Chapter 12 - SIN AND FRIENDSHIP
Chapter 12: SIN AND FRIENDSHIP
Title: All Fall Down
Pairing / Character: Veronica/Logan, Keith
Rating: PG-13 to R
Words: 89,945 to date
Summary: In Neptune, the brighter the summer sun, the deeper the shadows.
Spoilers / Warnings: Seasons 1 and 2 / Language and adult situations.
Chapter 12: SIN AND FRIENDSHIP
Authors: Mastermia and Rindee
Additional Characters: Cliff, Dick, Loretta Cancun.
Words: 8,422
Authors’ Note: All Fall Down is a collaborative effort by 20 writers. You can learn more about this project here. Special thanks to Mutinousmuse, LadyDisdain225, and Shazam23 for their thoughtful and insightful betas, and a special thanks to taken_with_you and rejeneration for being fabulous sounding boards and all-things-VM resources.
Rindee would like to add an extra-special thanks to Mastermia , who, in addition to co-authoring, beta’d all the way from Australia. Mastermia wants to thank Rindee for stepping in on short notice and doing an awesome job while she went to Australia and had fun.
X-posted to veronicamarsfic, fic_from_mars, Rindee and Mastermia.
All Fall Down
Chapter 12
SIN AND FRIENDSHIP
Chin in hand, Veronica stared at the phone as if she could, with enough concentration, force it to tell her what to say to fix things with Logan. As she replayed their fight in her head, she realized she had, once again, pushed him away. But despite the evening's ending, she couldn’t forget the too-brief moment when they'd shared a laugh over Dick. Regardless of what either one said, there was no denying their connection, one that could change from anger to understanding to passion in a heartbeat. The longer she meditated, the more she realized she missed … all of it. Logan said he only wanted to be friends, but she wanted more. She just needed to find the right words to tell him.
Veronica finished her apology and held her breath, staring at Logan, waiting for his response. She gasped as he said 'I love you' and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him as he murmured ‘Veronica’ and trailed kisses down the side of her neck. Trying to get even closer, she arched her neck. He took it as an invitation to explore the tender spot under her ear, causing her to almost purr in satisfaction as he suckled gently. Somewhere in the distance she heard the ringing of a telephone, but ignored it as his tongue dipped into her collarbone. She silently urged him lower, but as he started to obey, her daydream dissolved and she heard her father yell, “Veronica, can you get the phone?”
Sighing heavily, she picked up the receiver and all but barked, “Mars Investigations.”
“Am I interrupting something?” Cliff's voice was smooth as honey, and she could picture the quirked eyebrow at the other end of the line.
“Hey, sorry, I was thinking of something else.” As she reached for the bottle of water on her desk, she swore she was going to do whatever was necessary to reconnect with Logan as soon as possible. She snapped back to the present and realized she'd missed what Cliff had been saying. “Um, sorry, can you repeat that, please?”
“I. Have. A. Case. For. You.” he said with exaggerated slowness.
“What kind of case?” she asked warily, something in his voice warning her she might not like his answer. “Is it Weevil?”
“No, nothing like that. I told him you were still working on it.” He paused, and Veronica's suspicion deepened. “It's a pro bono case. I need a favor for a friend.”
“I thought Dad was your only friend?”
“I'm hurt, V. I have a plethora of friends you know nothing about.”
“Hmm. How good of a friend are we talking?” she said, curiosity coloring her voice.
“Good enough for me to call in a marker.”
“Let me guess, she works at the Seventh Veil?”
“Now, V, you know I like to support single moms.”
“Yes, you do. A dollar at a time.” Laughter was evident in her voice.
“Veronica, I'm a gentleman. I use fives,” he said in mock hurt.
“And I'm sure the working women of America appreciate that very much. What's the favor?”
“My friend has a son who goes to Neptune. He seems to have lost a comic book, and he needs your help getting it back.”
“He lost a comic book? Shouldn’t he go to Lost and Found?”
“Your comedic stylings never fail to amuse me,” he said dryly. “It's more complex than that. He drew a comic book, and apparently, his friend has stolen the only copy. That big comic book convention is this weekend, and he thinks his friend has a publisher who might be interested. We need you to get it back so her son can get the contract and make his mother very proud.”
“It's a comic book. Can't he just draw another one with his big box of crayolas?”
“Veronica, millions of dollars are spent within the comic book industry every year. The convention is the only opportunity he'll have to get it looked at, and if it's as good as he thinks, he could use the money for college. He's a good kid, and he shouldn’t have to wait another year,” he cajoled.
“Cliff, I don't know anything about comic books. What am I supposed to do?”
“I know you've gone to Geekapalooza before, and that head of yours is always full of crazy plans. You could go, find the thief, get back the book and save the day. I know you like to help the underdog. Come on, V. You owe me.”
“Yes, I do.” The last time she'd gone to the San Diego Comic Con was the summer before Lilly died. Aaron had been promoting a movie at the time, and the four of them, she and Duncan, Logan and Lilly, had gotten total VIP treatment. In fact, Logan could probably still get them behind the scenes, and having to ask him would give them something to talk about as they explored their new friendship. “Send my new client over. He's going to have to tell me exactly what to look for.”
“See, V. I knew you were all about truth, justice and the American way.”
“That's Superman, Cliff.”
“Whatever,” he said as he hung up.
Once again, Veronica eyed the telephone thoughtfully. Supposedly, she and Logan had broken up and were trying to be just friends, but he certainly hadn't acted 'just' friendly when Dick ogled her at Kendall's party. Although she hadn't talked to Logan since that night, Cliff had inadvertently given her the perfect excuse for a chat, and maybe a visit. Even though she was anxious to see Logan, she hated asking for him for a favor, especially one involving the use, or abuse, of his family's notoriety. Sighing, she reluctantly dug out her cell and hit '2'.
“Logan's house of pain, what's your poison, hemlock or arsenic?”
“Logan?”
“Veronica. My favorite sleuth. How've you been?” he asked, sarcasm slathered over every word. Suddenly unsure of herself, Veronica faltered, briefly speechless. In the background, she could hear the loud thunk of the Beach Bimbo Volleyball video game, and Dick exhorting his “girls” to “dig for it, baby.” Apparently, Logan was consoling himself with video games and other hijinks involving Casablancas and his unquenchable craving for anything adolescent.
“Veronica? Was there something you wanted, or did you just call to hear me and Dick breathe heavily?”
“N…no, Logan. I called to see you how are,” she confessed. “And to ask a favor,” she amended guiltily.
“It's always the same with you, Mars. Business before pleasure, although, in your case, it's business before anything, and I'm just an afterthought. What do you need this time?”
“I … I just … I need …” I miss you, the voice in her head prompted, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.
“Spit it out, Mars. Dick thinks he's kicking my ass right now, and I'd like to disabuse him of the notion as soon as possible.”
“Where are you, Logan?”
“The beach house. Why?”
“Can I come over to see you? Just for a minute?”
“You must want a really big favor to be willing to grace us with your presence,” he observed. “C'mon over. Maybe Dick'll let you play with him.”
Disappointed by Logan's antagonism, Veronica hung up and grabbed her bag. “Hey, Dad,” she called through the doorway. “I have to go out for a while.”
“Fine, Honey,” Keith replied. Veronica waited for the usual 'third degree' but none was forthcoming.
“If Cliff's client comes by to see me, ask him to wait, okay?” she added.
“Mm hmm. Okay, sweetie,” he responded absently, but Veronica could tell he wasn't really listening. Has everyone gone completely nuts, she wondered as she flounced out the door.
Logan's noxious-yellow Xterra seemed to mock her as she walked past, reminding her of happier times when she and Logan couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and couldn’t stay out of its ample and accommodating backseat. She stared at the door, trying to decide whether or not she could enter without knocking. Before she could make up her mind, it swung open and she was confronted by a grinning Dick Casablancas. “Ronnie, baby. 'Bout time you came to hang out with the big boys. Did you bring your 'A' game?” he leered as she rolled her eyes and brushed past without comment.
“Logan?” she called, her tone sharper than she'd intended. “Are you here?”
“He's in the den, Ronnie,” Dick announced, following her. “The den of inequity. We renamed it because Logan's a free man now.” As he spoke, Dick raised his fist to the ceiling and pumped his hips enthusiastically.
As she looked quizzically at Dick's gyrations, they could clearly hear Logan's exasperated groan coming from general direction of the sofa. Deciding Dick's stupidity didn't merit a response, Veronica marched into the living room and dropped her messenger bag on the floor at Logan's feet. “Can you pause that, please? We need to talk.”
Without taking his eyes off the huge plasma screen hanging on the wall, Logan nodded “Uh huh. Be right with you, just as soon as I - oh, dammit. Not again.”
“That's lame, dude. You gotta get through this level so you can groove the next one,” Dick instructed from over Veronica's shoulder. “Here. Give it.”
“Riiight.” Wrinkling his forehead, Logan gazed forlornly at the screen, ignoring Dick's outstretched hand. “You wanted something, Mars? What was it?” The frown line between his eyes grew deeper, and he tapped his fingers against the plastic box dangling from his hand. “Oh, yeah.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Talk. You wanted to. Hmpf.” He switched into his Yoda voice. "Want something, she does -”
Without warning, Veronica snatched the controller from his hand and dumped it on the coffee table. “Logan,” she said stiffly, her voice halfway between a plea and a demand. “I need --”
“Wait. I know this one. You need something, from me, but it's just business. C'mon,” he snapped his fingers again. “Out with it, Veronica. Whaddya want?”
“Can we talk in the other room?” she asked, pointedly glaring at Dick, who'd plopped down next to Logan and restarted the game.
Feigning carelessness, Logan studied Veronica, his deceptively lazy gaze traveling up and down her body. He could tell, from the hand anxiously jammed into her back pocket, and the way she gnawed her lip, that she was apprehensive. As he rose to stand next to her, she flinched and stepped backward. Reflexively, he grabbed her elbow to keep her from tripping over the body board lying on the floor behind her. She gasped as his warm fingers wrapped around her bare arm.
Perplexed by her hot-and-cold vibe, Logan steered her toward the stairs. “I'll be back in a minute,” he flung over his shoulder.
“Sure thing, dude. Don't take too long. Hit it and quit it, 'k? We got things to do.”
As he guided her into his bedroom, Logan could feel her tremble slightly underneath his hand. He released her arm, instantly wishing he hadn't. “What's up, Veronica?” he asked gently.
She turned quickly, surprising them both, and flattened her hand against his naked chest. The thud of his heart under her fingers almost made her forget why she was there. “I need a favor,” she murmured, looking up at him from underneath her bangs. “And,” she leaned in, aligning her body against his. “I miss you,” she breathed, running her tongue over her lips before rising to her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his. Disregarding the warning bells trilling in his head, Logan bent and opened his mouth to her, his arm curling around her waist.
“Veronica,” he whispered, one hand drifting from her back to her curvy behind as he drew her closer. Slouched against the door, his other hand tangled in her flaxen hair, he shuddered, trying to remember why this wasn’t a good idea. He stiffened, feeling the soft skin of her belly rubbing through his wafer-thin board shorts. “God, I can't do this again,” he moaned as he nudged her away. Relinquishing his grip, he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her soundly before letting go. Shaking his head mournfully, he moved to the other side of the room, putting as much distance as possible between them.
“I'm not a plaything, Veronica,” he said in a hoarse, clenched voice. “You can't just pick me up and put me down whenever you feel like it.”
“I . . . I'm not, Logan.” Bewildered, she stared at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I'm trying. Trying to make more room for you in my life.”
Ignoring her glistening eyes and inviting words, he continued to regard her impassively. “Is this,” he gestured to his clearly excited state. “What you came for? Or was there something else you wanted?” he asked, teeth gritted.
Abruptly switching gears, she took a deep breath. “No. I came to see you, but I need a favor too.”
“Ask away, Mars.” He spun away from her, and paced the room like a caged tiger, picking up discarded clothes and flinging them into the corner.
“You remember, after freshman year, when the four of us went to that fest - what was it called -”
“I don't know, Veronica. What was it called?” he interrupted, his voice muffled as he yanked a tee over his head.
“I’ll tell you, if you'd shut up and let me finish, Logan.”
“But this is so much more fun,” he smirked, impatiently gesturing for her to get on with it.
“Comic Con. You remember. Lilly and Dunc -”
“Yeah, I remember. What about it?” His eyes darkened suspiciously.
“Do you still have contacts in geekdom? I need to pretend to be a comic book publisher, so I need some all-access passes and a table at the convention.”
Arms crossed protectively, he waited a beat, watching Veronica squirm before asking, “What's in it for me? Isn't that the way it works? You do something for me, and I return the favor.”
“I don't know Logan,” she said tightly, her blue eyes cold and hard. “I don't know if that’s how it works. What would you like me to do for you?”
“Besides leave, you mean? You know, Veronica, once upon a time, under other circumstances, I'd have been delighted by your offer, but now….” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I tell you what, I’ll call Sabina and have her hook you up for Comic Con, and we’ll just say you owe me one. Again.”
“Thank you, Logan,” she replied, relieved and grateful but clearly disappointed.
“Was there anything else?” he grumbled.
“No.” Veronica shook her head. “I guess that's it.”
“I’ll have Sabina call you.”
“Okay.” She nodded quickly and tried to smile. She reached for the doorknob.
“Veronica.”
“Yes, Logan?”
“I don't know what you're doing at Comic Con, but be careful, will you? If you need help, call me, okay?”
“Thanks.”
Brian Wixom tentatively walked into Mars Investigation just as Veronica finished talking to Sabina Eckhardt, an assistant from the Echolls family's PR firm. Even though Brian recognized her, Veronica wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize him; he was an underclassman, after all. But when she looked at Brian, his all-too-average, California blonde look spoke volumes about Cliff's taste in women.
“Veronica, thank you so much for helping me!” Brian said earnestly. “I freaked out when I heard Rod had a comic book he was taking to the Con. I can't believe my friend stabbed me in the back like this, but Cliff says you’ll be able to help.” He looked at her with adoring puppy eyes, and Veronica resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.
“Why didn’t you just ask Rod to give you back the pages?” she asked evenly.
“Oh, I tried, but he said I didn’t appreciate his work, and he'd show me.” He smiled conspiratorially at her. “As if he was capable of drawing a book. He's just an inker, you know.”
“A what?” she asked, mystified.
“An inker isn’t the one who actually draws the pages, he just goes over the artist’s drawing with pen. Rod thinks that makes him creative.”
“He just traces what you drew? Well if he can't actually draw, then how is anyone going to believe he drew the comic?”
He shrugged and evaded her eyes. “Well, a good inker can add shading and depth to a drawing, but the fundamental idea is all mine, and I want my pages back.”
“Okay, why would he take the pages and try to sell them as his?” Brian suddenly became fascinated with his shoelaces, and Veronica was forced to repeat herself to get his attention. “Brian, how did he get the pages?”
“Call me Bri, everyone does.”
“Bri,” she ground out, “How did he get the pages in the first place?”
“Well, I kind of asked him to ink them. And then the post came out about Marvel looking at unsigned artists' work, and I saw he'd gotten a slot. After that, I went and asked for my pages back, and he refused.”
Veronica looked at him steadily. “But you asked Rod to help you finish the pages? Doesn’t that make the work both of yours?”
“He stole them, and I want them back,” he said stubbornly, arms crossed.
Veronica had to laugh to herself; he looked so much like an angry toddler. All that was missing was a foot stomp and she would have a good old-fashioned temper tantrum on her hands. Prudently, she changed the subject. “What’s the comic about?”
Brian's face lit up. “It’s about a super hero!”
“Aren’t they all?” she asked, lifting her water bottle. “What’s his power?”
Brian leaned forward in his chair. “It’s actually about a girl. She's a mild mannered computer programmer by day, but at night she becomes a magenta-haired superhero who uses her computer to solve crime. Her name is Sin!”
His words almost caused her to choke. “Cin?” she repeated dazedly, an odd look on her face.
“Yes, and the original pages have Easter eggs buried in them, to let the real Sin know I wrote the book for her.”
“For her?” Veronica repeated, sounding like a parrot.
Brian nodded excitedly. “Yes, because when she sees the comic, she’ll instantly know I wrote it for her, and once she sees the messages I left her, she’ll realize we belong together. The messages can prove I actually drew it.” He handed over a list. “See? I wrote them all down. If I hadn’t drawn the pages, I wouldn’t know where the hidden messages are.”
Veronica looked at the list of 20 items he had given her. “How many pages is the comic?” she asked wearily.
“Why?” he asked innocently.
“Never mind. Why did Cliff think I could help you?”
“Oh, I told him about my great idea, and how Sin could right wrong with a mere stroke of her laptop. He laughed and said he knew just the person to help me.” The adoring look was back in his eye.
“I bet he did.” she said faintly. As she plotted how to get back at Cliff, she saw the look on his face and wondered what super power he would be giving her in the sequel.
“Cliff, I met your puppy, and I think I can solve his problem, but I need your help.”
“Oh?” Now it was his turn to sound suspicious.
“Rod knows me from school, so I doubt he’ll hand over the pages to me. But there will be lots of comic book companies represented, and I'm sure he will be more than happy to show his pages to a prospective publisher. So I need someone to play a slightly shady executive, and I realized I knew the perfect person.”
“Slightly shady? You insult me again. I can be entirely shady if necessary. Of course I’ll do anything I can for the poor boy.”
“Boy, have you got it bad.” Veronica smiled at his resigned sigh.
“You have no idea.” Hearing Cliff's reply, her smile turned to outright laughter, but his pained silence was her only response.
“We need someone to dress in costume and wear a magenta wig. Any idea who might help with that?”
“I think I know just the person,” he said confidently.
Having completed the necessary arrangements for her Comic Con escapade, Veronica returned to trying to find the bastard who'd shot her father. Extracting from their hiding place the stills she'd pulled from the Vixen security video, she inspected them. Finally, she had a face, and a singularly identifiable tattoo design from the Book of Kells. She glanced nervously toward Keith's office, but he seemed preoccupied, so she began running the hit man’s image through the databases, looking for a name, an address, something to lead her to him.
Nothing popped when she ran the tattoo through the Balboa County Sheriff's offenders database. And there was nothing on ARJIS. Wait - dark hair, pale skin, Celtic tattoo - maybe he's a member of the Aryan Brotherhood; they used Celtic symbols as a kind of code, she thought. Where was that database for known gang members? She scrolled through her list of law enforcement sites until she found it. Twenty minutes later, she'd found two possible names: Tommy Joe Campbell and Billy Richardson, both of whom had lengthy criminal records and were known to have Celtic tattoos. Only one, Campbell, had ties to southern California, and, fortuitously, his last known address was in San Diego. Printing out the address, and a map, Veronica grabbed her bag, cell phone, and camera. It was time for a road trip.
She would have liked to ask Logan to accompany her; she wasn’t sure what the San Diego neighborhood was like, and if Campbell was the guy who'd shot her father, he was clearly not to be trifled with, but after her earlier, unsuccessful encounter with Logan, she was sure she didn’t want to involve him in any case she was working. “Dad?” she called in her best ‘innocent’ voice. “I'm going over to Hearst to pick up some course stuff. I’ll probably be a while.”
“Are you going to be home for dinner, Honey?” Keith queried, knowing he'd been too absent too often lately.
“I'm not sure. Don’t wait for me, though.”
“Okay, Kiddo. Have fun. Be nice and make some new friends, alright?” Keith sighed. Ever since he'd aborted their trip to New York, Veronica had been distant, uncooperative, and surly. He didn’t want to further alienate her by demanding to know her whereabouts at all times, even though his current investigation suggested he should.
“Um hmm. I will. See you later, Dad.”
For the tenth time in the hour, Veronica stared impatiently at her watch. It was 7:45 p.m., and still no sign of the inhabitant of the seedy, dilapidated shack. She rechecked her map and print out, but she was still at the right address. It would be dark in less than an hour, and she wasn’t crazy about being in the area after nightfall. She grabbed her camera and began to snap the exterior. As she worked, a tall, seemingly emaciated man, wearing torn, grubby jeans, shuffled into her viewfinder. Focusing in for a moment, she sucked in a breath. It looked like Campbell. She tuned in on his forearm, and there it was, the Celtic tattoo. Jackpot. As she brought the sight up from his arm to his face, she realized he wasn’t as grungy as he appeared from a distance. His face and hands were immaculate, and his jeans, though ripped, were clean and had been pressed.
“Okay,” she thought. “It's part of his cover. Not bad.” She watched as he dug into his pocket for keys, shifting the six-pack of brown bottles from one hand to the other before he opened the door. As he went in, he carefully looked up and down the street, as if he was worried about someone following him. Or was waiting for someone.
Veronica wasn’t sure whether he was expecting someone, so she stayed in her car for a few minutes, winding her fingers in her ponytail as she waited and watched. When she saw the blue glow of the television, she figured he was in for the night, or at least, for a while. She removed her taser from her bag and stuck it in the pocket of her hoodie. She tied a bandana over her shiny hair, put on some dorky-looking, black frame glasses, and picked up the clipboard she'd brought as part of her disguise.
Locking up, she carefully glanced both ways before crossing to the house. Taking a deep breath, she rapped confidently on the door, plastering on her best 'harmless blonde' smile just as he answered. “Hi. I'm from the community cleanup committee, and we're taking a survey, if you have a just a minute, I'd like to come in and get your opinion.”
“I haven't lived here too long,” he mumbled. “I don't have an opinion.” He started to shut the scarred wooden door in her face.
“Everyone has an opinion,” she said perkily, catching the door with the palm of her hand. “It’ll just take a moment, honest,” she pleaded, trying to appear as guileless as possible. “Just a few, quick questions and I’ll be outta your hair. Please. I only have to finish two more, and it's getting dark.”
He glared suspiciously before begrudgingly shoving the door. “Okay, then, but only a minute. The game's about to start.”
“Just a minute or two, I promise,” she swore. He moved aside to allow her to step into the room, lifting the bottle to his mouth to take a swig. As he turned to shut the door, Veronica pulled her taser and zapped him on the shoulder, once to stun him, and again, to drop him. He staggered and toppled, his bottle falling and spilling beer across the entryway. “Ooo. I wonder if that’s gonna stain?” she mused to the slumped, now-silent man. Quickly, she assessed the room, searching for something to cuff him to.
Sitting immediately to her right was a shabby, beigish recliner, and next to it was a wobbly tray table with an open bag of pretzels on it, along with the TV remote. The recliner sat at an angle facing a massive-but-rickety faux wood entertainment center. The shelves of the entertainment center held a 35-inch television, a half-dead plant that looked a lot like marijuana, and a cracked black boom box of indeterminate age.
Although he was skinny, he was still too large for her to drag very far, so Veronica settled on the entertainment center, figuring if he tried to wiggle loose, it would fall on him and, at the very least, slow him down. She stepped cautiously over his now-prone body, gingerly took his arm and lugged him toward the shelves. It took almost three minutes for her to move him, inch-by-inch, close enough to thread the cuffs around the base and click them on his wrist. He stirred a little and mumbled something, but didn’t wake up.
Not wanting to touch anything, she again inspected the room. The wall opposite the door was one of those half-wall-cum-countertops and she could see a tiny, grimy galley kitchen beyond it. Taking the bandana from her head, she wrapped it around her hand and, walking into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator. Inside was a greasy, half-opened pizza box, a single white carton that looked like it had once held some type of takeout, and four capped bottles of beer. She put her covered hand around one, set it on the counter, and surveyed the area for an opener. Locating a church key, she opened the bottle and wiped off the opener before returning it to its spot on the chipped formica.
She took a quick gulp, grimaced, and poured the rest of it over Campbell’s face. He sputtered, gagged, and, as he regained consciousness, began to curse. She watched impassively until he stopped swearing. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Are you done yet, Mister?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“You don't know who I am? That's funny, because I know exactly who you are. What I don't know, what I want to know, is who hired you to shoot Keith Mars.”
“I don't know you, lady, and I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you let me go and get outta here, I’m willing to call it even and not hurt you.”
“Let me get this straight. If I let you go, you're not going to hurt me. Gee, thanks. I feel much better now, but, really, shouldn’t you be threatening me and telling me I'm gonna pay for this?” Veronica sneered. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think you're in any position to bargain right now, so while we’re hangin’ out, let me show you some pictures.” She pulled the Vixen video stills from her messenger bag and, squatting down a few feet away, held them out. “Look familiar? Nice tattoo. You get that in prison, or when you first joined the Brotherhood, Mr. Campbell?”
“Where’d you get those, you little bitch?”
“That’s not really important, is it? Although, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll be happy to tell you, just as soon as you tell me who hired you and why you were trying to kill Keith Mars?”
“I told you, I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, you do, because these,” she jiggled the pictures, “were taken by a security camera outside of Pisano's on the night Mr. Mars was shot.” She waited for him to focus on the photo. “Recognize anything? Like the lovely tattoo? Does it, and the guy wearing it, look familiar? Because I’m pretty sure it’s you. I doubt there are many shooters in San Diego or Balboa County who're sporting an Aryan Brotherhood tat. Waddya think? Should I call the Sheriff and ask?” Veronica glowered fiercely at Campbell and, when he didn’t respond, continued, “You know, if I had your illustrious criminal record, I'd think twice about coming to the attention of local law enforcement, because they might lock you up just for being in town without a permission slip. I know I would.” Sitting cross-legged about five feet outside the range of his reach, Veronica shrugged and stared expressionlessly at him.
Finally, after a two-minute standoff that felt like an hour, Campbell said, “So, what do you want to know?”
“I want to know who, exactly, paid you to shoot Keith Mars.”
“What if I don't actually know who paid me - and I'm not sayin' I did it - but what if I did, but I'm not sure who hired me, because it was done on the phone, and the payoff was mailed.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Veronica said brightly. “Why don't you stop making excuses and tell me what you know, before I make that call.” She held up her cell and wiggled it invitingly.
“Okay, okay. If I tell you, what's in it for me?”
“You know, that’s the second time today a guy's asked me that. Hmm. Wonder what that means.” She rolled her eyes restlessly. “Out with it, boy, my fingers are getting twitchy. I just know the cops would be interested in an Aryan Brotherhood member in their fair city. You’ve got thirty seconds to make up your mind; if you spill, I might just leave and forget I ever met you. If you don't, I'm going to make a call and leave you here for them to find. It's up to you.” Veronica held the phone between her fingers and stared at the buttons. Deliberately, slowly, she punched the nine.
“Okay. Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Who. Who hired you?”
“I only got a name.”
“That's a good start. What is it?”
“All I know is Bristow.”
“Bristow? That's all?”
“Yeah. Bristow.”
“And how did you contact Bristow?”
“I had a number to call.”
“You still have it?”
“Yeah. I think so. Should be in outgoing calls on the cell.”
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The number. On your cell phone? I don't have time for games, Campbell.”
“Okay, okay. On the table, under the pretzels.”
Veronica rose and hesitantly lifted the edge of the bag. Underneath was a small, disposable phone. She scrolled through until she found the outgoing call log. “Which one is it?”
“It’s the only one on there; it's not my phone, I only used it to call Bristow.”
Pulling her cell from the bag still hanging off her shoulder, Veronica transferred the number to her phone. She started to put his back on the tray table but thought better of it and slid it into her pocket. “That’s it? That's all you know? How'd you get paid?”
Forgetting he was chained to the étagère, Campbell tried to hold up both hands, but was rudely jerked back by the handcuffs. “P.O. box. The fee, or half of it, was mailed to me at a Neptune P.O. Box. We're still negotiating the other half, because I didn’t finish the job.” Veronica turned away so he couldn’t see her body start to shake, and her face blanche. Struggling to regain her self-control, she spun around furiously.
“You stupid son of a bitch. You don't deserve to be alive, you know that, right?”
“Hey! We had a deal.”
“Yeah, well,” she whipped out her taser and, before he could react, buzzed him again. “You’re lucky I don't have a gun,” she muttered as she stepped over him and out the door. Spitefully, she left it open - it wasn’t a nice neighborhood, maybe someone would do her and the world a favor and mug him. She ran to her car, hopped in and immediately locked all the doors. Despite her agitated state, she knew she couldn’t sit there, in the hood at dusk, so she revved the engine and peeled out.
It was almost ten o'clock when Veronica pulled into a parking slot at Dog Beach. The lot was deserted. Still trembling, she shut off the LeBaron and sat for a moment, staring at, but not really seeing, the crashing waves and the glittering foam floating onto the sand. She thought about calling Wallace to tell him what she'd learned, but he would no doubt be angry and bitch her out for being stupid enough to go after a hit man without backup. And he'd probably tell her father, too. Of course she couldn’t tell Keith; he'd ground her for life, and then he'd look into transferring her to a Catholic college in Minnesota. Mac was at a two-day geekware seminar and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. She had to talk to someone, though.
“This is Logan with today's inspirational message: Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way, in cheerful godliness. William Wordsworth. I'm traveling, leave a message.”
“Logan? It's me, Veronica. I . . . I need to talk to you. Call me when you get this.”
She sat alone, absently digging her fingers in the sand, grasping a handful and letting it seep out her fist. The moon shown hollowly on the quieting water. A curious gull strutted past, cocking its head to study the odd creature invading its territory. Startled by her buzzing phone, she fumbled in her jacket before answering. “Logan?”
“Veronica. You rang - twice in one day. Is it freezing yet?”
“Where are you? I drove by, but your car was gone.”
“Napa. Dick mother's been bugging him to come up for a visit. I had nothing to do, so I tagged along. We’ll be in San Fran for a few days. Why? Where are you? Wait! I know, you're sitting on the beach, thinking about . . . whatever stupid case you're working on. You're wasting perfectly good moonlight, Veronica. Is everything okay?”
“N…no, I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. How'd you know I'm on the beach? Never mind. It's nothing.”
“Why'd you call, then, Veronica? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“I'm fine, Logan,” she sighed. “It's nothing, really. I got some strange information today, and I wanted to talk to you about it, but it's not important. It can wait.”
“Veronica. If something's wrong, you can tell me. I won’t be mad. I can drop Dick off and be back by morning.”
“No, Logan, it's not that important. I . . . I just wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“No. Look, I'm sorry I bothered you. I didn’t realize you and Dick were on the road. I’ll see you when you get back, okay? Goodnight, Logan,” she said softly, ending the call before he could press her further. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and, ignoring his attempt to call back, got up and began the trek to her car. She knew if she'd told Logan what she'd just done, he would: a) move heaven and earth to get home; and, b) be so angry he might never trust her again. Plus, it would validate all of Logan's outraged accusations about her alleged tendency to leap before she looked and to put her business ahead of him.
Veronica gaped at Loretta Cancun, decked out in body hugging spandex, stiletto over-the-knee boots and a magenta wig. She glanced askance at Cliff. “That's not quite what I meant.”
Cliff looked pained. “We needed bait, and Loretta fit into the costume.” He ignored Veronica's muttered “barely” and continued. “If you can do better, please do.” He crossed his arms.
Veronica gave a martyred sigh. Her mind was still processing her conversation with Campbell, and a comic book convention was the last place she wanted to be, but she had promised, so she tried to make the best of it. Marshalling her thoughts, she pushed at the librarian glasses that constituted her disguise, shoving them farther up the bridge of her nose. “Nope, she's perfect!” she said, trying to fake sincerity and failing miserably. Ms. Cancun rolled her eyes so hard Veronica was sure Loretta could see through to the back of her own head. Of course, if Loretta really could see behind herself, she would see the phalanx of adolescent boys gawking at the spandex body suit that seemed to be several sizes too small and stretched to the breaking point.
Veronica turned to see Cliff doing some gawking of his own, as a woman walked by with a gravity defying top made of torn strips of leather; it was paired with a skirt that, if she were feeling generous, she would have described as a mini. Before Cliff could follow the girl, she grabbed him by the arm and snapped her fingers in his face. “Focus. Think about Brian's mother.”
Cliff watched wistfully as the rear sashayed away from him and into the waiting arms of a 6"4' leather clad warrior who was waiting at the end of the hall. “Ah, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
Veronica gave him a look over the top of her glasses. “And I was so seeing children and a picket fence for you two.” Having gotten his attention, she continued, “You two know the plan right?”
“Right,” Cliff said straightening his tie. “Loretta will let the boy chat her up. She’ll ask him why he's here. It shouldn’t be difficult to get the story out of him, seeing as she's dressed like the main character of his comic. She’ll tell him about a new publisher who's looking for artists, and bring him to the table Logan arranged for us. When he shows me the pages, I’ll palm one off to you. You’ll copy it and make sure the Easter eggs are there. Once we have proof, I can give him back the pages, and if he gets a contract, we'll be able to challenge it.”
Loretta looked at the yearbook photo of Rod. “How do we know the kid will talk to me?”
Cliff looked her up and down and, cupping her elbow, moved her toward the throngs of people headed into the main exhibit hall. “I have every confidence in your charms, Loretta.”
She gave him a hard look. “Just remember the twenty percent discount on my next bill.”
He smiled charmingly. “Don't worry my dear, I won't forget this.” He looked at her figure as she preceded him inside. “Ever.” It was Veronica's turn to roll her eyes as they took off.
A few hours later, as what seemed like the millionth scantily clad female walked by, Veronica had become heartily sick of the case. Watching Cliff’s evident appreciation of the feminine form had begun to pall, and Veronica could not get Campbell's comments out of her mind. As the fourth Xena walked by, Veronica heard Cliff say, “Make a note, V. In the future, I might need to make attending Nerd Fest a regular event.” Only the sight of Loretta leading a sweating Rod to their table prevented Veronica's tart retort.
Veronica lurked behind the blue curtain separating their table from the others. She soon figured out why Rod was sweating so profusely. Every time Loretta looked at him, or touched him, he started stuttering and blushing so wildly Veronica was worried he was going to have a panic attack. However, in his extremely distracted state, he barely noticed Cliff taking his portfolio to the back 'to get more light' and slip a page to Veronica.
As she cut through the back alley of the convention center, Veronica silently thanked Logan for the accommodations he'd been able to arrange for her. Playing on the sympathies one of the staffers had for his 'plight', and on her assistant's fondly remembered tryst with Aaron, he and Sabina had gotten Veronica access to not only the employees-only section of the center, but also the copier in the front office. As she returned to the table and slid the drawing to Cliff, she turned to see Brian anxiously waiting.
“Is that it?” He craned to see the paper in her hand. She pulled him into the hallway, nervously looking around to see if Rod had heard Brian. Rod seemed to be still engrossed by Loretta's charms and Cliff's bullshit, so she breathed a sigh of relief and showed the younger boy the copy. He looked at it intently for a moment, an indefinable look on his face.
“What?” she asked, concerned. “Is the proof not there?” She looked over the paper, searching for the heart with his phone number that was supposed to be doodled in one of the corners. A second later, after finding it, she realized he still hadn’t spoken. “Brian, are you okay?” He shook his head, sinking to the ground at her feet, the page still clutched in his hand. “Brian?” Her voice rose an octave, and, through the gap in the curtain, she could see Cliff shoot her a worried look.
“He made it better,” Brian mumbled, looking at the paper. Almost reverently, he ran his finger over one section. “Here,” he pointed Sin's cape. “Look, how he shaded the color to make it look like it's flapping. I, well, it didn’t look like that when I drew it.”
Veronica slid down next to Brian. She looked over the paper, her eyes lingering on the heroine, obviously patterned on her friend Mac. She silently chortled at the thought of Mac seeing a double D version of herself fighting crime in stilettos, and made a mental note to keep this page for the torture value it represented. “Maybe you should talk to Rod about collaborating. If he made the book better, you guys should work together instead of fighting.”
Stung, he looked at her. “But he stole the pages from me.”
“Yes, he did. But he might have had a reason. You guys should talk, and if you can't resolve things, we still have the proof.”
Brian thought about it for a moment, and nodded slowly. As he started to walk through the curtain, she pulled the page from his loose grasp, chuckling evilly. “I’ll hold onto this. Just in case.” Veronica watched him approach his former friend.
As they talked intently, she rejoined Cliff in time to hear Loretta say, “I think I should get a twenty-five percent discount, that boy almost fainted when I went up to him. I deserve hazard pay!” Cliff was negotiating with Loretta when the two boys returned.
As Rod renewed his I'm-close-to-Loretta blushing and stammering routine, Brian smiled at Veronica and Cliff and gestured to the pages. “Rod was hurt because I didn’t appreciate what he could do for my work, so he took the pages and finished them to show me how great they could be.” He opened the portfolio Rod had just shown him and pointed to the title page. It listed Brian Wixom as the Artist and Rod McClure as the Inker. “He was going to sell it as our work and use it to convince me to do another book.” Rod nodded, his eyes still on Loretta. “We're going to the Marvel reps together to see if they like the book.”
Brian held his hand out to Cliff. “Thank you so much, Mr. McCormack, for helping me.”
“Not at all,” Cliff smoothly replied. “Just don't forget to mention it to your mother.” Brian nodded as Veronica grinned mischievously. The boys walked off, talking animatedly, their past animosity apparently forgotten. Cliff looked after them. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Louis.”
Loretta, hand on her hip, stared pointedly at him. “Let's go. You promised me a steak dinner.”
He looked longingly at the sign on the wall. “But the masquerade starts soon. Can't we stay for that?” Ignoring her antagonized look, he continued. “I think you could win for best super hero, you certainly have the outfit for it.”
“Everyone seems to think so,” she noted, looking down. “Lots of people wanted to take my picture. I guess I don't mind if we stay for a while. There's a cash prize, right?”
“Excellent.” He turned and noticed Veronica's pensive face. “Veronica, is something bothering you?”
She was tempted to ask what he knew about her father's past, but dismissed the idea as soon as she considered it. Cliff was her friend too, but he would never betray her father's confidence. Besides, she suddenly realized, the person she really wanted to talk to was Logan. She summoned a smile and waved him away. “Nope, just happy those crazy kids were able to work it out.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder briefly as he passed by. “Thanks, Kiddo. And now, there's a costume category, best use of spandex, that's calling my name. Catch you later.” She smiled as he and Loretta followed the sign's directions, shook her head, and placed the artwork in her bag. As she walked to her car, she pulled out her phone and dialed Logan's number.
“This is Logan with today's inspiration message: The pleasure of leaving home, care-free, with no concern but to enjoy, has also as a pendant the pleasure of coming back to the old hearthstone, the home to which, however traveled, the heart still fondly turns, ignoring the burden of its anxieties and cares. Herman Melville. Leave a message.”
“Logan, it's Veronica. I need to talk to you. Please call me when you get this.”
She waited for a few minutes, but when Logan didn’t immediately return her call, she headed for the freeway. The pieces didn’t quite fit; there had to be something Campbell hadn’t told her. How did he get the cell phone? What information had he been given about Keith, and how did he get it? Most importantly - why had Keith Mars been targeted? Last night, she'd been so focused on finding out who wanted Keith dead that she forgot to find out why, if Campbell even knew.
Dreading another trip to skankville, Veronica rehearsed her demands as she sped south. Thankfully, it was only four and would stay light for several more hours. When she arrived in front of the ramshackle residence, she could see the door was still slightly ajar. In fact, it looked almost the same as when she'd left the night before. Was it possible he was still chained to the étagère? Not that he knew his entertainment center could be referred to as an étagère.
Once again, she locked the LeBaron and slipped across the street. This time, she didn’t try to hide her taser. It seemed prudent to carry it open. Just in case. Toes outside the doorjamb, she leaned in and peeked. Campbell was sitting in almost exactly the same spot he'd been in before.
“Hey, Campbell,” she hissed. “You awake?”
He didn’t move, didn’t stir. “Scumbag! Wake up, you jerk.”
And still, he didn’t move a muscle. Veronica tiptoed into the entryway and nudged Campbell with her foot. His body felt stiff and unyielding. She bent down to peer into his eyes, and nearly gagged. A bullet hole pierced the space between his eyes, a small trickle of blood crusted underneath. Her head swam and she staggered backward, trying not to hurl. She backed toward the door, struggling to remember whether she'd wiped the cuffs after she hooked him up last night. It really didn’t matter, because she didn’t dare disturb the crime scene. She had to get out, and pray her car hadn’t been noticed by any of the denizens of the neighborhood.
Hands shaking all the way, Veronica drove to the nearest gas station. She ripped her phone from her bag with unstable fingers, and stopped. What should I do? Who can I call? Dad will have a fit. Logan's in San Francisco. The police will probably want to detain me. Unable to compose a coherent thought, she simply sat in her LeBaron, racking her brain. For once in her life, Veronica Mars did not know what to do.
To Be Continued
Click here for chapter 11.
Click here for all previous chapters.
Title: All Fall Down
Pairing / Character: Veronica/Logan, Keith
Rating: PG-13 to R
Words: 89,945 to date
Summary: In Neptune, the brighter the summer sun, the deeper the shadows.
Spoilers / Warnings: Seasons 1 and 2 / Language and adult situations.
Chapter 12: SIN AND FRIENDSHIP
Authors: Mastermia and Rindee
Additional Characters: Cliff, Dick, Loretta Cancun.
Words: 8,422
Authors’ Note: All Fall Down is a collaborative effort by 20 writers. You can learn more about this project here. Special thanks to Mutinousmuse, LadyDisdain225, and Shazam23 for their thoughtful and insightful betas, and a special thanks to taken_with_you and rejeneration for being fabulous sounding boards and all-things-VM resources.
Rindee would like to add an extra-special thanks to Mastermia , who, in addition to co-authoring, beta’d all the way from Australia. Mastermia wants to thank Rindee for stepping in on short notice and doing an awesome job while she went to Australia and had fun.
X-posted to veronicamarsfic, fic_from_mars, Rindee and Mastermia.
All Fall Down
Chapter 12
SIN AND FRIENDSHIP
Chin in hand, Veronica stared at the phone as if she could, with enough concentration, force it to tell her what to say to fix things with Logan. As she replayed their fight in her head, she realized she had, once again, pushed him away. But despite the evening's ending, she couldn’t forget the too-brief moment when they'd shared a laugh over Dick. Regardless of what either one said, there was no denying their connection, one that could change from anger to understanding to passion in a heartbeat. The longer she meditated, the more she realized she missed … all of it. Logan said he only wanted to be friends, but she wanted more. She just needed to find the right words to tell him.
Veronica finished her apology and held her breath, staring at Logan, waiting for his response. She gasped as he said 'I love you' and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him as he murmured ‘Veronica’ and trailed kisses down the side of her neck. Trying to get even closer, she arched her neck. He took it as an invitation to explore the tender spot under her ear, causing her to almost purr in satisfaction as he suckled gently. Somewhere in the distance she heard the ringing of a telephone, but ignored it as his tongue dipped into her collarbone. She silently urged him lower, but as he started to obey, her daydream dissolved and she heard her father yell, “Veronica, can you get the phone?”
Sighing heavily, she picked up the receiver and all but barked, “Mars Investigations.”
“Am I interrupting something?” Cliff's voice was smooth as honey, and she could picture the quirked eyebrow at the other end of the line.
“Hey, sorry, I was thinking of something else.” As she reached for the bottle of water on her desk, she swore she was going to do whatever was necessary to reconnect with Logan as soon as possible. She snapped back to the present and realized she'd missed what Cliff had been saying. “Um, sorry, can you repeat that, please?”
“I. Have. A. Case. For. You.” he said with exaggerated slowness.
“What kind of case?” she asked warily, something in his voice warning her she might not like his answer. “Is it Weevil?”
“No, nothing like that. I told him you were still working on it.” He paused, and Veronica's suspicion deepened. “It's a pro bono case. I need a favor for a friend.”
“I thought Dad was your only friend?”
“I'm hurt, V. I have a plethora of friends you know nothing about.”
“Hmm. How good of a friend are we talking?” she said, curiosity coloring her voice.
“Good enough for me to call in a marker.”
“Let me guess, she works at the Seventh Veil?”
“Now, V, you know I like to support single moms.”
“Yes, you do. A dollar at a time.” Laughter was evident in her voice.
“Veronica, I'm a gentleman. I use fives,” he said in mock hurt.
“And I'm sure the working women of America appreciate that very much. What's the favor?”
“My friend has a son who goes to Neptune. He seems to have lost a comic book, and he needs your help getting it back.”
“He lost a comic book? Shouldn’t he go to Lost and Found?”
“Your comedic stylings never fail to amuse me,” he said dryly. “It's more complex than that. He drew a comic book, and apparently, his friend has stolen the only copy. That big comic book convention is this weekend, and he thinks his friend has a publisher who might be interested. We need you to get it back so her son can get the contract and make his mother very proud.”
“It's a comic book. Can't he just draw another one with his big box of crayolas?”
“Veronica, millions of dollars are spent within the comic book industry every year. The convention is the only opportunity he'll have to get it looked at, and if it's as good as he thinks, he could use the money for college. He's a good kid, and he shouldn’t have to wait another year,” he cajoled.
“Cliff, I don't know anything about comic books. What am I supposed to do?”
“I know you've gone to Geekapalooza before, and that head of yours is always full of crazy plans. You could go, find the thief, get back the book and save the day. I know you like to help the underdog. Come on, V. You owe me.”
“Yes, I do.” The last time she'd gone to the San Diego Comic Con was the summer before Lilly died. Aaron had been promoting a movie at the time, and the four of them, she and Duncan, Logan and Lilly, had gotten total VIP treatment. In fact, Logan could probably still get them behind the scenes, and having to ask him would give them something to talk about as they explored their new friendship. “Send my new client over. He's going to have to tell me exactly what to look for.”
“See, V. I knew you were all about truth, justice and the American way.”
“That's Superman, Cliff.”
“Whatever,” he said as he hung up.
Once again, Veronica eyed the telephone thoughtfully. Supposedly, she and Logan had broken up and were trying to be just friends, but he certainly hadn't acted 'just' friendly when Dick ogled her at Kendall's party. Although she hadn't talked to Logan since that night, Cliff had inadvertently given her the perfect excuse for a chat, and maybe a visit. Even though she was anxious to see Logan, she hated asking for him for a favor, especially one involving the use, or abuse, of his family's notoriety. Sighing, she reluctantly dug out her cell and hit '2'.
“Logan's house of pain, what's your poison, hemlock or arsenic?”
“Logan?”
“Veronica. My favorite sleuth. How've you been?” he asked, sarcasm slathered over every word. Suddenly unsure of herself, Veronica faltered, briefly speechless. In the background, she could hear the loud thunk of the Beach Bimbo Volleyball video game, and Dick exhorting his “girls” to “dig for it, baby.” Apparently, Logan was consoling himself with video games and other hijinks involving Casablancas and his unquenchable craving for anything adolescent.
“Veronica? Was there something you wanted, or did you just call to hear me and Dick breathe heavily?”
“N…no, Logan. I called to see you how are,” she confessed. “And to ask a favor,” she amended guiltily.
“It's always the same with you, Mars. Business before pleasure, although, in your case, it's business before anything, and I'm just an afterthought. What do you need this time?”
“I … I just … I need …” I miss you, the voice in her head prompted, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.
“Spit it out, Mars. Dick thinks he's kicking my ass right now, and I'd like to disabuse him of the notion as soon as possible.”
“Where are you, Logan?”
“The beach house. Why?”
“Can I come over to see you? Just for a minute?”
“You must want a really big favor to be willing to grace us with your presence,” he observed. “C'mon over. Maybe Dick'll let you play with him.”
Disappointed by Logan's antagonism, Veronica hung up and grabbed her bag. “Hey, Dad,” she called through the doorway. “I have to go out for a while.”
“Fine, Honey,” Keith replied. Veronica waited for the usual 'third degree' but none was forthcoming.
“If Cliff's client comes by to see me, ask him to wait, okay?” she added.
“Mm hmm. Okay, sweetie,” he responded absently, but Veronica could tell he wasn't really listening. Has everyone gone completely nuts, she wondered as she flounced out the door.
Logan's noxious-yellow Xterra seemed to mock her as she walked past, reminding her of happier times when she and Logan couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and couldn’t stay out of its ample and accommodating backseat. She stared at the door, trying to decide whether or not she could enter without knocking. Before she could make up her mind, it swung open and she was confronted by a grinning Dick Casablancas. “Ronnie, baby. 'Bout time you came to hang out with the big boys. Did you bring your 'A' game?” he leered as she rolled her eyes and brushed past without comment.
“Logan?” she called, her tone sharper than she'd intended. “Are you here?”
“He's in the den, Ronnie,” Dick announced, following her. “The den of inequity. We renamed it because Logan's a free man now.” As he spoke, Dick raised his fist to the ceiling and pumped his hips enthusiastically.
As she looked quizzically at Dick's gyrations, they could clearly hear Logan's exasperated groan coming from general direction of the sofa. Deciding Dick's stupidity didn't merit a response, Veronica marched into the living room and dropped her messenger bag on the floor at Logan's feet. “Can you pause that, please? We need to talk.”
Without taking his eyes off the huge plasma screen hanging on the wall, Logan nodded “Uh huh. Be right with you, just as soon as I - oh, dammit. Not again.”
“That's lame, dude. You gotta get through this level so you can groove the next one,” Dick instructed from over Veronica's shoulder. “Here. Give it.”
“Riiight.” Wrinkling his forehead, Logan gazed forlornly at the screen, ignoring Dick's outstretched hand. “You wanted something, Mars? What was it?” The frown line between his eyes grew deeper, and he tapped his fingers against the plastic box dangling from his hand. “Oh, yeah.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Talk. You wanted to. Hmpf.” He switched into his Yoda voice. "Want something, she does -”
Without warning, Veronica snatched the controller from his hand and dumped it on the coffee table. “Logan,” she said stiffly, her voice halfway between a plea and a demand. “I need --”
“Wait. I know this one. You need something, from me, but it's just business. C'mon,” he snapped his fingers again. “Out with it, Veronica. Whaddya want?”
“Can we talk in the other room?” she asked, pointedly glaring at Dick, who'd plopped down next to Logan and restarted the game.
Feigning carelessness, Logan studied Veronica, his deceptively lazy gaze traveling up and down her body. He could tell, from the hand anxiously jammed into her back pocket, and the way she gnawed her lip, that she was apprehensive. As he rose to stand next to her, she flinched and stepped backward. Reflexively, he grabbed her elbow to keep her from tripping over the body board lying on the floor behind her. She gasped as his warm fingers wrapped around her bare arm.
Perplexed by her hot-and-cold vibe, Logan steered her toward the stairs. “I'll be back in a minute,” he flung over his shoulder.
“Sure thing, dude. Don't take too long. Hit it and quit it, 'k? We got things to do.”
As he guided her into his bedroom, Logan could feel her tremble slightly underneath his hand. He released her arm, instantly wishing he hadn't. “What's up, Veronica?” he asked gently.
She turned quickly, surprising them both, and flattened her hand against his naked chest. The thud of his heart under her fingers almost made her forget why she was there. “I need a favor,” she murmured, looking up at him from underneath her bangs. “And,” she leaned in, aligning her body against his. “I miss you,” she breathed, running her tongue over her lips before rising to her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his. Disregarding the warning bells trilling in his head, Logan bent and opened his mouth to her, his arm curling around her waist.
“Veronica,” he whispered, one hand drifting from her back to her curvy behind as he drew her closer. Slouched against the door, his other hand tangled in her flaxen hair, he shuddered, trying to remember why this wasn’t a good idea. He stiffened, feeling the soft skin of her belly rubbing through his wafer-thin board shorts. “God, I can't do this again,” he moaned as he nudged her away. Relinquishing his grip, he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her soundly before letting go. Shaking his head mournfully, he moved to the other side of the room, putting as much distance as possible between them.
“I'm not a plaything, Veronica,” he said in a hoarse, clenched voice. “You can't just pick me up and put me down whenever you feel like it.”
“I . . . I'm not, Logan.” Bewildered, she stared at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I'm trying. Trying to make more room for you in my life.”
Ignoring her glistening eyes and inviting words, he continued to regard her impassively. “Is this,” he gestured to his clearly excited state. “What you came for? Or was there something else you wanted?” he asked, teeth gritted.
Abruptly switching gears, she took a deep breath. “No. I came to see you, but I need a favor too.”
“Ask away, Mars.” He spun away from her, and paced the room like a caged tiger, picking up discarded clothes and flinging them into the corner.
“You remember, after freshman year, when the four of us went to that fest - what was it called -”
“I don't know, Veronica. What was it called?” he interrupted, his voice muffled as he yanked a tee over his head.
“I’ll tell you, if you'd shut up and let me finish, Logan.”
“But this is so much more fun,” he smirked, impatiently gesturing for her to get on with it.
“Comic Con. You remember. Lilly and Dunc -”
“Yeah, I remember. What about it?” His eyes darkened suspiciously.
“Do you still have contacts in geekdom? I need to pretend to be a comic book publisher, so I need some all-access passes and a table at the convention.”
Arms crossed protectively, he waited a beat, watching Veronica squirm before asking, “What's in it for me? Isn't that the way it works? You do something for me, and I return the favor.”
“I don't know Logan,” she said tightly, her blue eyes cold and hard. “I don't know if that’s how it works. What would you like me to do for you?”
“Besides leave, you mean? You know, Veronica, once upon a time, under other circumstances, I'd have been delighted by your offer, but now….” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I tell you what, I’ll call Sabina and have her hook you up for Comic Con, and we’ll just say you owe me one. Again.”
“Thank you, Logan,” she replied, relieved and grateful but clearly disappointed.
“Was there anything else?” he grumbled.
“No.” Veronica shook her head. “I guess that's it.”
“I’ll have Sabina call you.”
“Okay.” She nodded quickly and tried to smile. She reached for the doorknob.
“Veronica.”
“Yes, Logan?”
“I don't know what you're doing at Comic Con, but be careful, will you? If you need help, call me, okay?”
“Thanks.”
Brian Wixom tentatively walked into Mars Investigation just as Veronica finished talking to Sabina Eckhardt, an assistant from the Echolls family's PR firm. Even though Brian recognized her, Veronica wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize him; he was an underclassman, after all. But when she looked at Brian, his all-too-average, California blonde look spoke volumes about Cliff's taste in women.
“Veronica, thank you so much for helping me!” Brian said earnestly. “I freaked out when I heard Rod had a comic book he was taking to the Con. I can't believe my friend stabbed me in the back like this, but Cliff says you’ll be able to help.” He looked at her with adoring puppy eyes, and Veronica resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.
“Why didn’t you just ask Rod to give you back the pages?” she asked evenly.
“Oh, I tried, but he said I didn’t appreciate his work, and he'd show me.” He smiled conspiratorially at her. “As if he was capable of drawing a book. He's just an inker, you know.”
“A what?” she asked, mystified.
“An inker isn’t the one who actually draws the pages, he just goes over the artist’s drawing with pen. Rod thinks that makes him creative.”
“He just traces what you drew? Well if he can't actually draw, then how is anyone going to believe he drew the comic?”
He shrugged and evaded her eyes. “Well, a good inker can add shading and depth to a drawing, but the fundamental idea is all mine, and I want my pages back.”
“Okay, why would he take the pages and try to sell them as his?” Brian suddenly became fascinated with his shoelaces, and Veronica was forced to repeat herself to get his attention. “Brian, how did he get the pages?”
“Call me Bri, everyone does.”
“Bri,” she ground out, “How did he get the pages in the first place?”
“Well, I kind of asked him to ink them. And then the post came out about Marvel looking at unsigned artists' work, and I saw he'd gotten a slot. After that, I went and asked for my pages back, and he refused.”
Veronica looked at him steadily. “But you asked Rod to help you finish the pages? Doesn’t that make the work both of yours?”
“He stole them, and I want them back,” he said stubbornly, arms crossed.
Veronica had to laugh to herself; he looked so much like an angry toddler. All that was missing was a foot stomp and she would have a good old-fashioned temper tantrum on her hands. Prudently, she changed the subject. “What’s the comic about?”
Brian's face lit up. “It’s about a super hero!”
“Aren’t they all?” she asked, lifting her water bottle. “What’s his power?”
Brian leaned forward in his chair. “It’s actually about a girl. She's a mild mannered computer programmer by day, but at night she becomes a magenta-haired superhero who uses her computer to solve crime. Her name is Sin!”
His words almost caused her to choke. “Cin?” she repeated dazedly, an odd look on her face.
“Yes, and the original pages have Easter eggs buried in them, to let the real Sin know I wrote the book for her.”
“For her?” Veronica repeated, sounding like a parrot.
Brian nodded excitedly. “Yes, because when she sees the comic, she’ll instantly know I wrote it for her, and once she sees the messages I left her, she’ll realize we belong together. The messages can prove I actually drew it.” He handed over a list. “See? I wrote them all down. If I hadn’t drawn the pages, I wouldn’t know where the hidden messages are.”
Veronica looked at the list of 20 items he had given her. “How many pages is the comic?” she asked wearily.
“Why?” he asked innocently.
“Never mind. Why did Cliff think I could help you?”
“Oh, I told him about my great idea, and how Sin could right wrong with a mere stroke of her laptop. He laughed and said he knew just the person to help me.” The adoring look was back in his eye.
“I bet he did.” she said faintly. As she plotted how to get back at Cliff, she saw the look on his face and wondered what super power he would be giving her in the sequel.
“Cliff, I met your puppy, and I think I can solve his problem, but I need your help.”
“Oh?” Now it was his turn to sound suspicious.
“Rod knows me from school, so I doubt he’ll hand over the pages to me. But there will be lots of comic book companies represented, and I'm sure he will be more than happy to show his pages to a prospective publisher. So I need someone to play a slightly shady executive, and I realized I knew the perfect person.”
“Slightly shady? You insult me again. I can be entirely shady if necessary. Of course I’ll do anything I can for the poor boy.”
“Boy, have you got it bad.” Veronica smiled at his resigned sigh.
“You have no idea.” Hearing Cliff's reply, her smile turned to outright laughter, but his pained silence was her only response.
“We need someone to dress in costume and wear a magenta wig. Any idea who might help with that?”
“I think I know just the person,” he said confidently.
Having completed the necessary arrangements for her Comic Con escapade, Veronica returned to trying to find the bastard who'd shot her father. Extracting from their hiding place the stills she'd pulled from the Vixen security video, she inspected them. Finally, she had a face, and a singularly identifiable tattoo design from the Book of Kells. She glanced nervously toward Keith's office, but he seemed preoccupied, so she began running the hit man’s image through the databases, looking for a name, an address, something to lead her to him.
Nothing popped when she ran the tattoo through the Balboa County Sheriff's offenders database. And there was nothing on ARJIS. Wait - dark hair, pale skin, Celtic tattoo - maybe he's a member of the Aryan Brotherhood; they used Celtic symbols as a kind of code, she thought. Where was that database for known gang members? She scrolled through her list of law enforcement sites until she found it. Twenty minutes later, she'd found two possible names: Tommy Joe Campbell and Billy Richardson, both of whom had lengthy criminal records and were known to have Celtic tattoos. Only one, Campbell, had ties to southern California, and, fortuitously, his last known address was in San Diego. Printing out the address, and a map, Veronica grabbed her bag, cell phone, and camera. It was time for a road trip.
She would have liked to ask Logan to accompany her; she wasn’t sure what the San Diego neighborhood was like, and if Campbell was the guy who'd shot her father, he was clearly not to be trifled with, but after her earlier, unsuccessful encounter with Logan, she was sure she didn’t want to involve him in any case she was working. “Dad?” she called in her best ‘innocent’ voice. “I'm going over to Hearst to pick up some course stuff. I’ll probably be a while.”
“Are you going to be home for dinner, Honey?” Keith queried, knowing he'd been too absent too often lately.
“I'm not sure. Don’t wait for me, though.”
“Okay, Kiddo. Have fun. Be nice and make some new friends, alright?” Keith sighed. Ever since he'd aborted their trip to New York, Veronica had been distant, uncooperative, and surly. He didn’t want to further alienate her by demanding to know her whereabouts at all times, even though his current investigation suggested he should.
“Um hmm. I will. See you later, Dad.”
For the tenth time in the hour, Veronica stared impatiently at her watch. It was 7:45 p.m., and still no sign of the inhabitant of the seedy, dilapidated shack. She rechecked her map and print out, but she was still at the right address. It would be dark in less than an hour, and she wasn’t crazy about being in the area after nightfall. She grabbed her camera and began to snap the exterior. As she worked, a tall, seemingly emaciated man, wearing torn, grubby jeans, shuffled into her viewfinder. Focusing in for a moment, she sucked in a breath. It looked like Campbell. She tuned in on his forearm, and there it was, the Celtic tattoo. Jackpot. As she brought the sight up from his arm to his face, she realized he wasn’t as grungy as he appeared from a distance. His face and hands were immaculate, and his jeans, though ripped, were clean and had been pressed.
“Okay,” she thought. “It's part of his cover. Not bad.” She watched as he dug into his pocket for keys, shifting the six-pack of brown bottles from one hand to the other before he opened the door. As he went in, he carefully looked up and down the street, as if he was worried about someone following him. Or was waiting for someone.
Veronica wasn’t sure whether he was expecting someone, so she stayed in her car for a few minutes, winding her fingers in her ponytail as she waited and watched. When she saw the blue glow of the television, she figured he was in for the night, or at least, for a while. She removed her taser from her bag and stuck it in the pocket of her hoodie. She tied a bandana over her shiny hair, put on some dorky-looking, black frame glasses, and picked up the clipboard she'd brought as part of her disguise.
Locking up, she carefully glanced both ways before crossing to the house. Taking a deep breath, she rapped confidently on the door, plastering on her best 'harmless blonde' smile just as he answered. “Hi. I'm from the community cleanup committee, and we're taking a survey, if you have a just a minute, I'd like to come in and get your opinion.”
“I haven't lived here too long,” he mumbled. “I don't have an opinion.” He started to shut the scarred wooden door in her face.
“Everyone has an opinion,” she said perkily, catching the door with the palm of her hand. “It’ll just take a moment, honest,” she pleaded, trying to appear as guileless as possible. “Just a few, quick questions and I’ll be outta your hair. Please. I only have to finish two more, and it's getting dark.”
He glared suspiciously before begrudgingly shoving the door. “Okay, then, but only a minute. The game's about to start.”
“Just a minute or two, I promise,” she swore. He moved aside to allow her to step into the room, lifting the bottle to his mouth to take a swig. As he turned to shut the door, Veronica pulled her taser and zapped him on the shoulder, once to stun him, and again, to drop him. He staggered and toppled, his bottle falling and spilling beer across the entryway. “Ooo. I wonder if that’s gonna stain?” she mused to the slumped, now-silent man. Quickly, she assessed the room, searching for something to cuff him to.
Sitting immediately to her right was a shabby, beigish recliner, and next to it was a wobbly tray table with an open bag of pretzels on it, along with the TV remote. The recliner sat at an angle facing a massive-but-rickety faux wood entertainment center. The shelves of the entertainment center held a 35-inch television, a half-dead plant that looked a lot like marijuana, and a cracked black boom box of indeterminate age.
Although he was skinny, he was still too large for her to drag very far, so Veronica settled on the entertainment center, figuring if he tried to wiggle loose, it would fall on him and, at the very least, slow him down. She stepped cautiously over his now-prone body, gingerly took his arm and lugged him toward the shelves. It took almost three minutes for her to move him, inch-by-inch, close enough to thread the cuffs around the base and click them on his wrist. He stirred a little and mumbled something, but didn’t wake up.
Not wanting to touch anything, she again inspected the room. The wall opposite the door was one of those half-wall-cum-countertops and she could see a tiny, grimy galley kitchen beyond it. Taking the bandana from her head, she wrapped it around her hand and, walking into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator. Inside was a greasy, half-opened pizza box, a single white carton that looked like it had once held some type of takeout, and four capped bottles of beer. She put her covered hand around one, set it on the counter, and surveyed the area for an opener. Locating a church key, she opened the bottle and wiped off the opener before returning it to its spot on the chipped formica.
She took a quick gulp, grimaced, and poured the rest of it over Campbell’s face. He sputtered, gagged, and, as he regained consciousness, began to curse. She watched impassively until he stopped swearing. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Are you done yet, Mister?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“You don't know who I am? That's funny, because I know exactly who you are. What I don't know, what I want to know, is who hired you to shoot Keith Mars.”
“I don't know you, lady, and I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you let me go and get outta here, I’m willing to call it even and not hurt you.”
“Let me get this straight. If I let you go, you're not going to hurt me. Gee, thanks. I feel much better now, but, really, shouldn’t you be threatening me and telling me I'm gonna pay for this?” Veronica sneered. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think you're in any position to bargain right now, so while we’re hangin’ out, let me show you some pictures.” She pulled the Vixen video stills from her messenger bag and, squatting down a few feet away, held them out. “Look familiar? Nice tattoo. You get that in prison, or when you first joined the Brotherhood, Mr. Campbell?”
“Where’d you get those, you little bitch?”
“That’s not really important, is it? Although, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll be happy to tell you, just as soon as you tell me who hired you and why you were trying to kill Keith Mars?”
“I told you, I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, you do, because these,” she jiggled the pictures, “were taken by a security camera outside of Pisano's on the night Mr. Mars was shot.” She waited for him to focus on the photo. “Recognize anything? Like the lovely tattoo? Does it, and the guy wearing it, look familiar? Because I’m pretty sure it’s you. I doubt there are many shooters in San Diego or Balboa County who're sporting an Aryan Brotherhood tat. Waddya think? Should I call the Sheriff and ask?” Veronica glowered fiercely at Campbell and, when he didn’t respond, continued, “You know, if I had your illustrious criminal record, I'd think twice about coming to the attention of local law enforcement, because they might lock you up just for being in town without a permission slip. I know I would.” Sitting cross-legged about five feet outside the range of his reach, Veronica shrugged and stared expressionlessly at him.
Finally, after a two-minute standoff that felt like an hour, Campbell said, “So, what do you want to know?”
“I want to know who, exactly, paid you to shoot Keith Mars.”
“What if I don't actually know who paid me - and I'm not sayin' I did it - but what if I did, but I'm not sure who hired me, because it was done on the phone, and the payoff was mailed.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Veronica said brightly. “Why don't you stop making excuses and tell me what you know, before I make that call.” She held up her cell and wiggled it invitingly.
“Okay, okay. If I tell you, what's in it for me?”
“You know, that’s the second time today a guy's asked me that. Hmm. Wonder what that means.” She rolled her eyes restlessly. “Out with it, boy, my fingers are getting twitchy. I just know the cops would be interested in an Aryan Brotherhood member in their fair city. You’ve got thirty seconds to make up your mind; if you spill, I might just leave and forget I ever met you. If you don't, I'm going to make a call and leave you here for them to find. It's up to you.” Veronica held the phone between her fingers and stared at the buttons. Deliberately, slowly, she punched the nine.
“Okay. Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Who. Who hired you?”
“I only got a name.”
“That's a good start. What is it?”
“All I know is Bristow.”
“Bristow? That's all?”
“Yeah. Bristow.”
“And how did you contact Bristow?”
“I had a number to call.”
“You still have it?”
“Yeah. I think so. Should be in outgoing calls on the cell.”
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The number. On your cell phone? I don't have time for games, Campbell.”
“Okay, okay. On the table, under the pretzels.”
Veronica rose and hesitantly lifted the edge of the bag. Underneath was a small, disposable phone. She scrolled through until she found the outgoing call log. “Which one is it?”
“It’s the only one on there; it's not my phone, I only used it to call Bristow.”
Pulling her cell from the bag still hanging off her shoulder, Veronica transferred the number to her phone. She started to put his back on the tray table but thought better of it and slid it into her pocket. “That’s it? That's all you know? How'd you get paid?”
Forgetting he was chained to the étagère, Campbell tried to hold up both hands, but was rudely jerked back by the handcuffs. “P.O. box. The fee, or half of it, was mailed to me at a Neptune P.O. Box. We're still negotiating the other half, because I didn’t finish the job.” Veronica turned away so he couldn’t see her body start to shake, and her face blanche. Struggling to regain her self-control, she spun around furiously.
“You stupid son of a bitch. You don't deserve to be alive, you know that, right?”
“Hey! We had a deal.”
“Yeah, well,” she whipped out her taser and, before he could react, buzzed him again. “You’re lucky I don't have a gun,” she muttered as she stepped over him and out the door. Spitefully, she left it open - it wasn’t a nice neighborhood, maybe someone would do her and the world a favor and mug him. She ran to her car, hopped in and immediately locked all the doors. Despite her agitated state, she knew she couldn’t sit there, in the hood at dusk, so she revved the engine and peeled out.
It was almost ten o'clock when Veronica pulled into a parking slot at Dog Beach. The lot was deserted. Still trembling, she shut off the LeBaron and sat for a moment, staring at, but not really seeing, the crashing waves and the glittering foam floating onto the sand. She thought about calling Wallace to tell him what she'd learned, but he would no doubt be angry and bitch her out for being stupid enough to go after a hit man without backup. And he'd probably tell her father, too. Of course she couldn’t tell Keith; he'd ground her for life, and then he'd look into transferring her to a Catholic college in Minnesota. Mac was at a two-day geekware seminar and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. She had to talk to someone, though.
“This is Logan with today's inspirational message: Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way, in cheerful godliness. William Wordsworth. I'm traveling, leave a message.”
“Logan? It's me, Veronica. I . . . I need to talk to you. Call me when you get this.”
She sat alone, absently digging her fingers in the sand, grasping a handful and letting it seep out her fist. The moon shown hollowly on the quieting water. A curious gull strutted past, cocking its head to study the odd creature invading its territory. Startled by her buzzing phone, she fumbled in her jacket before answering. “Logan?”
“Veronica. You rang - twice in one day. Is it freezing yet?”
“Where are you? I drove by, but your car was gone.”
“Napa. Dick mother's been bugging him to come up for a visit. I had nothing to do, so I tagged along. We’ll be in San Fran for a few days. Why? Where are you? Wait! I know, you're sitting on the beach, thinking about . . . whatever stupid case you're working on. You're wasting perfectly good moonlight, Veronica. Is everything okay?”
“N…no, I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. How'd you know I'm on the beach? Never mind. It's nothing.”
“Why'd you call, then, Veronica? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“I'm fine, Logan,” she sighed. “It's nothing, really. I got some strange information today, and I wanted to talk to you about it, but it's not important. It can wait.”
“Veronica. If something's wrong, you can tell me. I won’t be mad. I can drop Dick off and be back by morning.”
“No, Logan, it's not that important. I . . . I just wanted to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“No. Look, I'm sorry I bothered you. I didn’t realize you and Dick were on the road. I’ll see you when you get back, okay? Goodnight, Logan,” she said softly, ending the call before he could press her further. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and, ignoring his attempt to call back, got up and began the trek to her car. She knew if she'd told Logan what she'd just done, he would: a) move heaven and earth to get home; and, b) be so angry he might never trust her again. Plus, it would validate all of Logan's outraged accusations about her alleged tendency to leap before she looked and to put her business ahead of him.
Veronica gaped at Loretta Cancun, decked out in body hugging spandex, stiletto over-the-knee boots and a magenta wig. She glanced askance at Cliff. “That's not quite what I meant.”
Cliff looked pained. “We needed bait, and Loretta fit into the costume.” He ignored Veronica's muttered “barely” and continued. “If you can do better, please do.” He crossed his arms.
Veronica gave a martyred sigh. Her mind was still processing her conversation with Campbell, and a comic book convention was the last place she wanted to be, but she had promised, so she tried to make the best of it. Marshalling her thoughts, she pushed at the librarian glasses that constituted her disguise, shoving them farther up the bridge of her nose. “Nope, she's perfect!” she said, trying to fake sincerity and failing miserably. Ms. Cancun rolled her eyes so hard Veronica was sure Loretta could see through to the back of her own head. Of course, if Loretta really could see behind herself, she would see the phalanx of adolescent boys gawking at the spandex body suit that seemed to be several sizes too small and stretched to the breaking point.
Veronica turned to see Cliff doing some gawking of his own, as a woman walked by with a gravity defying top made of torn strips of leather; it was paired with a skirt that, if she were feeling generous, she would have described as a mini. Before Cliff could follow the girl, she grabbed him by the arm and snapped her fingers in his face. “Focus. Think about Brian's mother.”
Cliff watched wistfully as the rear sashayed away from him and into the waiting arms of a 6"4' leather clad warrior who was waiting at the end of the hall. “Ah, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
Veronica gave him a look over the top of her glasses. “And I was so seeing children and a picket fence for you two.” Having gotten his attention, she continued, “You two know the plan right?”
“Right,” Cliff said straightening his tie. “Loretta will let the boy chat her up. She’ll ask him why he's here. It shouldn’t be difficult to get the story out of him, seeing as she's dressed like the main character of his comic. She’ll tell him about a new publisher who's looking for artists, and bring him to the table Logan arranged for us. When he shows me the pages, I’ll palm one off to you. You’ll copy it and make sure the Easter eggs are there. Once we have proof, I can give him back the pages, and if he gets a contract, we'll be able to challenge it.”
Loretta looked at the yearbook photo of Rod. “How do we know the kid will talk to me?”
Cliff looked her up and down and, cupping her elbow, moved her toward the throngs of people headed into the main exhibit hall. “I have every confidence in your charms, Loretta.”
She gave him a hard look. “Just remember the twenty percent discount on my next bill.”
He smiled charmingly. “Don't worry my dear, I won't forget this.” He looked at her figure as she preceded him inside. “Ever.” It was Veronica's turn to roll her eyes as they took off.
A few hours later, as what seemed like the millionth scantily clad female walked by, Veronica had become heartily sick of the case. Watching Cliff’s evident appreciation of the feminine form had begun to pall, and Veronica could not get Campbell's comments out of her mind. As the fourth Xena walked by, Veronica heard Cliff say, “Make a note, V. In the future, I might need to make attending Nerd Fest a regular event.” Only the sight of Loretta leading a sweating Rod to their table prevented Veronica's tart retort.
Veronica lurked behind the blue curtain separating their table from the others. She soon figured out why Rod was sweating so profusely. Every time Loretta looked at him, or touched him, he started stuttering and blushing so wildly Veronica was worried he was going to have a panic attack. However, in his extremely distracted state, he barely noticed Cliff taking his portfolio to the back 'to get more light' and slip a page to Veronica.
As she cut through the back alley of the convention center, Veronica silently thanked Logan for the accommodations he'd been able to arrange for her. Playing on the sympathies one of the staffers had for his 'plight', and on her assistant's fondly remembered tryst with Aaron, he and Sabina had gotten Veronica access to not only the employees-only section of the center, but also the copier in the front office. As she returned to the table and slid the drawing to Cliff, she turned to see Brian anxiously waiting.
“Is that it?” He craned to see the paper in her hand. She pulled him into the hallway, nervously looking around to see if Rod had heard Brian. Rod seemed to be still engrossed by Loretta's charms and Cliff's bullshit, so she breathed a sigh of relief and showed the younger boy the copy. He looked at it intently for a moment, an indefinable look on his face.
“What?” she asked, concerned. “Is the proof not there?” She looked over the paper, searching for the heart with his phone number that was supposed to be doodled in one of the corners. A second later, after finding it, she realized he still hadn’t spoken. “Brian, are you okay?” He shook his head, sinking to the ground at her feet, the page still clutched in his hand. “Brian?” Her voice rose an octave, and, through the gap in the curtain, she could see Cliff shoot her a worried look.
“He made it better,” Brian mumbled, looking at the paper. Almost reverently, he ran his finger over one section. “Here,” he pointed Sin's cape. “Look, how he shaded the color to make it look like it's flapping. I, well, it didn’t look like that when I drew it.”
Veronica slid down next to Brian. She looked over the paper, her eyes lingering on the heroine, obviously patterned on her friend Mac. She silently chortled at the thought of Mac seeing a double D version of herself fighting crime in stilettos, and made a mental note to keep this page for the torture value it represented. “Maybe you should talk to Rod about collaborating. If he made the book better, you guys should work together instead of fighting.”
Stung, he looked at her. “But he stole the pages from me.”
“Yes, he did. But he might have had a reason. You guys should talk, and if you can't resolve things, we still have the proof.”
Brian thought about it for a moment, and nodded slowly. As he started to walk through the curtain, she pulled the page from his loose grasp, chuckling evilly. “I’ll hold onto this. Just in case.” Veronica watched him approach his former friend.
As they talked intently, she rejoined Cliff in time to hear Loretta say, “I think I should get a twenty-five percent discount, that boy almost fainted when I went up to him. I deserve hazard pay!” Cliff was negotiating with Loretta when the two boys returned.
As Rod renewed his I'm-close-to-Loretta blushing and stammering routine, Brian smiled at Veronica and Cliff and gestured to the pages. “Rod was hurt because I didn’t appreciate what he could do for my work, so he took the pages and finished them to show me how great they could be.” He opened the portfolio Rod had just shown him and pointed to the title page. It listed Brian Wixom as the Artist and Rod McClure as the Inker. “He was going to sell it as our work and use it to convince me to do another book.” Rod nodded, his eyes still on Loretta. “We're going to the Marvel reps together to see if they like the book.”
Brian held his hand out to Cliff. “Thank you so much, Mr. McCormack, for helping me.”
“Not at all,” Cliff smoothly replied. “Just don't forget to mention it to your mother.” Brian nodded as Veronica grinned mischievously. The boys walked off, talking animatedly, their past animosity apparently forgotten. Cliff looked after them. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Louis.”
Loretta, hand on her hip, stared pointedly at him. “Let's go. You promised me a steak dinner.”
He looked longingly at the sign on the wall. “But the masquerade starts soon. Can't we stay for that?” Ignoring her antagonized look, he continued. “I think you could win for best super hero, you certainly have the outfit for it.”
“Everyone seems to think so,” she noted, looking down. “Lots of people wanted to take my picture. I guess I don't mind if we stay for a while. There's a cash prize, right?”
“Excellent.” He turned and noticed Veronica's pensive face. “Veronica, is something bothering you?”
She was tempted to ask what he knew about her father's past, but dismissed the idea as soon as she considered it. Cliff was her friend too, but he would never betray her father's confidence. Besides, she suddenly realized, the person she really wanted to talk to was Logan. She summoned a smile and waved him away. “Nope, just happy those crazy kids were able to work it out.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder briefly as he passed by. “Thanks, Kiddo. And now, there's a costume category, best use of spandex, that's calling my name. Catch you later.” She smiled as he and Loretta followed the sign's directions, shook her head, and placed the artwork in her bag. As she walked to her car, she pulled out her phone and dialed Logan's number.
“This is Logan with today's inspiration message: The pleasure of leaving home, care-free, with no concern but to enjoy, has also as a pendant the pleasure of coming back to the old hearthstone, the home to which, however traveled, the heart still fondly turns, ignoring the burden of its anxieties and cares. Herman Melville. Leave a message.”
“Logan, it's Veronica. I need to talk to you. Please call me when you get this.”
She waited for a few minutes, but when Logan didn’t immediately return her call, she headed for the freeway. The pieces didn’t quite fit; there had to be something Campbell hadn’t told her. How did he get the cell phone? What information had he been given about Keith, and how did he get it? Most importantly - why had Keith Mars been targeted? Last night, she'd been so focused on finding out who wanted Keith dead that she forgot to find out why, if Campbell even knew.
Dreading another trip to skankville, Veronica rehearsed her demands as she sped south. Thankfully, it was only four and would stay light for several more hours. When she arrived in front of the ramshackle residence, she could see the door was still slightly ajar. In fact, it looked almost the same as when she'd left the night before. Was it possible he was still chained to the étagère? Not that he knew his entertainment center could be referred to as an étagère.
Once again, she locked the LeBaron and slipped across the street. This time, she didn’t try to hide her taser. It seemed prudent to carry it open. Just in case. Toes outside the doorjamb, she leaned in and peeked. Campbell was sitting in almost exactly the same spot he'd been in before.
“Hey, Campbell,” she hissed. “You awake?”
He didn’t move, didn’t stir. “Scumbag! Wake up, you jerk.”
And still, he didn’t move a muscle. Veronica tiptoed into the entryway and nudged Campbell with her foot. His body felt stiff and unyielding. She bent down to peer into his eyes, and nearly gagged. A bullet hole pierced the space between his eyes, a small trickle of blood crusted underneath. Her head swam and she staggered backward, trying not to hurl. She backed toward the door, struggling to remember whether she'd wiped the cuffs after she hooked him up last night. It really didn’t matter, because she didn’t dare disturb the crime scene. She had to get out, and pray her car hadn’t been noticed by any of the denizens of the neighborhood.
Hands shaking all the way, Veronica drove to the nearest gas station. She ripped her phone from her bag with unstable fingers, and stopped. What should I do? Who can I call? Dad will have a fit. Logan's in San Francisco. The police will probably want to detain me. Unable to compose a coherent thought, she simply sat in her LeBaron, racking her brain. For once in her life, Veronica Mars did not know what to do.
To Be Continued
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