Hell and Healing

SPOILERS: All manga, all anime, L's true name, Another Note, Law and Right, Truth and Justice, Motive and Mayhem.

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Hell and Healing

Chapter 3: Criminal

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The sex really was pretty good tonight, Mello decided as he watched the Yakuza boss fall into an orgasmic stupor. He kissed the man's forehead as he slid out of the bed, absently throwing the condom away. Who would have thought that so many Yakuza liked to take it up the ass? The thought brought a crooked smile to his lips as he pulled on his slim leather pants, his matching vest.

He pulled out a bar of chocolate, snapped off a bite as he went about pilfering the information he wanted. And, hell, he took the money he was supposed to be paid for the sex, too. After all, he'd damn well earned it. He was just disengaging his flash drive when an alert came up on the PC, with surveillance video of the outside of the building.

What he saw had a curse exploding from his lips. "Shit!" The chocolate fell from his lips unnoticed as he shoved the flash drive into his pocket and went for the nearest window, shoving it open and jumping onto the fire escape. He wasn't all that worried about being quiet, just fast, even though the probability of getting away was miniscule.

He was cursing under his breath, wincing with every step. The sex had been rough, but Yakuza tended to like it that way and the bruises he had were different from the ones he'd gotten from Matt.

That was a distraction he really didn't need just then as he hit the last landing of the fire escape, jumped on the ladder and let it carry him towards the ground. He leapt off the ladder before it reached the end of its downward slide so the impact wouldn't slow him down. Pain lashed up his legs when he landed, but his bones held so he hissed at the pain and pushed himself into a run.

He nearly landed on his ass when he ran around a corner and right into the muzzle of a gun. "Shit! Shit!" he snarled, even as he raised his hands, put them on his head. "God damn fucking shit!"

They patted him down, cuffed him and left him with the rear guard as they, too, moved in on the building.

"Mother fucking shit," Mello kicked the brick wall of the building he was standing by, ignoring the pain that shot up his foot. The cops were supposed to tell him when they were going to move on the building. "Fucking assholes!"

He was just as grumpy as the Yakuza when he was loaded into a police van, carted off to the jail to be printed and interviewed. He was mildly surprised when they printed him to paper instead of directly into the electronic database. It must have been down, he assumed, and that was probably a good thing as it would keep L and Light from finding him quite so quickly.

Not that he expected them to bail him out. He just didn't want to have to deal with them, their snooty, scolding tones about how he should behave better, stay out of the eye of the law.

Someone, somewhere always had to get their hands dirty for the greater good. He didn't mind if it was him, really, and he could certainly prove the amount of good his methods had done.

If they would let him present his case, that is. He rolled his eyes at the very thought, sighing in mild irritation as he was walked into interview, the handcuffs removed. When they asked if he wanted anything, he demanded a cup of coffee and a chocolate bar.

Once they were in his hands, he bit off a bite of chocolate, took a sip of coffee... and thought about Matt for a moment as the investigators put the first question to him.

"Mateo Jeevas," Mello replied when they asked his name. He showed them his full ID set, waited as they ran it through the proper systems.

"So, Mateo, just what were you doing in that particular den of iniquity?" the detective asked.

"I sell information," Mello replied easily. "I have to gather it somehow, don't I? So I rub elbows with the mean and nasties, sell them information while they inadvertently hand over plenty about themselves."

"We've got some video surveillance that tells us you sell more than information," the detective pulled a photograph from a file, pushed it across the table to Mello.

He took a long look at it, frowned a little as he bit off another piece of chocolate, shrugged. "So I fuck 'em, so what? Look, if prostitution is the worst thing you're trying to book me for, you're wasting your time. I let him think I was a hooker, I fucked him and yeah, I took the money. If you wanna charge me with that, fine. It won't go to trial 'cause I'm not going to claim I didn't do it. But you've got bigger fish to fry with this one, now don't you?"

"I'd worry about myself first if I were you," the detective replied easily. "We've booked you for prostitution, but we're going to add racketeering."

Mello snorted, giving a laugh before he took a gulp of coffee. "You think I run with those fuckers?" he laughed a little more, relaxing in his seat, crossing his legs like he was perfectly comfortable. "You've gotta be out of your mind. Why don't you ask all the other boys you brought in about it, huh? Hell, show them these pictures," he grinned, nudging the photograph back across the table. "That'll give their boss a few problems, I can guarantee you that. He let them think I was another Yakuza boss, trying to make some deals that would be beneficial."

"You think that helps your case?" the detective shook his head.

"It was a cover," Mello shrugged. "I fucked the guy, that's what I did, and none of them knew it. This verifies that my activities weren't about making a business deal, it was a swap of bodily fluids," he snapped off another piece of chocolate. "Even their tiny little pea brains would be able to figure out that much. Besides, with camera quality like that, you're working with one of the letters. They'll be thorough enough to have cleared me of any so called racketeering charges. They aren't going to stick me with something I didn't do."

"You seem to know an awful lot about how we work here. Deal with us often?" the detective topped off Mello's coffee.

"I sell you guys tips on a regular basis," Mello shrugged. "Under aliases, of course. I can't afford for people to start sniffing at me because some idiot cop blurts my name. Which letter's working this case?"

"You don't need to know," the detective replied blandly. "But I do know you have enough information that we'd be willing to drop the racketeering charge if you shared it."

"And we reach the real point of this little conversation," Mello took a long drink from his coffee mug. "Give me a name, unrelated to this case, and I'll give you what I've got, but I don't testify in court. Ever," he wagged a finger at the man sitting across from him.

"All right then," and he listed off a few names, took notes even though the interview was being recorded. A few hours later, Mello was back in the holding cell, draped across the hard stone bench that masqueraded as a bed with a thin futon draped over it. For once, he found himself sleeping soundly. He'd have to do some time over this, but he could deal with that -- it certainly wouldn't be the worst thing he'd gone through in his short life.

The next morning he and all the other detainees that had been charged were rounded up and loaded into a transport. Off to the courthouse, of course, where they were put in more holding cells until it was their turn to go in front of a judge. That, at least, was a good thing about Japan. You got your day in court damn fast because there were so few criminals to be dealt with.

In America, it could take close to a year even for a preliminary hearing.

When it was his turn, Mello settled himself into the defendant's chair. One glance at the prosecutor's table and he was letting out a groan of frustration. Could nothing go his way?!

He scowled when the prosecutor came over, shook hands with the state appointed attorney representing Mello.

"It's been a while," Mikami said smoothly. "I didn't think we'd meet in quite these circumstances the second time."

"Yeah, yeah," Mello scowled, glowering up at the lawyer. "Keep your mouth shut about this, okay? I don't want them getting involved."

"You talk like I have a direct line of communication with them," Mikami chuckled softly. "Don't worry about that. I don't, and I haven't spoken to them since the day I last saw you."

"Yeah? Keep it that way," Mello grumbled then, against his better judgment, asked the question that had been nagging at him. "You'd know how long he's in for, wouldn't you?"

Mikami's expression softened. "He got fifteen years, eligible for parole after five. He was convicted of Conspiracy to Murder in a private hearing. L recommended that he be given a light sentence due to the nature of the weapon and its current state."

There was a moment of silence before Mello nodded. "Thanks. That means he's up for parole in a year, doesn't it?"

"It does," Mikami agreed with a soft smile. "Perhaps it's time for you to face him again. I don't think he's going to avoid you once he's out."

"Like I could be so lucky," Mello smiled humorlessly as the bailiff announced the Judge's arrival. Mikami returned to his table and they stood as was expected.

It was quick and efficient. The charges were presented, Mello pled no contest, and Mikami recommended minimum sentence since it was a first time offence. The judge gave a mild scolding and a 30 day sentence and Mello was off to the holding cells again.

It was a long, boring morning in the cell before he was put on a prison bus to be transferred to his home for the next thirty days. It was nearly noon when he arrived, so he was screened into the prison and given a meal in a holding cell before they escorted him to his permanent cell.

He was in a drab grey jumpsuit, carrying the blanket, pillow, sheets and personal care items he was permitted. His face was fixed in a bored scowl as he was escorted to his cell and told to settle in.

The area they put him in had two stories of cells overlooking a large open floor that was called a range. There were lines of different colors painted across the floor that one was to stand on or behind at given times. Metal benches and tables were bolted to the floor and, high out of reach, a TV was mounted. The inmates had to fight over the remote, of course, but there was a pecking order for that.

Mello didn't pay much attention as he was led to the second story, shown his cell. He was mildly surprised that they even risked putting two people in a cell together, but he supposed he was in one of the less violent areas of the prison.

There was a large man on the walkway, apparently an occupant of the cell next door, yelling down to the range. "Oi, ya got a new roommate, goggles!"

There was a shower down in the range and the water was running, so he didn't really hear the yell that replied. It didn't much matter, he'd deal with whoever he was stuck with and until then, he was damn well going to get his bed ready. He put the sheets on, threw the blankets over it and glanced around the cell to find a place for his so called personal care items.

That was when the first shiver ran up his spine. He walked over to the toilet-sink, pulled the Christmas card down from where it was stuck between the mirror and the wall, flipped it open.

Oh hell no.

Mello turned around just in time to see Matt framed in the cell doorway, towel on his head, jumpsuit hanging from around his waist. And those goddamn goggles still stuck to his face.

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A/N: I know absolutely ZERO about Japanese police procedures, nor their legal and penal systems. That said, this is based mostly off of what I know about the American legal and penal systems, so it's going to be crazily inaccurate. I'm also taking a few liberties while doing that, because Mello's offence would only entail going to a jail and Matt's wound entail prison time.

For the non-American readers: A jail is maintained by a county and a prison is maintained by a state. Jails are meant to be used to carry out misdemeanor sentences, all of which have an imprisonment term of one year or less. A felony has a term of one year or more and the prisoners are generally taken to a prison maintained by the state as opposed to their individual counties. There are also federal prisons, which are maintained by the federal government and typically house inmates who have crossed state lines while committing a felony. The US is divided into fifty rather large states, each state is divided into a bunch of counties (sometimes called parishes) and each county has its own courts, judges and so on. I don't really know what it would be comparable to for other countries, though.