AN- *twitch* Uh...I'm still alive. Still working...Beta is MIA, but I hope she's well. Here's the next part, and I'll be back soon!

By the way...I have no clue what kind of Gun Mello carries. Oo I really don't. Huh.

XXXX

The elevator opened directly into the loft area, a room that sprawled across the top of the skyscraper without apology for its grandeur. The elevator, bathroom and the stair-exit in one corner were the only doors in the room, all set along the same wall. Beyond that, to his left, a sheer line of windows overlooked the heart of the city. At night, when the smog wasn’t so bad, he could see across the skyline to the edge of the grasslands and the mountain range in the distance. The glass half of the ceiling, when it was cleared of dust by the rain, allowed a full view of the sky and its stars, the moon often straying into the corners when the season was right. Tonight, aside from the occasional lightening, it was dim and the wind shook the panes. He knew that only a few hours to the East, the sun was already coming up over the horizon, but here they remained in the sacred hours of the early morning, prolonged and crystalline in the storm.

It was decorated with the indecipherable sense of style that accompanied stupid men with lots of money…if it looked expensive, it was bought, and room was made for it. The standard applied to everything from the lamps to the women that occasionally appeared on their arms. This was the ‘Showroom’, as Rod was fond of calling it, the place where they brought men when they planned to impress or intimidate them. It was a more public way of keeping the power centered in both the FBI and the Family’s eyes. Granted, they had several other hideaways, most underground, in the belly of the city, but those were for the dealings that involved the bigger names and titles. Mayors and other city officials were less likely to be impressed by the Showroom, so there were darker corners scattered beneath the clubs they often frequented that served as their board and press rooms, places more suited to intimidating men of honest power. Mello himself had one that he preferred, beneath a dance floor in a dismal back alley not far from here. Its mantle was full of skulls and cheap Virgin Mary candles that he took a private delight in burning whenever he was there…the fallen wax had become a fixture of its own over the years.

The elevator doors began to close on him and he woke enough shove his musings aside and step out before being confined to the box again. The blood had seeped through the hems of his gloves and he felt it growing tacky in the curves of his fingers when he pulled away from the rail.

The fact that even with his frantic desire for fresh air beating at the line of his sanity, he had paused to admire the furniture was more than a little frightening. He was not in control of himself, in any sense of the word.

The air in the apartment held the uneasy, stale shift of current that meant the air-conditioner was off and had been for sometime, leaving the temperature to vary with the amount of light energy coming into the room. The stillness of it made his every breath seem exaggerated and loud in his own ears, his prickling paranoia rearing its head and then just lying down to die again. He was honestly too tired to give a damn if Rod was waiting for him with a gun. He only hoped he had the presence of mind to seem like himself in the face of such a threat, so that he could bleed out with a little dignity.

His eyes strayed unconsciously to the decorative tree across from the couch, where he’d installed Matt’s camera. The hacker might be awake and watching, he knew, but with his phone off, he wouldn’t be able to interfere in any way should a bullet be waiting for Mello at some point tonight. At least if Rod killed him here, Matt would have a way to know.

It struck him oddly, to think of Matt watching him die. The clamor of his unfinished tasks returned only briefly at the thought before receding to the darkness again. There was nothing comforting in the idea, if he were honest. He would not be dying with a close friend at his side…he wasn’t romantic enough to turn something as simple as video footage into such a grand thing. No, he would just…die, and Matt would find out later. That’d be the end of it, to a degree. He wasn’t even sure Matt would attempt to continue his work should something happen to him. The fact that he might not was morbidly depressing somehow.

He then realized he’d been staring at the floor during this entire thought process and cursed himself, glancing around the room for the first time.

The act of turning his head to the side and looking at the zebra-striped couch seemed an impossible effort at first. It was the small things that taxed him in this condition, with such miniscule wastes of energy, things that he wouldn’t have blinked at hours ago, only serving to highlight his every weakness now. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and another for him to focus at any distance. He found the big man asleep on the couch, shirtless and spread eagled, for all appearances dead with half a bottle of Crown Royale hanging out of one fist. He was little more than a dark outline marring the zebra pattern in the grey glow of the city lights reflecting off of the storm clouds overhead. The Dom was alone tonight, which was unusual but not unwelcome. Mello considered taking a moment to think through the coming conversation again, but the elevator bell sounded behind him and the man woke up. Rod did not jump, but instead slid back to consciousness with his next breathe, every muscle stiffening slightly. Mello watched him drift back to himself like a swimmer coming up for air. Were it not for the bottle shifting slightly in his tightening grip, he’d have had no indication at all until the mercenary picked his head up and looked in his direction.

It was a talent that had probably saved the big man’s life on more than one occasion.

Instead of ponder that, however, he focused on not swaying on his feet. The grey light fell across the man’s dark shoulders and painted them blue, throwing the muscle and cords of his neck into sharp relief. Even the gold chain around his neck glinted silver. The two of them remained like that over the course of a few minutes, with only the wind whispering in the background again. After a moment or so, the rain picked up, tapping, and then knocking against the glass as though it wished to participate in the conversation… but neither of them answered.

Rod was surprised to see him alive. He wasn’t stupid enough to pretend that nothing had happened, nor to insult Mello by asking how he’d survived. His men had either fucked up, or they wouldn’t be coming back. It didn’t necessarily mean that they were dead but considering it was Mello they’d been sent to dispose of, the odds were decidedly not in their favor. It was an acknowledged fact, then, that Mello was not here out of boredom or curiosity for once. When they regarded each other now, it was in the strictest sense of business men preparing to talk, because what little camaraderie they might have shared lay cooling just as surely as the corpses across town did. It put the situation into perspective at least.

Rod blinked, and took a deep breathe to clear the last of the sleep from his mind…then waved Mello over with the bottle.

So it began, he thought to himself as he forced his feet to move, and covered his heavy steps with something of a swagger. Better to appear slightly drunk, or perhaps crazy, than to appear weak in something this important. He had to get Rod to back off. Had to, or else Matt’s involvement would lead to more deaths, and not results. One of the only reasons that Mello and Rod had worked so well together in the past was that Rod knew he was dealing with Mello, and Mello alone. The young detective masqueraded as a single-shot man with an iron fisted understanding of the economy and its inner workings. He could make, hide, and spend thousands of dollars over the course of a few hours, when presented with the proper tools. He was quiet, and intelligent, willing to make the Dom a very rich man if he would only pay attention…Rod wasn’t one to waste such an opportunity. However, with this new person, this anonymous hacker backing the brains of the California mafia branch, Rod was inclined to get a little nervous, paranoid even. With Kira’s killing tool in the palm of his hand, changes in the system went beyond paranoia and into the realms of betrayal, on sheer principle. Mello couldn’t pull strings and take care of problems quietly anymore, and he knew that Rod knew it too. At this point in the game, the issue was either on the table or it was under it, and the latter was likely to get one killed.

Rod licked the edge of his teeth as Mello eased onto the couch across from him, his big, white smile almost glowing in the strange lighting. “What can I do for you?”

Mello adopted his usual sprawl, legs and arms wide over the fabric and head back as though he weren’t sitting directly across from one of the most powerful men in the criminal industry. If Rod took offense to it, then fine…Mello wasn’t particularly fond of abandoning thousands of dollars worth of high grade chemical explosives because the Dom had an itchy trigger finger. He chose to ignore the question.

“C’mon Mello.” Rod leaned forward, and the ripple of muscle that accompanied the action was…disconcerting. He reached for the cellphone on the table and tilted its screen towards him, frowning in the dark. “It’s…hell, it’s nearly four. What brings you in so early?”

“We had an agreement.” Mello offered to the ceiling, unsure of whether or not he could pick his head up again. He managed, however, in time to see the gold chain fall back across his collar as the black man crossed his legs and scratched at the beard on his chin. Mello leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, gesturing with gloves that reeked of something copper and sweet. “That I would handle my end my way…and as long as things ran smooth, we were smooth. What happened to that?”

“Ain’t nothing happened to that.”

Mello met his eyes and shook his head slowly. Licking his lips, he reached and pulled the Velcro strap of his left glove open easily. As he started to peel it back from his skin, the scent struck him like a wave, each sticky patch of blood pulling at his stomach as surely as it did his skin. He managed to control his gag reflex while the leather curled away from the dark smears painted his long fingers, until it finally fell, laden with the life of another. Rod’s lips tightened into a grimace, his grip on the Crown Royale shifting again. Mello clenched and released his fist a few times, every line and curve of his hand highlighted in exquisitely gory detail. “The hell it hasn’t, Rod.”

The black man took a deep breath, sighed, and amended carefully. “Ain’t nothing happened that was any of my doing. You know that.”

“Yeah. To a degree. But we can’t fuck with this, Rod.” Mello murmured quietly, tossing the heavy leather to the glass-top table between them. Rod curled his nose at it. “It’s too late in the game for us to start this cat and mouse bullshit.”

“Like I said, I ain’t changed nothing, Mello. You’re the one pulling shit behind my back, bringing in people that ain’t got any business with me. We agreed to deal from the same side of table.” Rod swirled the amber liquid in his bottle while he spoke, a nervous twitch that Mello didn’t miss. “You’re the one slipping people cards when I ain’t looking. Can’t blame me.”

“I’ll give you that.” Mello offered carefully, pulling his other glove off to land beside its brother. He paused and took a deep breath, his crucifix hanging forlornly between his knees. “Rod, how deep is the contract?”

“You’re looking to cut a deal because you managed to get off.”

“I never said that.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I never said that, either.”

“No, but you act it.” Rod snapped, head lowered in his irritation. “I know you’re smart Mello…hell, you could ‘prolly run circles around any man I pitch at you, and we both know that. Why you want a deal?”

Mello closed his eyes, resisting the urge to rub them. This was going downhill…he needed to level out or this would end badly. He hadn’t even bothered to check if the man was armed. The realization made him tense despite himself, but he refused to look now. It’d be too obvious, and it would show he was expecting a fight. The easiest way to begin and exchange of bullets was simply to wait for it to happen. He moved on. “I killed three men in my apartment tonight, Rod. One of them was a good man, and you’re gonna have trouble explaining it to the boys unless, something big comes up.”

“That’s why you want a deal now. You got something big to offer me?”

“I’m not interested in calling off the hit, Rod. It can’t go too deep, or I wouldn’t be sitting here still. You’d kill me yourself if you really needed me gone. I know that.” Mello leaned back, running a hand through his hair and immediately regretting it as the tacky blood on his palms snagged the pale strands. “What I want is to buy a man.”

Rod cocked his head, gritting his teeth as he thought the offer over. It was a simple enough process…buying a man to do private work was not an uncommon thing. The practice originated in New York, back when the family was still strong as far as blood went. Buying a man insured that when using some young buck to do the dirty work, a doting uncle wouldn’t raise hell should something happen to him. It was a simple exchange, often in the forms of gifts and favors and it mutually benefited the men involved. The younger man running the street got to make his name, and the older, more strategically placed gentleman had their business taken care of without sullying their title or political reputation. More commonly in modern times, it was a bid for privacy from the Dom, to deal with an internal affair using a man under his influence. The man tipped the bottle back and stared at him for a long moment, eyes as hard as black stone in the shadows. After a moment his spoke, his low baritone carrying in the silence.

“The contract was only three deep. Rio and the two boys with him… I hadn’t expected to lose him, but you’re not stupid either. Even if I’d called it off, he’d have been talking to the boys about it. I’m sorry he died, but I’m not sorry that he’s dead.”

Mello nodded, dropping his eyes. It made sense for Rod to put a man from his circle on the job, to see that it was done right. Had he not anticipated the hit, he still wasn’t sure he’d have survived it, with a man like Rio in the mix. He’d been a good shot. Mello had just been lucky enough to spot the car before approaching the stairwell, and to quietly put a bullet in him. “That’s good.”

“You know,” Rod began, sighing again, “I only put that hit out to see if you’d come back here and make it better. I needed to know that you respected me, you know? I like you, even if you’re a little freaky for my tastes…you get shit done, and you do it well. You know how to defer without rolling over, make a name for yourself and keep your superiors above it. I’d hate to see the end of an arrangement so pretty.”

“So would I. I’m out to get what I want…it doesn’t matter to me who dies in the process.”

“Like I said, a true man of the business.”

“You dealing with me?” Mello asked bluntly, too tired to keep skirting the subject. He needed to get out of here before he passed out in such a vulnerable location.

Rod glanced at his whiskey and back at Mello. “Shot or bullet?”

“Bullet.” Mello moved to the edge of the couch, face blank as he pulled the .45 Colt from the holster at his belt and set it on the table. Another traditional method of dealing between the men of mafia was the act of swearing on a shot of alcohol or a favorite weapon. It was a throwback to the days when gangsters still considered themselves gentlemen. To swear on a shot was much like a toast, a drink to a business deal for the politician and the string-pullers…it was usually used in the case of monetary exchange or minor extortions. The tradition was woven into another from the men in the alleys, the enforcers and street runners that made up the shadows of the big cities. For them, offering the favorite weapon, or the gun of highest value, was a symbol of loyalty to the Dom receiving the gift. It was used to swear in the younger blood, because if the Dom accepted the firearm and then returned it, it was considered the acceptance of its services instead. These days, to swear over a gun was to offer up a service in exchange for a grant or favor. These two traditions were born purely in New York, instead of being reminiscent of the old Italians…the exchange of services and goods went much smoother when the grandeur of it all was reduced to a simple table and a face-to-face conversation. Mello set the pistol down, the saint charms attached to its grip clinking on the glass. He planned to swear ‘bullet’ and exchange the use of a man for an exchange in service.

“You got something for me?” Rod countered, lifting a skeptical eyebrow.

“You have a brother in the state penitentiary outside Monroe, in Louisiana.”

“Yeah. How’d you know about him?”

“From what I understand, you don’t give a damn about him, but you consider his name on the sex offender’s register to be insulting.”

“It’s bad for business in the South…he had some nice assets until he got himself caught.” Rod shook his head. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“Hear me out. That brother was your arms dealer until he went under, and the man we’re dealing with now doesn’t know what hell he’s doing. We both know that.” Mello braced his elbows on his knees again, a little more awake with the ideas in his head. “I can get us the funding we need with a single phone call. Guns, supplies, money, satellites, anything we want.”

“How?”

“We have Kira’s notebook. The rumors are already spreading that Kira was somehow involved in the plane jacking last week, why not use that to our advantage?”

“You shot that idea-”

Mello cut him off. “I shot the idea of using it on the Family down, Rod. Why waste it on something we already have a standing in when we could turn it on the one thing we can’t control? Why not use it on the government?”

Rod straightened. “That’s insane.”

“One phone call, Rod. To the president. He already knows…between the surveillance satellites and the men watching Kira, I guarantee you he knows it’s here. He may not know what it is, but if we don’t move first, someone else will. Besides, if we keep diverting funds to buy our equipment, another Cousin is going to notice and they will ask questions. We don’t need any more attention on the West Coast. I can get a line to the White House. I can talk to him directly.”

“How you expect to pull that off and not bring this whole deal crashing down on our heads?”

“We need to move, start jumping bases regularly…and I need a man.”

Rod gave him a level stare. “…You ain’t talking about one of my men, are you?”

“No.” Mello answered truthfully, opening his bloody palms over the table and meeting him squarely in the eyes. “I want to buy-in my hacker, Matt.”

“You got a problem with Snyder?”

“ Several. He’s stupid, and he’s sloppy. Matt works at my caliber.”

There was a silence while Rod weighed the pros and cons of that. “Legitimate?”

“Up to you.” Mello shrugged, “You let me buy him and he’s on the table, not under it, and we can go back to the way things were.”

“He expectin’ to be paid?”

“Who isn’t? I can handle it.”

“No, the only man on my side is a man on my money, and even that man never sees my back. I’ll give him half what I give you, flat rate.”

“So it’s a deal.

“…Just take your gun and get the hell outta my loft, man.”