The Unholy Alliance - Rindee - WIP 2/4 - R

[rindee]

Title:  The Unholy Alliance - WIP 2/4
Author:  Rindee
Rating:  R
Word Count:  4964
Characters/pairing:  Veronica/Logan, Mac/Cassidy, Weevil & ensemble
Spoilers:  An AU story that takes place immediately after 2.9, but spoilers through 2.10. 
Summary:  My take on what might have happened after Weevil and Logan realized they were on the same side, and after they tried to kick each other's ass. 
A/N:  Written months ago, before I'd ever gotten the guts to post anything, so it's unbeta'd and all the mistakes are mine.



The next afternoon.

A red-eyed Veronica sits at her desk at Mars Investigations, staring at the telephone.  She reaches for it, stops, and reaches for it again.  Her hand falls onto the receiver and she drums her fingertips against it.  She looks down at the file she’s swiped from her father’s safe, sighs, and dials a number.  “Yes.  Special Agent in Charge Samuel Rockwell, please.  . . .   No, it’s personal.  I’m, um, his niece.  . . .  Thank you.”

Impatient as ever, she raps a pencil on a pad of paper as she waits to be put through to the SAC.  “Uncle Sam.  Hi.  . . .  How’m I?  Good, thanks.  . . .  Dad’s good, he’s out on a job in the back woods of Montana.  . . .   Looking for one of your fugitives, I think.  . . .  How’re Aunt Barb and the kids?  . . .  Listen, Dad asked me to call.  It’s a case he’s working for the Neptune Sheriff’s department.  I don’t know if he told you, but we’ve got a little gang problem here, and it looks like there may be a turf war.  They’ve asked Dad to investigate.  One of the names we keep hearing is Liam Fitzpatrick.  The other is Griffith, Thomas Griffith.   . . .  You know him?  . . .  You think his real name is -- what?  Hold on a sec, let me get the spelling.   . . .  Okay.  Got it.  . . .  He is?  For what?  . . .  You sure?  No, I’m not questioning the FBI.  . . .  Yes, I know your jurisdiction includes foreign-born citizens on U.S. soil.  . . .  Can you send us anything, a seven, a BOLO, anything concrete?  The local Sheriff is kinda thick and seriously into denial.  He’s not going to take my, um, Dad’s word for anything.  . . .  Can you e-mail me so I can forward a copy to Dad and keep one?  . . .  You’ll check on the other and let me, us, know? . . .  Thanks, Uncle Sam.  Say ‘Hi’ to everyone for me.  Are you comin’ down any time soon?  I miss you, and I know Dad would love to see you too.  Thanks, again.  Yeah, of course.  Bye now.”

A few minutes later, Veronica gets the e-mail.  “Liam Fitzpatrick.  Have I got news for you,” she mutters.  Her eyes get bigger as she continues reading.  “Oh, shit.  Weevil.”  She carefully saves the message and its attachment, and prints a copy.   She stands, grabs her cell and hits redial.  “Logan?  Its me.  . . .  No, I haven’t changed my mind.  Listen, we’ve got a bigger problem.  Weevil could be in real danger.  . . .  Can you meet me?  I don’t want to be here if my Dad calls.  I don’t want to have to lie to him.  . . .  Okay.  I’ll see you in ten.”  Veronica folds the paper and puts it in her messenger bag.  She looks around, sits back down and opens her on-screen address book.  “Um, Mac.”  She addresses a message to Mac, hits send and closes her computer.  Walking out the door, she dials her cell.

“Mac.  It’s Veronica.  I’m hopin’ you have some time for me tonight.  I have a special assignment.  Call me back when you get this.” 
______________________________________

Veronica and Backup stand in the sand at the edge of the beach front parking lot.  A brisk breeze ruffles the water, kicking up whitecaps as the sun slides toward the horizon.  Logan pulls up and screeches to a stop, leaving the bumper of his Xterra rocking only inches from her knees.  Veronica doesn’t wait for him, but grabs the door handle and, putting Backup in the backseat, lets herself in.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.  You called.  I came.  Remember this day, ‘cause its not going to happen again.”

“Shut up, Logan.  This is serious.  Not only do I agree Weevil has a mole, but if it's who I think it is, he's working with, or for, some honest-to-god, wanted-by-the-feds, criminals.”

“What?  Veronica, I realize you’re sexually frustrated, what with Duncan spending all his time with Meg and the Donut-to-be, but really, your imagination’s been working over time.”

Veronica frowns and, paper in hand, swipes at Logan.  He shifts in his seat to face her and catches her hand in his.  Startled by the human contact, both stop and look at the other.  Veronica’s face is a parade of emotions:  fear, anger, and a bit of desire.  Logan’s face mirrors hers, except his anxiety is centered on her reaction as he pulls her backward onto his lap and wraps his arms tightly around her.  “Fuck, Logan.  You need to --”

“Thanks, Veronica, but I’ve already had lunch.  Slow down and tell me what’s goin’ on.”  Veronica leans against his chest and relaxes for an instant, comforted by his presence.  After a moment, she wiggles around, half-heartedly trying to extract herself from his embrace.

“Logan,” she starts, tilting her head to look at him.  Logan’s impish grin does not match his anxious eyes, and she realizes he’s not really playing with her, merely trying to soothe her.

“Logan.”

“Yes, Sweetums?”

“I.  Can’t.  Think.  Like.  This.”  Logan eases his grip but does not let her move away.

“I know.  You’re overcome by my innate sexual vibe.  I can’t control it, Veronica.  Really.  So deal.  Now, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

She smiles thinly.  “Logan.  According to the FBI, Liam Fitzpatrick’s not really a Fitzpatrick, and I don’t think the others --”

“Wait just a minute, young lady.  You went to the FBI?”  He can’t decide whether to be amused or shocked.  “How do you get in to see the FBI?”

“I didn’t see them, I called ‘em.  My godfather, Dad’s best friend from college, is the Special Agent in Charge of the San Francisco office.  I called him this afternoon, just to see if Liam or Dr. Griffith had any federal charges.”

“Gee, Veronica.  You called the FBI because he threatened to give you a tattoo?  Remind me not to get on your bad side.”  Logan arms fall and he shoves her back into the passenger seat.  He pantomimes brushing dirt off her shoulder, pats her on the head and smooths her hair.  “Are we good here?  You okay?  You’re not hurt or anything?  You don’t by any chance have your ‘godfather’ on speed dial, do you?”  He pauses, reaches for the neckline of her tee shirt and tries to peer underneath.  She slaps his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re not wearing a wire, junior g-woman.  Do you have a badge, too, or did they just implant an electronic tracking device under your skin?”

“Logan, listen to me.  Liam Fitzpatrick’s real name is Connor O’Hurley, and he’s wanted by the FBI.  Dr. Tom Griffith, his real name’s probably not Tom Griffith, helped alter Liam’s identity with a little plastic surgery, and Hector Ruiz --”

“Whoa, Veronica.  Slow down, you know I can’t keep up with a blonde.  Please.”

“Here.  Read this.”  Veronica thrusts the report into his hand and waits for him to finish, her fingers rhythmically bouncing on her thigh.  Logan’s eyes flash surprise, then anger.  He shakes his head.

“Veronica.  Have you told anyone, shown this to anyone?  ‘Cause anyone whose got this info is in danger, especially you and Weevil.”  Logan reaches out and places his hands on her shoulders.  He looks meaningfully into her eyes.  “Seriously, Veronica.  Someone could get hurt, maybe even killed over this.”

“I know.  Pool table.  River Styx.  Tattoo.  Remember, I was there?”  She pauses, shuddering involuntarily.  “Unfortunately, I, uh, I e-mailed a copy to Mac,” she confesses guiltily.  “I wasn’t thinking about her safety, I just wanted to make sure there was another copy out there where I could get to it.  Just in case.”  Veronica and Logan sit silently and stare at each other for what seems like hours, Logan’s hands on Veronica’s shoulders, her fingers curled lightly on his wrists.  “We’ve gotta find Weevil and warn him,” she begins hesitantly, unsure of Logan’s reaction.

Logan sighs and runs one hand through his hair.  “Yeah.  You're right.  Much as I hate to admit it, we should find Navarro and tell him before someone gets hurt.  Call him.  I know you’ve got his number on speed dial,” he says ruefully.

“I . . . I already tried,” she concedes.  “He’s in the wind, or not answering his phone.”

“Maybe he’s shacked up with a sen-yor-ita, Veronica.  D’ya know if he’s been seein’ anyone when he’s not tryin’ to get in your pants?”  Veronica can’t tell if Logan’s serious.

“I don’t know.  We don’t discuss our . . . uh . . . partners.  I have no idea where he’d go to hide out.”  Veronica avoids Logan’s eyes by gazing across the beach.  Pictures of happier times flash through her mind.  She sees herself, with Duncan, Lilly and Logan, on the night of the homecoming dance, strolling arm-in-arm in the sand, giggling and sipping champaign, blissfully immune to the tragedies that would come.  She remembers standing shoulder to shoulder with Wallace, flying his plane, both of them laughing as Backup barked and chased from the water’s edge to the parking lot and back again.  She takes a deep breath and forces herself to think about finding Weevil.  Another beach memory intrudes; she recalls Logan smashing her headlights with a crow bar, and Weevil punching Logan, leaving a trail of blood trickling from his nose as Logan refused to yield.

“VM.  What are you thinking about?”

“I . . . I’m really not sure . . .  I don’t know what to do,” she replies flatly, biting her lip.  “And I'm . . . .”

“Scared?  Yeah, I know.  Veronica.  It’s okay.  Listen to me.  You don’t have to do this alone.  I can help you.  Let me help you.”  Logan’s voice is low and sweet and earnest as he tries to convince her.  “It doesn’t have to mean anything, and you won’t owe me anything, but let me help, ‘cause I don't know if I can stand by and watch you get hurt again.”  Logan hiccups, pauses and struggles to regain his composure.  “It screws with my fantasy life,” he croaks.  “Anyway, I'd have no one to torture if something happened to you or Navarro.”

“There's always Kendall.”

“Nope.  Gone.  Pffft.”  He snaps his fingers for emphasis.  “Outta my life and on to a bigger, if not better, sugar daddy.”

Veronica smiles at his admission.  “Logan -”

“I know.  I know, Ronnie.  You don’t know how to thank me.  ‘S alright, I’ll think of something.”

“You don't have a conscience, do you?”

“Happily, no.  Hmm.  What are you going to do to thank me when this is all over?”

“You just said I wouldn’t owe you.”

“I did, and you won’t.  Doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize about the many ways in which you’ll freely express your gratitude, does it?”  He raises his eyebrows suggestively as Veronica's face lights up.  Her eyes sparkle mischievously for a moment, but too soon, she sobers.

“We have to find Weevil.”

“Yeah.  How’re we gonna do that?”  Logan puts the SUV in reverse and starts backing out.

“Logan.  Wait.”  Veronica grabs his arm.  “I do know how to find Weevil.  We have to go see Uncle Angel.  Actually, I have to go see Angel.  I don’t think you should come.”

“Uh uh.”  Logan shakes his head as they pull onto the road.  “I thought we just agreed I’m not playin’ that.”

“We agreed?  Logan, we haven’t agreed on anything since sixth grade.  I don’t know what you heard, but I agreed to let you help me.  Nothing more.”

“Uh, helping you means I’m gonna take care of your body,” he smirks.  “And it means you can’t just sashay your cute ass into a chop shop without some backup.” 
________________________________________________

Logan and Veronica enter the nondescript industrial-type building through an over-sized delivery door.  Although they’re greeted by the sound of clanging metal and the whirring of hydraulic tools, no one’s visible.  As they walk past a tangle of discarded car parts and threadbare tires, they realize men are working underneath various cars and trucks hoisted on lifts.  Someone wolf-whistles at Veronica, but she squares her shoulders and ignores the stares.  She spies Weevil’s tio, Angel, in a back corner, and nudges Logan.  After a brief conversation, Logan waits while Veronica continues toward Angel.

“Buen’ dia.  Recuerdame?”  Angel nods briefly.  “Veronica.  I’m a friend of --”

“I know what you’re looking for, and it’s not here,” he answers sullenly, refusing to look at her.

Veronica frowns.  “I think it is, but if not, can you deliver a message?”  Angel vigorously shakes his head and takes a step backward.  “Oye.  Listen to me.  This is important.”

Angel puts one finger to his lips and inclines his head toward the men working in the shop.  Veronica realizes its not safe to talk and pauses, confused.  “Conoces l’abuela?” Angel asks softly.

“Yeah, I know her.”

“Meet me there.  Un’ora.”  Veronica nods her understanding.

“Gracias.”

“De nada.”

She grabs Logan’s arm and they hurry out into the bright afternoon sun.  He shoots her a questioning look, but she shakes her head and motions to the Xterra.  They get in.  Unable to contain himself, Logan demands to know what happened.  Veronica explains that Weevil’s Uncle felt it wasn’t safe to talk at the shop and was sending them to Weevil’s grandmother’s.  She directs Logan to Mrs. Navarro’s residence, located in an obviously poor neighborhood on the wrong side of Neptune, where houses sit precariously close to one and other, the streets are unkept, and the scant yards are littered with abandoned, broken bicycles and second-hand toys.  She tells him not to park in front of the house.  Instead, they park a couple of blocks away and approach through a neighbor’s overgrown backyard.  As they sidle up to the backdoor, they can hear a motorcycle approaching.

Plumb, matronly Mrs. Navarro is waiting unhappily at the backdoor.  Her face is creased with worry that’s mirrored in her dark brown eyes.  She smiles sadly and shakes her head at Veronica.  “Eli’s not here.”

“I know, but I have to get a message to him.  It’s important.  He may be in danger.  Can you help us?”

Mrs. Navarro hears a motorcycle.  A concerned, angry look crosses her face.  “You can’t be here.  You should go now, before they see you.”

“When you talk to him, tell him I’ve got news.  Tell him to meet me at the flag pole before first period.  Please,” Veronica begs.  “It’s really important.”

“Si.  Si.  I tell him.  Go now, please.”
_____________________________________

The following morning, Friday, Veronica is at Neptune High a full half-hour before classes begin.  Lost in thought, she walks through the nearly-deserted courtyard and sits cross-legged beneath the flag pole.  If I was Weevil, where would I hide out?  She realizes that although she and Weevil have shared information (and a few other things) in the past two years, she has no idea what he does when he’s not in school, working at Angel’s shop, or riding to her rescue.  And maybe, she thinks, I don’t really want to know.

“Where’s the fire, chica?” a low voice growls.  Veronica turns, startled because she hadn’t heard him arrive.

“Weevil.”

“I can’t be seen with you, Vee,” he mutters, pretending to look past her into the parking lot.  “Too many eyes.  And you’re too hot.”

“And don’t you forget it!”  Veronica keeps her eyes trained on the notebook in her lap, doodling indifferently.  “My office?”

“Nah.  Too many folks know to look there.”

“'Specially since the last time you were there, with Logan.”

“Yeah, well . . . .  What can I say?  Too bad you missed the show, Vee.”

“Oh, yeah.  I heard.  Okay, where?”

“Under the bleachers by the old field house, on the other side of the football field.  Fourth period, ‘kay?”

“Got it, Mr. Mysterio.”  Veronica closes her notebook and saunters off toward the entrance, feigning interest in the bulletin board announcements posted beside the door.  Surreptitiously, she watches as Weevil heads around back to shop class.  Before he says a word, she senses Logan at her shoulder.  Without turning, she reaches back, grabs his hand and squeezes tightly.

“Ow.”

She whirls and puts two fingers over his lips.  Logan opens his mouth to speak, but Veronica interjects, “Shh.  Not a word.  Fourth period.  The bleachers by the field house.  DO NOT let anyone see you.  The PCHers are gonna be all over us, so be careful.”

Logan nods and laces his fingers into hers, his eyes twinkling mischievously.  “Who’re you more worried about, Veronica.  Him or me?”  Veronica frowns and tries to extract her hand from his.  Logan gives her his brightest, fake, I’m-the-son-of-an-actor smile, but continues to hold her hand possessively.

“I . . .  haven’t given it much thought.  You’re on the same side now,” she insists.  “I don’t have to choose.”

“Not yet,” Logan replies, arching one brow meaningfully.  “You will though.  You know that, right?”

“Or you could just agree to a threesome and save me the trouble, right?”  Veronica’s smile is easy and unforced and she laughs at the shock and surprise on Logan’s face.  “Don’t worry, I don’t think Weevil’s that kind of girl,” she smirks.  “But if you want, I’ll ask him.”

“Veronica Mars.  How you’ve changed since Donut dumped you.”

“Which time?” she asks bitterly.  Just then, the bell rings.  Logan glances skyward and mouths a silent thank you for the intervention as he and Veronica head to their first class. 
_________________________________________

Two hours later, Veronica requests permission to be excused early from her third period History class.  She glides secretively through the empty hallways, taking care not to be seen by students or teachers.  But when she leaves the building, she does not go directly to the athletic field.  Instead, she detours through the parking lot, stopping at Weevil’s bike.  Veronica looks around the deserted parking lot and, quickly, bends over and puts something inside the rear fender.  She casually straightens up and continues on to the football field.  When she reaches the bleachers, she finds several rolled tarps underneath.  She slips under the metal framework to sit atop one of tarps, pulls out her phone and dials.

“Hey, its me.  . . .  Yeah.  . . .  You getting a signal yet? . . .  Five by Five?  Cool.  . . .  Okay, I’ll see ya later.  Bye.  Oh, wait, Mac.  . . .  Uh, do you and Cassidy have any plans for the evening, ‘cause I might need you later, and I don't want to interrupt anything if I call?”  Veronica giggles.  “No, or you’re not sure?  . . .  Okay, okay.  . . .  I promise.  Bye now.”

As Veronica hangs up, Weevil and Logan appear from opposite ends of the bleaches and come to stand before her.  “Okay.  I guess this meeting of the U. N. Security Council can come to order.  What’re we here for, Ronnie?”

“Yeah, Vee. ‘S up and make it quick ‘cause I don’t wanna be in the same neighborhood as Echolls any longer than I gotta.”  Weevil studies Veronica, his obsidian eyes deliberately hooded.  Logan slouches against a convenient pole, his face carefully impassive.  Veronica looks somberly at the two.

“Weevil, Logan already knows what I’m going to tell you, but I need you both to be cool ‘cause I think the stakes in our little poker game have just gone up.  Don't worry,” she raises her hand to stop Weevil's tirade.  “I have a plan.  Weevil, not only do you have a renegade in the PCH, but the FBI thinks your mole is helping the IRA with guns and forged identities.”  Her words surprise Weevil, but he can see she’s completely serious.

“The FBI?  Fuck, Vee.  The IRA?  When did you start talkin’ to the FBI about my gang - and what did you tell them?  And the IRA?  Where do they fit in?  I had no idea you were so hooked up”  His voice is calm, but his clenched fists betray his feelings.  “I’m only gonna ask you once, Vee.  Who is the traitor?  And how do you know?”

“Hector.  Hector Ruiz.”  Weevil’s body jerks involuntarily and he moves closer to her.  Logan lazily reaches out to grab Weevil’s jacket collar.

“Easy there, big boy.  She’s not the problem.”

“Get your freakin’ hands off of me, Echolls.  I’m not the one who hurt her.”  In an admirable display of restraint, Logan says nothing, but continues holding onto Weevil’s leather.  “Hands off the colors, white boy.”

“I said be cool!” Veronica hisses.  “Weevil, you’re going to have to get used to having Logan around, ‘cause we can’t take the chance that Hector’s gonna move on either one of you before we get proof of the good doctor’s involvement with the Fitzpatricks and take ‘em all down.  Until then, Logan’s on our side.  Hello?  Eli?  Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, Vee.  I got it.  I . . . I’m just--”

“We know, Weevs,” Logan tightens his grip on Weevil’s coat.  “No one here’s tryin’ to dethrone you, man.  At least not right now.”  Logan tugs on Weevil’s jacket and forces him to look at Logan.  “Listen, man.  No one here likes what’s going on, but the way I see it, we’re in the same boat.”  Breathing heavily, Weevil glowers at Logan, his dark eyes sparking dangerously, his muscles tensed.  Its clear he’d like to punch something, but Logan doesn’t back down and does not let go.

“Back up, Vee.  Tell me again how you know it’s Hector?”  Veronica hesitates, trying to decide how much she can safely reveal.

“I called a friend at the FBI to find out if Liam or Dr. Griffith had any warrants or federal charges.”  Weevil nods.  “Turns out the feds think Liam is Connor O’Hurley, a wanted IRA terrorist.  O’Hurley’s a weapons guy, bombs, guns, you name it, he’s either done it or knows about it.  He’s on the lam.  Thomas Griffith is a doctor, but his name’s not really Griffith.  He’s Liam, er, O’Hurley’s half-brother.”

Weevil’s confused.  Logan snaps his fingers in Weevil’s face.  “Keepin’ up?”

Weevil shoves Logan’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah.  I got it.  What’s it got to do with Hector?”

“I’ll get to that.  The FBI doesn’t know anything specific about Hector, but according to them, the Fighting Fitzpatricks gang is a cover.  Their main business is not dealing drugs, they’re gun runners.  The feds know the Fitzpatricks have a local connection, someone who’s not Irish but Hispanic, maybe Mexican.”  Veronica thinks for a moment.  “I think Hector is their conduit to guns, and they’ve been paying for them with cocaine.”

“So where’s Griffith fit in all this?”

Veronica sighs and drops her voice.  “Griffith really is a plastic surgeon, but he’s been using his surgical skills to alter the appearance of the guys who’re on the run or hiding out.  And someone, Hector maybe, has been forging identity papers for them.  Can any of the PCHers do fake IDs and stuff?”

“Yeah, sure, Vee.  That’s easy.  All my peoples got a relative or two who’ve snuck over the border and needed paper.”  Weevil glances boldly at Logan, daring him to comment.  “Might explain why dudes been askin’ me about eight-balls.”  Veronica pulls the folded e-mail from her bag and hands it to Weevil.

“Unfortunately, the FBI can’t do anything about Liam Fitzpatrick or Dr. Thomas Griffith unless they have confirmation of their identities.”  Weevil raises his eyes from the paper.  He looks from Logan to Veronica and back again.

“Vee?  You’re not thinkin’ ‘bout helpin’ out the FBI, are you?  ‘Cause there’s no way - ”

“Say that again.  Helping out who?”  Logan interrupts, his face flush and his eyes smoldering.  “Wait.  What is your plan, Veronica?  You’re not gonna - ”

“Yes, I am.”  Veronica’s chin rises stubbornly as she glares at Logan.  “It’s too dangerous for you, ‘cause Liam Fitzpatrick’s never gonna forget your face.”  Logan winces.  “And you can’t do anything,” she looks at Weevil, “Because, if I’m right about Hector, there’s no way you can go to the River Styx and get out safely.”  As she says this, both Weevil and Logan erupt in a jumbled torrent of furious, shouted disapproval.

“Fuck, Veronica.  No way I’m gonna let - ”

“Dammit.  You’re outta your mind, Vee, if you think - ”

Veronica rises abruptly.  “Okay, fine.  You don’t want to hear my plan - ”  They stop shouting, but Logan has her elbow in a vise grip and Weevil stands, arms crossed, blocking her path.  “Listen to me!  Someone’s got to get Liam’s fingerprints, and it’s easier for me because I wear a disguise better than either of you.”  After further explanation, much argument and pleading, a bit of compromise, and several phone calls, they settle on a modified version of Veronica’s plan.

“Tell me one more time, Veronica.”

“Tomorrow night, Mac, Cassidy, and Wallace will be hangin' at the River Styx.  Chaperoned by Logan, I will be nearby listening.  If there’s any trouble, I’ll place a 9-1-1 call to the Sheriff’s office and summon reinforcements.  In the meantime, Weevil’s gotta lay low and avoid Hector and the other PCHers.”

To help Weevil stay under the radar, Veronica decides, he and Logan will spend Friday night with her chez Mars Investigations.  Indoor playgrounds have always appealed to her, and it will allow her to keep track of them and not be left alone with Logan.  They agree to meet at Keith’s office around six.  Of course, Logan can’t wait ‘til six to see Veronica again.

_________________________________________________