Arcadia

Pairings: Eventual LxLight

Warnings: These will be evolving as we go. For now, just cross-dressing, and the disturbing idea that is Ryuk as a secretary.

Comments: I know this took an insanely long time, and that I'm being just as bad with TYA! I haven't abandoned you all, I'm just absolutely ridiculous lately. Months keep going by like weeks and it's hard to keep a hold on everything.

This chapter's dual-dedicated to the wonderful Gloria B. for being a source of un-ending support (as well as my very helpful beta this chapter!), and also to lyshitski. I told you I'd update! It just took me another two months. Oops.

For those of you confused about the time setting: good! It's meant to be modern day, though. I'm just working to keep a noir feel to it, so if I lose that let me know!

-----

A tenor saxophone mixed in with the morning sunlight cutting sharp as a knife between the blinds and into the morning gloom of the office is the only way to begin a Sunday. Backed by piano and something like a swing beat, the familiar riffs of the first song in my usual morning mix were as essential to my mindset as the black coffee hot on my tongue and sliding smoothly down my throat.

The office was officially closed, of course-- Ryuk had weekends off, and I had no intention of leaving my door unlocked without the man's screening presence.

Raising the volume on my laptop, I leaned back in my chair, breathed in the distinct aroma of freshly-ground coffee, and closed my eyes.

Questions had been raised.

Nate apparently had stalkers and threats from before, but Mello had been vague on exact details. I made a note to ask Mello if Nate would allow me to place a wire-tap on his phones. If they'd been calling his cell phone rather than a land line, it would be even easier to pick up the signal. Information on threats that had been received and their details would also be needed if this case were to get off the ground.

I couldn't be sure, yet, if Mello's ties to the mafia were important to Nate's situation. It was a strong possibility-- even if the person or persons responsible for threatening Nate were ostensibly only after him due to his profession, there was no saying money wasn't also a factor.

At the moment, all I could really do was begin a few lines of inquiry and wait for the next move on the part of Nate's possible assailants. I would look into his place of business, drill him on any suspicious clients, review the security tapes even if I needed to place a few discreet bribes, and see what, if anything, turned up.

With any luck this would be a simple job: the perpetrator would call Nate again, I would trace it, then arrive at the doorstep of a mildly disturbed businessman or obsessive fanboy of Nate's and threaten a little sense into them.

With my work plans settled for the moment, I set to work on my usual hobby. Turning my left wrist over, I tugged my cufflinks loose, pulled my sleeve up and undid my watch. A clever mechanism hidden flush against the watch's sleek black band was easily opened, and a small cord from one desk drawer connected the watch to my laptop through one of the USB ports.

The watch had been an amazingly insightful gift from Ryuk. Before its arrival I was forced to memorize any of my incriminatory information and revisit databases I had already hacked, increasing my chances of being caught. Now, I had a ready-made storage device that never left my sight.

Of course, after I'd finished a mark, I deleted their files from the watch. There was a chance I would be able to explain away having information on one dead criminal, but for a collection of them it would be asking to be locked away.

Unlike most serial killers, I had even resisted the urge to keep mementos of my prey. Of course, I don't need mementos. I can recall in minute detail every man I've ever killed.

Before I could call up any files, however, my jacket pocket buzzed.

I do not hand out my personal number to clients.

Frowning as I wondered who might be calling me on a weekend, I pulled my cell free of its pocket and checked the I.D.. The number was unfamiliar.

I answered in a professional tone, prepared for a wrong number.

A loud snap sounded on the other end, followed by a person speaking around a mouthful of food. This is one of the most disgusting habits people can have. I had nearly flipped the phone closed to cut the call when I recognized the voice. "Did I wake you?"

After a pause, I leaned back in my seat, sliding from surprise into the quiet place in the back of my mind that I killed from. It's a pleasant place, with no distractions and a rush of clarity, where I can work freely and my focus is absolute. "How did you get this number?"

Apparently immune to the threat in my voice, Mello took another bite-- I could only assume it was chocolate. "I've got useful friends. What's that shit in the background?"

"Music. What do you want?" I don't do well with unexpected phone calls to my private line. Useful friends or not, having a client digging up private information on me is not acceptable. I had just become less charitable toward Mello's paranoid quirks, and if they continued, the mafia darling was going to find herself on the wrong end of my anger.

"Aren't you Japanese? I always thought you guys beat around the bush."

"And I thought a man who thinks of himself as a woman might act more like a lady. It seems we both defy expectations, Ms. Mello."

"Just Mello. And I'm not that kind of woman." Snap, snap. I felt my jaw clench at the sound, and closed my eyes, focusing on the music instead.

The pieces clicked into place. "...What has you spooked enough to make a personal call, Mello?" I asked.

There was a pause a fraction of a second long, but it was there. "What makes you think I'm spooked? For all you know this is a hobby of mine."

"Your voice. It seems more neurotic than it did on Friday."

"Maybe I've just got a naturally neurotic voice," she responded edgily.

I waited.

After less than a minute of nervous breathing on her end, she broke with a curse. "Fuck this... Light. Can I trust you?"

Apparently she felt that we were on a first-name basis. This is another annoying habit of people. "That depends on what you're trusting me with. I'm not the sort who's free with information, if that's the real question."

"I suppose it was," Mello muttered. "I just... I don't want Nate getting hurt. There are things I wasn't telling you."

"Like your connection to the mafia?" I offered dryly.

That shocked her into silence. Her voice was suspicious when she recovered enough to talk. "Do you do background checks on all of your clients, or just the pretty ones?" Snap.

"I assume the worst of people in any situation, actually. I find it saves time." If Mello had been sitting in the office with me, I'd have pulled the chocolate from her hand. "Is there any other potentially disastrous information that you'd like to share?"

"I... No," Mello finished, changing whatever she'd been about to say. "Nothing you can't find out, I guess."

"Good. I have a question for you, then. Would you allow me to put taps on your phone, as well as Nate's? I'd like to see if I can get a trace, and having the conversations recorded might be essential to the case."

"If grunting and threats are 'conversation' to you, you've been hanging out with some pretty weird people."

I waited again, and after a moment's thought, Mello sighed. "I don't care if you tap my calls, but if you use client information against them, I'll have your ass. I need to ask Nate, but... he's weird about his privacy."

"I've noticed. I'd appreciate it if you let him know I've been calling-- he seems to have a problem with getting back to people. If he really wants me on his case, I'll need to meet with him anyway." Discretion isn't always the best path, and the fact that I hadn't even managed to talk to my real client yet was degrading.

"He hasn't called you back?" Unladylike cursing from the tranny's end. "I'll get a hold of him for you."

"Make sure to do that. Tell him if he doesn't get back to me tonight, I'll make a special stop at his place of employment and his home until I find him. He's got to be around somewhere."

"Don't be sure. Nate's pulled disappearing acts before." The bitterness in Mello's voice brought to mind a fact from the file-- Nate vanishing just after Zakk Irius' death. It made me wonder if maybe even Mello hadn't had a clue where his brother had been.

"Reassuring," I responded dryly. "Our contract is still in effect if he kidnaps himself."

A short laugh from Mello as he tried to dull the sharp edge of past pain with another bite of his sweet addiction. "Thanks for the warning. I'll get him to see you, don't worry." I opened my mouth to respond, but before any sounds could come out the line had gone dead.

My jaw clenched as I tossed the phone to my desk and gave it a brooding stare. Rude clients are one of life's great irritations. It made me reluctant to discover if his brother might be cut from the same cloth.

---

Waiting for my client to call, I decided to spend my spare time on the shady side of town, letting myself be seen.

An essential part of any detective job is the networking. Over the years, I'd built up quite a run of ears, mouths and eyes about the city. I put about the news that I was interested in anything unusual about Nate or Mello and that helpful information would be rewarded.

It so happened that one set of ears and a mouth belonged to one person, the owner of a small pub in a dirty little district.

The Death Note Bar and Grill was a tavern as unusual as its name. Superstitious iconography lined the walls, including hamsa, dream catchers, horse shoes, animal skulls, gris-gris, and several items making clever use of the numbers four and thirteen. Broken shards of mirrors attached to the walls and ceiling reflected the smoke and the dim lighting in disconcerting ways.

As I stepped into the muted noise of the pub in the early evening I felt another buzz from my pocket. With distinct suspicion I flipped my phone open to another unknown number. "Light Yagami, P.I.," I greeted.

The voice that responded was surprising in two respects: for one, it had a smooth, almost feminine quality to it. For another, it spoke in barely-accented Japanese, greeting me in a blunt and familiar way. "This is Nate. You wanted to meet?" His tone somehow implied that it wasn't too important too him what I wanted, but he'd heard the rumor going around and thought he'd confirm it.

"'Want' might be a little strong," I responded in English, taking a seat at the bar and nodding a greeting to its tender.

Justin Beyondormason was a tall man, with skin stretched tight over his large frame. On idle days I would sometimes count the veins and muscles almost visible beneath the skin. His head was shaved clean smooth. The bar's muted light refracted distractingly from the odd collection of metal and gems weighing heavy on his gaunt frame as he returned the nod perfunctorily and pulled down a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

"If your concern is that I might be close in personality to Mello, we're two very different people." Nate, still in Japanese. I wondered if orphanages taught foreign languages now.

The words gave me pause for an instant, trying to determine if I might have done something to give my thought away. In the end I decided that with a sibling like Mello, Nate couldn't have been used to others having positive expectations of him. "I'll keep that in mind, then. I'd like to get the meeting out of the way as soon as possible."

"Fine. Tonight, my place, one hour."

I started to ask Nate where he'd learned my language when I realized the line was dead. I wondered if he and Mello knew how alike they really were.

I tucked the phone back into my pocket as Justin slid a glass of wine in front of me and began to rub down his counter with a cloth. "Tough client?"

With Justin, information often went both ways if it was going to go anywhere at all. "Elusive. Finding him seems to be part of the fun of the job." Justin grimaced in his version of sympathy. Taking another drink, I kept an eye on the big man. "On the subject, maybe you've heard of him. Nate Irius, goes by Near Rivers."

Familiar silence settled between us as the bartender considered his response and kept up with his cleaning job. His eyes flicked to the entrance as a man, brows thick and white from his years, staggered tiredly into the bar to claim a glass of whiskey and a seat at a table nearby.

Justin clearing his throat brought my attention back to him. "I know of him, yeah. Freaky little albino with mafia ties. Mello's little brother."

I felt an eyebrow arch as I swirled the wine. Definite familiarity there-- I hadn't thought of the Death Note as the sort of place Mello might spend her free time. "Does she come here often?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Justin pulled out a cigarette and lit up, eyes on the old man. "Often enough. She's a good kid. Reminds me of my baby sister."

I refrained from asking if Mello's mental instability also reminded him of his sister. Given the state of the bar, it wasn't a long shot. Besides, my own little sister had grown up to elope with a police officer who works under my father. Sanity is often relative.

Letting that subject slide, I kept up the chase. "Has anyone else been asking after them?"

A frown gathered on Justin's face like storm clouds on the horizon. "Why?" He leaned his ghoul-like arms on the counter and blew smoke to one side. "They your clients, or part of a case?"

He was balking, getting defensive. I'd made him nervous somehow. "My clients," I allowed casually, taking another sip of wine. "Might be there's someone who wants to do some damage to Nate. It's my job to keep that from happening." I didn't miss the tension draining from Justin's frame. It made me wonder what he'd assumed my questions were about. Given Mello's mafia connections, it was possible that he'd thought the blond was up to something illegal, something I'd have been hired to look into. There was also another possibility: Mello really was up to something, and Justin knew about it.

"Little different from your usual routine. Thinking of going into the bodyguard business now?"

I shrugged. "Business has been getting predictable. I needed something different; Mello is about as different as you can get. I'm starting to wonder how straight-forward her interest in the situation is, though," I allowed conversationally.

I was fishing again, and he was smart enough to know it. Justin had been a good source of information for years, but there were tricks to keeping his ears listening for you. If I leaned on the man the wrong way he'd cut me off, and few things irritated me as much as trying to get on someone's good side. For the most part Justin and I got along fine, but occasionally his pride and my temper had been known to light sparks. Then again, it may have been the other way around.

The silence had become uncomfortable with the presence of questions I couldn't afford to ask him on a time limit. Nate's address was in his file across town and the hour was ticking by. I drained my glass and slid a folded fifty across the table as a tip-- even if he wasn't willing to spill what he knew about Mello yet, the barkeep was still a useful source.

As I turned to leave Justin cleared his throat again and met my gaze. The fifty had disappeared like a magic trick, but he still seemed troubled. "Mello..." Swiping his cloth across the impeccable counter again, he gave another grimace. "You're right to keep an eye on her. She wouldn't hurt Nate, but I can't say the same for the other guy if there is someone trying to hurt him."

"You think she'd go after them on her own?"

Justin shrugged without comment. Apparently that was as far as he was willing to go on the subject of Mello. Abruptly, he spoke again, more thoughtful now. "You have any creepy-looking friends with black hair?"

Asking non-sequiturs wasn't one of Justin's usual quirks, so I favored him with an arched eyebrow. Aside from Ryuk, who was another regular at the bar, no image came to mind.

"The last time you came by, after you left... a kid came up to the bar and stole your glass. Slipped it right into a little bag and took off. It was probably nothing, but it seemed off to me." He shrugged, putting out his cigarette and picking up his rag once more. "Thought maybe it would mean something to you."

It didn't, but I offered another nod and a smile either way. "Maybe it was a happy client," I offered. As I turned to the door with a wave to Justin, my eyes caught on the old man, his glass still full. The set of his shoulders and tilt of his head suggested he'd been more interested by our conversation than his early evening whiskey.

Justin was sharp enough to notice as well, and he gave me a significant nod as I went out the door. There was more than one reason I kept the man paid for his services-- he had a half-decent mind beneath all of the jewelry and superstition, and he had about as much faith in the goodness of humanity as I did.

---

I don't recall any exact picture I'd formed when imagining where Nate lived. There must have been one somewhere, because the sight that greeted me when I let myself in stopped me cold.

The apartment was like a lunatic's toystore. An unfamiliar city spread across the room, created from anything that came to hand-- buildings of dice, identical numbers lining up in a precisely measured way. Other buildings created from Legos, stacking logs, matchsticks, cans of food, boxes of cereal. From their tops and spread around them in an artificial tide were toys of all kinds, all angled to face me as I entered. From the ceiling toy planes spun in endless circles to create a background hum of white noise.

If there were other rooms in the apartment, they'd been blocked from sight.

Stooping low beneath a house of Tarot cards that arched above and to either side of the doorway, I cast my gaze around for the source of the voice that had invited me in.

I actually had to walk into the city several steps before I could find the white head of hair crouched low in the maze, adding elaborate trains to a rail that wove throughout the room. The young albino caressed each train on the ground around him as though the touch could tell him something, and he would occasionally lift a finger to his hair in deep contemplation before placing a new toy onto the track and observing its steady departure with a miniscule turn of his head. He was wearing the same worn-in pajamas from the picture Mello had brought to my office.

Getting the impression that I had been forgotten, I frowned and opened my mouth to speak when his voice cut an unhurried slash across the unborn words. "They called me again last night. It's my impression that they mean to do something drastic if I can't determine what they want from me." Despite the words, the tone was detached and without concern, the boy's cool eyes never straying from the train tracks and the city around him.

Considering a response as I studied my secondhand client, I slipped my hands into the pockets of my slacks, registering in another part of my mind that the place was kept at a nearly tropical warmth. It might have been the last place in town where you could work up a sweat in mid-November just by standing around. "Did they leave any clues about what that might be?" The kid was still more familiar with the case than I was, and it didn't hurt to ask.

"Clues..." Nate's voice on the word had gone flat, and now it took on a derisive edge. "No, they weren't so considerate. Next time they call I'll inform them there's a private eye on my tail, and if they would be so kind could they please offer up their name and address. Maybe a social security number or their next of kin as well."

I saw that Mello's sense of humor wasn't the black sheep in the family. I was also getting a feeling for why someone might want to mess the kid up.

"Thank you for answering my next question, then. I can tell you have enemies," I observed dryly. "I'd like a list of names you know, anyone that might be suspicious."

"I'm a specialized escort, detective," came the response. "Anyone who shows an interest in me is suspicious in some way or another. And no one is really innocent."

"That's an enlightening philosophy, but luckily I don't need to find an innocent, just determine who's guilty of the crimes-- or possible future-crimes-- I'm being paid to look into." A bead of sweat trickled from my temple to disappear into the collar of my dress shirt, and I shrugged out of my suit jacket to hang it on one arm. I was beginning to grow irritated with the client and his seeming inability to look me in the eye.

As though he could hear the thought, Nate rolled his head in my direction, and his pale gaze took in my appearance with a sharp intelligence. I had the sudden impression that I was one of his toys, and he was considering whether or not I suited his city. The idea didn't sit particularly well with me, and if he'd reached out to touch me like one of the trains I might have pushed a dice tower onto him.

His eyes drifted downward and lingered. The jacket had been hiding my main firearm in its shoulder holster, and I stifled the urge to touch the gun instinctively.

"I was expecting something larger."

The snubnosed S&W model 36 had been a gift from my father upon entering the force. It was a twin to his own revolver, and I'd carried it with me for years. "I don't feel a need to over-compensate," I explained instead, resting my arm on a Lego tower as Nate looked away with what appeared to be a disbelieving smirk. "Now, I've got a few questions for you..."

---

In the end, I left Nate's apartment as enlightened as when I'd entered it. The man had an irritating habit of answering questions with questions, and I'd gotten the impression he was more interested in learning about me than having me do my job.

I pulled my jacket closer against a chill breeze that accosted me as I stepped onto the street. As I turned toward my parking space a newspaper vending machine caught my eye, spotlighted by a street lamp overhead. Over the usual scrawled tagging of the city's delinquent set someone had taken a marker and written their own piece-- "Moonlight...".

It must have been ego that stopped me. The writing was unusually even, and the lack of an expletive was a change, but the graffiti itself was nothing strange.

My name is Light Yagami, but the kanji that creates my first name translates to "moon".

Lingering amusement dissolved abruptly when my gaze focused past the graffiti to the newspaper behind the glass. Finding the correct change, I inserted it into the slot and pulled one of the papers out of the case, reading by the orange glow of the light above me and no longer feeling the cold bite of the wind.

Much of the cover was taken up with an image of a gruesome death scene, but that wasn't enough to catch my attention. It was the name-- the victim had been one Leod Tocsin, a pimp who called himself Ugly T..

I knew of the man, but had never considered him worth my time. Aside from his profession, he'd had the usual list of criminal misdemeanors and a reputation for domestic abuse. Certainly nothing that would require my own brand of attention to his crimes. Just another piece of scum off the streets.

Unfortunately, this scum had not been removed by myself. There were troubling keywords in the article, hints that it wasn't an isolated crime. It had been no act of impulse, there was no physical evidence left by the killer, and the wounds weren't consistent with being delivered by one of Tocsin's ladies of the night doing him in. Police had stipulated that there were other anomalies at the crime scene, but they were playing things close to their chests for now, trying to lure out any leads they could. There was mention that the body hadn't been found until the previous night, setting the time of death to Saturday morning.

A murderer that worked on the weekend. Some people had no ability to pace themselves.

-----

A/N

This story's making me branch out into new music, so fun! And some old music. Padrino by Smash Mouth makes me giggle way too much now. I also really never cared for jazz before starting this, but I can almost only picture this Light playing jazz, so I've been dipping my toe into it via Pandora Radio-- a lovely little site that categorizes the 'musical genome' of songs to introduce you to new things you might like. Since I'm apparently plugging things, I'd like to mention that Light's USB memory watch does in fact exist, and you can buy it at thinkgeek. I thought it seemed like a great place to store illegal or dangerous stuff.

The song Light was playing in the beginning of this chapter is "Little John" by Johnny Griffin. It came on Pandora and seemed like a good song to wake up to, since I was almost nodding off when it started and woke up enough to begin writing. I originally had the bar owned by an OC, but it seems like too iconic a place to do that to it, so you got the Shinigami realm's advisor in human form instead. L will show up soon! Next chapter or the one after. ...I'm also totally making a Death Note Bar and Grill apron for myself.

Thanks to everyone who commented...! I love you all, and enjoyed the comments, but assume that since it's been um... oh, wow, 8, 9 months? Really? I'm a horrible, bad, terrible person. Wow. Anyway, I'm guessing none of you remember what you said, so thank you anyway!