A/N: I really do love writing Mello in his Mafia days. It's just so much fun to torture him! This chapter actually inspired me to write a larger fanfiction about this sort of thing. If you want to see it, or liked this chapter, than you've got to review~

Mello is about fifteen here, just helping with any future confusion. Sorry it's kind of long, to make it shorter would be a crime. And confusing.

Anyway.... Enjoy!

Mello had been to jail once, back when he was in the Mafia. He was caught after trying to get away from a scene of a murder he didn't commit. The officer pushed him up against the car and asked him for his I.D. Mello was silent for a moment. His fake I.D. was back at headquarters and he'd probably get in trouble for saying that it was.

Although, if he told them he didn't have an I.D. then they'd ask where he lived and should he have said 'I live in the Mafia!' He would undoubtedly be in more trouble. Either way, he would be giving away the whole Mafia thing, which would get him killed later.

"I lost it." He lied against the cold metal of the car.

"Well than," the officer said. "Looks like your spending a night in the Big House." He shoved Mello into the backseat, where two other criminals were sitting. The only seat available was the middle seat, so Mello got to spend a thirty minute drive to the police station nestled between two lunatics who were intent on feeling him.

All Mello could think was innocent, innocent, innocent! When they got to station, he had to wait a long time before he spoke to the warden. He was given some change to make a call with, but really? Who would ever come to bail out Little Mello?

After a few seconds of thought, someone came to his mind. This person would hopefully have enough compassion to bail him out. He dialed carefully and after several rings, someone finally picked up.

"Wammy's House: Orphanage for Extraordinary Children. How may I help you?" said Roger over the phone.

All Mello could do for a minute was breathe into the receiver, afraid to talk with so many people around. "Roger, it's me, Mello. I need-"

"Good God, child, you must have some nerve calling back here."

"Roger, I need-"

"I mean, what an honor it is to speak to the great, powerful-"

"Shut the hell up!" Mello hissed into phone. "I need you to bail my sorry ass outta here!"

"Oh yeah?" Roger said, cutting all sarcasm. "Why in God's name should I help you? You left. You wanted nothing to do with us here at Wammy's."

"You need to help me because half of the money L left behind in mine-"

"Mello." The Warden called out. "Get your ass in here."

Mello dropped the phone and gingerly walked into the office. He sat down in the chair before the desk.

"Okay. What'd you do?" The Warden asked as he cracked his neck and several knuckles.

"Nothing." Mello said. "I did absolutely nothing." Not even Mello believed this one, because it's true what they say: They all say that.

Several questions later, Mello was transferred to a jail cell, which was shared by three men excluding him.

After a long, long night and a jail style breakfast, an officer came over to the cell and all of the men perked up a little, hoping they would get to leave the cell.

"Mello." The officer barked. "Your bail's been paid. Get out of here."

Mello was more than willing to oblige and on his way out he stopped by the officer.

"Excuse me?" He asked. "Do you know who paid the bail?"

The officer looked down at him through sun-glassed eyes. "Some detective, called himself 'L'."