A/N: If you began reading this story before August 16, 2010, you should know that the material that used to be chapters 1-3 has now all been combined into the first chapter. Chapter 2 in its current form was published on August 16, but a notification was not sent out and the "last-updated" day remained unchanged because it was replacing an existing chapter. Sorry for any confusion, and enjoy all the new material.

As always, I am grateful to my beta Meiyl for her support and excellent editing. This chapter is longer than all the others; this fact may be good, bad, or irrelevant.

Disclaimer: The story and characters of Death Note were created by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.

3. Oversight

My estimate was a good one; it takes me precisely two days to break into the girl's apartment, install a few cameras, set up all the monitoring stuff for Mello to use, and get back to the hotel room to observe Aizawa's building. Now, after five days, the room is getting to be just the way I like it. The furniture is all pushed to the walls except for the bench, which I've dragged to the middle of the room. Wires snake across the floor from the cameras by the window to the TV and laptops; my surroundings are littered with leftover snacks and empty cans. After our initial supply run, I haven't had to go outside. Normally, I'd like that, but for the first time in my life, I think I'm getting a little stir-crazy. This drudgery is sure a letdown after all of Friday's excitement.

I'm smoking and playing Space Invaders when Mello calls me. I turn up the volume on my phone and leave it next to me so I can hear him without having to put down my game. He sounds almost as listless as I do. "Matt, how's it going for you?"

"Boring..." Biggest understatement of my life. "I've seen no movement at all. So far, they've had all their food and stuff delivered. And both Aizawa and the other Japanese guy who went into the building after him haven't come out. Which makes it very likely that this is their headquarters..." I blast a few more aliens. "But it's so boring watching something that never changes."

"Come on, I'm doing the same thing. And if L is there, then they may think that the SPK tailed Aizawa and discovered their location, so they might decide to move. If you're not careful, they could get away."

"Then why don't you change places with me? At least you get to eavesdrop on a cute girl," I say, only half-joking. After this much monotony, I can't say I wouldn't want to trade places, even if I had to listen to Misa Amane's insipid chatter fifteen hours a day.

"As you said, she's pretty fucking annoying." He yawns. "All she does is bounce around, put on makeup, and make Mogi cook stuff for her."

"I still can't believe that girl is or was the Second Kira," I say again, though we've hashed and rehashed the topic. When I think about it, it's kind of terrifying that this effervescent airhead could actually be a coldblooded serial killer.

My game makes some more tinny beeping noises. "Matt, are you playing Nintendo?" Mello asks, warning in his voice.

"Yeah. I told you, I'm bored."

"That doesn't mean you can slack off on the job," he growls. "I don't give a damn if nothing is happening on those cameras. I want you to watch them and make sure nothing is happening."

"But this is cruel and unusual punishment," I proclaim, "and a total waste of my skills."

"How so? One of your skills is being able to sit in front of a screen for an ungodly length of time."

"I consider that to be an ability, not a skill," I say loftily.

He snorts, and I can imagine him rolling his eyes. "What's the difference?"

"A skill is something I've trained myself to do and pride myself on," I clarify. "An ability is something that I can do, but don't really give a shit about."

"Oh, I see. So wasting all your time playing video games is a skill, and helping me get information about Kira is something you don't give a shit about?"

"Hey, no need to get all sarcastic." I switch off my game and sit up straighter on the bench, frowning at the phone next to me. "Mello, I do want to help you get Kira. I'll do anything I can to back you up. I mean it."

"Okay, Matt. I believe you." I can't tell if he's being serious or not. "Keep watching the camera feeds. Tell me if anything happens."

I sigh resignedly. "I will." At least I can smoke and watch a video feed at the same time.

Four days later, I really think I am starting to go slightly insane. I feel a bit sick from subsisting solely on junk food, nicotine, and crappy instant coffee, I haven't changed my clothes in a week, and Mello won't even let me sleep for more than four hours at a time. And of course I'm still bored out of my skull.

I've decided to sit by the window for a few hours in hopes that the weak sunlight might help keep me awake. I rub my face exhaustedly, hunched forward on the bench, my eyes aching behind my goggles. Ugh, what the hell, is that stubble on my chin?

The laptop screen in front of me makes my eyes sore even though I've got it turned down to the lowest brightness setting. I almost don't notice two of L's guys come out the front door of their headquarters, wearing their usual smart jackets and serious expressions. This is the first time any of them have left the building in days... maybe something's up.

Still watching the laptop screen, I grab my phone and speed-dial Mello. He sounds slightly distracted as he picks up and asks, "What's up, Matt?"

"Mogi and Aizawa are outside together." Now that I think about it, it isn't a very exciting update, but whatever. "I don't know what they're talking about, but they sure do look unusually serious for people just chatting outside."

Mello answers after a pause. "Okay, keep an eye on them."

I suppress a yawn. "I'm getting pretty tired. I don't know how much longer I can stay awake."

"Well, you're going to have to stay awake. Deal with it." There's a sharp cracking noise.

"Hey, how do you still have money to buy chocolate?" I ask suspiciously. "I thought you said last week that all your mafia funds were gone."

I can hear him licking his chocolate bar. It's rather disconcerting. "They are, but I told you, I have enough cash left over for myself," he says around a mouthful. "I did nab a few hundred bucks when Near pulled that stunt back in New York."

"You bastard!" I chuckle in spite of myself. "You said you couldn't pay me, and you're spending all your money on chocolate?"

"Hey, it's a necessary living expense. You know what happens when I don't have my chocolate." Oh, I know what happens. A month after I came to Wammy's, I stole all his chocolate just for laughs, but I sure as hell wasn't laughing when he beat the shit out of me after he found out. Who knew a nine-year-old kid could have such a mean right hook?

I really don't get how he can be so addicted to chocolate, though. One of those bars has—what, thirty milligrams of caffeine at the most? That's less than half of how much is in a cup of tea, let alone coffee. I never heard of anyone who goes as crazy as Mello does when he needs a caffeine fix. Maybe it's psychological and not physiological, or some shit like that. Hell, I know I get a little off my head sometimes if I run out of cigarettes, but how bad could caffeine withdrawal be? Honestly.

There's a crinkle from Mello's chocolate wrapper. "I found out something important, by the way," he says conversationally. "Turns out it wasn't completely useless to spy on Amane."

"What, is she actually the Second Kira, then?"

Another faint snapping noise. "She probably used to be. But from what she's been saying in her conversations with Mogi, I'm now almost positive of the identity of the Second L."

"Really?" Suddenly Aizawa takes out his cell phone to answer it. "Hang on... Aizawa's talking on his phone... Now he and Mogi are going back inside."

"They probably won't come out for another couple of hours, at least," Mello says. "But don't take your eyes off those camera feeds, all right?"

"Got it." I shudder with another expansive yawn. "You know, if we had just one other accomplice helping us with this surveillance shit, we could get a lot more sleep."

Mello laughs. "Sleep is overrated." I hear him crumpling the foil. "Keep your eyes open, Matt. I'm counting on you."

"Okay, I promise I won't take a nap. I'll talk to you later." I hang up and lift up my goggles to rub at my eyes. Damn it, three hours in the past twenty-four is not enough sleep. I wearily return my attention to the laptop screen. Back to my personal hell.

I lose track of time as I stare moodily at the camera feed. After God knows how long, a delivery truck trundles up to the front of the headquarters. Seriously, the view is already boring enough, and now a gigantic truck has to get in the way of anything interesting? I sigh and grumble as I slouch further down and glance at the other monitors. The truck blocks every angle I've got, though admittedly, I don't have very many. Damn it.

After about forty-five minutes of blearily watching, it dawns on me that something slightly odd is going on. Why would it take this long for their food to get delivered? I lean forward suddenly, squinting at the image on the screen as the deliveryman walks around the side of his truck. He's got something in his hands... is that money? The truck starts to drive away, but the guy is still standing on the curb outside the building, counting what looks like a significant number of bills. What the hell is going on?

I scramble into a standing position. If I hurry, I can catch that delivery guy before he leaves. I probably look and smell pretty bad after staying holed up in here for nine near-sleepless days, but I don't really give a shit. I jump over the cables on the floor, grab my vest, and shrug into it as I head out the door.

Taking the stairs is probably the fastest way to get down to the parking lot. I hurtle down them two at a time and burst out into the street, spotting the delivery guy as he starts to walk away from the building. Checking briefly for traffic, I sprint to the other side of the road. "Hey! You there!"

The guy slowly turns around, still holding his fistful of cash. "Yeah? What do you want?" He looks suspiciously at my goggles.

"You're the guy who usually delivers food to this building, right?" I ask him, slightly out of breath.

"What's it to you, kid?"

I irritably take out a handful of cash and hold it up. It probably isn't as much as they've already given him, but it'll have to do. "If you answer all my questions, I'll give you this."

His greedy little eyes light up when he sees the money. "All right."

"How many people do you deliver to in there?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. The same guy always pays for the food."

"Well, how many are in there now?"

"Nobody's in there." He points his thumb back over his shoulder. "I just went up there to drop off the food, and the place was empty."

My stomach sinks. "Where the hell did they go?"

"Hey, beats me, kid. How am I supposed to know where they went? All I know is the guy paid to use my truck, and now nobody's there."

In disgust, I toss a few twenties to the guy and trudge back to the hotel. They'll come back soon. They have to come back... they can't have just moved out right under my nose...

I fumble around for my card key, stick it in the lock, and open the door to my musty room. Taking off my vest and rubbing my eyes again, I stagger over to the window. I'm going to have to look through all the footage to see what I could have missed, and hope that in the meantime, L's men will return to their empty headquarters... Damn it.

Mello is going to fucking kill me.

I'm looking through the footage from last night for the fiftieth time. At least having nothing new to watch allowed me to snatch a few hours of sleep, so I might be coherent when I have to talk to Mello. I know I should call him and tell him that everyone left the headquarters, but I'm still stupidly hoping that they might come back.

No such luck. My phone rings, cheerily playing the Pokémon battle theme as if to mock my impending doom. Fuck.

I wonder with dread what I'm going to tell Mello as I hold the phone gingerly to my ear and listen to his harsh greeting. "What are you doing, Matt? Mogi's at LAX." His cold voice demands an explanation, but of course I don't have a good one.

"They got me, damn it!" I burst out, nearly tripping over a cable where I'm standing and almost dropping my laptop. "They must have paid the food delivery guy who came yesterday and used his truck to move out along with all their equipment," I explain bitterly after catching my balance again. All I can do is helplessly babble, hoping that Mello might possibly forgive me for my stupid, stupid mistake. "I questioned the usual delivery guy after he came out counting a wad of money, but the room was already empty... He couldn't even tell me how many of them there were. I had the camera rolling on all the exits and windows, but they used the truck's door to block the view..." My voice gets dangerously close to defensive whining, even though I know it's pointless to try to make excuses—I can tell Mello isn't impressed. I sum up my feelings of the situation with a final, weak "Shit..."

Shit.

I sweat in the lengthening silence. The only sound is Mello's breathing and chewing. I wince, waiting for the inevitable diatribe. I let them get away... it was my fault... he told me to keep my eyes open...

"Matt, I'm going to tail Mogi to Japan. Follow me right away." His voice is curt and businesslike.

"Huh?" I say, caught completely off-guard. "Japan?... Seriously?"

"Yeah. I'm going to buy a ticket right now."

I guess I'm relieved that he seems to be making the best of my blunder instead of haranguing me about it, at least for now, but... it seems rather sudden. "How soon is right away? How long are we going to be there?"

"Right away means as soon as fucking possible, and we are going to be there until Kira goes somewhere else, preferably hell."

I open and close my mouth a few times like a discombobulated goldfish. "But... where are we going to stay?"

He aggressively takes another bite of his chocolate bar. "We'll stay in a hotel until we can rent an apartment. Set up headquarters there."

"What about your bike?"

He sighs. "If I can't bring it with me, I'll buy another one when we're in Japan. Just get all the equipment and get the hell out of there, all right? I'll give you six hours—after that you'd better be strapped in an airplane seat heading across the Pacific."

"Okay..." I guess six hours should be just enough time to wrap things up here, if I work fast. "Mello, really, I'm sorry about—"

"Forget about it, okay? We don't have time. See you in a while; I'll leave you a message when I get there." The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, fiddling with it in my gloved hands.

My mind is racing with everything I have to do as I shake myself out of my daze and start feverishly packing up the equipment. I might have to leave the last of my cash as a tip to the poor cleaning woman who's going to have to deal with the mess I've left in here. Damn, I hope I don't get charged extra. And Mello will still be angry when I meet up with him again...

Two weeks ago, I never would have guessed that right now I'd be frustrated and exhausted over an unpaid job for my long-lost friend. I've been working harder on this undertaking than I've ever worked in my life, but the weirdest thing is that I feel like I've been with Mello for ages, and it's only been nine days. As though we've gone back in time to our early days at Wammy's, my life now completely revolves around him.

I'm starting to wonder if my life is going to end with him, too. If the sleep deprivation doesn't kill me, maybe Mello will when he finally chews me out for my big screw-up. What a thing to look forward to... but the faster I work now, the sooner I can get some blessed sleep.

After an hour and a half of hurried packing, twenty minutes of getting my stuff downstairs and checking out, thirty-five minutes of waiting for a cab and taking it to the airport, forty-eight minutes of attempting to buy a ticket, and what seems like far too much time going through security, I collapse into a seat in the international terminal to wait for my flight. Mello only gave me six hours, and it looks like I'm going to make it just in time, unless the plane gets delayed. With my rotten luck, it might be.

I listlessly play Nintendo to keep myself from dozing, uncomfortably feeling the gaze of an old woman and a gum-chewing girl sitting across from me. I really hope I'm in a window seat on the plane and that whoever sits next to me will just leave me alone. It'll be hours before I can have another cigarette to calm my nerves. It makes me almost envy Mello's chocolate addiction—at least candy bars aren't banned in public places.

Boarding time is probably soon. I take out my phone to check the time and see that I have a new voicemail, presumably from Mello. My insides squirm nervously. There's no way he could be in Japan already—maybe he ran into trouble. Cursing myself for missing the call and for not checking my phone earlier, I call my voicemail and wait for the message to play.

"Hey, Matt." Mello's voice sounds so cold and distant that I can't help but wince. "I haven't boarded yet, and I have some time. Thought I'd call just to set some things straight. I guess you're busy getting to the airport and shit..." There's an intake of breath on the recording, reminding me to breathe as well. At least it doesn't sound like he called in a dire emergency. "Look... we both know what you did was stupid. Almost anybody would've seen through that trick they pulled, and you're supposed to be a genius, you know? I expected better from you." Oh, shit, here it comes—another deep breath before his furious tirade. "But I don't really blame you. I worked you too hard... hell, I bet you can barely see straight with how little sleep you've gotten."

I blink in bewilderment. Is this really from Mello? Well, duh, of course it is—but if I didn't know better, I'd think that a calm, rational person had locked him in a closet, stolen his phone, and started imitating his voice. Nope, it's definitely not an impersonator—there's the telltale snap of a chocolate bar.

"It's not even that big of a deal. I caught sight of Mogi in time to follow him... We know approximately where he's going. I bet Near's taking his team to Japan, too. It was going to happen eventually. So... when you get this, I mean it—just forget about what happened, okay? I don't want to hear about it or talk about it any more. Just know that... it's fine, and we're starting over. It'll work out."

Does he really mean that? There has to be a catch—there's no way I'm just going to get off scot-free for my blunder. Mello has something up his sleeve, I'm sure of it. "Oh—it looks like we're going to have to pay at least 80,000 yen a month to stay in a shared apartment... so you're paying for that. And you're also buying all the chocolate from now on." A small laugh bubbles up from my chest. Now that's more like Mello. "See you tomorrow. Call me when you get there, all right?" The message ends without a goodbye. Typical.

The loudspeaker suddenly crackles and a calm woman's voice calls out over the noise in the terminal. "Flight 5015 to Tokyo now boarding." I jump out of my seat when I hear the announcement, quickly shutting off and stowing my phone. The people around me fumble around for their boarding passes and shuffle into a line at the gate, and I join them, lugging my bag behind me.

I realize that a lot of the tension has disappeared from my muscles, and it doesn't even matter that I'm in a middle seat wedged between two dour-looking businessmen. Now all I have to worry about for the next eleven and a half hours is sleeping and filling out a customs form—and wondering how I'm going to afford rent for the next however many weeks. Maybe I'll need to dip into my Wammy's trust fund... but it doesn't matter. If money is what it takes to stay in Mello's good graces, then I'll pay anything.

In the days since we've been here, Mello has barely left his room, except to leave the apartment on occasional mysterious missions. When we were looking for a decent flat, Mello insisted on renting one with two bedrooms, even though for the past week and a half I've just been sleeping on the couch. I'm fine with leaving Mello holed up by himself, using one of my laptops to hunt for information about Kira. He's tasked me with watching every Kira-related news report and keeping track of the latest killings. I'm fine with this job, since it leaves plenty of time for sleep and video games.

Mello emerges in the late afternoon, looking a bit haggard—perhaps sleep deprivation is catching up with him at last. He steps behind the couch and rests his elbows near my head, and I glance up at him through my goggles. His scar is still plainly visible even when viewed through orange plastic, but now that I'm a little more used to it, it seems like a mere shadow over the left side of his face.

I yawn hugely, stretching out my limbs. "So, you finally decided to take a break?"

Mello swats at my arm, which just missed hitting his head. "Sort of. There's a television program on soon that I want to look into. When was the last news report you watched?"

"About four hours ago," I reply, realizing that I've barely moved since then. I start to stand up to stretch properly, but quickly fall back on the couch again, cursing. "Damn it, my back hurts like a fucking bitch."

"Well, no wonder, the way you sit hunched over like that for God knows how long." Mello says dryly, sitting down at the other end of the sofa. "I'll give you a back rub if you cook dinner later."

Sounds like a good deal to me, even though I hate cooking. "Fine. But I thought all we had left was ramen."

"We've got some peas in the freezer," he says, scooting closer to me on the couch and putting his hands on my shoulders. "I got them last week. I thought we might get scurvy or some shit if we don't eat at least a few vegetables, you know?"

He starts trying to work the knots out of my trapezius muscles, and I draw my breath in sharply. I really hadn't realized how tense they'd gotten. "Ow! That hurts."

"Stop being such a baby," he retorts, digging in his fingers around my shoulder blades. He falls into a brooding silence for several minutes, concentrating on massaging my back. Mello used to do this for me when we were little kids, when I would sit hunched on the floor for too long playing video games. He's about as gentle as a saber-toothed tiger, but he's pretty good at it, I guess. It's just like old times.

I root around in my head for another conversation topic other than the decidedly boring one of what we're having for dinner. "Did anything new come up earlier while you were out?"

"Nope," he says shortly, kneading at the base of my neck. "Nothing to speak of. Kira still rules the world, we're still getting nowhere in our investigation, and I'm still hideous."

Oh, great, not this again. "Mello, you aren't hideous," I sigh, tilting my head back slightly to look at him. "No one cares what your face looks like, anyway."

He rolls his fists across my back. "I care what my face looks like. I know you do, too—you can't stand to look at me."

I twist around to face him. "What the hell are you talking about?" Does he seriously think that's true? "Is there something wrong with not wanting to stare at you all the time?"

"Stop moving. You're getting in the way," he grumbles, ignoring my pointed rhetorical question.

"Mello." I gently push away his hands and look at him severely. "Stop saying that you're ugly, okay? It's bullshit."

He rolls his eyes at me, but I'm telling the truth. How could Mello ever be ugly? He's always caught people's eyes with his gleaming blond hair and his angel face, but he's never just been a pretty boy. He's beautiful; there's no other word for it—but he'd probably think I was teasing him and smack me upside the head if I told him that. I shake my head and chuckle instead. "Fine. Say what you like," I say, raising my hands in surrender, the corner of my mouth pulling up in a slight smile. It's better to just drop an obviously touchy subject like this.

"Turn on the television," he commands, apparently still grumpy.

I reach over to grab the remote control from the table, then pause with my finger on the power button. "It isn't time for the news yet, is it?"

"Tune in to Sakura TV. They've got a new program on Takada—we might find out something important if we watch it."

"Yeah, right," I mumble, but I switch it on and flip through the channels until I see the pink blossom logo at the bottom of the screen.

My brain quickly adjusts to listening in Japanese as the cheesy voice of an announcer blares through the tinny speakers. "—four female bodyguards from twenty finalists who went through vigorous testing..."

"Do we really have to watch this stupid pro—" I start to complain to Mello, but he shushes me and points at the broadcast.

"Look—that's Halle!" I glance back quickly enough to see a photograph of a pretty blonde woman with a caption underneath labeling her as a former CIA agent.

"Whoa, Near works fast," I remark, impressed. He can't have been in Japan for much longer than we have, and he's already gotten one of his people this close to the enemy—while Mello and I are stuck following her at a distance and watching useless news reports.

Mello's brows are drawn in a thoughtful frown. "That settles it. Takada must be the key in getting to Kira." Maybe he looks a tad put out that Near got a step ahead of him, but at least we might have an advantage now.

"You're still on speaking terms with Lidner, right?" I tilt my head to the television set. "Maybe she could help us out."

Mello shakes his head slowly. "No. It'll be dangerous enough for her already to stay in contact with her boss, let alone with me... but this is still good. Now we know that we're focusing on the right target."

Even though Mello figured out over a week ago that the second L—Kira—must be the NPA chief's son, we both know that it's a dead end. We have no way of finding out where he's hiding, even though we know exactly who he is. When Kira's spokeswoman suddenly popped up on the Japanese news last week, we thought she might have a direct connection to Kira... now Near has conveniently confirmed for us that Takada is the best lead we've got.

"You know, Near's got to know who Kira is, just as much as we do," I muse. "He's in contact with him... so, if they wanted to, couldn't the SPK just get close to him and—"

"Kill him?" Mello asks quietly. We both know that's what Mello would do if he had the chance. "You know Near... he wouldn't want to end it that way. He's too fucking proud." I nod, conceding the point. Near may not be competitive like Mello, but everyone who grew up with him knows that he always has to win one hundred percent. He takes no risks; he doesn't tolerate any uncertainty.

And Near probably has the right idea in this case. It wouldn't really be bringing Kira to justice if he were knocked off like one of his countless victims, leaving no cold, hard proof of who was to blame. No one would know the truth—and would a quick, clean death even be enough for Kira to pay for what he's done? Mello wouldn't be satisfied in his revenge unless the bastard who murdered L died in humiliation and utter defeat. Maybe Near feels the same way... maybe I do, too.

I shift uneasily on the sofa and cross my arms. "So what are we going to do now?"

Mello stands up, suddenly full of energy. "We'll follow Takada. Watch her. Try to see how she gets in contact with Kira..."

"This is going to be even harder than spying on that Amane girl, isn't it," I sigh, sinking further down into the couch.

"You're telling me. Now come on, I'm hungry." He saunters into the kitchen, evidently pleased with himself for getting out of cooking duty.

I grudgingly push myself into a standing position, glad that my back feels much looser than it did when I first tried to stand up; I guess tonight's trade-off was worth it, since without Mello's back rub, I'd still be nearly immobilized on the couch. I pick up the remote control again to switch off the television, but right before I hit the button, I notice the banner at the bottom of the broadcast announcing today's date. "Mello?"

"What? he asks distractedly, turning back from the cabinet with a bar of chocolate in his hand.

"It's December fourteenth."

"So?"

"It was your birthday yesterday, moron. Unless I'm the moron and I forgot when your birthday is." I know full well that I have the date right, though—five years ago, I had been counting down the days till we were going to celebrate Mello turning fifteen, but he left Wammy's exactly eight days before.

"I know it was my birthday," he huffs, unwrapping the chocolate. "What do you want to do, bake a fucking cake?"

I frown. "Come on, you could at least let me go out to get some decent food. We could celebrate a day late." Ramen, frozen peas, and chocolate sound like the makings of a pretty lousy birthday dinner to me. Well, except maybe the chocolate.

He laughs harshly. "Today's the same as any other day. We don't have time for that kind of crap, especially since it isn't even my birthday any more. Forget about it." He takes a bite and chews it in a somewhat surly manner.

"But you just turned twenty..." How did that happen, anyway? Seriously, I still think of both of us as being about fourteen. "Don't you think that's an even slightly memorable occasion?"

"No." Mello snorts derisively through his mouthful of chocolate. "Since when do you care so much about commemorating holidays?"

I shrug. "This isn't like Thanksgiving or New Year's or some shit like that," I mumble. I remember distastefully the raucous celebrations in New York City. But Mello's right—we don't have time to just hang out or goof off, no matter what day it is. Kira sure as hell won't take any vacations, so short moments like this are our only respite. "Okay, I get it," I sigh. "No birthday parties, and Christmas is postponed indefinitely until we save the world."

"That's right," Mello says, taking a seat at the tiny kitchen table. "Anyway, don't you think this is a great way to celebrate? Cooking dinner for me and helping me plan out the best way to spy on a beautiful woman?"

"Yeah, whatever," I reply, shaking my head as I take out a battered metal pot and start filling it with water to boil. "Happy birthday, you old reprobate. Here's to twenty more years of criminal antics."

"Thanks for the kind wishes," he calls back sarcastically.

I set the pot of water on the stove. "You know, I'll expect you to cook dinner on my birthday," I tell him, grinning.

Mello crosses his legs and leans his chair backward, thoughtfully snapping off another bite of chocolate. "Then I hope all this is over before that day rolls around."