charge.

"I don't like someone being down here and we don't know about it," Donatello said. "Um...what would Leo do?"

"Prance around like Zorro?"

"Mikey!" Donatello snapped, but he snickered despite himself. He didn't feel very charitable towards his brother, not after two nights of no communication. "That's not helping."

"Um, yell out something about justice and charge forward?"

"Not accurate. Raph got him to stop doing that."

"Never stops being funny." Michelangelo held up his hands as Donatello smacked him. "Ow, ow, okay, fine. Let's go all stealthy like and spy on them."

"Sounds good," Donatello said. "Keep the light off."

"Yeah, yeah." Michelangelo doused the light and hung it on his belt. "You're getting as gloomy as he is."

"I'd have to disagree with that," Donatello said, "since I'm not perched on buildings acting like Batman."

"Batman's not a thief," Michelangelo said. "Catwoman."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

"Pfft. He doesn't like it, he can try staying home for more than a few days at a time." Michelangelo managed to whine even in a whisper. "Thinks he can disappear again and he hasn't been back more'n a couple weeks."

They were coming down the middle of the tunnel, now close enough to hear footsteps and the sound of men speaking in hushed tones. Michelangelo and Donatello clung to either side of the tunnel, bent low so that any stray light passed over them. A man's voice called out, startlingly loud in the still air.

"Speed it the fuck up—we're late as it is!"

"You carry these damn things and tell us to hurry," another one said. "How come I can't be the one with the paint?"

"You couldn't spray a straight line, how you gonna tag up doors anywhere? We'd be the Diablo Triangles if you did it."

"We don't gotta paint here anyway. Look, there's a mark here already."

Donatello and Michelangelo shared a look. The gang their brother was looking for, and they had stumbled onto a handful of them moving something. Nodding once, they wordlessly followed, trailing several meters behind as the gang alternated carrying and dragging a wooden crate down the tunnels.

"Driving this would've been a whole fuckton faster."

"And a fuckton easier to spot." Someone yelped as they were hit. "Glowing purple shit kinda stands out."

"Not in a truck, pinche guey."

"You gotta get it to the truck first, dumbass."

The dragging went on for some time. Then the sound stopped, and one of them jumped up to sit on the box. An aluminum can cracked open with a hiss. Donatello and Michelangelo recognized the sound from Raphael's beer breaks and squatted down to wait, listening as the men continued speaking.

"Hey."

"What?"

"How much you think it cost to grab this shit?"

"More'n it is to move it."

"Naw man, seriously. You've seen the site. It takes some serious bank to get some of these things. I bet you glowing stuff gets a thousand more, easy."

"Why? You thinking of turning into a thief?" A snort. "Too much work. I'd rather try pulling hits. That looks a lot easier."

"A lot cheaper, too. Come on, pendejo, wouldn't it be cooler to be all Ghosting through the city?"

"Ghosting? Man, you know that's just some newspaper trying to drum up sales."

"Fantasma's real! I know the guy that shot him."

"Wasn't no proof."

"Ain't no proof 'cause he's a ghost!"

"Ain't no body 'cause he don't exist."

"Look, vato. My cousin, last night, put two rounds right through him. He said it himself."

"I ain't buying it. No body, no proof."

The crate started sliding again. As they followed, Michelangelo glanced at Donatello, his eyes wide.

Donatello shook his head. They were trailing dangerous Diablo Puerto gang members. He couldn't let himself worry if their big brother had been shot and lay dying somewhere, especially since Leonardo didn't see fit to call for help.

A grate popped open overhead, and bright light filled the tunnel so that it lit several meters in both directions. The two turtles leaped backward, comfortably ensconced in the dark as more men jumped down, as ropes dropped in after them.

"Dude," someone called from above. "That looks heavy as hell. Why didn't you just drive it here?"

"That's what I said!"

Donatello tapped Michelangelo's shoulder, pointing up. With a nod, Michelangelo followed him back down the tunnel and around another curve, heading up a ladder and lifting the first manhole cover just enough to peer out of.

"Where are we?" Donatello called.

"Looks like right past the Mule's Kick bar," Michelangelo said. "Got a bunch of 'em going in and out the warehouse on the corner."

"So how come we never spotted them before?" Donatello said. "That's not far from April's place."

"It's not like on the 'corner' corner," Michelangelo said. "More like the corner of the alley. There's another place after that on the street, and then there's no real streetlights here. Hard to see."

"Okay, so we found it." Donatello stepped back so Michelangelo could drop down again, landing in front of him. "Now what?"

"Now we tell...oh, right." Michelangelo sighed and lightly punched his hand. "'Cause Leo's being all broody and gone, and Raph's being a sullen, moody brat."

"They're both being brats," Donatello said.

"Then I guess there's only one choice." Michelangelo struck a heroic pose. "We'll just have to go in and be badass enough to take on the whole damn gang. Two against many—ninja versus small army."

"Or we can drag Raph here."

Michelangelo huffed dramatically. "Or we can drag Raph here. I prefer standing behind a bullet proof tank, too."

They began the run home, putting as much distance as they could between themselves as the gang before they felt safe enough to chat normally. Very rarely did they meet humans or other creatures underground. Only when they passed the familiar traps and cameras that Donatello had set up did they begin speaking at their usual volume.

"It's not bullet proof," Donatello said. "Close, but not quite."

"Beats a scarf any day," Michelangelo said.

"He's not trying to deflect projectiles," Donatello said.

"Nope," Michelangelo said. "Just responsibility."

"Ouch." Donatello winced. "A little harsh? Splinter wants to send him away for a whole year."

Michelangelo sighed, not a little sigh for when Splinter caught him shirking his chores but a big one, usually meant when he missed an episode of Cat Warriors from Galoob.

"I get it," he said. "It sucks. But hiding ain't gonna convince Splinter he shouldn't go."

"Easy to say when you're not the one being sent away," Donatello said. "Or the one Splinter keeps staring at."

"I wonder how he even figured it out," Michelangelo said. "I mean, I wouldn't have guessed, ever. You guys hide it pretty good."

"So do you and Raph."

"Raph hides it good. He's kinda like a Tootsie Pop. Hard ass on the outside, big softy in the middle."

Donatello snorted. "If Raph wasn't such a hard ass, Leo might not've run off like this."

Michelangelo frowned. Donatello didn't grumble easily, and that sounded less hurt and more resentful. He couldn't let his brother stew on this. An angry Donatello was terrifying to behold.

Raphael would owe him for running interference.

"Look at it from Raph's point of view," Michelangelo said. "We've been taking down bad guys forever, and then suddenly Leo goes off like a super villain."

"He's not acting like a supervillain."

"Is he or is he not wearing a cape?"

"It's a scarf."

"And kilts are just plaid skirts," Michelangelo said.

"Well, Raph's off and playing supervillain, too."

"Whoa whoa whoa, he's playing superhero, thank you very much."

"Is he or is he not beating up random people and destroying property?"

"He's beating up bad guys!"

"There is no way in hell those people are getting trials and convictions. They could be tied up with a little note on them saying what they did—doesn't matter. Won't hold up in a court of law. Admit it—he's just tanking through the neighborhood blowing off steam. How's that much different from what stupid Fantasma's doing?"

"You know, you can be as big of a buzzkill as Leo sometimes."

They finally reached the lair, falling silent as they entered. Splinter and Raphael sat in front of the television, their brother looking increasingly awkward while Splinter glared at the screen.

"—gang warfare claims three more lives today after a deadly shootout between the Latin Kings and Diablo Puerto. In related news, police are refusing to confirm rumors about Diablo Puerto's involvement in the theft of radioactive material from Comvia Corps laboratories. Comvia Corps refused an interview and only replied through email, saying that they cannot comment on ongoing investigations—"

Raphael spotted his siblings and stood up quickly, hurrying away from the anger radiating from their father.

"Anything?" Raphael whispered.

Donatello frowned, biting his lip, and Michelangelo smacked Raphael's shoulder good-naturedly.

"Are you kidding?" he laughed. "We found it! It's a little hard to get at so Don's gonna order us a drone so we can fly it in—says it's too dangerous to creep in there ourselves—"

"Huh?" Raphael blinked.

"You know," Michelangelo said, glancing briefly at Splinter. "The train? The one I was looking for?"

Another long moment passed before Raphael's eyes widened in understanding. He leaned back, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, right, the train. The one that got buried. Right." He laughed once weakly. "So, uh, where was it? Was it where you expected it?"

"Kinda," Michelangelo said. "But we're gonna need your help moving some stuff over there. The gear we need'll be kinda heavy."

"Uh, sure. Right." Raphael coughed and glanced over his shoulder. "Um, sensei? Is it okay if I help them move their gear?"

"Of course," Splinter said, still staring at the screen. "I doubt that any of you will run away, after all."

All three of them winced. After respectful bows, they hurried past into Donatello's workroom, closing the door again.

"Holy crap," Michelangelo whispered. "Has he been like that all day?"

"You have no idea," Raphael hissed. "He said meditation ain't working for him today. He's barely left the tv. He was like sitting right on top of my Nightwatcher gear all day. I kept freaking out that he was gonna drop his cane and look under the couch and bam, then I'll be sent off to Mexico, too."

"Gautamala's not Mexico," Donatello said automatically.

"Whatever."

"Is your gear still under the couch?" Michelangelo asked.

Raphael shook his head. "Nah, he went to make tea a little while ago. Moved everything here while he wasn't looking. Geez, if he had caught me..."

"Oh, please," Donatello said. "You're not the one next on his hit list. I'm the one he knows Leo was with."

"'Was'?" Raphael wondered.

"Screw you," Donatello said, punching his shoulder. "I'm just as pissed with him, but I'm not hanging him out to dry, neither."

"But why's Splinter getting so angry?" Michelangelo asked. "He hasn't been like this in a long time."

"Uh, one of his sons is a criminal and screwing Donnie's brains out?" Raphael said.

"He does not—" Donatello started.

"Wait, he knows about the Ghost?" Michelangelo asked. "I thought he didn't know that part."

"He doesn't," Raphael said. "But he's not dumb. Leo takes off and suddenly the gangers are all over the news talking about Fantasma taking them out? Put two and two together, duh."

"It's not like we're the only colorful characters in the city," Donatello said, but he sighed as he said it. "Still. He hasn't been seen, right?"

"No, but you didn't hear the early report. That was just the condensed version. I ain't kidding—there's like ten, twenty guys all swearing that the Ghost beat 'em up and took whatever it was they were trying to steal—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Donatello said. "What'd he take?"

Raphael narrowed his eyes. "Seriously, Donnie?"

"Yes, seriously," Donatello said. "If I know what he grabbed, I might be able to reference it on the site. It might tell us where he'll go next."

"Or tell you how much it's worth." Raphael huffed. "Face it, you can't fence what you ain't got—"

A flush colored Donatello's face. "You self-righteous fucking—"

Michelangelo darted between them, pushing Donatello away and then holding Raphael at arm's length, digging in his feet as Raphael leaned hard.

"Quit it," Michelangelo snapped. "Both of you! This ain't helping!"

"Maybe caving in his teeth'll help," Raphael growled. "You ain't been running interference with Splinter all day. You got no idea how deep Leo's digging his damn grave right now."

"Uh, yeah, maybe I do," Donatello snarled. "You aren't the one Splinter's glaring at all the time. He might blame Leo, but he's looking at me like I'm crap."

"And Leo's out there alone and probably shot," Michelangelo said.

Donatello winced as Raphael looked down at their brother.

"What?" Raphael waited for an answer and only saw their hurt expressions. "What do you mean, 'probably shot'?"

"We..." Michelangelo sighed. "We came back 'cause we saw Diablo Puerto guys carting something back to their homebase. One of 'em said his cousin had put two rounds in the Ghost."

Raphael thought they might have more information than that. When nothing was offered, he grimaced.

"Hold on," he said, backing away and shaking his head. "I don't...that can't be right. That ain't true. 'Cause if it was, then we'd of heard about it, right? Dead mutant turtle would kinda make the headlines."

"He could be wounded," Donatello said. "I mean, he's stubborn enough to not call for help."

Raphael thought that over, meeting Donatello's gaze. Neither of them spoke, considering how their brother could occasionally behave just as recklessly as...well, as the rest of them.

"Fuck." Raphael heaved out a long sigh, running a hand down his face. "Shit. We gotta go find him."

"Find a ninja in New York? That ninja?" Michelangelo scoffed. "Not if he doesn't let us."

Raphael flinched. That came too close to the truth, even if he was chasing Leonardo just in arm's reach. How many times had his brother outrun him and then waited for him to catch up?

"But we do know where Diablo Puerto is," Donatello said. "If we take them out, Leo comes back home."

None of them responded to that. As soon as Leonardo came home, Splinter would order him away. For a year? Maybe it was better to have Leonardo hidden here in New York.

"Where are they?" Raphael asked.

"Right by the Mule's Kick bar," Michelangelo said. "The one by—"

"I know it," Raphael said. "Me and Casey swing by there sometimes."

"Of course you do," Donatello grumbled, then held his hands up as Raphael turned. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean that to come out so snarky."

"Right," Raphael said, but he didn't argue. "Okay, so what? We take 'em out tonight?"

"It's just one gang," Michelangelo said. "And we don't have to beat up everyone. Just take out the head dude and the rest scatter, right?"

"I don't think it's that easy," Donatello said. "But the sooner they're gone, the sooner Leo comes home."

Raphael frowned. "This...don't sound as good as what Leo usually comes up with."

"It does sound kinda more like a Raph plan," Michelangelo said.

But none of them could offer anything better.

They left the lair, carting heavy boxes and quietly inclining their heads to their master. Splinter watched them go, a stern wordless gaze as they closed the door again. Then he turned his attention back to the news again, waiting for any hint of his wayward son.

Diablo Puerto laid easy claim to the warehouse behind the bar. Two lookouts leaned against the corner, watching both alleys that converged on the old building. The windows had been covered with either plywood or old shutters. Several second story windows were broken and blocked with rusted metal cabinets or palettes. The few windows that they could see through showed several men moving back and forth.

"Can you tell how many?" Raphael asked, already clothed in his Nightwatcher gear.

"Not a clue," Donatello said. "Could be ten, could be a hundred."

On the roof of the bar, they crouched behind the high ledge and unloaded the boxes they had carried. Smoke bombs filled one of them, while Michelangelo curiously examined a strange oblong cylinder from the other box.

"So what's this?" he asked, tapping the pin at the top.

"Careful!" Donatello whispered. "It's a flash grenade. I don't have that many, and they're really explosive."

"Like a real grenade?" Raphael asked, taking two for himself.

"No, they just explode real loud and bright," Donatello said. "But they can burn, so throw it really far if you're going to use it."

"And don't throw it around us," Michelangelo said.

"And the other box?" Raphael asked.

"...medical supplies," Donatello said slowly. "Bandages, pain killers, the usual. Just in case."

Just in case of what did not have to be explained.

"So..." Michelangelo said. "Is it gonna be 3, 2, 1, go, or 3, 2, and 1 is go?"

"I think most of them are on the first floor," Donatello said. "Not that many moving around on top."

"I'll take the bottom," Raphael said. "Keep 'em busy. You two should go up high, find anything interesting, break everything else."

"You sure you'll be okay?" Donatello asked. "The armor's good, but it won't stop that many bullets."

"Who said they're gonna hit me?" Raphael said, audibly smiling as he gathered up a pair of flash grenades. "'Sides, I toss a couple of these in first, and they ain't gonna do squat."

"Okay," Michelangelo said. "So we know what we're doing, right? We're good to go?"

"I...I think so," Donatello said. His face said that he wished someone else was calling the shots.

"Hey, don't worry," Raphael said, clapping his shoulder. "We got this. And when we're done, we light this mofo up so bright they'll see it across...the...shit."

Donatello and Michelangelo glanced up at him, then followed his look across the rooftops to the next building over.

Silhouetted against the moonlight, Leonardo stood up from landing, brushing off his shoulders and flinching as he moved his arm too far. The scarf around him couldn't hide his limp as he came closer to the edge, staring at the warehouse. He hadn't seen his brothers, too focused on the hideout before him.

"Oh no," Donatello whispered. "He's hurt. He's—"

He moved to raise his hand, only to have it pushed down by Raphael.

"Don't you dare," Raphael hissed. "You want to get everyone's attention?"

"Dammit," Donatello whispered, fumbling with his communicator. "Dammit, dammit...come on, pick up, just—"

Before he could finish, Leonardo had backed up several feet, took a deep breath, and then sprinted to the edge. A vault, and then the sound of exploding glass as he crashed through one of the windows that they couldn't see.

"New plan," Raphael yelled over the sound of gunshots. "Go go go!"