A/N: Yeah, I'm a throw-back. Like, waaaaaaay back. As in, Frank Sinatra owns my soul. And so when I was watching Some Like It Hot last night (my favorite movie, go watch it nooooooow!!) and got the inspiration for this, I just had to do it. It's going to be a pretty long fic, I think, so stick with me.
Agh, I loooooooooooooove fedoras!!! AGH! Also, rating will increase with subsequent chapters, expect sexy confrontations and lots of underlying tension, LxLight and MattxMello on the side.
Review, and I will love you forever. And know that this is either a fantastic idea that I should work on with verve, or it sucks and the only person who will get pleasure from it will be me.
Disclaimers: I do not own Death Note or Some Like it Hot.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Light shrugged further into his overcoat as the infamous Windy City lived up to its name. He turned the corner of a skyscraper and walked full blast into the wind, the gale force gusts nearly ripping his stripped fedora off his head. Stepping around several snow banks built up against the curb, he fought with the wind to force an inconspicuous black door open, struggling again to pull it closed.
The sudden silence after all the roaring noise out on the streets set him off balance for a minute, and Light had to take a moment to collect himself in the dimly lit hallway, the snow starting to melt and drip from his shoulders. He really needed to invest in a better overcoat.
Finally the cold was seeping out of his bones, and Light had become accustomed to the indoor lighting and the relative silence. Sighing resignedly, he walked down the plushy carpeted hallway to the door with the frosted pane reading "Yagami Light, Special Unit Director". Entering the small, familiar room, he greeted his partner in crime-fighting, who went by the alias of Matt.
They gave each other a nod of long familiarity, and Light went to sit behind the unoccupied desk; the only other desk in the room being Matt's. Tossing his hat expertly onto the hat rack near the door, Light pulled his case files for the day from the inbox on his desk and set about addressing the city of Chicago's deplorable alcoholism.
Yes, it was 1929, the age of Prohibition, and Light's job on the police force was to investigate all reports of a violation, and, if possible, go in and arrest the perpetrators.
It was a thankless and nearly impossible job. An estimated 90% of the U.S. population was against prohibition, and it showed. He was constantly busting undercover booze joints, and the overnight jail cells were overflowing.
The police were truly hated in this day and age, Light contemplated. They were viewed as oppressors, limiting the populace's freedom and arresting half the country on the basis of a law that was having the opposite of its intended effect. By banning alcohol, the government had simply made it that much more desirable.
In an unprecedented turn of events, the roles of villains and good guys had become reversed. It was the smugglers, the bootleggers who were the heroes and respected men of the day. They represented the population's unrest; their desire to subvert a government that was denying them a simple pleasure to which they had become accustomed.
Deep in thought, Light didn't notice he was worrying the tip of his fountain pen between his lips until it was too late. Matt helpfully handed over the embroidered handkerchief from his breast-pocket so Light could mop up the mess, all without glancing up from his paperwork.
Figuring that the blue stain on his lip would disappear eventually, and that he didn't have a little lady to impress in any case, Light got down to business.
After quickly dismissing the first two case reports as frauds, Light lit upon the third, and definitely most interesting, file on his desk.
The 'L' case.
L, as he called himself, was the runner of the biggest underground bar chain in all of Chicago. Although it should have been easy to catch such a large operation, the police force had made zero ground on it, due entirely to L's genius.
The man was a master criminal. He only let slip information that he wanted to be known, and while the police found it impossible to locate even one of his 'establishments', patrons had no trouble finding an "L bar", or getting a hold of the password required for entrance. It was unutterably aggravating for Light, who had caught every criminal he'd ever set his sights upon. That is, every criminal except for L.
No one even knew what L looked like; it would be virtually impossible to arrest him without a witness confirming that he was in fact L, and even then they may be lying, or could be double-agents. The whole business gave Light a massive headache.
But this…this ragged sheet of paper was Light's salvation. With this information, so quietly placed on his desk by one of the many secretaries in his department, Light could finally solve his biggest case. With the reward money he would get for bringing in L, he could finally advance in the police force. Finally live up to his father's name.
Above all things, Light believed in justice, even if the population at large was against him. And now…now he had L's password, and the location of one of his smaller but more popular underground bars. Game, set, and match.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
L looked Mello over once more in the back room before he sent the boy out on stage. Mello's corseted mini dress, every inch of it covered with sparkling silver baubles, cinched in his already slim waist, adding curves to the illusion.
Tilting his head and considering the overall effect, L ran a bristle brush through Mello's hair to make it lay straighter, sweeping his bangs across his face.
Mello's extravagantly painted red lips smiled up at him, and sparkle-lined, mascara laden eyelashes fluttered. "How do I look?" he lilted in an airy, feminine voice not his own.
L pretended to seriously consider it for a minute. Then, digging a diamond-studded hair pin from his endless pockets, he pinned a section of Mello's hair back from his face.
"There, perfect. Go show them what they think they want".
And with that, Mello strutted out on stage to the bawdy roars of the drunken men populating L's smallest, and most frequented, establishment.
It was L's most popular underground bar for a reason, and that reason was Mello. He and L had joined forces early on, almost as soon as they'd heard of each other's existence. At first each had planned to have their boys off the other, before they had realized they could do better business together than alone.
L had the brains for the outfit, and Mello had the, well, it couldn't be called brawn, exactly…but the body, at least.
See, there was nothing men sipping illegal alcohol liked better than a little show with their demitasse. And Mello was the best show in the tri-state area. So L kept his actual gender under wraps, helping Mello dress in drag twice a night and sending him out to dance and wink at the patrons.
Everyone loved the little blond, and Mello had had more than one proposition from men smelling of brandy. His true gender was an even greater boon here; if some thug got a little too friendly, Mello could and would put them quickly in their place.
He was also L's best kept secret, one of those that he did not allow to seep out to the public. No one knew about Mello besides the customers of this particular bar, and L. L meant to keep it that way.
Unfortunately, it was getting increasingly difficult to keep his operation quiet. Other smugglers and n'er-do-wells were eager to assist in L's downfall and claim his fortunes for their own. Little did they know that L didn't do this for the money; he did it because he believed in justice.
And in L's world, justice involved the ability to indulge in whatever form of recreation you chose, as long as it didn't result in the harm of anyone else. In this vein, he never let his customers leave until they had been sufficiently sobered up; there were a variety of holding rooms in the back for just this purpose.
No, L did not think what he did was wrong, not by a long shot. And he certainly never thought he'd get caught. But when he heard Mello scream bloody-murder, high-pitched and still in character, he was forced to accept that, somehow, the police had found him.
And of all the bar's they could've of hit, they hit the one he and Mello were in. Just fantastic. Survival mode kicking into gear, L rushed out on the stage, grabbing Mello by his skinny bangled wrist. Glancing out over the crowd, he zeroed in on the person who was obviously the head policeman.
L recognized him from his extensive studies of his opponents biographies (it paid to stay informed); Yagami Light. L's eyes narrowed with pure hatred. The man was undeniably beautiful, and L loathed him on-sight. He was everything L stood against, and he vowed then and there that he would beat Yagami at his own game, even if it meant his own downfall.
But he although he was instantly dedicated to this mission 'til the end, he was not willing to risk Mello's safety. He glanced one more time at Yagami, and the detective's eyes met his own, the look in them equaling the abhorrence L felt. And then L dragged Mello offstage, pressing a specific knot in the floor boards with the toe of his wing-tip so that the hidden door to his secret escape tunnel creaked open.
Shoving a shaking, wide-eyed Mello in first, L quickly followed him, closing the door and slipping away into the dark maze that connected all of the funeral parlors in town, and therefore all of L's illegal booze joints. Nobody, not even the police, suspected the dead of harboring drunken fugitives. Except, it seemed, Yagami Light.
A/N: I do not mean to suggest LxMello. It's more of a big brother relationship I'm trying to portray, but if you choose to take it another way, well, go for it.
p.s. ...I freaking love Mello's outfit!!! :D