Happy Birthday, kuraikami!! Hope your day is totally awesometastical!!


Disclaimer: I doesn't own der Death Note.

Coauthored by BlueHarpy; helped by Madeline Cullen.


CHAPTER 7 - UNDERGROUND


Matt took a deep puff on his cigarette as he stared at the screen of his laptop computer. "Hey, Mel, come look at this…"

Mello grunted from the grungy cot he'd been sleeping on across the room. While Rod Ross may have lived in comfort, well, nomads like Matt and Mello didn't really have that option. They were lucky to even get a cot. Half the guys had to sleep on the sofa… "What?" he grumbled. "This better be important…"

"Oh, it is," Matt assured him, turning to laugh at his friend. Mello lay there on the flimsy mattress, head cradled in the crook of one arm, clutching his jacket up close like a blanket—lining-side toward his face, of course.

Mello, growling at Matt to "stuff it," rolled off the cot and stumbled over to the computer to see what was going on. "Huh…? What's this…?"

"Just take a peek at the stats, there. What pops out at you?"

A few seconds passed, wherein Mello attempted to recapture his coherence to better understand what was being presented to him. Finally, he realized it, and gave a rough grunt of laughter. "Huh… well, it might be a touch early, but it's definitely worth looking into…"

Matt nodded. "Oh, yeah… Am I good, or am I good?"

Mello rolled his eyes and shoved the green-haired young man, who fell to the floor, still laughing at his friend's grouchiness. "Yeah, yeah… stuff it. We're heading back to London tomorrow, so pack up."

Matt took another drag on the cigarette and chuckled sardonically. "Pack up what?"

"Just make sure you're ready…" Moodily, he flopped back down on the cot, only to have it collapse beneath the sudden weight. Mello yelped, looking like a scared cat as he crouched on the fallen mattress, eyes wide from the shock.

Matt, however, plainly thought it was hilarious. "Ah, hahahaha! Y'look like you been happy slapped!" (1)

But Mello just scowled at his friend and rolled over so that he faced the wall, scrunching up his leather jacket like a pillow and simultaneously lifting his arm so that his middle finger stood prominently upward, plain as day for Matt to see. He just snickered and turned back to his computer for a well-deserved bit of relaxation in the form of Thing-Thing 6. But he gave a small smile as he maneuvered the little round man around the screen amid the showers of computer-generated gore. They were going back home.

It took less than a day to return to the UK (but quite a bit of work—Matt had to hack into British Airways and put their names on a few first class seats, as well as print them out, and make it halfway across the country by the same process, only with American Airlines, as well), but before they contacted Keiko, Matt wanted to make sure they got in touch with the British mafia, a.k.a., The Syndicate. But establishing one contact hadn't been difficult. While the Syndicate had virtually no real ties to the American mafia, there was some contact. Favors had to be made to globalize, expand, et cetera. Rod Ross had given them one name, and an appointment was already set up for that night at a rundown pub in London.


11:37 PM, July 17

"He's not gonna show," Mello grumbled as he toyed with an empty shot glass (previously, it had been full of a strange concoction of apple juice and watered down root beer to give the impression of actual whiskey; four more empty glasses sat on the side of the table. One trick they'd learned while dealing with the American mafia was that the opposite party became more comfortable more quickly after seeing that they themselves had been drinking. The theory was that the opposite party might even drink some real liquor themselves—and loose tongues meant easy information. And if the other party didn't react, well, they were no worse off, were they?

Matt shrugged. "Stay calm, old pal. The Syndicate doesn't like botching up stuff."

Mello continued to mutter condemnations beneath his breath, only to be halted when a short, redheaded young woman sauntered into the bar. The bartender smiled at her, waving casually, and she responded with a dazzling smile of her own. "Hey there, Max," she greeted him in a somehow simultaneously nonchalant and classy manner, with just a tantalizing edge of dangerous charm. Both Mello and Matt could tell instantly that this girl was definitely something else.

But what surprised them was how she went to the counter and ordered "the usual, if you please," right before turning on heel and waltzing over to their table.

Matt blinked as he stared up at the beauty who'd magically appeared before them. Her small, pixie-like face was padded just barely with baby fat, giving her an adorable-slash-gorgeous smile and two cute dimples, as well as hinting at her young age—around twenty, Matt estimated. A pert little nose sloped upward, giving way to thin eyebrows and stormy grey eyes with long, luxurious lashes. The rest of her body was hardly objectionable, either: long (for her height, anyway), lean legs encased in tight black leather pants and combat boots; a trim stomach, barely visible beneath her black baby doll tee that also clung to her curvy (but not ridiculous) chest; she clutched a black leather jacket that was carelessly slung over one shoulder.

Currently, her shoulder-length red hair lay down, straight with a hint of a curve so that it framed her face. Her pouty lips, covered in a clear gloss, curled into a cocky smirk as she surveyed Matt and Mello. "Hello, boys," she said in a pleasantly husky voice. "I believe you were expecting me…?"

Needless to say, both Mello and Matt were extremely confused. Matt's jaw hung agape, cigarette smoldering in a glass dish on the table, unnoticed, while Mello stared at her in arrogant disbelief, one eyebrow cocked, and a half-bite of chocolate hanging from his front teeth.

Finally, Matt recovered himself, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. "I sure as hell wish we were, beautiful," he said with his signature lady-killer smile, "but unless you happen to be Abe Johansson—"

"That's me."

Mello frowned deeply, swallowing his chocolate and reappraising the newcomer. "Ah, sorry, but we're not interested, Miss Whoever-You-Are…"

But the woman's smile turned subtly icy. "Oh, you're mistaken, boys. That's my honest-to-God name. Here's my card." She reached down her shirt (for dramatic effect, Mello assumed) and placed it on the table.

Matt held back a joyous whimper. They'd said their code phrase verbatim ("unless you happen to be Abe Johansson") and she'd returned properly ("that's my honest-to-God name," followed by the offer of a "card"). That was supposed to be the signal that they were dealing with the right people.

Mello snatched up the card quickly and scanned over it.

Abe Johansson
Attorney at Law
Piers Rayne & Assoc.

That was it. Piers Rayne was renowned for being the top man in the Syndicate. Moreover, they'd been told over the phone that Abe Johansson would introduce himself as a lawyer.

This woman was… Abe Johansson??

Matt pulled a chair from the table behind him over to "Abe." "Have a seat, gorgeous. Now…" He smiled disarmingly. "What's your name?"

"It's Abe," she said, grinning cheekily as she slid gracefully into her chair. The bartender himself approached them, then, and handed the redhead a tall glass, which looked to be a pint of beer. "Thanks, Max, you're a gem," she told him, slipping him a bill and winking.

"No' a'tall, Miss Johansson," he replied, smiling politely as he retreated.

Mello fought against a sneer as he watched Matt gape. "Abe… is… what?!"

"It's an alias, you twit," Mello hissed. "She's obviously set the place up."

Matt rolled his eyes. "I know that; haven't you noticed that no one else has come or gone since we got here?"

Abe smirked, nodding in acknowledgment. "You boys know your stuff." She took a hearty swig of her beer and smiled. "Now, what can we do for you?"

"Can't say much," Mello grunted as he threw back another shot (the last one at the table) and followed it up with a bite of chocolate. "Let's just say we could prove to be useful to the Syndicate."

Abe threw back her head and laughed, a hearty, friendly sound. "I see! And what leads you to assume this?"

"Put it this way," Matt drawled as he leaned back in his seat, obviously playing the lady's man. "We've helped Rod Ross and his band of men back in the States. Earned and saved him a pretty penny."

"Hm…" Abe nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose Mr. Rayne will have to contact Mr. Ross himself to ascertain this, but… for now, it's interesting information. You also understand that getting in touch with the Syndicate means absolute loyalty to it, even unto death?"

Matt nodded, smiling brightly. "Oh, we know, princess!"

Mello grunted. "Hmm. Yes, we know that. Loyalty, start at the bottom under supervision, initiation, then fend for yourself and do what the boss says. We know."

Abe shook her head. "Oh, but there's much, much more than that. You must prove yourself useful in some way."

"Didn't we just say we had information?" Mello snapped, irked with Abe's cheerful-yet-seductive demeanor. Besides, he could smell her drink from where he sat; that glass contained not a drop of alcohol. She, too, was smart.

"Now, now, that is no way to treat a future colleague, is it?" she pouted. "And I don't see how you could really know anything, not when your sense of fashion is so lacking. Are you attempting to appear as a transvestite?"

Mello twitched at that whilst Matt tried valiantly to cover his laughter. Abe turned to him, next. "Don't laugh, Dungeon Master. Besides, your overly flamboyant nature could make you look to others as Blondie's, ah, partner."

Matt's eyes grew wide, and his cigarette fell from his open mouth to land on his jeans. "Ow! Oh, geez—" With a muffled curse, he rescued his pants from the burning tobacco and grumpily pulled a new one from a box in his pocket.

"And I suppose you are trying to look like a badass tomboy with all the sex appeal of a tramp who throws herself at men," Mello returned smoothly. "You're succeeding more in looking like a spoiled brat who is used to getting what she wants."

"Touché." Abe downed a good half of her "beer" in one gulp and stared levelly at Mello, getting her face close to his. "You'll find that… while I may be a spoiled brat who gets what she wants… I'm also a hardened bitch with street savvy and the knowhow and guts to tie you up in knots. I wouldn't toy with me, if I were you." To punctuate the statement, she reached forward and pulled Mello's chocolate bar the remaining inch to her mouth, delicately biting off a chunk.

Meanwhile, Mello sat there, stymied, as he watched her sit back in her seat. She just… but… his chocolate…?!

Gracefully, Abe stood and donned her jacket. "Nice chatting with you, boys. If you have anything to say, call me again."

And with that, she left.

"W-wait!" Matt blurted out, leaping out of his seat (stumbling when he caught his toe on the chair's leg) and running out the door after her before Mello could stop him. "Miss Joh…"

"Ye-e-e-es?" She regarded him (and Mello as he appeared behind him) from atop her BMW K1300GT motorcycle.

At this, Mello twitched, torn between anger and utter weakness at seeing such an admittedly hot woman atop a machine equally as appealing… and dressed in leather, to boot.

"Okay, we'll tell you what we've got," Matt offered. "Come on back…"

Abe pondered this for a moment. "Five minutes. If you haven't convinced me by then, you're done."

"Excellent…"


Thirty-seven minutes later, Matt was standing outside the bar, watching the smoke from his cigarette spiral up to the night sky as he waited for Keiko to receive his text message…


"I'll be up for bed in just a minute!" Keiko called to Lawliet, who was getting impatient. She kept finding new excuses, it seemed, to keep from being with him—needless to say, he wasn't terribly pleased. He didn't bother responding, and Keiko retreated to the kitchen for a bit of privacy. Her mobile phone was vibrating in her pocket, and she had to check…

Sure enough, it was from Matt's phone. She read it…

think its n teh syndicat
2 early 2 tell
update 2 follow

So, they'd gotten some information. With a smile, Keiko replied.

thanx

Her lack of verbosity and apparent gratitude would irk Mello greatly, and would likely amuse Matt; they both knew she was extremely thankful for their work.

"Keiko…?"

She sighed, unable to keep a smile from her face. "I'll be right there! Geez…"


9:17 AM, July 18

The doorbell rang.

Keiko groaned, rolling over and nestling close to Lawliet's warm chest. "It's still nighttime… make 'em go away…"

Lawliet chuckled. "It is past nine o'clock, tenshi. You should get up, anyway."

"It's your fault I'm not getting enough sleep," she shot back, burying her face in the sheets. "You're the one who kept me up til three…"

"Only because you were an hour and a half later than you said you'd be," he replied without skipping a beat. "Come. We need to get dressed."

"Nooooo…"

"Yes, Keiko." Lawliet ran one hand lightly down her exposed side, just enough to tickle her. She squirmed, rolling away from his touch… off the bed and onto the floor with a loud THUNK!

"O-o-o-ow-w-w-w…" she groaned loudly from the floor, but Lawliet just sighed. "That was a dirty trick…"

"Come now," he said mildly, "since when have I fought fairly?"

"Damn you…" she muttered, among other muffled curses, none of which were really meant.

"Mm, that isn't what you said last night…"

There was a long pause, and Keiko finally sighed. "Grow up, Lawliet. And don't try and misconstrue that, you stupid pervert. Geez…"

It only took her a few minutes to stumble around the bedroom into sweats and one of Lawliet's shirts, and she then proceeded to half-fall, half-walk down the steps to the front door as the doorbell sounded again. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she mumbled in frustration as she finally reached it and pulled it open.

Standing there was Watari, smiling benignly. "Ah, good morning, Keiko. You look… tired."

"Yeah, but I probably got more sleep than you did," she muttered, a little guiltily. "The doorbell woke me up."

"I see," he responded diplomatically. "That would make anyone look a little wearied, I suppose."

Keiko looked past him to see the familiar black limousine. "I take it the two ex-convicts are here…?"

Watari nodded and turned around to the car. The door opened from within, and a brown head poked out, shining golden in the summer morning sun. He raised his gaze to the front door of the house, revealing handsome features and a grim expression. A long pause followed as he stood on the gravel drive, shoes crunching against the stones. "Hello, Keiko. Long time, no see."

Keiko sighed heavily as her brown eyes met his matching ones. "Hey, Light…"


(1—Happy slapping refers to someone going up to a random person, smacking them (while a friend nearby films it all), and then running away. Very odd thing, I must admit…)


Yay, more Mello and Matt-ness. :) But what's this, a new OC? My, my, they just keep popping up everywhere, don't they? Haha. Hope you guys like it! Reviews are VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!!!

Also... BlueHarpy thought that Matt looked like the smarter one, here... uh, that's not my intent. You'll see more of this in later chapters, but I'm portraying Matt as more verbose than Mello. That's all.