Mello was sprawled over the couch, textbook open and chocolate bar clutched between teeth when Matt entered, a jangle of keys and the waft of cigarette smoke announcing his arrival.
"Mels. Anyone tell you you're going to get diabetes one of these days?"
"Matt. Anyone tell you you're going to get lung cancer, pulmonary disease, a heart attack, hypotension, and throat cancer one day?"
Behind his goggles, Matt rolled his eyes. "You're a wonderful house guest, Mels," he said, carefully placing the paper bag he was holding on a table strewn with chocolate wrappers.
"Mmf," Mello muttered. "I'll take it as a compliment."
"Try a vegetable," said Matt, sitting next to Mello and taking a bag of carrots from the paper bag, "c'mon, just one."
"Eat grass, Matt."
"You smoke grass, Mels, you don't eat it."
"Pedant," Mello said, the worn sofa groaning as he slowly sat up. "God, Matt, what is this stuff? Whole-wheat pasta, graphic design textbooks, carrot sticks, Tofurky, for God's sake, Matt, Tofurky."
"Hannah swears by the stuff."
"Tell your girlfriend to eat some chocolate cake, then."
"Gotta make sure it's fair trade, organic chocolate cultivated with minimal impact to the local ecosystem, Mels."
"Oh God, she's not coming over today, is she?"
"No, Mello, and no, that doesn't mean you get the chocolate cake all to yourself, mostly because I couldn't find any chocolate cake."
"Jerk," Mello said, scowling as he broke off another piece of chocolate. "But what's with all the graphic design stuff and Java textbooks here, Matt? Seriously, Matt, Java? Didn't you learn that stuff when you were seven?"
"Gotta get a degree," Matt said, shrugging. "Way I figure it, a MA in graphic design and a PhD in computer programming should be enough to get me into Nintendo or one of its smaller branches as a designer. Making games for Playstation or Wii - that'd be pretty sweet, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah," Mello says quietly. And it would. Matt would like the job, would be good at it, would be like a kid working in a candy shop or Disneyland designing interfaces and controls. Matt would be happy.
And yet, some small part of Mello rebelled against it, said no, even as he could see how obviously happy it made his best friend. Some small part of him said that it was not enough, not enough -
And yet. This was his Matt. His best friend. And this made him happy.
And that should be enough.
Matt, always insightful, always politic, smiles faintly as he pulls out his old, battered DS and pushes his goggle up. For a few moments, the only sounds between them were the beeps as Matt's fingers moved deftly over the controls.
"Aliases?"
"Forged. Leeds police system ridiculously easy to hack into. Alter-egos recorded in the database, so we're set there."
Good.
"How's Wammy's system coming?"
"Almost in. They really haven't changed. Kind of sad. But give me another day or two."
Another day or two.
"Matt," Mello says, slowly standing up, "much as rabbits and hamsters like the stuff, I'm not in the mood for lettuce today. I'm calling for a pizza."
And without another word, he padded across the muddy brown carpet of Matt's flat to retrieve the dog-eared Yellow Pages that propped the bathroom door open.
Another day or two.
That was all.
And two days later, hacking between classes and grocery runs, Matt is in.
"Sweet," Matt said, grinning as cigarette smoke wreathed his head, as they sat there, the screen in front of them flickering muted blues. "Told you I could get in."
"We worship your prowess, oh mighty one. Near's system is part of Wammy's, right?"
"Mm-hhn."
"Then let's get in," Mello said, his eyes bright as he smiled a grin made of canines and sharp angles, "and find out."
The Zodiac case (as the tawdrier newspapers had already begun referring to the suicides as) was, at first glance, not much of a case. Little was known about the reasons for the suicides; little connected the victims other than their missing heartbeats.
There were, however, several facts.
Fact one: four people, within the space of two months, had shot themselves, in various places at various times. All had left suicide notes.
Fact two: the suicide notes were identical, save for the closing line, in which each victim had signed his or her name, next to a drawing of his or her zodiac sign.
Fact three: all four suicides had been committed in order of the victims' astrological signs. Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer. Four constellations. Four deaths.
And another fact, one that slightly irked Near but did not worry him:
Someone had hacked into Wammy's system, and with it, into Near's data. And Near, as he sat, plastic blocks garish in front of a black screen, decides that it is really, is no matter at all.
"And that's all they know?"
"Seems like it."
Mello was silent for while. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Good. Then we can't be too behind that twit. Any info on the suicides? Potential suspects?"
"Mello…they're not even sure if it's a murderer. I mean, it sounds sort of odd, doesn't it? A bunch of suicides all happening at once - doesn't sound like a murder, more like members of some apocalyptic cult deciding next Saturday was Armageddon, or something."
Mello was silent for a while. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
"No. I mean, there is a distinct possibility - but it's very, very low. The suicides took place too close to be random, too far away to be the work of a cult. There's a killer, Matt. There has to be a killer."
"And you know this how?"
Mello shrugged. "It just seems like it. We'll just need some groundwork to prove it."
"Ooh, I see. So we're going to travel across England in search of someone who may or may not have killed five people the police classify as suicides just because your Mello senses are tingling?"
"Matt -"
"Chill, Mels. A joke. You know, one of those hahaha things?"
"I'm serious, Matt."
"And I am too. Mels, you said it yourself - this stuff is dangerous. I don't care if there's a killer or not, if you're going to investigate every potential penitentiary candidate, there's a pretty damn high chance some serious shit is going to go down."
"What the hell else am I supposed to do, then? Near's sitting on his ass, getting his lackeys to get information for him - we're getting behind with every damn second, Matt, losing ground when we started out behind - what the hell else do we do?"
"Wait," Matt said, his eyes serious behind his goggles. "If Near's really sitting on his ass, then we've got access to his files; his lackeys will be collecting data for both him and us. This is the prelims, Mels; there's no need for us to do anything now. Okay?"
A silence. Mello still glowered, but with less intensity. Reason had convinced him logically, if not quite emotionally.
"And besides," Matt said, a slow smile making its way across his face, "we can't leave now. Day after tomorrow, Hannah's coming over for dinner."
