That night, Mello couldn't sleep.
The lights were off. It was late. Matt was sleeping soundly in the bed beside him, his snoring loud enough to wake their next door neighbors.
He was lucky he could sleep. Mello was not. Even if he tried to close his eyes, something kept waking him up.
A lingering thought. Something to do. Something to review.
Something over the horizon, waiting for him to seize it.
The TV stopped playing anything worthwhile past midnight. Night soaps and cop dramas, another death onscreen. Infomercials and static, flashing over the patterned wallpaper.
Mello was tired. He stared in a trance at the TV screen, watching a fat woman make cherry pies.
Mello hated doing nothing.
There was so much left in the case, but his legs were severed. Baptist's men stretched all over New York City, looking for him. They knew what to look for now, and Matt was an accomplice and a threat. Mello didn't want to find out how high the bounty had become.
He couldn't show his face to anybody else, or he was dead on arrival.
He'd spent the night scouring news reports about the Centurion Hotel murder, cleaning up the leads. No suspect descriptions were available, which meant the CCTV footage was unusable. He'd paid for his stay in cash, and he'd checked in under a pseudonym he never used.
It was a dead end for the cops. But it still meant that neither of them could move around in Manhattan anymore. Not with the blood on their hands.
Not with Matt seconds away from breaking.
Mello didn't blame him. He knew the first murder was always the most difficult. Pulpy necks, broken jaws. Wammy's never did prepare them for the amount of blood that a person spilled, even with all the crime scene pictures they had to pore over as children.
Twelve pints was just a number until it was all over the ground.
No amount of crime ever made it easier. It only made murder swifter.
Still, Mello wanted to move. The SPK had settled, and connection to the NPA was reestablished. Hal could only tell him to stay put, but that wasn't good enough. The words meant nothing except to keep quiet until the storm had passed.
Mello had nowhere to put his hands or his thoughts when the world kept moving around them.
Kira still killed. The murders were in the tens of thousands, steadily gaining day by day.
Mello couldn't afford to wait.
Matt snorted and rolled over, mumbling something in his sleep. The woman on TV moved her cherry pie into the oven and set a timer. Mello flipped the channel, settling for a cop show. A man in a suit lived out the fantasy that Mello called his life.
Mello hated that Near had open contact with Kira. Near always had his finger on the pulse. He had the protection of the government, though it came to bite him in the ass two days ago. He had money and resources. He had contact with the suspects and all the information.
All Mello had was a hunch and an order. Don't go anywhere, we'll be right back.
An engine peeled into the parking lot outside of the motel. Mello ducked out of habit, slithering his hand underneath his pillow for his gun.
The mob was unlikely to find them in Jericho. Matt had duct-taped the bullet holes as a last-ditch attempt before he went to sleep. It still didn't stop Mello's heart from racing as the faint car lights outside faded with the purring engine.
Suddenly, it was too quiet in the night. Matt's snores were too loud.
The car doors outside opened and slammed shut. A woman and a man were talking, their voices growing louder. The woman was giggling and the man was laughing.
Footsteps up the staircase. Mello grabbed his gun. Shoes clanged on the second floor landing, getting closer and closer to their door.
The footsteps stopped a few feet away. The door beside them unlocked. They faded away, behind the motel room door, their voices still audible through the thin wall.
"You're so drunk!" a woman's voice shrieked. A deep voice responded, laughing.
Just a whore and her john.
Mello pushed himself off the cheap linen, resting on his elbows. Matt was still snoring, unaware of the world around him. His head turned away from the TV screen, curled in on himself underneath the bed sheets.
Tonight things were settling down. Things were quiet and no news was the only blessing Mello needed. After he'd escaped narrowly with his life in Matt's hands — twice — he knew that silence was good. Silence was golden.
But tomorrow, Mello needed to start moving again. Taking apart the information he knew, piece it back together like an incomplete puzzle. Paint the car, change the plates. Buy some more clothes for the road.
Get farther, or closer, depending on Hal's next word.
Mello dropped his head onto the bedspread, staring at the TV screen as it played sideways. Bullets. The blood looked too red on TV.
Mello closed his eyes, listening to the cop show playing, volume too low to make out the words. The couple was fucking in the room next door. Mello hadn't slept until the morning sun in years.
The next evening was quiet. The setting sun shone westward over the beds and the carpet looked dirty in the light. They spent the day getting more food, more supplies, and waiting in the small motel room for their next move.
Hal still hadn't called, even if the SPK should have reestablished connection with L by now. Their base was most likely fully set up at this point.
Something must have happened. Mello just didn't know what it could be.
There was little else he could do but do sit-ups on the carpeted floor, willing the hours to pass until they could make their next move. He was already on his third coffee.
Matt was comfortable with the down time. He had left for a few hours to paint the car in the morning. It was drying now with a new fresh coat of chrome black paint. Ready to go.
Now he sat on his bed, slurping instant noodles from a paper cup and laughing at some video playing on his laptop.
He'd gotten into the habit of wearing his gloves since moving into the motel. Matt was careless, but he wasn't stupid.
Mello exhaled as he sat up from the ground, finishing his last set of sit ups. The air conditioning worked weakly from its spot over Mello's bed, its cool air barely reaching the tips of his toes.
The TV was playing news on mute, and Mello looked up, grabbing a water bottle from beside him as he wiped his brow.
The day had given no new information about the Centurion Hotel murder. It would probably go cold before Matt and Mello left the state. Instead, the news offered another name for the hour, another death in a prison cell.
A Venezuelan man who had thirty years for the trafficking and possession of narcotics died of a heart attack. Today's 5 PM death.
Mello frowned, swallowing the water and twisting the cap shut.
Thirty years was too light of sentence for Kira. With the rate of the kills, he must have been running out of cockroaches to stop.
Unless it was another Kira entirely.
Mello shook his head as he pulled himself up off the carpet, walking to the bathroom. He turned on the rusty tap and splashed water onto his face, washing off the sweat.
It was too quick to assume that it was a new Kira. A slight shift in his M.O. was barely any proof.
But if Kira was L, then it was natural for L to get nervous with all the eyes on him. Now would be the best time to pass on the notebook's powers to another before anybody looked at him too closely.
The cat and mouse chase never seemed to end.
Even if L passed on the notebook for someone else to be Kira in action, L was still the mastermind behind the operation.
The NPA had leads. Once Mello had his own two feet back, he would focus his—
Ring. Ring. Ring.
His phone.
Mello turned around, wiping his face as he paced back to the bedroom. His cell phone flashed as it vibrated on the bedside table.
Matt set the noodles on the ground, wiping his mouth as he watched. Mello sat down on his end of the bed and leaned over to grab his cell phone, flipping the cover up. "Talk," Mello answered.
Hal's voice came like a life raft. "Are you still in Jericho?"
"Yes."
"I have some information," she said. "An NPA agent came to visit us this afternoon."
Mello quirked a brow. "You mean Mogi?"
"No," she answered. "Another agent named Aizawa."
Mello looked at Matt. Matt raised his eyebrows, and Mello gestured for him to find something to write with.
Matt typed a few things onto his laptop, and then nodded. Mello signed in British sign language. AIZAWA. Matt's fingers flew over the keyboard quickly in response as Hal continued, "Near told L and the rest of the NPA earlier that Kira had killed Mogi. They believed him."
Another one of Near's mind games. "What happened then?" Mello asked, pulling his leg up to his side. He nodded to the chocolate bar on the bedside table, and Matt reached over, throwing it at him.
Mello caught it, ripping the wrapper with one hand in time to hear Hal's response. "Aizawa came down to talk to L. Something had bothered him about a former suspect, when the NPA worked with L."
Mello narrowed his eyes, taking a bite of the chocolate bar. Matt stared at him, mouthing. Speaker phone.
Mello shook his head. The walls were too thin here.
"Two people were imprisoned for fifty days," she continued, her voice flooding over the other end. "They were released after the killings continued. They were exonerated when L and the NPA caught Kyosuke Higuchi of Yotsuba Group in October of 2004."
So he'd been right. L had suspected the original Kira.
Mello signed to Matt, watching as he typed without looking. 2 SUSPECTS. 50 DAYS. HIGUCHI YOTSUBA. 2004.
"They used the 13-day rule to exonerate both of them."
13 DAYS. Of course. Kira knew that the task force would believe all the rules in the notebook. "Why after fifty days?" Mello asked.
"They were released after the NPA pressed L, since the killings continued."
"And when did they find out about the rule?"
"After Higuchi was captured."
The chocolate melted, thick with his spit. The arrest was planned.
Mello signed FAKE RULES. Matt squinted, typing. "Did Kira volunteer to be captured?" Mello asked.
"Yes," she answered, after a short pause. "Yes. Both Kira suspects volunteered."
Mello signed it as quickly as he could, VOLUNTEER. Kira's plan to appear innocent.
Mello asked, "Did L release them without proof?"
"No. L had set up a stunt."
STUNT.
"The deputy director brought both of the Kira suspects out of confinement and told them that they'd be executed, and then he would kill himself. The NPA and L decided that if they were Kira, they would kill the chief before he killed them."
Mello frowned, cracking another piece of chocolate with his teeth. "Soichiro?"
"That's right," Hal replied. "Soichiro Yagami."
SOICHIRO. Mello swallowed, taking another bite of the chocolate. "Why Soichiro?"
Hal paused for a long second. Mello narrowed his eyes at her silence.
"I don't know," she said finally.
Mello could smell her lie. It meant that Near knew.
He just wasn't telling him.
"Anyhow," she said, changing the subject quickly. "Aizawa and Mogi are on their way back to LA now. We've sent Gevanni to drive them."
Mello snapped his fingers at Matt, drawing his attention. "Which flight?"
"AA302. Seats 26A and 26B."
He signed it as she continued, "They'll be at the airport at 5 o'clock. We'll keep in touch."
Mello nodded, looking over at Matt again. Matt turned the laptop towards him, thick block letters over the screen. DEPARTURE: 6:30PM JFK.
"Yes," Mello responded, nodding to himself. "We will, Hal."
He hung up. Matt nodded at him, tilting his head in question as he turned the laptop back to face himself. "Back to LA?"
Mello nodded, throwing his cell phone down to the bed. His blood was pumping quickly, high off the work out, three cups of coffee and a phone call. "Check the flight availability to see if there are seats leftover."
Matt's fingers flew over the keyboard, tapping rapidly. Mello wiped the rest of his sweat and moved off the bed, sliding open the bedside drawer for his belongings.
"Pretty much empty," Matt responded. "You want me to get us tickets?"
Mello nodded, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. He lifted a card and flung it onto Matt's bed, where it landed on his pillow. "Use this card," he said. "It's probably got enough loaded on it for two tickets."
"Where do you want us to sit?"
"You a few seats beside them, and I'll take a few seats behind." Mello replaced his wallet in his back pocket, drinking the rest of the water in the plastic bottle. "Make sure they're in plain view."
Mello wrapped up his chocolate bar, taking a look around the room. No need to bleach for fingerprints. They were both wearing gloves. Maybe a quick scan for stray hairs if they had enough time.
He glanced at the clock. 3:58 PM.
"Name?" Matt asked.
"Sebastian Black," Mello responded quickly. He looked up, watching Matt type furiously into his keyboard. "When you've got the tickets, pack your things. We're leaving in half an hour."
The airport was busy, especially around rush hour. Tourists trailed in and out of the front entrance, almost too crowded to see individual heads. Mello snapped a piece off his chocolate bar as he grabbed the wheel, staring down every car and license plate that passed them by against the glaring light of the sun.
They were waiting for the NPA members to arrive by an SPK car for the AA302 flight this evening. At the Arrival Hall in JFK.
The SPK was likely tracking the NPA as well, but Mello was eager for any lead he could get. He was ready to leave New York City behind and find his footing again.
The information that Hal had given them earlier in the evening was detrimental to the current L's innocence. Mello knew, beyond reasonable doubt, that Kira's original arrest was planned.
Kira had baited real L to Higuchi. He'd used the task force and the real L as a smokescreen to regain possession over the notebook.
The answer lay now in Soichiro Yagami, the missing piece of the puzzle. He knew the suspect. He was willing to die for the suspect if he was guilty.
All of the answers awaited them back in LA.
The street clock by the arrivals entrance struck 5 PM.
Like clockwork, a sleek black car with tinted windows drove past their car, braking to a halt in front of the entrance. The SPK car must have noticed them sitting there. They dropped the men off in plain sight, the two Japanese men ducking out of the back doors with trench coats and no carry-on luggage.
Mello sat up, narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses. Matt joined him, leaning out of his seat.
"That's our guys," Matt said.
"What about the other NPA agent?" Mello asked, watching as the men stood around the arrivals door, talking to one another. They looked around them, staring up at the sign above the entrance.
"Not here," Matt answered.
The men started moving towards the entrance, blending into a throng of tourists with luggage carts. "Follow them in," Mello said.
Matt nodded. "You want me to grab a bag?"
"I'll take them."
Matt opened the car door, but then stopped, jerking back. "What about my car?"
Mello rolled his eyes. "I'll deal with the car. Now hurry."
Matt shook his head to himself as he got up, slamming the door shut behind him. Mello watched as Matt shoved his hands through his vest pockets and walked through the automatic doors, his vest zipped up to his chin.
He disappeared through the glass.
Mello wrapped the chocolate back and threw it into the empty passenger seat. Near was giving him a free bone for helping the SPK out with the fake rules. If coming to New York was the price he had to pay to get this much, then hell, Mello was happy with the deal.
Mello revved the engine, driving into the bright evening, a thin slice of the moon glinting on the opposite side of the orange sun in the sky. A plane flew overhead, low on the ground, its red navigation lights flashing as it ascended into the clouds above.
Mello adjusted his sunglasses, easing out of the kiss-and-ride to the airport parking garage.
This was it.
They were so fucking close to the finish line. Mello could taste it on his tongue.
Victory and revenge.