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Chapter Text

Today’s Outgoing Voicemail
“Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.”
– Virginia Woolf

“Thus the young and pure would be taught to look at her … who had once been innocent, — as the figure, the body, the reality of sin.”
– Nathaniel Hawthorne 

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 24, 2004

8 Days Remain

Veronica Mars is the most notoriously unpopular person in the history of Neptune High School. As the only trained investigator in the history of Neptune High School, this was something she was keenly aware of. Her training came from Veronica’s time working for Keith Mars, her father, the only one in the family with an official P.I. license. In fairness, her exile status is also indirectly due to Keith - when Veronica had had to choose between her father and everyone else, she had chosen her father.
Veronica sat in the sun-dappled common area of the Mars Investigations office, the mid-morning light coming through a ruby stained-glass window pane, giving Veronica’s short golden hair all the festivity of a broken candy cane. Veronica had relinquished her usual place behind the Mars Investigations front desk, and had parked her slender 5’1” frame on the cramped floor in front of her father’s private office, drawing on a plain brown paper banner.
Veronica’s only friend, Wallace Fennel, sat nearby on the office couch reserved for waiting customers. His frizzy black hair was visible over a year-old issue of Sports Illustrated - a man wearing a red Cleveland basketball jersey and the number 23 gracing the cover. Wallace’s usual wide smile was brilliant against his dark-skinned face as he read. Wallace, a 16-year-old high school basketball star himself, was the starting point guard – the basketball position that most required teamwork. Despite clocking in under 5’8, Wallace had plenty of exuberance, and knew how to gel people together. It made Veronica wonder why he continued to spend time with her, the town pariah. Cutting him down from a flagpole after the local biker gang, the PCHers, had indulged in their favorite punishment – duct taping people naked in the middle of school – may have something to do with it.
Wallace looked up from his magazine at Veronica’s current project. “What exactly are you doing down there anyway? I thought this was supposed to be a study date - that report on the Scarlet Letter won’t write itself.”
“I could write a report on Mr. Hawthorne’s masterwork in my sleep. This is a Halloween costume.” Veronica replied, showing off five cleanly calligraphed characters on the paper, ‘-Mart.’
“You’ve decided you’re going to be an incomprehensible banner this year?” Wallace asked.
“It’s not my costume,” Veronica replied in her honey-toned soprano. “It’s for the Sac-n-Pack. I thought you’d like to work at an appropriately named establishment this week. Shop smart. Shop S-Mart.”
“Very clever. I’m sure all the drunks and stoners buying junk food will really appreciate the effort.”
“Hail to the king, baby,” Veronica replied in as deep a voice as she could manage, doing a surprisingly good Bruce Campbell impersonation for someone so small.
“Speaking of which, you mind taking James and picking me up after work tonight?” Wallace requested. “My shift ends late, and Mom’s got an early meeting tomorrow at work.”
“Yeah, no problem. Why is it you insist on calling my car James again?” Veronica asked.
“It’s a LeBaron. LeBaron James, like my boy LBJ!” Wallace exclaimed, indicating Cleveland Cavaliers basketball phenom LeBron James on the cover of his magazine. “You with me?”
“LBJ, all the way!” Veronica replied. “So, what’s so great about this guy?”
“Woman, are you kidding me?” Wallace asked in a mock affronted tone. “LeBron? LeBron James?! This man is like a god back in Cleveland!”
“Hello, Cleveland!”
Veronica’s jest broke Wallace’s rhythm in extolling the virtues of the Cleveland basketball sensation, and instead Wallace looked down at his friend and asked non-sequitur, “You went from Lyndon Baines Johnson to Spinal Tap? Do you ever get comedic whiplash?”
“What can I say? I’m well-read and my dad would never forgive me passing up a Spinal Tap joke. There’s a very fine line between stupid and clever, and I’m gonna walk the line like I’m Johnny Cash!” Veronica said enthusiastically, miming an air guitar.
Wallace couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s joke, giving a loud guffaw before again pointing at the cover page and listing the many laudables of the man wearing polyester on the magazine cover. “This is the greatest player of his generation – the next Michael Jordan! The most anticipated prep-to-pro player of our lifetime, the only high school underclassman to grace the cover of Sports Illustrated, number one pick of the 2003 draft, the 2003-2004 rookie of the year, and, most importantly, my Fightin’ Irish teammate two years ago at St. Vincent-St. Mary! You realize what a break it was for lowly high school freshman me to make a varsity team that was undefeated? Well, technically we were robbed of our undefeated season by the athletic association, but we never lost a game! This man is my idol!”
“I get it, I get it - the man knows his way around the hardwood.”
Wallace eyed Veronica quizzically, unsure if she was making fun of him, but deciding not to press the issue with she-who-provides-car-rides. “He’s also one of the sweetest guys you’ll ever meet, and if you’re interested, you’ll get to. We’ve kept in touch, and LBJ sent me some tickets to the Cavaliers-Lakers game next week. He promised to introduce me around to some of the coaches and said I could bring a friend. The chance to meet the coaches and scouts is a really big deal - a lot of them have connections with the college programs. Would you be interested in coming along? Purely for moral support mind you. I don’t think Troy would mind.”
“I don’t really care what Troy thinks - we broke up,” Veronica said with some regret. “He decided to go down to Mexico to celebrate Halloween and Day of the Dead with his real girlfriend, Shauna.” Veronica had really started to like Troy Vandegraff, a rakish charmer who had turned out to be a liar, cheater, and drug dealer. She was glad she had found out what he was before he could get away with the drugs, but it was disappointing to be proven so consistently right in her mistrust of people. At least it was better than when Veronica’s mom had abandoned her - she’d already built up some emotional calluses by this point.
Wallace looked at Veronica sympathetically, but could tell that she didn’t want to talk further about it. Veronica was more than grateful for Wallace, the only break in the clouds of misery that had been high school for over a year - ever since the murder of Veronica’s last best friend, Lilly Kane. Getting into the locker room at a basketball game was a rare treat, a fun thing that normal kids would like, and that she would have to tell her sports-loving dad all about. Los Angeles was the closest pro basketball city to the southern California town of Neptune, CA. Even if Keith’s preferred game was baseball, he would be jealous of this. But more importantly the trip obviously meant a lot to Wallace - a basketball scholarship was a serious concern for the young point guard, and he had to work with a lot of hustle and heart to succeed in a sport where everyone towered over him. Since the diminutive Veronica was frequently surrounded by people looming over her, she could relate. It felt nice to be there to help her friend Wallace. It was good to have someone who had her back, but even better to know she had his.
“Absolutely, Wallace. I’d love to visit your friend and the coaches next week.”

...

Wallace wore the unattractive striped uniform required of the Sac-n-Pack store clerks, looking more like a candy striper than a convenience store worker as he swept up between the aisles of the empty store. Technically, he wore the unattractive striped uniform of S-Mart clerks tonight, and Wallace had to admit that putting the banner on top of the store had lifted his spirits. Knowing the manager, the banner would probably stay up all week - nobody seemed to care much what happened at the low-rent shop right off the Pacific Coast Highway. Still, Wallace had some professional pride, and he liked the store clean, so he kept straightening up.
The bell above the door rang out behind Wallace, signaling a new customer entering the front door. As Wallace turned to greet the newcomer, he was roughly shoved backwards. As Wallace stumbled he was pushed again, this time in the throat - a gunmetal grey baseball bat held crosswise against his neck. It all happened so suddenly, the abandoned broom hadn’t even hit the floor by the time Wallace was pressed, strangling against the drink cooler in the back.
Choking, Wallace gasped for breath and got his first look at the attacker. Metallic yellow eyes gleamed evilly from a green metal face, ears sticking up like horns, the unnatural visage terrifying Wallace as he tried to push back against the aluminum bat suffocating him. Wallace had thought Willem Dafoe looked creepier without the mask in the movie, but right now he decided that the Green Goblin mask was plenty scary all by itself.
“Trick or treat, boy,” the villain rasped. “Give me your wallet. Now. Ditch your phone, too.” The false-faced thief emphasized his demand with a hard shove against Wallace’s throat, before backing up just enough to let Wallace reach his wallet.
Wallace slowly held his hands up, looking his assailant over. The green and yellow mask matched the green and yellow jacket that the attacker was wearing over plain blue jeans. The bare hands holding the bat at a menacing distance were white. Wallace reached with his right hand to take his phone out, and then his wallet out of the back pocket. He dropped both on the floor. Wallace knew better than to try fighting back, unless the robber was dumb enough to pick up the wallet where Wallace could easily knock him out.
“How’s the register coming?” the masked man demanded. Only then did Wallace see the second man, dressed identically to the first, also white. Neither robber apparently thought gloves were necessary.
“Almost done,” the thief at the register replied. “Hey, grab me a Red soda while you’re there. I’m thirsty.”
“Alright, into the freezer with you,” the masked man in front of Wallace commanded, clearly speaking to him this time. The thief made no immediate move for the wallet, but did open the drink cooler and grabbed a 1-liter bottle of scarlet liquid while waving the bat threateningly.
Outnumbered and unarmed, Wallace walked ahead of the man’s prodding to a heavy insulated door, yanking it open to expose the tiny maintenance area for the freezer. The Green Goblin gave Wallace one final shove into the frigid cramped enclosure, shouting “don’t mess with PCH!” and slamming the door shut.
Wallace pounded frantically on the door, which didn’t budge. After several minutes of desperate, fruitless shoving against the heavy barrier, Wallace put his hands in his armpits and tried to conserve what warmth he could. No stranger to cold Midwestern winters, Wallace knew that any longer than a half hour without gloves below freezing risked serious frostbite – he had no idea how much worse it was when you were only wearing a short sleeve shirt and no coat. His mother never would have let him leave the house in winter dressed like this. The bitter cold cut through the muscles of Wallace’s unclad arms, stabbing pain through the high school junior. Muscle cramps wracked Wallace like his blood was spiked with shards of ice. Desperate to ward the chill, Wallace leaned against the barrier, hoping simple persistent pressure might get the door to open. Keeping his chattering teeth clenched to avoid biting out his tongue, Wallace’s jawbone echoed with the throbbing ache that only came in cold weather. Curling up as best he could, Wallace waited for the cavalry to arrive.

...

Veronica pulled LeBaron “James” into the parking lot of the recently rechristened S-Mart an hour early. The downside to being newly single with only one friend is that, unless there’s homework or an investigation, there aren’t many fun things to do. The mart was usually pretty quiet Sunday nights, and Veronica thought Wallace might appreciate the company - Veronica certainly would. Veronica’s dad tended to work odd hours and go out of town a lot for the job - the prospect of being alone with the dog again had lost its charm after the past year.
Veronica didn’t see Wallace at the counter through the large glass window, which didn’t necessarily mean anything. But as Veronica walked closer to the store entrance, she could see that the shelves were completely trashed, in total disarray. Running the rest of the way into the store, Veronica saw the cash register, despondent and unattended, the drawer fully extended, naked and empty in the night. The video cassette deck with the security camera footage was likewise open and exposed, the cassette missing and the black deck sticking out obscenely vacant. Wallace was nowhere to be seen.
Looking around the store, Veronica saw Wallace’s phone, left discarded on the floor. Nearby was an endcap that had been moved in front of the coolers and loaded down with milk cartons. Dashing to the misplaced shelving, Veronica threw the heavy liquids with abandon, clearing the endcap as quickly as she could. Once the heavy items were removed, Veronica strained with all her might to slide the front of the shelving over a bit, clearing the way to the blocked door. Grabbing the handle and fiercely pulling the door open, Veronica leapt back as a shivering Wallace tumbled out of the wintry closet.
“Wallace! Are you alright?!” The sight of Wallace trembling on the ground, his normally dark skin showing uncommon pallor, struck an icicle of fear into Veronica’s stomach.
Veronica’s friend looked up at her with gratitude, shivering on the floor. Through chattering teeth he answered, “I’m just glad you came when you did. Any longer in there and I might have lost a finger!”
Veronica helped her friend stand and took off her faux-fur lined jacket, wrapping it around his broad shoulders as best she could. The too-small coat gaped widely in the front, but it covered Wallace’s shoulders and arms well enough. The fact that he was still awake and shivering were positive signs - if he had been unconscious or had stopped quaking from the cold, this would have been a lot more serious.
“Come on big guy, let’s run your hands under some lukewarm water and you can tell me what happened.” The heaters in Veronica’s car were more like the annoying mouth-breath of the guy behind Veronica in English class than a viable heat source - trying to warm up Wallace in the LeBaron would be pointless. Wallace’s hands and arms were at greatest risk of frostbite, so the sink seemed the best option. Veronica led the still chattering Wallace to the S-Mart bathroom, rubbing his arms through her jacket to try to help the circulation.
Veronica turned the water on and tested the temperature, making sure it was just room temperature. When Wallace first tried to put his hands in the water he drew them back as if the flow were scalding, turning the heat down a little and then placing his hands under the stream, warming his hands up. After a minute or so Wallace turned the heat up gradually and ceased chittering, though Veronica kept rubbing his shoulders through the coat to make sure.
“Feeling better?” Veronica asked. Wallace nodded mutely as he continued to warm his fingers in the sink.
“So, is this a new basketball team hazing ritual or something? You refuse to eat a live goldfish or miss a free throw?” Veronica queried. In lower tones, she asked more seriously, “Did Weevil and the PCHers come to intimidate you into giving back the tape?” When Veronica had first met Wallace, they had managed to snag security footage of the local biker gang shoplifting from the Sac-n-Pack. Purloining the video had gotten the offending PCHers off the hook in court, and gave Wallace some leverage over the local biker gang. Veronica and the gang’s leader, Eli “Weevil” Navarro, had since exchanged a few favors and enjoyed an uneasy alliance. The front-runners for junior valedictorian and for juvenile detention, respectively, made for an odd pairing, but in their own ways both Veronica and Weevil were outsiders. A regular Darrel and Ponyboy. But the PCHers were still dangerous.
“No, it was two guys,” Wallace answered. “White boys, though they wanted me to think they were PCH. They raided the register. They grabbed a liter of Red soda. And they took my wallet. Veronica – the Laker tickets were in my wallet! We need to get those back!”

Chapter Text

 
Deputy Jerry Sacks drove his Balboa County Sheriff’s cruiser into the Sac-n-Pack parking lot, his headlights cutting through the night and illuminating the two teenagers straightening up inside the store. For some reason a giant banner covered all the letters of the Sac-n-Pack sign except for the “S” – so that the sign above the doorway now read “S-Mart” above the small store. Jerry looked at it for a while, then decided to move on, not sure what to make of it. Deputy Sacks opened the door to his cruiser and unlimbered his lanky frame out of the car. He straightened the hat and belt of his deputy’s uniform after standing up to his full unimposing height, and then took his right thumb and forefinger and ran them through his short, neat mustache - a nervous habit that he used to get confidence, and that seemed to prove increasingly less effective over the years. Tomorrow might be a good day to go to the gun range to let off some steam.
As Deputy Sacks walked up to the jumbled convenience store, he recognized the two kids inside. Veronica Mars, the cute blond girl, Jerry would recognize anywhere. Her father, Keith Mars, had been a lifelong Sheriff’s deputy along with Jerry, and later had been elected Sheriff of Balboa County. Veronica had practically grown up at the Sheriff’s office. Jerry hadn’t seen Veronica nearly as much in the last year, ever since Keith had been ousted from the Sheriff’s office – mostly he saw her at the “random” locker searches at school. Keith had gotten a raw deal – kicked out of office for accusing billionaire Jake Kane of holding back in the murder investigation of his daughter Lilly. Jerry thought the whole thing was a little off – but he wasn’t the type to rock the boat.
The other kid, the frizzy haired black kid in the striped smock, had been working here a couple months ago when Sacks had been there for a robbery bust. Wallace. Kid had walked back his accusation – probably scared of the biker gang right in front of him, but Sheriff Don Lamb had run with it anyway. Mysteriously, the video evidence had been swapped with incriminating videos of deputies getting a little quid pro blow, exchanging a blind eye for some oral sex. Sacks just shook his head in the vicarious shame of his coworkers – he had never needed to resort to cheap thrills like that himself. Plenty of ladies love the ‘stache, and nicer ones than Loretta Cancun at that. Jerry kept telling Don that they could improve the Sheriff’s car fleet if they just did a bachelor auction fundraiser – Jerry would pull in mad bank. He had high hopes they would get it off the ground next year.
“Hey kids,” Deputy Sacks greeted them. Technically Jerry shouldn’t be at the scene of a violent crime without at least a partner, but Sheriff Lamb wasn’t the most by-the-book kind of guy. Don had his reasons for sending Deputy “Sad Sack” out here on his own. And people wondered why nobody liked Don Lamb. Actually, Jerry realized, nobody wondered why Don Lamb was unliked – Sheriff Lamb was blissfully unaware of how others perceived him, and everyone else knew why they hated the putz. Unfortunately, that putz was Jerry’s boss, so here he was, alone, at a robbery site smack in the middle of PCH territory. Thanks, boss.
Veronica didn’t bother standing up and, crouching down and picking up potato chip bags with her back to the deputy, she greeted Jerry without even looking at him. Sometimes the Mars girl was just damn eerie. She had been working in her dad’s PI office for the better part of a year, and rumor said she’s an even better investigator than her hyper competent father. “Good evening Deputy Sacks. Glad you could make it. Here all by yourself? Hope you don’t mind that we’re still going here - we’re trying to clean this up quick. School tomorrow and all.” Veronica was one the few people who always sounded glad to see Jerry. He really appreciated it.
“Yeah,” Jerry responded. “We got a call there had been a robbery. Could you give me any details?”
“I just got here after the fact,” Veronica reported. “Money gone, security footage missing. You’ll have to ask Wallace for the details.”
Wallace stopped cleaning and walked towards the door and in front of Deputy Sacks, who was still standing outside of the messy store.
“It was about 9:30,” Wallace began without prompting. Spending time around Veronica had probably made him better at observing and reporting these things, which was good if he was going to have any hope of catching the robbers. “Two guys came busting in here, both wearing Green Goblin masks from the Spider Man movie. Matched their Neptune varsity baseball jackets really well – yellow and green. Fools tried to say not to mess with PCH, but you can hear the PCHers’ bikes from miles off and I didn’t hear anything. Also, white boys forgot to wear gloves, and I don’t know any lusos on the baseball team. I didn’t get a look at their ride, so there might have been a driver too. One guy threatened me with a metal baseball bat, while the other raided the register. After grabbing a Red soda, they locked me in the cooler for about a half hour – I have no idea what they did while they were here after that. Oh, and they took my wallet. It has Laker tickets for next Monday, and I really need those tickets back.”
Jerry looked down at the Wallace kid sadly, and wished he could help him. “Yeah, sorry Wallace. I don’t think we’ll be able to get your tickets back.”
Wallace looked shocked and angry, obviously unhappy with Deputy Sacks’ reply. “What do you mean you can’t get the tickets back? I told you, they were wearing Neptune Varsity Jackets with baseball pins – there can’t be much more than 20 guys on the baseball team! And we want two of ‘em. If they’re dumb enough to wear varsity jackets to a robbery, how smart could these guys be? You can’t catch the guys that shoved me into a freezer within a week?”
Veronica had taken note of Wallace’s outburst and joined her friend in front of Deputy Sacks. He tried meeting their eyes as he explained, but he just ended up staring at his feet. “Look, Wallace, Veronica, I’m sorry – it’s out of my hands. Departmental order – we’re not to look into robberies at the Sac-n-Pack. Ever since the ‘frivolous claim’ last month and the Seven Veils video in court, Sheriff Lamb determined that it was a waste of department resources to look into stuff like this. He spread the word around a month and a half ago – it was all I could do to come out here and make sure you were alright. At least now it’ll get a report. Haven’t you noticed there hasn’t been a cruiser here in weeks? Not even for a donut run.”
Veronica was obviously taking none of this, pressing right up to Deputy Sacks;her brilliant blue eyes looked directly up into his muddy brown eyes as she called him out. “This was armed robbery! That’s a class 2 felony, two to five years. Add in another year for unlawful imprisonment. These are serious crimes! Wallace could have been really hurt. Is the Sheriff’s department going to do nothing?!”
Deputy Sacks sighed and shook his head. Sacks was getting a little too good at shaking his head at things these days. Definitely needed to go to the gun range tomorrow. “I can help you kids clean this mess up.”

Chapter Text

 
Monday, October 25, 2004

7 Days Remain

Veronica was parked in front of Wallace’s house, the sun-visor down to block the Monday morning sunlight. Wallace lived in a nice two-story colonial, painted powder blue – an idyllic suburban residence just like the one Veronica had lived in until last year. The trade-down from a house to a two-bedroom efficiency apartment wasn’t so bad, except for the cold showers. Veronica and her dad made do. Still, Veronica felt a pang of jealousy at what Wallace had – a nice house, a little brother. She was sure it was just a case of the grass always being greener – Wallace’s dad had died recently and apparently the tenant in the back apartment was kind of a creep, so maybe things were just tough all over. Still, Veronica missed her childhood home.
Wallace came out of his house, backpack slung over one shoulder but with only half the verve he usually brought. In light of last night’s events, Wallace had dropped the basketball-themed nickname for Veronica’s car.
“Wallace – why so glum?” Veronica asked.
Wallace stared at Veronica’s dashboard despondently. “Getting to that game meant everything to me. And it’s so much worse when you have something and lose it, you know? If I never had the tickets and you said I wasn’t going to the game on Monday it would be, like, normal, right? Just another day. But having those tickets in my hand, getting my hopes up, and then having them ripped away – it hurts, Veronica. You know what I mean?”
The 17-year-old, whose social circle had been taken away along with her father’s livelihood, understood what Wallace was saying about missing what you used to have. The teenager, who had the love of her life abandon her, and had her best friend murdered, related a little too personally to her friend’s grief. The girl, whose home, whose mother, and whose virginity were stolen from her, knew all too well what Wallace Fennel meant about loss. But if Veronica had learned one thing in the last year, it was that the best way out was through, and the only way you became a victim is if you let yourself feel that way.
“Come on Charlie Bucket, there’s still a golden ticket out there for you, and we have a week to get it,” Veronica said resolutely.
“I’ll get your tickets – I promise.”

…

As Veronica and Wallace walked from the parking lot up towards the Neptune High campus, Veronica recognized Weevil’s bald brown pate by the school’s front entrance, and adjusted her course to go toward him. Weevil and his band of bikers tended to hang around the parking lot admiring their motorcycles. The hogs weren’t just a ride to these guys, they were easily the most expensive thing each biker ever owned. Status. Identity. Weevil had once threatened to hospitalize Veronica for breathing on his bike – at the time she had thought it was bravado, but as she got to know the PCHers she was beginning to think he had meant it. Given the choice between losing an eye and losing their bike, Veronica thought each of the leather-jacketed youths would choose the eye.
As Veronica got closer to the gang, she noticed that this morning each of the Latino boys had added a new piece to their unofficial uniform of ‘black leather.’ Each PCHer was wearing a black basketball jersey for the Golden State Warriors under their jacket. Weevil’s bullneck and upper tattoos were more prominent in the collarless top, but the smaller boy Weevil was talking to seemed to have gotten a jersey one size too big.
Veronica boldly walked directly up to Weevil and the other boy, Wallace in tow, and quipped to the leader of the biker gang. “Tell me you’re just trying to get to Coney Island. Please.”
Weevil smiled broadly, his wiry mustache curling up over a toothy smile. For a violent and ruthless thief, Weevil had a surprisingly good sense of humor and an easy smile. “Yup, just have to avoid the other gangs. We were going to ask Molly Fitzpatrick if she’d wear a Clippers jersey this week, but that might actually get me clipped. You’re the first one outside the club to get the joke - it’s good to be appreciated for something other than my body.” It would be a mistake to think that just because Weevil had terrible grades that he wasn’t clever – Weevil just spent most of his time thinking about things other than school. “What brings you to this side of the tracks, Princess? You finally ditch the latest vanilla white boy and realize you should see what you’re missing out on?”
“Actually, Troy and I did go our separate ways, but I wouldn’t say I’m missing anything. Plus, I have this nasty habit of flushing all my boyfriend’s drugs down the toilet – cost the last guy at least 10 grand. I’m not sure you could afford to date me,” Veronica parried.
Weevil gave a booming laugh, impressed with the rejoinder, but the smaller boy Weevil had been talking to seemed to take exception to the apparent insult. It’s not that the boy was shorter than the stocky gang leader, but he was slight and looked like he was apt to get blown off his motorcycle in a high wind.
“Who are you, blondie, to come here and talk to us like that?” the new boy asked. “Veronica Mars. What the hell kind of name is that, anyway? Do you think you’re some sort of superhero or something?”
“What makes you think I’m not?” Veronica replied.
The skinny kid looked ready to explode before Weevil put a calming hand on his chest and steadily told him, “Cervando – chill. It was a joke. And if you really want to hook up with a boba chica who says she’s going to dump your stuff in the toilet, you deserve what you’ll get. Veronica’s a friend. She got me out of juvie last month, let’s show the lady some respect,” the gang leader, still a few months shy of 18 himself, chastised the younger member. Turning to Veronica, Weevil continued, “So? I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“Someone held up the Sac-n-Pack last night, you know anything about that?” Veronica asked.
“I’ve left your boy alone since our little misunderstanding the first week. Why do you always think it’s me?” Weevil’s usual forthright manner was overlaid with the beleaguered tone of one who is often falsely accused. Veronica had wanted to set it up that way – he was so used to being blamed for things, he had assumed that Veronica was doing the same this time. When she revealed that she actually was just looking for information, he should be happily surprised, and hopefully more helpful.
“Well, although the Sac-N-Pack is right on the PCH, I have good reason to believe you’re being set up by someone else who goes to school here. Two white boys in masks who felt the need to say ‘don’t mess with PCH.’” Veronica waved her hand at Wallace, standing next to her, “I’ve asked Wallace to keep it under his hat for now, until we figure out who it is - Sheriff’s office isn’t involved.” Technically true - they had been informed, they just weren’t doing anything. “I just thought you’d appreciate the head’s up, and see if you saw anyone suspicious last night.”
Weevil seemed mollified that, not only was he not a suspect, but he was getting a favor. Weevil loved his favors. “Suspicious like...what?” the burly leader asked.
“Like a couple guys wearing letter jackets and Green Goblin masks?” Veronica asked.
Felix Toombs, Weevil’s lanky second-in-command and resident PCH goofball, laughed out loud at the description Veronica gave.
“What, did they ride hover boards and threaten to drop you off the Brooklyn Bridge, too?” the tall brown-skinned clown of the gang asked, leading to mixed chuckling among his friends.
Veronica didn’t laugh, and humorlessly stared down the taller gang member, the actinic blue of her eyes reminiscent of the stun gun she had justifiably zapped him with and shoved in his face last month. Veronica spoke with firmness and finality, her voice cutting through the transient jocularity. “No.” With more than a hint of anger, she continued. “They just choked my friend with a baseball bat and locked him in a freezer. That funny enough for you, Felix?”
The ring of leather-jacketed Latinos was silenced by the blunt description of the attack, the group eerily quiet for a couple seconds as they stared at Veronica Mars. Finally, Weevil broke the silence by clearing his throat, and then answering Veronica’s original question.
“Sorry V, we didn’t see anything like that on the road last night. But you let us know who it is when you find them. I don’t take too kindly to people using our name like that. Nobody disrespects the Pacific Coast Highway Motorcycle Club and gets away with it. Right boys?”
Weevil’s call was answered with a resounding shout from the entire gang, further cementing his position as leader. Veronica looked Weevil in eye, tilted her head slightly in acknowledgement and respect, and smiled.

Chapter Text

Veronica talked to Wallace as she spun the lock to her locker, opening it to get ready for another lovely day at Neptune High School.
“So, I think our prime suspect has to be Luke Haldeman,” Veronica began. “He just lost 8 grand buying himself out of trouble with an underground steroid dealer, so he’s going to be strapped for cash.” Veronica pointed down the hallway at a skinny brown-haired boy, his short hair straight and his designer t-shirt showing off his slender profile. His pale oval face seemed to have a perpetually worried look to it, even now that he was no longer in danger of having a ‘roided up monster shove a baseball bat up his ass.
Next to Luke was another baseball teammate, Kelly Kuzzio, a spike-haired blond boy with delicate features and translucent skin, but an abrasive personality and a laugh like a braying jackass. There were a lot of ‘09ers – the nickname for rich kids from the tony 90909 zip code - that Veronica didn’t mind avoiding now that she was unpopular. Kelly Kuzzio was one of them.
“Okay,” Wallace agreed. “How do we do it?”
“Divide and conquer, standard interrogation. You take Luke, I’ll take Kelly. They seem thick as thieves today, and it looked like Kelly gave Luke a ride into school. Say that you thought you saw Luke at Cho’s Pizza last night or something, but he didn’t say hi back. See what he says he did. I’ll ask Kelly and we’ll compare their stories after. Sound good?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Wallace agreed, finally seeming a bit more enthusiastic about the prospect of getting his tickets back.
As Veronica opened her locker, a drawing floated out from inside and glided into the middle of the hallway. Since Veronica hadn’t put the piece of paper there herself, it was no doubt a gift from one of her many admirers. Being the least popular person in the history of Neptune didn’t take a break, even for solving assault cases.
As the piece of paper landed on the floor in the middle of the school, it became clear what had been drawn on it. The artist was actually quite talented, doing a very realistic rendition of a Sailor Moon character wearing a red miniskirt. Unfortunately, the skirt was the only clothes visible – the topless figure had what was obviously Veronica’s face, though the cheeks were heavily distended in a sex act. Veronica wasn’t sure whether to be complimented or insulted that the artist had been somewhat generous in the bosom department. All foot traffic came to a sudden standstill as everyone stared at the explicit image on the ground, simultaneously shocked and admiring. A murmuring din of a thousand hushed whispers reverberated through the hallway. Well – the damage was done, and clearly everyone saw the picture – the hallways before first period were always abuzz with activity and it took something really special to get them this quiet. Nothing to do now but try to show that it hadn’t rattled her and make the best of the situation.
“That’s ridiculous.” Veronica said matter-of-factly, using a calm tone and a theater voice loud enough to be heard throughout the hall. “Everyone knows that Sailor Mars is a brunette.”
A short-haired twerp stepped forward to better admire the artist’s handiwork. The boy wore a washed-out green button-down shirt left open to show the white surfer’s shirt and puka-shell necklace underneath. Logan Echolls. Lilly’s boyfriend, who had turned into the bane of Veronica’s existence since the death of her best friend. He’d been surprisingly decent to Veronica while organizing a memorial to Lilly a few weeks ago, but of all Veronica’s tormentors Logan was the cleverest and most persistent. He sure knew how to carry a grudge. Then again, so did Veronica.
“Well, well, well.” Logan said admiringly. “I do have to admit, that is a bit hard to swallow.” Of course - on the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.
Veronica slammed her locker shut and stormed off, head held high and tears still kept back in her eyes for now. It was unusual for the persecution to be so obviously widespread, and so disturbingly graphic – the drawing had found a rare chink in Veronica’s otherwise formidable emotional armor. The image hit harder than the run-of-the-mill harassment, and despite the customary hard-boiled exterior Veronica presented, this one really hurt. She refused to let these entitled creeps see that they could get to her, but she just kept thinking that one of them may have done exactly what was on the picture to her. She didn’t know. For all she knew, Logan could have shoved his penis in her mouth and was publicly gloating about it. Veronica had made the mistake of crashing an ‘09er party last year at Shelley Pomroy’s house, after she was persona non grata. The social elite had educated her in the error of her ways by drugging and raping her. Veronica had woken up the next morning, dress torn, underwear missing, and the clammy feeling of semen running out of her sore body. She had no idea who, or what, had been done to her. It must have been salacious enough to get her labelled the town slut, as some kind person had so graciously written on her car that evening. Veronica wasn’t ashamed of the tears she had shed that morning. But she wouldn’t give Logan and the rest of these elitist jerks the satisfaction of seeing her do it now.
“Aww… she’s all choked up,” Logan called after her, his taunts echoing down the hallway.
Wallace scooped the paper up off the floor, taking it with him as he ran after his friend. Veronica continued to hold back tears through an effort of sheer and incomparable will. Just another lovely Monday at Neptune High School for Veronica Mars.

Chapter Text

Veronica had locked herself into a stall in the ladies room located off the central hallway - giving herself as much privacy as you could get in high school to pull herself together, away from the judgmental eyes of her peers. The bathroom had become an unofficial office for Veronica, a convenient meeting place to discuss cases with the people who came to Veronica for help. It was pretty much the only safe place she had at school - she and Wallace had a regular table in the courtyard that was somewhat removed, but that was far too open and prone to occasional harassment; Veronica’s car had been slashed and vandalized too often in the last year to be considered safe.
Of course, the hazard of using a public bathroom for privacy is that other people do too. Veronica heard the bathroom doors open and the familiar voice of Neptune’s resident gossip girl, Carrie Bishop. Carrie must be with someone, but the other girl wasn’t speaking yet.
“Oh my god, did you see that picture of Veronica Mars? It was disgusting. Who would do that?” Carrie asked. Well, that was more sympathetic than Veronica had been expecting to overhear.
A second voice answered in strident tones, the loathsome voice of Madison Sinclair, bitch supreme, providing what would become the ‘09er party line. “Come on, Carrie - if you blew as many guys as Veronica Mars, you should expect some fan art. She brings it on herself. If she wasn’t such a slut we wouldn’t be subjected to immaturity like that.” Veronica fought hard to restrain herself from jumping out of the stall and surprise attacking Madison like the spoiled ‘09er wore striped overalls and roller skates – Weevil’s ridiculous jersey was giving Veronica bad ideas. Instead, Veronica stayed in her stall, as quiet as an Amish boy in a train station. It was more than a little ironic that the girl who dated Dick Casablancas, the most puerile person alive, complained about enabling immaturity. Then again, Madison never had any problems with hypocrisy - she had embraced it as a lifestyle choice. But only for herself, of course.
“Well,” Carrie responded, in the tone she used when she had something juicy to share, “she must be pretty good at it. You know Steve Argo’s sister, Shelly? She was seeing Duncan Kane a few weeks ago.” Oh god, oh, god, oh god. The last thing Veronica wanted to hear about was Duncan Kane, the love of Veronica’s life who had gone suddenly cold and inexplicably broke up with her weeks before Lilly Kane’s death. Veronica was still smarting from Troy’s rejection; she did not need to hear further gossip about Duncan, who at least had started talking to her again. Which was not at all awkward. Nope, no awkwardness there.
Carrie continued with her juicy tidbit, “Shelly told me that in the middle of making out - Duncan called out Veronica’s name. When Shelly confronted him about it, all he did was laugh. They broke up, like, immediately. Whatever Veronica did, she hooked Duncan bad.”
Veronica didn’t know what to make of the salacious rumormongering, but decided to take it with a grain of salt – Carrie Bishop was hardly a reliable source. This wasn’t the first time Veronica had overheard Carrie gossiping about Veronica and Duncan. Just over a year ago, right after Duncan and Veronica had broken up, Veronica had walked in on Carrie spreading gossip to Susan Knight. That time it had been lies - that Duncan had some kind of mental disorder. As much as the breakup had hurt, Veronica wasn’t one to slander Duncan or anyone else – people did enough shitty things that you could be honest about, you didn’t need to hurt them with mendacities.
There wasn’t going to be a good time for Veronica to leave the stall, and she had to get a move on if she was going to get Wallace’s investigation and her schoolwork in today. This seemed like the best opening Veronica was going to get to interrupt Madison’s privy council, before Carrie and Madison’s conversation got even more awkward. Veronica opened the stall door and calmly walked to the sink next to the two girls to wash her hands. Carrie, a willowy brunette, had the decency to look a little embarrassed at seeing Veronica. Decency or embarrassment didn’t seem to be in Madison Sinclair’s vocabulary, as she bluntly eyed Veronica up and down. Self-centered as a gyroscope, Madison was a busty blond who looked fake in every sense – even her yellow hair seemed false despite the fact that she was a natural blond.
“Well, look who was skulking around, eavesdropping,” Madison sneered. “Neptune’s knee-pad nympho. I didn’t think you were allowed to walk around without a big red ‘A’ sewed on your shirt, make it easier for people to see you coming.”
“Only ‘A’ you’re going to see this year, Madison,” Veronica shot back. Not the best reply Veronica could have given – Madison didn’t care about her grades and could be a spoiled rich girl wherever she ended up in college. Veronica could do better. “You looking for tips on how to please that special someone? From what I hear, the boys would actually rather that you just kept your mouth shut. Shrill harpy apparently really kills the mood.”
“Veronica! How dare you!” Madison exclaimed in a harsh, high-pitched objection.
Veronica just raised her eyebrow knowingly at Madison – the rich girl’s discordant response inadvertently lending credence to Veronica’s gibe. For her part, Carrie Bishop just gave a small smile where Madison couldn’t see it. Always nice to have an appreciative audience, and having Carrie listen in was as good as telling the whole school. Veronica left her unofficial office on a high note, finding Wallace waiting for her out in the hall, the lascivious paper still in his hand, and concern in his voice.
“Hey, Veronica. How are you?” Wallace asked.
“What, just because I’m Neptune’s own Dr. Strangelove, ready to suck out the precious bodily fluids of our proud Pirates? I’ll be fine,” Veronica answered instinctively, eyeballing the triggering paper in Wallace’s hand. “You shouldn’t carry that around,” Veronica advised her friend. “If Vice Principal Clemmons sees you with it, you’ll just get in trouble.”
“Yeah,” Wallace replied. “I just didn’t want to leave it there.”
“Thanks, Wallace. I appreciate it. You’re a good friend. Here, I’ll take it.”
Wallace looked at her surprised, “You want to keep this around?”
Veronica looked at her friend with all the self-confidence she could muster. “‘Want’ is phrasing it a bit too strongly. Let’s just say I think it will prove to be a useful tool in the future once I find out who drew it. You see where Luke and Kelly went?”
“Luke went to the office for something – I can catch him there,” Wallace reported. “I have to pick up some stuff for my office aide gig anyway. Kelly split off, not sure where he went.”
“I’ll swing by his locker, hopefully catch him there. Regroup at the table for lunch to compare notes?” Veronica asked Wallace.
“See you there.”

…

Veronica walked up to spiky-haired Kelly Kuzzio as he was finishing transferring books to and from his locker. Veronica stood between him and the center of the hallway, forcing him to either talk to her, physically shove her out of the way, or bump into all the lockers surrounding them to escape. It was a calculated risk, but, so far, few people resorted to physical violence upon Veronica’s person when she was sober – the torture was largely social and psychological at this point.
“Kelly Kuzzio. Just the pitcher I was hoping to pitch. You have a minute?”
Kelly looked at her with slight disdain and impatience, one of the better ‘09er responses. “Class is starting in a couple minutes, I don’t think I’ve got time for a blowjob. Maybe before lunch - catch you on an empty stomach.”
“Aww..” Veronica said with mock disappoint. “I think we’ve got enough time. I hear you’ve got the fastest balls in Neptune – from the mound to home in seconds.”
The pale boy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his Neptune letter jacket. “Fine!” He agreed. “What is it?”
“I’ve got a client…” Veronica started.
Kuzzio asked, “What client?”
“I can’t tell you, it’s confidential.” Veronica stonewalled the curious pitcher.
“Why not?” the blond boy persisted.
Veronica shot back, “I can’t. Anyway, how is your sex life?”
“What?!” Kelly Kuzzio flushed red and swallowed a couple of times, oddly flustered with Veronica’s quip, despite how the conversation had begun.
“Geez, it was a joke!” Veronica explained. “I take it you’re not a fan of The Room? ANY-way, my client got into a bar fight at The Break last night. Got his bells rung pretty good, but his description of the attacker matches you pretty well. You have an alibi for 9-10 last night?” The question seemed to bother the already flustered letterman even more, his pale skin only making his discomfiture more obvious.
“Luke… Luke Haldeman,” Kelly stammered. “He came over to my place for some video games.”
“Video games at 10 at night? You’re really answering the Call of Duty here, aren’t you? Anyone else that can corroborate this?
Kelly still seemed off-balance, and came across a little too excited to provide Veronica with a third man in the room. “Yeah – yeah, we ordered a pizza from Cho’s. Delivery guy came sometime after 9. Ryan, I think. He saw us.”
“Any idea where I can find this mysterious Ryan?” Veronica asked.
“How the hell should I know?” Kelly responded brusquely. “You think I hang out with the pizza delivery guy? I’ve seen him around – he goes to school here.”
Normally Veronica wouldn’t expect a self-entitled jock like Kelly to hang out with a pizza boy, but the unsettled pitcher seemed to be selling it a little too hard. He was definitely hiding something, and maybe pizza-Ryan had been Luke and Kelly’s getaway driver.

…

Veronica was waiting at her usual table for her lunchtime meetup, looking over the Neptune varsity baseball roster, and their student files which had been helpfully provided by Wallace. Veronica was handicapping the rest of the list in case Luke turned out to be innocent. It wasn’t so much that Veronica held out great hope for the moral fiber of Messrs. Haldeman and Kuzzio - but the culprit was rarely in the first place you look, even with the relatively small suspect pool that the bumbling bandits had left by wearing their varsity jackets. Veronica wasn’t surprised – to paraphrase Jack Foley, most robbers are fucking morons. But these morons had hurt her friend and time was ticking - Veronica needed to get those Laker tickets within the week.
Wallace came up to the red fiberglass table, pulling out his brown bagged lunch and a vibrant orange can of Sunkist soda. Unlike most kids of Kane Software employees, Wallace had to work for money and packed his own lunches. Then again – Alicia Fennel had just started there a few months ago – she wasn’t a millionaire like all the early hires at the tech giant.
Wallace related what Luke had told him. “Luke says he was playing video games at Kelly’s until late last night. They ordered in pizza, he wasn’t at Cho’s himself.”
“Kelly Kuzzio said the same. The delivery guy was Ryan Anderson, but that just means Ryan could have been our driver. All three of them are going to stick to their story whether it’s true or false.”
“So that’s it?” Wallace asked. “We’re stuck?”
“Oh ye of little faith Mr. Fennel. Your mom pack you a pudding cup today?”
Wallace looked abashed as he reached into his brown bag and pulled out a single-serve plastic container filled with pudding. Chocolate, of course. Wallace found it alternately infantilizing and endearing that his mom sent the treat in his lunch – Veronica thought it was sweet, and today it would come in handy.
Veronica stood on the bench of the fiberglass table unit to get some height and turned around to peer over the courtyard planters to the lower level walkway. A bunch of stoners played hackey sack, with a particularly tall acne-faced stoner facing in Veronica’s general direction. The tall stoner in the knit cap saw Veronica as she waved the pudding cup and called his name.
“Hey, Corny! Got a minute? There’s a pudding in it for ya.”
Corny immediately broke into a stupid grin and trundled away from the hackey sack game to join Veronica and Wallace at the table, wasting no time in starting on the chocolate pudding.
“Thanks Veronica! Wallace! What’s up?”
Veronica wasn’t sure Corny counted as a friend – he was helpful and appreciated treats, but Veronica already had a dog. Corny was dumb as a rock, but without a mean bone in his body. Veronica had learned to appreciate the value of a positive attitude, and was happy to keep her resident stoolie in pudding cups and the occasional head’s up on narc raids. Veronica’s attitude on underage drinking and marijuana was much more lax than her father’s – not that she intended to use them much herself, but she didn’t judge people doing things that didn’t hurt anyone. Between her alcoholic mother and what had happened at Shelley Pomroy’s party, Veronica generally preferred not to indulge, but if Corny wanted to play Cheech and Chong, that was his business.
“Were you working delivery for Cho’s Pizza last night, Corny?” Veronica asked.
Corny answered Veronica, pausing briefly from inhaling the dairy dessert, which was already half gone after mere moments. “You know it. Oh, shit, did I forget your order last night?”
“No, we didn’t order in last night Corny, thanks for asking. We just wanted to know if Ryan Anderson had been out for a long time between 9 and 10.”
“Nah, Ryan was there most of the night, doing homework, I think. On his computer anyway. Past 8 on Sunday is pretty slow. We got a couple calls – I took one and Ryan volunteered to take the one at Kelly Kuzzio, which was fine by me. Kelly always tips me shit, but he must like Ryan better – he got a 5 buck tip for a 10 minute drive.”
“Thanks Corny, that was helpful.” Veronica answered, while Wallace gave a manly head nod in acknowledgement. Corny had managed to make the pudding disappear in record time, and was already on his way back to his hackey sack game. Luke and Kelly were in the clear. Veronica still felt like Kelly had been nervous and evasive – hiding something. But if it hadn’t been robbing the Sac-n-Pack, it wasn’t Veronica’s concern today.
“Ok,” Veronica said, speaking out loud as much to get her thoughts together as to get Wallace on board with the next steps. “I think I’ve narrowed our next most likely robbers to two - Charlie Vaughn, another pitcher, and/or Brock Trimalchio, the third baseman. Charlie is that guy over there,” Veronica pointed, indicating a strapping black-haired, square-jawed youth that looked more like a linebacker than a baseball player. “His nickname is ‘Wild Thing’ – unlike the Major League Vaughn, he’s actually a fine pitcher, it’s just his attitude that’s out there. Major temper. Might have scored some of Luke’s ‘roids from a previous run, or maybe puberty just hit this guy hard. Rumor has it that he got in a shouting match with his gardener and shoved him with a metal baseball bat. Sound familiar? Anyway, he usually hangs out with Kelly Kuzzio, so if Kelly was with Luke, then Charlie was loose. Suspect number two is Brock, but don’t bother looking for him. He’s got a week of perma-detention with a side of double-secret probation, every lunch and after school.”
“Wow,” Wallace exclaimed. “What did he do?”
“He threw a wrench at another student in gym class.”
“Hey, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball,” Wallace rejoined with a good-natured smile.
“That’s what he said,” Veronica deadpanned. “Breaking the other kid’s rib, however, was not so funny.”
“Oof,” the point guard sympathized, the smile wiped from his face. “Ok, so whose kid is he that he only gets detention for something you or I would get suspended for? Movie star, like Logan Echolls? Billionaire tech giant like Duncan Kane?”
“Worse,” Veronica said darkly, her eyes flashing in cold anger. “The mayor.” Veronica used the colloquial title for the Commissioner of Balboa County.
“You hate the mayor’s son?” Wallace asked, catching the tone in Veronica’s voice.
Veronica’s nostrils flared and her light blond brows pinched together slightly as she responded with uncommon venom. “The father more than the son. How do you think Don Lamb ended up as Sheriff?”
Wallace tried to lighten the mood, and responded sarcastically, “I thought it was his obvious intelligence, dedication to law enforcement, and care for the community.” Wallace tried to maintain a straight face, but failed miserably at it – Wallace’s unfortunate run-in with Sheriff Lamb is what had brought him and Veronica together in the first place.
“Yeah, exactly,” Veronica responded with flat inflection. “The mayor had a large part to play in both my dad’s recall and the installation of Don Lamb. Jake Kane may have called for his ouster, but it was the Mayor who got it done and who handpicked Narcissus Fife as our new head of law enforcement.” Speaking slowly and darkly, enunciating each word with the continued flat affect, Veronica went on. “He betrayed my dad. He’s not good – he’s just a chicken. Chip. Chip. Chip. Cheep. Cheep. Cheep. And I’m going to make him pay.”
After an awkward moment, Wallace broke the brief silence by saying, “Y’know, I’d say you’re cute when you’re angry… but somehow you make ‘adorable blond pixie’ completely terrifying.”
“Aww, Wallace – sometimes you say the sweetest things,” Veronica said, breaking out of her dark thoughts. Veronica looked at Wallace, once again engaged in the world, but still holding a bit of secret pain behind her eyes. There had been a lot of people who had worked hard to destroy her life, the mayor more than most – Veronica had vowed to get even.
“Yea, well, what makes you think Brock’s our guy for the holdup?” Wallace asked.
“We use to be friends, a long time ago, so I know the guy.” Veronica hemmed and hawed a bit, nervous at how to approach this next part. “He’s... well he’s racist.”
Wallace feigned surprise, and looked broadly around the courtyard at his predominantly white classmates, “A racist? In Neptune? I’m shocked, shocked I tell you. I figured everyone here tuned in to UPN and watched Creflo Dollar once they got home. Tell me more about this ‘racism’ you speak of.”
“Ha-ha, yes, not a surprise, but Brock takes it a bit extreme. He got suspended last year for threatening to lynch Mr. Daniels.”
“Have you met Daniels?” Wallace asked. “People want to kill him because he’s a jerk, not because he’s black.”
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t the only time,” Veronica went on. “He was talking about how we had to purge the parasites of society, and he had a pretty particular way of figuring out who those were. Sheriff Lamb has been keeping busy covering for his buddy – I’m sure it was part of the deal that got Lamb in office in the first place. But I’ve been keeping my ears open. Last spring Brock tried picking a fight with a black homeless vet at a gas station. Brock got his ass handed to him, but he seems to be on the prowl at gas stations and convenience stores.”
“Ok, so how are you going to find out if our resident wrench-thrower did it, if he’s in detention all the time?” Wallace asked. Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew what Veronica’s answer was going to be.
With a bit of mischief in her eyes, Veronica smiled at Wallace. “If the delinquent will not come to Veronica, then Veronica must go to the delinquent. But I’m thinking…if I’m going to get detention on purpose, it may as well be for something good, right?” Veronica said. “Think you can use your want-to-be-an-engineer skills and help me out?”
Wallace looked at his friend like she was a bit crazy, but he had to admit, in a twisted way it sort of made sense. And she was doing this to help him get to the game, which he had to respect. “Yeah, ok. I’ll help you get your up-close-and-personal with Ty Cobb,” Wallace agreed.
“Fun fact,” Veronica corrected, “Cobb wasn’t a racist. He had a vicious temper, but was the progeny of abolitionists and stood up for the negro leagues – he was more Vaughn than Trimalchio. The legend of Cobb’s racism was a hit job by a hack writer named Stump.”
Wallace looked askance at Veronica, uncertain of this.
“What?” Veronica asked. “You’re not the only one who knows sports. My dad is a baseball fiend and obsessive with getting the facts right. And I can neither confirm nor deny that he has a soft spot for men wrongly besmirched by the media.”
“Fine, Ken Burns. I’ll take your word for it. Cobb was a regular Georgia Peach. I don’t see how that helps you get detention to meet Trimalchio. What feat of engineering do you need from me, Mr. Bond? Moonraker? Custom Aston Martin? Dental floss?”
Veronica scooted close and whispered in Wallace’s ear what her plan was. Wallace’s eyes widened in surprise – it was something he could do, but Veronica was more than a little crazy if she thought it would only get her detention.
“Yeah, I can do that,” Wallace replied. “Probably take me a couple of days after school, should have it ready by dress-up day on Wednesday.”
Veronica gave a thousand-watt smile, dazzling Wallace. Wallace appreciated seeing a genuine smile out of Veronica – she put up a good front, but she was always so guarded. Even if she got expelled for this little stunt, she certainly seemed to be enjoying it.
“Thank you, Q,” Veronica said gratefully. “I think dress-up day would be the perfect occasion.”
“Hey, Veronica. Just so you know – if you manage to pull this off and not get suspended, expelled or killed, remember one thing. I am NOT flashing a teacher to sneak you out of detention.” 

Chapter Text

Veronica was able to make good use of her journalism class. Veronica had convinced Ms. Dent that adding a true crime column would make the paper more interesting and get the schoolkids more involved in the community. The young journalism teacher had been thrilled that Veronica was interested in participating beyond just taking pictures. Column number one for the Neptune Navigator’s crime article? Jock reactions to the heinous attack on star point guard Wallace Fennel – particularly the baseball team (ok, and the basketball team too, it would have looked weird to leave them out). That was how Veronica found herself shadowing Charlie Vaughn during gym class.
She had to admit, watching someone doing squat thrusts didn’t sound like fun from the outside, but watching the big man load up weight upon weight on the machine, muscles bulging as he lifted the enormous load – well, it was impressive. If Charlie had been an attacker, he probably could have moved the Sac-n-Pack endcap all by himself, even without an accomplice.
Veronica let Charlie finish up the set before approaching him.
“Good morning, Angels,” Veronica greeted Charlie. He stared at her dumbly and then responded with what he thought was an obvious correction,
“We’re not the Angels, Veronica. Our team is called the Pirates.”
Veronica sighed. The joke could have worked even if he hadn’t gotten it and had just said his name. Some people weren’t worth the effort of a Charlie’s Angels reference.
“Sorry, Charlie.” Veronica apologized saccharinely. “My mistake. I’m actually here investigating crimes against Pirate jocks as part of a new column for the Navigator. Did you hear that Wallace Fennel, the star point guard, was attacked at the Sac-n-Pack last night?”
Veronica carefully watched Charlie’s reaction when she mentioned the attack. He immediately seemed concerned, but it looked like news to him. It was hard to tell the physical reaction, though, since he was still flushed from his remarkable power lifting.
“Oh, man. That’s terrible. Wallace is a cool guy. Is he alright?”
“Yeah, no harm, no foul, as they say in basketball, right?” Veronica replied philosophically.
Veronica thought quickly what story to weave, and was reminded of this morning’s interaction with Weevil. Weevil had been pretty savvy in banding together the fractious PCHers by giving them a common enemy – the Sac-n-Pack robbers that had disrespected them. Each of the PCHers had suddenly become more concerned with the group than their individual pride, or making fun of Veronica. It was a pretty lesson, and Veronica wasn’t above leveraging social dynamics and stealing the idea.
“Wallace is fine. Roughed up a bit and locked in a freezer, but he’s a tough guy. Police are saying it was a prank from Pan High, so they’re not looking into anything.” Pan High was the rival and poorer cousin to Neptune – 15 miles further inland without any of the yachts, surfing, or millionaires, they generally held a grudge against Neptunians. If Charlie were guilty, hopefully giving him a false sense of security might get him to open up more – if Charlie were innocent, giving him a common enemy in Pan should do the same. Kill Lincoln! “I wanted to get the reaction of the other athletes and make sure they’re on the lookout for any Pan pranksters – put it all in the paper.”
“Yeah,” Charlie called angrily, as he moved over to the free weights. “I’d like to see them try to mess up Wallace if I was there. Bam! Fastball to the head – wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.” Veronica watched the outraged muscleman do arm curls with 40 pound hand weights. If nothing else came of this interview, at least Wallace Fennel’s Neptune cred would rise significantly. All in a day’s work for Veronica Mars.
“The attack last night was around 9:30 – we want to see if any other athletes might have been targeted before they decided on Wallace. Did you see anyone suspicious around that time last night?” Veronica asked.
Charlie finished his current set with the hand weights, the muscles bulging and glistening on his arms. Focus, Veronica, focus. As Veronica tried to keep herself from staring at Charlie’s arms, she heard him answering, “No, I caught a movie with Rhonda Landers and I didn’t see anyone suspicious at the theater, or on the drive back to her place. You should ask her if she saw anything odd, though.”
“Yeah,” Veronica replied, “I think I might just do that.”

…

Rhonda Landers was a pale-skinned, raven-haired junior who looked like she could have just popped over from Ireland, though she was Neptune born-and-bred. Rhonda also had a bit of a reputation, coming from the trailer park, but seemed to have made some friends across the class divide all the same. The fact that Rhonda wasn’t fully part of the ‘09er clique that had turned on Veronica meant she might be able to get some cooperation. Rhonda also worked on the school newspaper, the Neptune Navigator, so Veronica returned back to home base to verify Charlie’s alibi. Charlie hadn’t struck her as particularly dishonest, but that just meant that he could be really good at lying.
Veronica walked up next to Rhonda, who was busy typing at one of the many computers in the journalism lab. “Hey, can you help me Rhonda?” Veronica asked. Rhonda looked up past the computer screen at Veronica, eying her as if unsure whether to do it, but they were all on the same news team. Plus, Veronica hadn’t finished the chorus of the song, which she knew for a fact that Rhonda hated. See, Veronica could play nice with others! Sometimes. Take that, kindergarten report card!
Rhonda grudgingly moved her chair out from behind the computer so she could talk to Veronica – Veronica grabbed a nearby chair to sit, so that they would be at eye level. Despite Sheriff Lamb’s preferred high-pressure tactics, Veronica had found it was much more useful to be on the same level and approachable when asking people for information.
“So I’m doing a column on true crime, covering the attack on Wallace Fennel at the Sac-n-Pack last night. The police suspect it might be a Pan High prank, and we’re looking into whether they scoped out any other Neptune athletes last night before striking,” Veronica began. The Pan High scapegoat was a good one, and Veronica planned to use it throughout. It’s not like the Sheriff’s department was going to come down and contradict her, if they could barely be bothered to write a report.
“Charlie Vaughn said that the two of you were out last night, did you see anything weird?”
“Well,” Rhonda replied, already looking like she wanted to wrap this up, “the movie involved a sex scene between marionettes working for Interpol, but I don’t think that’s the kind of weird you’re looking for. What are we talking about here?” That was a pretty specific movie detail, and gave a lot of weight to Charlie telling the truth. Still, it was best to be certain. Plus, as someone who didn’t actively dislike Veronica, Rhonda might be a good entree into the Neptune baseball team. If Rhonda knew the team well, she could help Veronica better scope out who else could be an attacker. Even if Brock was one of the robbers, there had to be at least one more.
“The guys who attacked Wallace were wearing Green Goblin masks. Anyone following you around? Random texts or calls maybe? I did hear that some guys in Pan High jackets were hanging around downtown, but they may have left by the time your movie let out.” This final bit was an on-the-spot fabrication, but it gave Veronica an excuse to establish Rhonda and Charlie’s exact time frame.
“No,” Rhonda said, “we didn’t see anything like that. We got out of the movie around 9 – the only texts were to my mom and a call to my friend Michelle.”
“What time was that exactly? It would be good to know when the Pan guys cleared out of downtown.”
“I don’t know. Here! Check for yourself!” Rhonda griped, handing Veronica her phone to check the call logs. Rhonda had started a 20 minute call to Michelle Thompson at 9:19 p.m., effectively ruling her out as a driver and giving Charlie a rock-solid alibi.
“Thanks, Rhonda, that’s actually really helpful. I think we’ll get Pan’s goat yet.” Veronica replied, referred to Pan High’s goat mascot. “So… you and Charlie? Dish. I saw him in the gym today, you’re a lucky lady,” as long as you don’t mind serious anger issues and a lack of a sense of humor. Veronica finished this last part to herself. Anger issues Veronica could understand - she had a few of her own. But the lack of humor? She didn’t care how pretty Charlie’s arms were.
Rhonda looked at Veronica a bit skeptically, but seemed willing enough to talk, even to Veronica. If her call log was any indication, Rhonda was usually a talker, and gloating over a hot guy shouldn’t take much prompting.
“Yeah, we’re just keeping it casual, y’know. Friends. Sexy friends. Charlie is a real sweetheart. The pecs above that sweet heart, though, are delightfully sinful,” Rhonda reveled, with a wicked grin.
“Wow, sounds nice,” Veronica answered with a wisp of actual envy. “I find myself single and ready to mingle, any of the other guys on the baseball team looking? Any I should try to avoid?”
Rhonda just looked at Veronica sadly, like she was a dog with a limp that didn’t know it couldn’t walk, but was trying to anyway. “Veronica - you have to know. Nobody is going to want to date you. Dick Casablancas or Caz Truman might use you as gym sock once in a while, but nobody here will seriously want to be with you. Carrie Bishop has been telling anyone who will listen that even Troy wasn’t really dating you, he was just slumming until he could meet up with his old girlfriend from Boston.” Rhonda said it without malice, but it hurt even more for all that. She said it as a given fact, like rain is wet and the Kanes are rich - there was no arguing around the certainty that nobody wanted Veronica Mars.
“Yeah, thanks Rhonda. I forgot about that.”

Chapter Text

Veronica and Wallace were back at the Mars Investigations’ office after school, Wallace working on Veronica’s project while Veronica sorted the mail, did the filing, and sent the bills for her father’s Private Investigations business. Wallace didn’t really have enough room, pushed to one side of the office floor, but he was being a good sport about it, and it was nice to not be alone.
“So, I think we’re going to need a sweet costume to go with this thing on Wednesday,” Wallace said, back to his usual high-energy self. “What do you think of doing a group costume, you and me?”
Veronica smiled happily at the desk as she shuffled the papers. “That would be great, Wallace. What were you thinking?”
“Well…” Wallace said, still tinkering with his tools, “I was thinking we could go all Pulp Fiction. Your Gamegirl outfit from that San Diego State thing a couple weeks ago is pretty close to Mia Wallace – I could get a bald cap, a neck band aid and a bad attitude and be Marcellus Wallace. I wouldn’t even have to change my name.”
“Hmmm… I do love me some Tarantino, but after this morning I think I’d rather pass on anything reminiscent of Sailor Moon – no offense. Also, do you really want to go as the guy who gets sodomized by rednecks? I know you’re getting along with folks now, but I think you should seriously expect to get made fun of if you go that route.”
“Humph,” Wallace grunted, accepting that his good idea wasn’t as good as originally thought. Getting ridiculed for being a rape victim wasn’t Veronica’s idea of a good time – Veronica wasn’t sure why anyone would sign up for it on purpose.
“Hey, speaking of the San Diego State thing, how are you and Georgia doing?” Veronica asked, “Is she being appropriately grateful?”
“You know, I hear this weird rumor that women don’t owe you sex just because you’re nice to them and pay for stuff,” Wallace replied. “We helped her because she needed help, not because I expected anything back. Her smokin’, smokin’ body was just icing. We did start dating. We’ll see what happens, and if it falls apart, there won’t be hard feelings. But we’re taking it slow - still at the First Continental Congress stage of the relationship.”
“Look at the mouth on you, Mr. Fennel!” Veronica said mock appallingly, but quite appreciative of Wallace’s unexpected wordplay. As every high schooler subjected to AP American History knew, Georgia didn’t come at the First Continental Congress. “But it sounds very enlightened - she’s a lucky lady to have you.” After a brief pause, Veronica asked, “Is there a reason I haven’t seen her at lunch?”
“Oh, she’s doing a child development class,” Wallace explained. “She’s stuck observing toddlers during lunchtime, it’s nothing personal.”
Veronica nodded, mollified, continuing to work for a bit, until Wallace asked, “Ok, what do you suggest for group costumes?”
“Let’s go with the classic. Star Wars. Can’t go wrong with Star Wars.”
“Episode I?” Wallace asked dubiously.
“Ok, I take it back, you can go wrong with Star Wars, but let’s stick with the original. Lando and Leia. Plus, I know just the line to use with our little toy down there.”
“Lando Calrisian,” Wallace said proudly, “yeah, I can do that. Nice one.”
As Wallace and Veronica worked, the front door to the PI office opened, admitting Veronica’s balding father. Balding was perhaps being kind, but the chrome-domed former sheriff had a powerful, stocky frame and a kind face. Keith Mars was dressed in practical jeans and button-down shirt that looked neat and clean, but comfortable enough to wrestle bail jumpers and tail cheating spouses for long periods of time. PI work was generally neither exciting nor lucrative, but it kept Keith and his daughter fed and housed, and that was a lot better than nothing.
Keith looked down at Wallace’s project and the seasoned detective tried to piece together what he was doing.
“Wallace, is this something I should be concerned about?” Keith asked. Usually it was Veronica that Keith had to keep from leaping headfirst into trouble – the Fennel boy had seemed to be a good influence on Veronica from the short time he had known Wallace.
“It’s part of my costume, Dad.” Veronica answered for Wallace, saving him from having to lie to a man who was pretty good at telling when people were lying. “Dress up day at school is Wednesday.”
“And what, exactly, is that costume?”
“Princess Leia. You could come too – we need a Wookie. Dependable. Good with a laser. Ancient. You’ll need some hair though.”
Keith unconsciously rubbed his bald head at this remark. “Very funny, sweetheart. I don’t remember that particular prop being part of Leia’s arsenal.”
Veronica kept up her poker face and tried to outbluff her father. If he found out what she was really doing, he would certainly try to stop her. “It’s in the apocrypha. The priests at ILM cut that part out of the movies, but George Lucas is printing money selling tie-in books and shoving in all the stuff he ever wanted. Han shooting second. Jabba the Hut that walks. What ever happened to Jar Jar Binks. Y’know, all the really important stuff that you didn’t realize you needed when the movies came out in the ‘70’s.”
“Ugh, why did they have to do that?” Keith bemoaned, Veronica’s attempt at a distraction from the issue successful. Score one for Jar Jar – sometimes he came in handy. “Couldn’t they just leave well enough alone?”
“I think it’s a little late to change it now, Dad,” Veronica answered. “But hey, Halloween is coming up. We could try to do the Time Warp again.”
“Very cute, honey,” Keith said, as he got ready to enter his office.
“Hey, Dad?” Veronica asked before he could go in all the way. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
Keith immediately turned and gave all of his attention to Veronica, making sure she knew that her interests were important to him.
“Of course, honey. What is it?” Keith asked, with concern. Veronica had always been independently-minded, and the last year especially had been reticent to ask for help. At this point, she was more likely to cut off a limb than become beholden to someone – even Keith. Keith had observed all this, and tried to respect her space - if she were coming to him now for something, it must be important to her.
“Wallace got held up at the Sac-N-Pack last night,” Veronica explained. “Sheriff Lamb isn’t doing anything about it, and the word’s out that the place is fair game. Any chance you could beef up the security system there, help make sure it doesn’t happen again?”
“You worried about the Navarro kid again?” Keith asked. The former lawman maintained a healthy level of distrust for the teenage gangster.
“No, I don’t think Weevil is up to anything there, and would actually be annoyed if people poached on his territory. But all sorts of folks are in and out of the Sac-n-Pack, and Weevil isn’t patrolling the highway just to protect Wallace. I’d just feel better if we could do something to help keep Wallace safe.” Wallace kept his head down and kept working while Veronica made her heartfelt entreaty to Keith. It wasn’t the sort of thing he would have asked for, but his pride wasn’t so fragile that he would stop Veronica from making this request on his behalf.
Keith Mars looked his petite daughter in her crystal blue eyes. The shorter haircut was probably supposed to look fierce, but to Keith it just made her seem more vulnerable – she was no longer a little kid with little kid concerns, capable of hiding behind her blond tresses. The world could get at her now. The headstrong girl was Keith’s greatest joy in a life that looked nothing like what he had planned. But it made Keith proud to see her help people – to see the concern Keith felt for her mirrored in her concern for Wallace’s well-being. Despite the turmoil of the past year, it was good to see some things turn out right.
“Of course, honey,” Keith replied, not trying to hide the pride he felt in his daughter. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

5 Days Remain

Veronica drove into the Neptune High parking lot on a beautiful Wednesday morning. Veronica’s short blond hair was covered by the iconic brunette side-buns that Carrie Fisher had worn in the original Star Wars, and Veronica wore a matching, flowing white robe. Wallace’s project sat completed in the passenger seat of the LeBaron. Veronica wore a regular shirt and jeans under the robe – in case the costume became too cumbersome, she could just become one of the plebeians who had decided not to dress up today. But Veronica loved Halloween. An entire holiday where you get to pretend to be somebody else? Yes, please.
As Veronica stepped out of her car, she saw Duncan Kane get out of his car across the aisle. Her ex-boyfriend engendered a lot of emotions in Veronica - even a year after they had broken up. Mostly she still hurt, and was confused. And maybe still loved him. Duncan’s tall frame was lean but athletic – he was two time all-league soccer. Veronica was trying so hard not to stare into his blue eyes, or the lips she had kissed so often, that she didn’t immediately realize that Duncan was wearing a costume too. Duncan was dressed as Han Solo, his loose brown hair a fair facsimile of the Star Wars icon, his white shirt, leather vest and plastic blaster leaving no room for doubt as to his identity. Leia and Solo stared at each other awkwardly across the lot, Veronica at a rare loss for words. After a moment, Duncan simply stepped back into his car without speaking, and closed the door before anyone could see them.
Strapping on Wallace’s prop, Veronica began walking onto the school campus proper. Some kids had gone all out for costumes, while others paid lip service or did nothing at all. Veronica nodded approvingly as she walked past a buxom girl with dark hair streaked blue, wearing a white t-shirt bearing stark red lettering reading “Vote for Pedro.” Another student must have gone a little off the deep end in English Lit and had come dressed in a full Ernest Hemingway getup. And pulled it off. Some costumes didn’t work so well – the boy dressed as reality TV mogul Donald Trump just came across as tacky; the chubby freshman looking more like the blond kid from South Park than the host of the Apprentice. And Veronica had to suppress a shudder as she passed the skinny blond ‘09er who had managed to find a truly terrifying outfit – dressing as Paris Hilton.
At least it was better than last year when everyone was dressed up as pirates with eye liner. The school had been happy enough with last year’s apparent school spirit - Neptune’s sports teams were called the Pirates, after all – but really everyone had just wanted to be Johnny Depp. It had gotten a bit monotonous.
Veronica went to the journalism lab to finish typing up her article on the Sac-n-Pack robbery. She had made good progress on Wallace’s case, and had cleared the infield, who (except for Brock) had all been at a Matchbox 20 concert Sunday night. The backup first baseman had an injured rotator cuff, putting him on the disabled list and off of Veronica’s suspect list. A couple of other second stringers had been home, and their neighbors remembered things well enough that Veronica was reasonably confident eliminating them as well. Depending how today went, Veronica could confirm whether Brock really was her guy, and work out his accomplice from there. The real fireworks, though, wouldn’t be until lunch time.

…

Veronica stood next to Wallace at their usual isolated ketchup-colored lunchtable, readying herself to get detention for a good cause. Veronica straightened her Princess Leia costume, her back awkwardly stiff with Wallace’s prop strapped along the length of her spine.
“So, how do I look?” Veronica asked, hoping to give the school a good show.
“Short.” The infectious smile Wallace flashed was probably in character with his Lando outfit, but was definitely all Wallace.
“Whatchyou talkin’ ‘bout Wallace?” Veronica asked, channeling her inner Gary Coleman.
Wallace groaned at Veronica’s attempt at Diff’rent Strokes. “Yuch! That was terrible! You’ve been saving that one for two months, haven’t you?”
“Hey, you started with the short jokes. You go low, I go lower,” Veronica said, with what might be the Mars family motto. “And they don’t get much lower than Arnold Jackson.”
Wallace looked at Veronica as she prepared to make some spectacular trouble, and shared his worry. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Wow, you’re really getting into character there, Lando. I’ll see you, after,” Veronica said as she put on a wry grin and started to make her way across the courtyard.
Wallace raised his voice just enough for Veronica to hear as she walked away from him. “Hey - saying the line that Braveheart gets right before being captured isn’t making me feel better here!”
Veronica approached the lead ‘09er lunch table, populated as usual with Duncan, Logan, and Logan’s toadies, Dick and Beaver Casablancas. Duncan had ditched his Han Solo costume, for which Veronica was doubly grateful - it would have immediately made for awkward comparisons at school, and the costume had showcased Duncan’s attractive eyes, arms, and charm in ways Veronica would prefer not to think about. Instead, he had taken green magic marker and wrote a dollar sign in the middle of his shirt, and carried two sackcloth bags with similar denominations. Veronica couldn’t tell if he was dressed as Richie Rich in a subversive social commentary on class dynamics, or because the costume hadn’t required a lot of work. Knowing Duncan, it was probably both.
Logan had also gone with a low-key costume, simply wearing a name tag that read “Call me Al,” on his usual earth-toned rich surfer-boy outfit. If there was any doubt as to who he was supposed to be, he had stuck skinny, sunken-eyed Beaver Casablancas in a ridiculous Garfunkel afro wig. Just because you were an ‘09er didn’t mean you were immune from abuse.
Beaver’s brother Dick, playing to his strengths, hadn’t really thought about any costume, and was dressed as a very realistic tall blond California surfer boy.
Other ‘09er regulars were there, the girls apparently having decided to do a group costume of Disney Princesses. Tan and dark Pam was dressed as Jasmine – she seemed to appreciate showing off her bare midriff in the temperate southern California weather. Timid and normally-blond Kimmy was dressed as Snow White, while Meg Manning was Cinderella, though it wasn’t much of a change for the gorgeous girl with naturally honey-colored hair and model’s physique. Veronica would have been a little jealous of Meg Manning if Meg weren’t pretty much the best person ever; instead Veronica was incredibly jealous, but she felt bad about it. Meg was there with her long-term boyfriend, Cole, a dark-haired preppy boy that hadn’t bothered to dress up. Meg and Duncan were the only ones to look uncomfortable with the conflict any Veronica-‘09er interaction invariably led to.
Logan noted Veronica’s approach, and then pointedly turned to Duncan.
“Duncan! I didn’t realize you did a group costume with your ex - Richie Rich and Chlamydia the Teenage Witch.”
Veronica was undeterred by Logan’s gibes, and continued walking until she was a few feet away, directly in front of the mouthy teen. “Keep it up and you can play Casper the ghost.”
Looking Veronica up and down, Logan kept up the razor-sharp wit, trying to cut down the diminutive detective. He’d have to work pretty hard to match his remarks from Monday, however. “Tell me you have a metal bikini under that thing.”
“You know she kills the creep that makes her wear the bikini, right?” Veronica rejoined. Then, Veronica reached over her shoulder and under her white robe for the long metal tube strapped to her back. Veronica revealed a very realistic looking M1 flamethrower. Veronica pulled the igniter trigger - really just a barbecue lighter that Wallace had jury-rigged together - to bring an ominous flame to the front of the tube.
Veronica intoned, “For me, for my mother, my grandmother, my father, my uncle, and for the common good, I must now kill you.”
Logan freaked out, thinking the girl must have finally snapped, and started to bolt, his face writ large with terror. Veronica pulled the trigger to spray him with liquid and was the quicker of the two – getting a direct hit on Logan’s crotch. The frigid, wet stream of water extinguished the igniter as it passed, and likely made Logan’s soaked crotch uncomfortably cold – Veronica had left some ice cubes in the water reservoir.
The entire courtyard burst into laughter, pointing and laughing at Logan, with not-so-quiet murmurs of “He pissed himself!” Norris Clayton, a tall loner on the other side of the courtyard, wearing secondhand military fatigues that looked less like a costume and more like his everyday outfit, rose from his seat and gave a standing ovation.
From nowhere, Vice Principal Van Clemmons appeared in the raucously laughing courtyard, his usual hangdog expression replaced with ire, a basset hound transformed into a roused bloodhound. The vice principal shouted angrily, “Miss Mars! My office, now!”

…

Veronica had barely sat in the chair in front of Vice Principal Clemmons’ desk before he laid into her.
“Bringing in a weapon?! Miss Mars, I’m tempted to suspend you for a week.”
“Weapon?” Veronica asked incredulously. “It’s a squirt gun. Student government specifically put those on the acceptable list so that upper class ‘09ers could pull pranks with impunity - I’m just using their own rules against them. If you have a problem with that, bring it up to the student council. I believe elections are next week?”
“Squirt guns don’t have igniters, Miss Mars.” Vice-Principal Clemmons responded humorlessly. “That has the capability of causing permanent damage. And you threatened Mr. Echolls with death.”
“That wasn’t a real threat,” Veronica said with a dismissive hand gesture. “It was a Blues Brothers quote. I’m dressed as Carrie Fisher – it’s part of the costume! And I don’t think Logan has ever wronged my uncle. And as for permanent harm, I know that on at least two occasions Logan’s buddy Dick Casablancas has loaded a squirt gun with bleach. That’s a serious hazard for blindness, and he only got one day detention each time. Did he maybe catch you with that bleach to get a blind eye?”
Vice Principal Clemmons took his time in responding to this, and when he did, it was with more than a little suspicion in his voice. “And how is it you know that, Miss Mars?”
“I have my sources,” Veronica stated, matter-of-factly. Really, she only had one source – Wallace – but if she let Clemmons know that Wallace was sneaking looks at students’ permanent records, he would be in a lot more trouble than Veronica and her modified water gun. “And I have my lawyers. Any chance we can knock this down to one day detention before I introduce my lawyers to my sources? Equal treatment under the law, and all.”
Clemmons sighed. “You win, Miss Mars. One day detention. For the record, I couldn’t let you off scott free even if you tried, student council ruling or no.” Veronica smiled toothily as she got up to head to back to lunch, her mission in paying Logan back for Monday and getting into detention with Brock Trimalchio a resounding success. Behold the mighty Veronica, able to get into detention at will! As she opened the door to leave, Vice Principal Clemmons interrupted her exit and looked at her knowingly.
“Oh, and Miss Mars - please be more careful with that gun - we have a band powerful enough to turn goat water into gasoline. And the line is ‘...for the common good, I must now kill you and your brother.’”
Veronica stared at Vice Principal Clemmons, who pointedly did paperwork and did not look up at her. She had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what Veronica had been going through the last year, what a hard time she’d been having, and was cutting her some slack. Hey, a guy who knows Blues Brothers by heart can’t be all bad.

Chapter Text

Veronica was walking back towards Wallace and her table in the lunch courtyard when Meg approached her from the ‘09er table. Duncan and Logan were nowhere in sight, but the whole school was still abuzz with Logan’s humiliation.
Meg introduced herself in a conciliatory tone - through the past year she had been the only ‘09er to truly be nice, but Veronica didn’t see her much. Meg still ran with the millionaire crowd.
“Hey, Veronica. That was quite the stunt there. Can we talk a second?”
Veronica paused and thought about it, but she didn’t have so many bridges to burn that she could be outright rude to the nicest girl in school, even if it did require proximity to the rest of the ‘09ers.
“Yeah, sure thing, Meg. What’s on your mind?”
“I wanted to see what you were up to Saturday night. A bunch of the crew were thinking of doing a midnight showing of Rocky Horror. It’s not really my thing - you have no idea how much my parents would freak if they heard. Everyone is also going on about this special ritual I have to go through if I’m seeing it publicly for the first time. I could really use a friendly face, and I think things would be less weird at school if everyone here got to know you again. Without the flamethrower.”
Veronica sighed - Meg’s heart was in the right place, but Veronica thought she was being naïve, believing Veronica could pal around with Madison Sinclair for movie night without it devolving into fights and recriminations. “I don’t fit in with that crowd anymore, Meg. Can you really picture me as a Disney Princess?” Veronica replied, gesturing down towards her Princess Leia costume and then at the girls at the ‘09er table.
“More like an ice princess!” Dick Casablancas interrupted from the next table, obviously overhearing the conversation. Of course - the blond himbo had to pick up the slack for his missing comrade Logan, insulting Veronica in his pack leader’s absence. That was even one of Logan’s favorite lines. Veronica had long since ceased trying to figure out how she could simultaneously be a slut and frigid, but somehow it worked out in Dick’s mind.
“See? Destined for failure. I’m not sure it would be a great idea for me to do something that involves parading around in my underwear as new bridge-building anyway. My suggestion? Buy a fake Black Flame Candle at a mall store and switch it up to Hocus Pocus movie night. Play up that virgins can still be cool when you summon up a coven. I think Pam, Kimmy and Madison would make fabulous witches.” Meg had gone on record that she was saving herself for her true love, and was famously virginal. Apparently Cole hadn’t measured up yet, according to the active Neptune rumor mill.
“Thanks Veronica! That’s actually a really great idea,” Meg answered with an appreciative and genuine smile.
“Sure thing - happy to help,” Veronica said, preparing to go the rest of the way to Wallace. As she was getting ready to go, Veronica noticed the piece of paper Meg was holding, and looked more closely at it. “Hey, that’s a nice picture,” Veronica remarked. It was a very well done cartoon of Meg as Cinderella, lovely with a sparkly blue dress to match her long golden hair. The style was also a perfect match to the obscene drawing left in Veronica’s locker on Monday. Veronica didn’t remember seeing Meg there that morning - Duncan either for that matter. At least the ‘09ers she cared most about hadn’t been party to her most recent public humiliation. Meg didn’t recognize the significance of the drawing.
“Thanks!” Meg replied, grateful for the compliment. “Cole drew it for me. I’m disappointed he didn’t want to join in the costume with us girls - he would have made a lovely prince.”
Veronica chuckled, “I don’t know, can he pull off purple velvet and party like it’s 1999? I’m not seeing it.”
Meg chortled appreciatively, waving as she let Veronica return to her isolated table.
As Veronica returned to Wallace, she thought about what to do regarding the picture. Cole seriously deserved some payback, and Veronica knew how, but anything that hurt Cole would hurt Meg. Veronica could refrain from vengeance on Cole - for Meg’s sake. For now. Meg was one of the last few decent people left at Neptune - Veronica didn’t want to do anything that would hurt her, however much Cole might deserve it. But Meg’s boyfriend would show his true colors, to someone other than Veronica - it was only a matter of time. Cole Monet’s blue balls period was in full swing, and he had been complaining loudly and publicly - whiny perv wasn’t a good look on him. Meg was too good for him, and once that became obvious she would dump his ass.
Veronica had a plan for Cole, and it would help her see if there was any truth to Carrie’s rumor from Monday. The drawing from Veronica’s locker, Cole’s picture which had caused Veronica so much trauma, would be signed by the artist and redistributed. To Duncan Kane’s locker. Veronica was very curious what Duncan’s reaction to that might be, but she had a pretty good idea. If Meg wasn’t dating Cole anymore, she probably wouldn’t mind seeing Duncan tenderize his face, right?

Chapter Text

Veronica walked into detention Wednesday afternoon wearing a comfortable pullover shirt and jeans, having ditched the costume. As much fun as it was to be Leia, it might interfere with the investigation, and that just wouldn’t do. Veronica scanned the room for Brock Trimalchio, mayor’s son, racist, robbery suspect and all around swell dude. As expected, he was in the back of the room, as far away from Mr. Wu’s gaze as possible, apparently trying to sleep without making it obvious. Excellent – placement in the back meant surreptitious note writing was possible, and after a few days in detention Brock was probably bored enough to jump on any kind of stimulation.
Brock was a wiry kid, all arms and legs, with jet black hair that probably would have looked better in some way other than parted backwards. The varsity jacket simultaneously seemed too big and too small, with the arms and chest puffing around empty space, but his wrists sticking a good couple of inches past the cuffs. Despite that, Veronica had to admit, Brock was a decently attractive guy, from a purely physical perspective. When his semi-conscious eyes fluttered open they were a murky hazel. Veronica and Brock had been closer, back when she was the Sheriff’s daughter and he the Mayor’s son. He’d always been entitled but Veronica hadn’t paid so much attention to it; when you hang out with the millionaire crowd, a certain amount of entitlement becomes the baseline. Ironically, the wealthiest of them all, Duncan Kane, had been the least entitled. By contrast, Duncan’s sister Lilly simply hadn’t had the word ascetic in her vocabulary, but Veronica had loved her dearly anyway. Although Brock may have been entitled, the overt racism appeared to be a new addition - though maybe Veronica just hadn’t been aware of it when he was her friend. Veronica had come to realize that a lot of the stuff she had thought was good before last year maybe wasn’t as bright and shiny as she had remembered it.
Veronica sat at the desk next to Brock, “accidentally” knocking away the forearm supporting his lolling head in the process. Brock knocked his noggin on the top of the desk, and then perked his head up and tried to pretend like nothing had happened. Veronica slapped on the smile that could take her far in life as either a customer services rep or a gold-digger, if she were inclined in those directions. The golden-haired teenager saw Brock melt a little under her adorable countenance. She wrote on a notebook as if she were doing homework, using large lettering so Brock could read it easily from the next desk over, “So, what’re you in for?”
Brock looked at a loss over what to do before Veronica pulled out a blank spiral notebook with a pen inside and handed it over to her new cellmate. Veronica had come prepared, and wasn’t too surprised that the mayor’s son hadn’t brought a notebook.
“having a sense of humor” Brock wrote back in half-illegible boy handwriting.
From what Veronica recalled, Brock had been quite jealous of Logan Echolls. Brock may or may not have hooked up with Lilly Kane at some point, but he had certainly wanted to. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and fueling a little resentment towards Lilly’s paramour might be a good way into Brock’s confidence. Veronica wrote back: “Me too. You make one movie star’s kid piss his pants and VP Clemmons practically tears you a new one to protect the poor dear.”
Brock barked out an abrupt laugh, which he cut short, as the entire detention class turned to see what he was doing. Veronica had deftly continued as if she were taking notes, doodling an item on the top of the page to catch Brock’s attention with the next response, and appreciating that for once all the suspicion in the room was directed away from her.
Brock wrote: “how you make Logan piss himself?”
Veronica wrote her answer below the doodle of the confederate flag she had sketched in the margins: “He was scared by a little old water gun.” The end of the word gun also had a few water droplets drawn artistically coming off the end, looking either like a sad drippy faucet, or perhaps postcoital aftermath.
Brock seemed to key in on the confederate flag, pointing at it with the end of his pen, writing, “I didn’t now u were into that.”
Veronica smiled, knowing she had hooked him. Now, to figure out if he had been at the Sac-n-Pack on Sunday. “Absolutely. Purity is the most important thing in the world. We have a small social club of like-minded folks that meets Sunday nights. You interested?”
Brock made a grimace of distaste, obviously disappointed by something Veronica had written. He scrawled back quickly in his nearly unintelligible script: “What time? Dad shows us off to ppl most Sunday nights.”
“9-9:30ish,” Veronica wrote back, to which Brock simply wrote a “:(“ frowny face. Brock seemed at a loss on how to continue the conversation further, and Veronica didn’t think she’d get more just from notes – she didn’t want to make it obvious what she was inquiring about and Veronica’s remaining questions were best asked aloud. Unfortunately, Mr. Wu was pretty strict about keeping detention silent and it was putting a real crimp in her interrogation. Veronica spent a few minutes attempting to actually get some of her homework done while she waited for the next step.
Suddenly, the brazen tones of Heath Ledger singing “Can’t take my eyes off of you” could be heard belting from down the hallway. Wallace’s idea for a distraction. He had set up a TV screen in the hallway outside detention, one of the many screens that Neptune used for its TV news program and announcements, and which were conveniently accessible to her office-aide friend. Veronica didn’t need to sneak out, as Wallace had suggested, but she did want a few moments to be able to talk to Brock uninterrupted. This should hopefully get Mr. Wu out of the room for a few precious minutes.
Turning to Brock as soon as Mr. Wu ran out the door, she put on what she hoped was a sexy pouty face. “Why the sad face? Can’t you come on Sunday?”
Brock answered in his warbling baritone, obviously distraught that he was missing out on such an important group. “Dad has constituent dinners on Sunday nights and brings us along. It’s, like, the one thing we do as a family. There’s no way I can get out of it.”
“C’mon, Brock. How long did the last one go? Surely you could sneak out early!”
Brock shook his head, dejected. “Last one went from 7 until almost 10:30. Is there any way you could make it earlier?”
Veronica responded uncertainly, “I’ll talk to the other members and see what I can do…” If Brock was telling the truth, though, then he was innocent of this particular crime. Veronica didn’t feel too great about having such a known threat prowling the streets, but she had to focus on getting Wallace’s tickets in the next five days.
“Here’s my number,” Brock offered, handing Veronica a scrap of paper with numbers on it. “Let me know if you can set up another time.”
“Sure thing, Brock,” Veronica replied, putting the paper into her bag and grabbing out her last-ditch item. She unscrewed the bottle cap to a Red soda and wordlessly offered some to the ballplayer.
“No thanks,” Brock politely declined. “Coach would have my balls. All soda is mostly caffeine and sugar, but the Red stuff is the worst – dehydrates you for days. Coach has benched anyone he sees drinking that shit.”
“Really?” Veronica asked with genuine interest. “I could have sworn I saw someone on the team drinking liters of the stuff the other day.”
Brock snorted. “That must be Noah Smith. I don’t even know what him and his idiot friend J.T. are still doing on the team.”
“Preparing themselves for really bad leg cramps, I’d imagine,” Veronica joked.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Brock answered, craning his neck to check on Mr. Wu’s progress back to the classroom. It didn’t look like they had a lot of time left to talk. “Hey, so can I expect you to call me?”
Veronica thought for a moment and, eyes glittering with true excitement answered, “Oh, count on it. I’ll be in touch real soon."

Chapter Text

Thursday, October 28, 2004

4 Days Remain

Veronica was late for class. She had more important things to do. Wallace had promised to give her a tardy slip, excusing her from the Thursday morning class that she was skipping to scope out the car of one Mr. Noah Smith. Noah, and his best friend Jonathan “J.T.” Taylor, were both utility backups for the baseball team. Both boys were also, coincidentally, sons of Sheriff’s deputies, though not ones Veronica had known around the station from when she was growing up. Sheriff Lamb had added his own band of incompetents in the past year, and Deputies Smith and Taylor were two of them.
Noah had an ostentatious black SUV – not a high end car like those the Neptune rich enjoyed, but mostly just big and annoying. The hardest part of breaking into the car parked in the Neptune High lot was keeping her balance on the little side step that Veronica had to stand on, in order to get the height to reach the windows properly. Some deft work with a thin metal rod and Veronica was in. The car didn’t have an alarm go off – it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, Veronica expected to be quick, and had an excuse to be in this parking lot. Poking around the car, Veronica’s low estimation of Noah and JT’s intelligence sank even further – an empty bottle of Red soda was in the rear passenger seat well, two Green Goblin masks were in between the two front seats, and the glove compartment had Wallace’s wallet, complete with ID, but missing any money or the Laker tickets. The wallet, however, was not the idiots’ coup de grace, which went to the cassette tape also conveniently left in the glove compartment, almost certainly the incriminating Sac-N-Pack security tape. Veronica wouldn’t be surprised if the morons had removed their masks after locking Wallace in the freezer, and the tape showed their faces – she would have to watch the video to confirm it, though.
Veronica took plenty of pictures, more out of force of habit than from any expectation that she would use any of them. The odds of Sheriff Lamb arresting the sons of two of his new deputies was somewhere between ‘laugh you out of his office’ and ‘buy Deputies Smith and Taylor lunch for the inconvenience of having their sons be accused of something.” At least Veronica had a pretty good idea why they had targeted the Sac-N-Pack. If word had gotten around the Sheriff’s office that nobody was investigating Sac-N-Pack robberies, Noah and JT would have thought it would be easy pickings. If not for Veronica Mars, they probably would have been right.
Grabbing Wallace’s wallet and the incriminating video, Veronica headed back to class. She had all she could get from the car, but Wallace’s tickets were still nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

Veronica drove her creaky LeBaron into the Sac-N-Pack lot just ahead of her 8 p.m. rendezvous with Weevil Navarro. Weevil wanted to find the boys who had called out PCH in robbing the store four days ago, and Veronica could use the gang’s assistance “convincing” the two morons to relinquish the Laker tickets. Veronica figured if she was going to get the gang’s help on something, she may as well go all out, and had come to negotiate.
As Veronica pulled to a stop, she opened her glove box to check on the video cassette she had left there. Everything looked to be in order - she was as ready to meet with the head of the motorcycle gang as she was going to be.
Veronica Mars opened the door to her black LeBaron and confidently strode up to the group of brown-skinned black-jacketed youths joking amongst themselves on the other end of the lot. Veronica stood herself up to her full height, which didn’t even come up to Felix Toombs’ nipples, but was at least close to level with the shorter and stockier gang leader.
“Hey, Weevil,” Veronica greeted. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours?”
“It’s not my back that needs scratching, V,” Weevil flirted, posturing in front his gangmates.
“Aww... and Felix has such long arms, too. You’d think he’d be able to get all those hard-to-reach places.”
Weevil shook his head and kept up Veronica’s banter, but cut back on the innuendo. “You’re killing me Smalls! Alright, you asked to meet. What do you want?” Weevil came on strong, but unlike other guys he generally also knew when to stop. There was irony somewhere in Weevil being more of a gentleman than jerks like Dick Casablancas.
“I’ve got the names of the two meatheads who tried to frame the PCHers last weekend. You know, the ones that the club is so eager to beat down in their newfound unity and love of fearless leader,” Veronica reminded the group. “You interested?”
“We don’t need your help to lay some pain on people who disrespect us,” Weevil stated strongly.
“I know you don’t,” Veronica conceded. “But I think we can work together for mutual benefit, here. I got back Wallace’s wallet, but he had some Laker tickets that are still missing. Think you could turn up those tickets if I give you some names and promise to look the other way?”
Weevil laughed in ready agreement to beating up Wallace’s attackers. “You turn the other way, you’re going to miss quite the show, V. You sure you don’t want to watch us pound those white boys’ asses?”
Veronica simply raised her eyebrow and kept looking at Weevil. The joke was too easy, and Veronica didn’t do easy.
“What do you say we raise the stakes, Señor Navarro?” Veronica asked archly. “I could use another favor. A big one.”
The browned biker looked interested, wetting his lips and getting a bit of his mustache in the process. He really needed to work on his poker face - he was good, but gave away too much to someone who knew what to look for. Then again, Veronica was the one who lived with the master interrogator, it’s unsurprising that’s what she practiced - Weevil was undoubtedly better at stealing cars and roughing people up than she was. Weevil asked, his curiosity piqued, “What did you have in mind?”
“I want you to get the PCHers to play CHiPs around the Sac-n-Pack when Wallace is working,” Veronica stated, making it clear that she was completely serious despite the somewhat outlandish nature of the request. “Have someone hang out in the lot, doing whatever it is you do. Keep an eye that nobody encroaches on your territory, and make sure Wallace doesn’t get held up again.”
Weevil whistled. “That’s quite the request.” Weevil used the same tone of voice that his uncle Angel must use when a buyer at his chop shop went from the beaters to Beemers. “For something like that? I don’t think you’re going to be willing to give up the amount of personal freedom a favor of that level requires.” Weevil eyed Veronica up and down knowingly. Not leering, but making clear that a favor of that magnitude generally required services Veronica had found unacceptable in the past.
“Oh, sure I’m willing! Just, not my freedom you understand. I’ll get you the goods to have a policeman’s son as your brand new stoolie, to make up for being a man down. Wait, and what’s this? We’re having a sale today! Buy one slightly used stoolie - get one half off! Fair warning, they may have taken a few too many fastballs to the head. I know Dumb and Dumber-er are a bit out of your comfort zone, but I think you can figure out how to ease these mental deficients into a life of semi-useful menial work. At the very least you get the joy of humiliating some sheriff’s deputy’s kids, if they turn out to be as useless as their Super Trooper dads. I’d just need one small other thing.”
Weevil looked at Veronica appraisingly, doing the mental math on whether he was going to come out ahead on this. He still seemed interested. “We don’t have any small things on PCH,” Weevil rejoined, to laughs from his crew. “But… I might be able to swing one more minor favor if you’re giving me two-for-one. What else do you need?”
“How good are you at taking a punch?”

…

Veronica got back into her car, negotiations with Weevil and the PCHers concluded about as well as they could have gone. Veronica nervously checked the glove compartment of the car. It was empty. Someone had taken the video out while Veronica was chatting with Weevil, and she had a pretty good idea of who that might have been. If Weevil had the Sack-n-Pack tape incriminating Smith and JT, Veronica didn’t have any leverage in getting his help.
Driving the LeBaron up to where Weevil was getting ready to pull away with the rest of his bikers, she crooked her delicate index finger in a “come hither” gesture. What she had to say to Weevil was best said close and quiet. As he came over, Veronica pulled out her wallet and removed an ID. Although she had legions of useful fakes, this was actually a valid Neptune high school student ID. It just wasn’t hers.
As Weevil pulled up alongside Veronica’s car, she further gestured for him to lean into the open window. Weevil looked at Veronica’s tiny blond figure for a moment, possibly remembering the stun gun she had once pulled, before deciding to commit to getting close anyway. If Veronica zapped Weevil in retribution for the stolen tape, she had no doubt it would end badly - Weevil knew it and there was no way he could seem to be afraid of the petite detective.
“Here, this is yours,” Veronica said, handing Weevil the Neptune student ID with his picture and name on it. “You never bothered to pick it up and just left it in the office, I thought you’d appreciate the delivery. By the way, I hope you don’t mind, I used it to borrow a video from the school library. ‘Introduction to criminal law.’ I thought you might find it useful. I had it here in my glove box to lend to you, but somehow it just vanished. I hope it turns up soon – you have to bring it back to the school library by Monday.”
Weevil looked abashed, having obviously been caught reaching into the cookie jar. This was why Veronica had wanted to be clandestine with Weevil – a lot of what Weevil was buying was increased stature and reputation. Veronica wasn’t going to make Weevil look like a fool in front of his gang, but she couldn’t allow him to think he could run roughshod over her either. So they were having this little chat – privately.
As Veronica readied to pull out onto the Pacific Coast Highway, she gave Weevil her parting shot, changing her tone from light and mocking to deadly serious. “And Weevil? Don’t try that again. Next time it’s a dye pack and a call to the Sheriff. As odd as it sounds, I’d rather work with you than with him. Don’t test me further.”
The gang leader gave a silent nod in acknowledgement as Veronica Mars drove off into the night.

Chapter Text

Friday, October 29, 2004

3 Days Remain

Veronica Mars eagerly awaited the arrival of Brock Trimalchio by the front entrance of the Neptune High School parking lot. Veronica was surprised by how much she was looking forward to seeing Brock. A former friend, she had been giving a lot of thought to meeting up with the boy, and greeted this opportunity with great anticipation. She was technically ditching Ms. Deen’s journalism class, but considering Veronica’s planned activities, she felt she was upholding the spirit of the class, if not the letter. She had run a quick errand elsewhere in the lot, and urgently called Brock between periods asking him to meet her here. Considering how seriously he seemed to take his studies, he should come running to the former Sheriff’s daughter. Veronica had to keep in mind that the dark-haired boy was much smarter than the teammates she had been tracking down all week.
Veronica had come dressed to impress - at least as far as high school casualwear went. She had one nice padded bra in her arsenal - a gift from Lilly Kane, of course - which Veronica had worn special for meeting Brock. She was bringing out the big guns for this. Or at least the respectably-sized and very well-formed guns. Veronica was wearing makeup, but it was what the cosmetics industry artlessly called the ‘nude’ look – Brock was into purity and getting all tarted up would probably have been counterproductive for this particular seduction. The look was hopefully complemented by a casual chic outfit of form-fitting t-shirt and jeans, leaving Veronica’s arms bare in the temperate SoCal afternoon. Veronica’s messenger bag was slung over one shoulder holding all her usual accoutrements, including an audio recorder and stun gun.
Veronica saw Brock’s skinny form as he ran up to Veronica from campus, putting in decent speed but not seeming winded. He was an athlete, after all. As the mayor’s son pulled up to Veronica, he slowed down and deliberately checked out her figure, though he tried to be quick and unobtrusive about it. Veronica pretended not to notice.
“I got your call,” he said, a little flushed from the run here. If he was running to catch Veronica already, this secret meetup might turn out really well. “What’s so urgent?”
“I needed your help right away,” Veronica said, trying to sound helpless. Veronica casually placed her hand on the exposed skin of Brock’s wrist, sticking out of the jacket, as she locked eye contact. “I just heard the most awful thing, and I was sure you were the only one who could fix it. I was going to pick up something from my car when I heard one of those bikers, Weevil I think it was, bragging about how all the Mexicans were going to defile every white girl at school. He was saying how his cousin Chardo had already started, but then punked out when he actually fell for Caitlin Ford. Weevil said he was going to finish the job, and have sex with every white girl at school, so that no self-respecting man would touch one. It was horrible! Can you imagine how terrible that would be? After Weevil’s friend laughed at this and rode off, Weevil saw me coming from my car - he asked me if I wanted to ‘ride’ his big old hog, that I’d be ooh-ing and aah-ing for him. It was appalling! I called you right away - I think Weevil is still in the lot, by himself. I’d show him a lesson myself, but...” Veronica looked down demurely at her own figure, the padded bra straining against the thin fabric of her shirt. Brock’s eyes naturally followed Veronica’s gaze. “I’m just a girl.
“Do you think a big strong athlete with his head in the right place could help me out?” Veronica asked coyly.
Brock Trimalchio‘s head seemed about to explode. He took in Veronica’s every word with rapt fascination. This situation seemed to fulfill every lurid fantasy the teenaged bigot might have - an existential threat against white purity, complete ego stroking of his worldview and physical capabilities, and an attractive girl fawning on him. The physical contact seemed to be setting him over the edge. Still, Weevil was a brawny, intimidating figure, and even one-on-one and with the element of surprise, Brock was going to need a bit more encouragement to go after the shorter but stronger biker.
“Why me?” Brock asked. “I thought, since everything that happened with your dad, you didn’t really like me anymore.”
“I know your dad tried his best in a tough situation, and in any event I don’t hold you responsible for your father. Ever since our meeting on Wednesday, I’ve just felt so much more drawn to you. There’s so many degenerates and enablers here - it’s rare to see a man who stands for integrity in Neptune,” Veronica related truthfully.
Veronica waited a couple of heartbeats before leaning in a bit closer and whispering in husky tones, “I’ll be ... super grateful.”
This seemed to put Brock over the top, on course to attacking Weevil for her.
“How grateful, exactly?” Brock asked, calculating, obviously weighing the possibilities of physical harm versus physical ecstasy.
Veronica looked directly into Brock’s eyes, hoping to convey her complete sincerity in what she was about to say. Veronica meant this from the bottom of her soul, and wanted Brock Trimalchio to know it. “On my father, I swear, I will do everything in my power to make sure it’s the most memorable thing you’ll ever do naked in Neptune. It will be life altering.”
“Naked, huh?” Brock asked keenly. His eyes already conveyed his hunger for the anticipated reward. Brock knew Veronica well enough to know that she had always been a bit of a daddy’s girl, lending authenticity to Veronica’s oath. Additionally, the friction between former Sheriff Mars and the local gangs, the PCHers and the Fitzpatricks, were legend. There was every reason to believe Veronica wanted to hurt the gang leader who, unbeknownst to Brock, had tried to betray her the previous evening.
“It wouldn’t be the same otherwise,” Veronica promised mischievously. “You make sure that brown bastard knows his place, and I’ll make sure you get the reward you deserve. Tell him just what we’ll do to him and everyone like him.”
“Yeah!” Brock exclaimed, practically manic at the prospect of incipient violence and sex. Bouncing back and forth on his feet like a boxer, he seemed to be gearing himself up for battle.
“He’s over that way, about halfway down,” Veronica instructed the dark haired boy, who took off impatiently for his expected victorious battle and lascivious reward.
Veronica followed along behind Brock as he sprinted towards the oblivious Weevil, keeping as close to him as possible. As Brock approached the young tough, Weevil turned around suddenly, apparently caught by surprise as Brock bore down on him. Brock tried a looping punch with his long right arm, attempting to take advantage of his much longer reach and Weevil’s unpreparedness, but Weevil simply put up a quick boxer’s guard and ducked his head down, catching Brock’s incoming fist mostly on his own upraised left fist.
“What the hell, white boy?!” Weevil demanded. “What did I do to you?”
“I heard you asked Veronica Mars if she’d ride your big old hog – make her ooh and ahh!”
Weevil looked a bit surprised by that accusation - Weevil had actually said that very thing to Veronica, though it had been several weeks ago, not earlier that afternoon. The unforeseen truth caught Weevil off guard, as did Brock’s second punch, which clipped the stocky biker while he was startled. Weevil hadn’t expected Veronica to sic Brock on him armed with valid complaints.
“So?” Weevil pressed back. “It’s a free country? I can date who I want.”
“Yeah, I heard about your ‘plan,’” Brock sneered, following up with a couple more ineffectual punches and then holding back for some judicious circling. He had clearly been hoping to sucker punch Weevil and end it there. “You people don’t even have the right to defile the great white nation like that. I’m here to make sure you keep your filthy brown hands off of the pure Caucasian women.”
“Yeah,” Weevil retorted, letting the taller opponent continue circling as the two of them squared off by themselves between the empty cars. Veronica watched intently, following Brock’s every move and making certain to stay close enough to hear every word. “How are you going to make me? I live here too. This is my school, same as yours.”
“Not for long,” Brock scorned. “My father, the mayor, knows what you never will. White people are just better. You’re weak, and stupid – you bring crime and lower the property values. He’s working hard to get all of you out – you, your momma, your grandma, the whole lot! You stay away from our girls until you can’t take any more and decide to slink back across the border.”
Weevil dropped his guard at the unanticipated admission of open class warfare. Getting thrown a punch was one thing – getting thrown the very real threat that his grandma was going to lose her house was a terrifying attack of an altogether different sort. Brock took advantage of the opening and clocked Weevil in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Veronica continued observing from the sidelines in eager anticipation, certain that her victory was soon at hand.
The downed Weevil looked up at Brock piteously, wailing, “Why would the mayor do something like that? This is my home!”
Brock stood above Weevil, holding out his naked fist threateningly and making it clear Weevil should keep his place on the ground. Brock looked like nothing so much as skinny color-inverted Muhammed Ali standing over Weevil as Sonny Liston, keeping the Mexican youth down.
“My dad’s gonna run all of you out of town. The darkies. The brownies. The A-rabs. Cops know what their job is, and they’re doing their part. Dad’s pushing through every zoning variance he can to bulldoze the hovels you people live in. Property tax assessments. Water bills. Sewage maintenance work running long. You name it – and the colored folks are getting the shit end of it. You’ll get gone soon enough, but you stay down until you learn to leave.”
At the frank admission of political and monetary superiority, and the use to which Mayor Trimalchio put it, Weevil looked up mournfully from the ground, seeking some clemency from Veronica Mars as she watched on with her icy blue eyes.

She gave him the nod.

Weevil popped up like a weeble-wobble, whole and mostly unharmed. And very angry. Veronica shut off the audio recorder in her bag just before Weevil threw his first punch, hitting Brock hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of the gangly racist. Doubled over and gasping, Brock didn’t see as the rest of the PCHers came filing up behind him, making a rough semicircle in case Brock recovered his breath enough to try making a run for it.
From the other side, Wallace exited one of the cars and came towards Veronica and Weevil, holding the high resolution camera Veronica had given him. The sound on the video would be terrible, but that’s what Veronica’s audio was for. The video gave the story a hook that audio-only wouldn’t - you furnish the pictures, I’ll furnish the class war. Not for the first time, Veronica wondered if her father had been prescient in naming her. Veronica meant “true image” – this true image was going to sink the mayor who had betrayed her father. Tacit racism may be somewhat acceptable in politics, but something like this? In 2004? It was a political death sentence.
Weevil eyed his malefactor, growling with more gruffness than usual in explaining the situation to Brock. All hint of Weevil’s former submission burned away with the ruse, replaced only with harsh fury.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, baby Grand Wizard. You’re going to ask daddy Grand Wizard to transfer you out of Neptune. By Monday. I don’t care where, I don’t care why. Tell him you need to be butt-buddies with Troy Vandegraff in Albuquerque for all I care. But come Monday, you never set foot in this town again. You won’t live to see Tuesday otherwise. Are we clear?”
Brock nodded his understanding mutely, staring at Veronica in wounded betrayal. Brock recovered his breath enough to gasp out an objection to Veronica, his eyes blazing.
“You! You said you didn’t hold what my dad did against me!”
Veronica locked gazes with her former friend. Fixing him with the full penetrating stare that her sapphire eyes could bring to bear - grave and level-toned, brooking no dare, Veronica addressed Brock, nostrils aflare. “The mayor has done plenty, and now he’ll get paid back.” Brock had been a means to a very necessary end. Whoever the next mayor, however terrible, the downtrodden of Neptune would be better off. And the blackguard who had betrayed her father would see no further profit.
Veronica continued, with incrementally less vituperation and a bit of sadness, “But I truly don’t hold what your father has done against you - you’ve done plenty on your own to warrant exile from Neptune.”
Brock stood up to his full towering height and responded with all the hurt entitlement he could muster. “You promised me sex if I fought him. You owe me! I’ll leave – there’s better places than Neptune. But not before I get what I was promised from you. You swore you’d get naked!”
Veronica shook her head sadly. Wallace had it right anyway - doing a girl a favor didn’t entitle you to sex, at least with Veronica. But as for lying to Brock, she had not. Like all good deception, there had to be some truth mixed in – and this had more than most. “Brock – I stand by every word I said when I swore my oath. I promised life changing, and the most memorable thing you’d do in Neptune. I hope this changes your life, because I don’t like what I see. I hope this is the last thing you ever do in Neptune. I don’t ever want to see you again. And as for naked? You’re right. I did promise you’d be naked. Weevil - care to do the honors?”
Weevil wiped the small trail of blood from the corner of his mouth, undeterred by the minor injury, and smiled malevolently. “Alright boys, strip this racist asshole and duct tape him to the flag pole. I want everyone to see him on the way out of school. Make his last day at Neptune High real memorable.”

Chapter Text

It was half an hour after school had let out Friday afternoon, and Noah Smith and Jonathan Taylor sulked in desultory fashion by Noah’s unresponsive car. The remainder of the school was empty, with the exception of Brock Trimalchio, who was still taped naked to the flagpole with the word ‘racist’ scrawled on his bare chest. Public opinion was fickle, and now Brock was temporarily the least popular person in Neptune. Veronica could reclaim her title on Monday after Brock left town. Eventually Tommy “Lucky” Dohanic, the school janitor, would get around to cutting Brock down, if nobody else would.
Veronica walked up to the two boys who had assaulted Wallace at the beginning of the week and stared at them witheringly.
“Car broken down? I think the Transylvania convention is in that castle over there.”
Noah Smith was a lanky curly-haired blond boy, with a long face and prominent nose vaguely reminiscent of the youngest brother from Home Improvement. JT was shorter and rounder, with dirty blond hair so dark it was probably closer to chestnut, whose beady eyes stared at Veronica suspiciously.
“You know anything about cars?” Noah asked plaintively. God these boys were thick. Veronica had figured that taking out the cable connecting the battery to the engine would delay them long enough to catch them alone after school – she hadn’t taken into account that they might not even pop the hood to know what was wrong with the car.
“Sure do,” Veronica answered brightly. “I know that if you give me two tickets to Monday’s Lakers game, I’ll have it fixed in just a jiff.”
The two boys stared at each dumbly, finally realizing just how far ahead of the game Veronica was over them, and that the broken car wasn’t just an accident. Unfortunately, they still had full use of their hands and therefore maintained the ability to count up to ten, realizing that two out-of-shape backup ballplayers had a significant numerical and size advantage over the slight blue-eyed girl before them.
Noah grabbed the closer of Veronica’s arms roughly, the right arm, and tried to drag her towards the car. “How about we bring you to our car in this nice empty lot and make you fix it?” Noah jeered. “Or maybe we just take the cost of a repairman out in services.”
Veronica had presented her right side to the boys on purpose, and in a single smooth motion tucked her hand towards her body, snapping her wrist against the inside of Noah’s weaker left-hand grip quickly and then snatching her arm back, breaking his hold and sending him staggering backwards from the unexpected loss of resistance. Once free, Veronica took a couple of steps backwards to maintain distance and waggled a finger in admonishment, clucking her tongue like the teenage delinquents were misbehaving children.
“Tut-tut-tut.” Veronica chided. “That’s no way to treat a lady. Now are we going to do this the easy way, or the inevitable way?”
The dimwitted robbers looked at each again, possibly hoping that eye contact could spark a useful thought between the two of them. Noah made a fruitless attempt to grab at Veronica again, but she simply danced back from his sudden, awkward and off-balance lunge.
“That’s what I thought,” Veronica said. Then, raising her voice to be heard throughout the not-so-empty parking lot, Veronica called out. “Warriors! Come out to play! Oh Warriors! Come out to plaa-ay.”
First to appear was overtall Felix Toombs standing over Veronica’s shoulder. The lieutenant of the PCHers’ angry visage conveyed a much greater threat than his usual goofiness showed, the black leather jacket and black Golden State basketball jersey giving him a funereal quality that caused Noah to back away from the no-longer soft target Veronica presented. The remaining PCHers, similarly dressed in black leather and Warriors basketball jerseys, quickly filled in, surrounding Wallace’s attackers and Veronica’s would-be assailants. There were more than ten PCHers, so Veronica wasn’t sure Noah and JT could realize just how much trouble they were in.
“Our dads are cops!” JT shouted in a panic. “You can’t touch us! They’ll nail all of you!”
Weevil smiled his easy smile, though it wasn’t so friendly when he directed it at Smith and JT. “Funny thing. I was watching this interesting video last night, and did you know it’s not robbery if you’re just getting back your own stuff? You really want your daddies to send us to court to tell the nice judge why we beat you up? Because I’m guessing Mr. Judge would be very interested in hearing about those Laker tickets, and how we weren’t robbing you, but you were definitely doing some naughty naughties on Sunday. The judge might also wonder why your hardworking papis were too lazy to show up to the Sac-N-Pack after your little smash and grab, and that might get them in all sorts of trouble. No, I don’t think you’re going to say any-thing. To any-body.”
The last thing Veronica saw before she turned away into the parking lot were the two Sac-n-Pack muggers, who had been trying to grab her just moments ago, staring at each other in stark terror.

…

Weevil came up to Veronica after a much longer time than she had thought would be necessary. Well, those boys were Weevil’s problem now, and they had gotten as much payback as the crooked law of Neptune would allow.
“Here you go V, I got your tickets for you,” Weevil said, handing over the two slips of paper. “You know, it’s a good thing I’m such a nice guy, giving you these.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was pure altruism Weevil,” Veronica replied, as she handed him the Sac-n-Pack video incriminating Messrs. Smith and Taylor. “Get as much use out of them now as you can. Mark my words, once there’s a competent Sheriff, Deputies Smith and Taylor will get tossed within a month. They probably won’t be the only two.
“And I’m sure your help had nothing to do with how much better your life will be under literally any other mayor. Or how humiliating the mayor’s boy and asserting control over two Sheriff’s sons adds to the legend of Eli Navarro.”
“The legend of Eli Navarro,” Weevil said appreciatively, enunciating each word clearly. “I like that. So we got your tickets back, reformed a couple robbers, ran a racist out of town, and my boys are keeping a patrol on the Sac-n-Pack. I’m thinking maybe I should run for Sheriff next year.”
“Against Lamb? You’ve got my vote. You just like being in charge, don’t you big guy?” Veronica joked in a sultry voice. This had turned out to be a pretty good week, and the leader of the PCHers had done more than his fair share. Weevil had earned a little friendly victory flirting.
Weevil put on a black helmet as he straddled his motorcycle. Flipping up the visor momentarily, Weevil winked at Veronica and, without a trace of irony, proclaimed “Hail to the king, baby.”

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 31, 2004

1 Day Remains

Veronica and Wallace sat on the living room couch of the apartment Veronica shared with her father. They flipped through channels on the TV, waiting for Georgia to arrive - the framed poster next to the couch, of a dog straining against a chained leash over the word “Unleash,” reflected the glow of the television screen.
Veronica had gotten used to Keith working Halloween - it had always been all-hands-on-deck at the Sheriff’s office. Tonight he was double booked trying to catch at least two husbands likely to cheat on their wives with women dressed in slutty Halloween costumes. Neither of Keith’s targets required him to be prowling around Dick Casablancas’ house - Big Dick and Sadie, Mrs. Casablancas #2, were having the annual Casablancas costume party, even though it was an open secret that the missus was practically out the door. Although the mix of money, alcohol, and bored rich dilettantes made for infidelity heaven, Keith’s targets didn’t have the clout to make it to the premiere party in town. Keith’s destinations were similar, if not as tony, venues. Pity he wasn’t there to party.
“So what did you end up doing with the Trimalchio tape?” Wallace asked his petite friend.
“Gave it to dad,” Veronica related. “He can use it to get a favor out of a reporter. Press will probably do some background research of their own and break the story when they’ve got enough to make it a bombshell and people are paying more attention to the election next year – it’ll probably be a few months.”
Changing topics, Veronica asked uneasily, “You sure you’re ok with me third-wheeling on your date here, Wallace? I don’t want to cramp your style and I don’t need a pity party.”
Wallace snorted as if Veronica’s self-doubts were ridiculous. “Are you kidding, Veronica? You think I’m going to complain about unchaperoned alone time on a couch with a special lady just because you’re also in the room? Believe me, watching Halloween movies here in Never-Neverland where parents have vanished is the way to go. If we were home, Darrell would be hopped up on way too much trick-or-treat candy and Mom would be checking on us every 10 minutes. Who knows what creepy tenant dude might do? Georgia’s house wouldn’t be any better. We want to be here. Both of us.”
“But wouldn’t Georgia feel awkward, y’know, having competition for attention here?” Veronica asked.
“I’ve explained it to her, and she seems cool with it,” Wallace explained. “Look, you’re gorgeous and you know it.” Actually Veronica didn’t know it. She was constantly self-conscious of her chest, and her height, and her chest, and her nose, and her chest. It was nice to hear the simple compliment without an agenda. “But, honestly, I see you as my friend. A person worthy of respect. The one who cut me down from the flag pole the first day. Is it so weird for a guy to view a girl as a person and not just a potential date?”
“Honestly?” Veronica asked, with a hint of sadness in her voice, “yes. But don’t ever change that Wallace. It makes you better than the guys who can’t. I hope Georgia appreciates it.”
The sincere moment between the two half-orphans was interrupted by the knock on the door – Wallace’s date finally arrived. Wallace stood up quickly to greet Georgia at the door, getting a polite hug from the attractive short-haired black girl. Well, Wallace had said they were taking it slow.
“Hey guys!” Georgia exclaimed. “Thanks for putting this together! My house is crazy tonight, but I already put in my duty handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. What’s on tap for movies?”
Veronica handed Georgia the top two movie picks, The Nightmare Before Christmas and Donnie Darko, “Here, you pick. We have some other stuff too, and in a pinch the video store guy owes me a favor and will send a movie along with a pizza delivery, if nothing suits your fancy. Think of it like Netflix, minus the little red envelopes.”
Georgia looked over the two movies, finally pulling out Tim Burton’s claymation masterpiece asking, “I don’t get it, is this movie a Christmas movie or a Halloween movie?”
“It’s both,” Veronica answered simply. “But during Halloween it doesn’t have to compete with Die Hard as much. Here, let’s give it a try – I think you’ll like it.”
As the opening chords of ‘This is Halloween’ came from the television, Veronica plopped into the lazy boy that was positioned catty corner from the couch where Wallace and Georgia cuddled. Some people are born with tragedy in their blood, but sitting at home watching a movie with two friends, Veronica Mars did not feel like a victim.

Chapter Text

This book is intended to be able to be enjoyed by newcomers to the Veronica Mars universe. It is also, however, meant to tie in to the overall story.
For those who aren’t hyper obsessive on Veronica Mars details, or maybe just appreciate a refresher, the following are important plot points relevant to this book and the show, and how they interact. Warning, spoilers ahead. If this isn’t your thing, just skip ahead to the author’s note or to the incisive review you plan to write on Amazon.
Wallace Fennel recently moved to Neptune with his mother and little brother Darrell before Ep 1.01 Pilot. In Ep 2.05 Blast From the Past they reveal that Wallace buried his *ahem* father in Cleveland, and at some time before that he had lived in Chicago. Odds are pretty good that Wallace, living in Cleveland at that time, would have at least known LeBron James. I stuck them as teammates. Wallace would have been a freshman during LeBron’s senior year. The Cavs and Lakers did not actually play each other in early November 2004 – I made that part up.
In Ep 2.22 Not Pictured, Veronica has an odd pre-graduation dream set in an alternate universe. In the dream, she is told Wallace Fennel was locked in a freezer at the Sac-n-Pack and lost three fingers. The actions in this book provide a factual basis on why she might have had such a line in her dream.
The colors of Neptune High School are green and yellow, as are the varsity jackets (Ep. 1.15 Ruskie Business, Ep. 2.20 Look Who’s Stalking).
There is, in fact, a Sheriff’s bachelor auction in Ep 2.07 Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner. The flyer Veronica has in that episode states that it is the first annual such event.
Kelly Kuzzio and Luke Haldeman are both closeted gay. Kelly is revealed in Ep 2.14 Versatile Toppings, Luke is outed later. Ryan, the pizza delivery guy, is also gay and knows about Kelly from an online message board system he runs. Kelly might be nervous after being asked about his sex life if he thought Veronica might out him - following that up with questions about his tryst with Luke would compound his anxiety. Kelly would, in fact, know Ryan the pizza guy from the message board community, and would want to tip Ryan well as a goodwill gesture in keeping the hookups confidential. Veronica’s suspicions that Kelly is hiding something may be largely resolved in Ep 2.14.
Shelly Argo is intended to be the blond “Shelly” with whom Duncan intermittently makes out during Ep 1.03 Meet John Smith. That girl’s last name is never given, but she bears no resemblance to Shelley Pomroy, who appears once in Ep 1.21 A Trip to the Dentist. Steve Argo is a classmate of Veronica’s who never makes a formal appearance, but is one of the popular kids. Steve becomes a member of the Neptune secret society, the Tritons, in Ep 1.12 Clash of the Tritons, and is a homecoming king finalist in Ep 2.05 Blast from the Past.
Brock’s run-ins with background characters: Mr. Daniels is the jerk English teacher that gives Logan and Weevil detention in Ep 1.07 The Girl Next Door, played by 21 Jump Street (TV) Actor Steven Williams. The black homeless vet that Brock tries to beat up cleans the windshield of Logan’s and of Aaron’s car in Ep 1.06 Return of the Kane.

For costumes:
- the girl in the Napoleon Dynamite shirt was Mac, a character introduced in Ep 1.08 Like a Virgin and who becomes a cast member. Based on the intro in Ep 1.08 Like a Virgin, she doesn’t know Veronica well yet, despite the fact that they’ve been going to school together for years. Mac is played by Tina Majorino, who has a starring role in Napoleon Dynamite.
-Donald Trump has a bit of a running gag in Veronica Mars, being mentioned in two episodes, Ep. 1.18 Weapons of Class Destruction (as a tabloid reported a cult worshipped his hair) and Ep 2.22 Not Pictured (as a shady character). Vincent “Butters” Clemmons, is a character introduced in season 2, and was the intended character to dress up as Trump in this book. Vincent ends up looking more like Butters, the blond kid in South Park, in the costume. This is intended to provide a plausible method for how he got the nickname, since Vincent doesn’t normally look or sound much like the South Park character when introduced.
- In Ep 1.08 Like a Virgin there is a throwaway line that “Snow White took the purity test and got an 89.” The costumes take that line from allegorical to literal - Kimmy took the purity test and lied on it to seem more like virginal Meg, getting an 89. Given the ending of Ep 1.08, that definitely seems like something Kimmy would do.
- The Han and Leia costumes have an obvious implication. Yes, I’m aware that Luke/Leia would better reflect the season 1 incest story line, but that story line isn’t introduced until a few episodes after this takes place, and at the end of the day Duncan/Veronica aren’t siblings and I didn’t want to go that route. I have a soft spot for the Duncan/Veronica arc.
-Carrie Fisher and Paul Simon were married in real life, with a reportedly verbose, witty and tumultuous marriage. This seems like a good mirror for Veronica and Logan’s overall arc.
-the line where Veronica (dressed as Leia) says she can’t picture herself as a Disney princess is meant to work on a number of levels. First, as she rebuilds her life, she does gain gradual acceptance from many of her classmates, particularly after the events at the end of season 1. Second, eight years after the events of the book (2012), Disney acquired Lucasfilm, retroactively making Leia a Disney Princess, of a sort. Kristen Bell also gave voice to Anna in the Disney movie Frozen (2013), so she did, in fact become both a Disney Princess and a sort of ice princess as well. The “ice princess” line was frequently applied to Veronica. E.g. - Logan uses it in Ep. 2.05 Blast from the Past when snarking with Jackie Cook.
Norris Clayton reveals in Ep 1.18 Weapons of Class Destruction that he is both a weapons aficionado and has a crush on Veronica Mars. The events of this book attempt to give greater reason why he might like Veronica in particular.
Although largely ignored in the latter parts of the show, Wallace does mention in Ep. 3.05 President Evil that he has “always” wanted to be a mechanical engineer, and is shown triggering a smoke bomb with a remote control (that he presumably helped build) in Ep 1.01 Pilot. Wallace plays with remote control vehicles on a number of occasions throughout the show. After Mac is introduced, she morphs more into Veronica’s resident tech support, but Ep. 1.01 lays a groundwork for Wallace to have limited MacGyver-esque skills, sufficient to make Veronica’s prop in this book.
It was revealed in Ep 2.18 I am God that Dick Casablancas squirted PCHer Cervando with a bleach-loaded water gun during summer school 2005 (about 9 months in the future from the events of this book). I made it something he had done on multiple occasions.
Charlie Vaughn is intended to be the unnamed baseball player hanging out with Kelly Kuzzio in Ep 2.14 Versatile Toppings. He also appeared in Ep 2.13 Ain’t No Magic Mountain High Enough, and mentioned that one of his friends was on the bus. This was meant to provide a bit of color, that it was Rhonda Landers who was his friend (and maybe a bit more), and that an over-the-top angry response might be expected from the bellicose pitcher.
Cole does break up with Meg Manning a couple weeks in the future relative to this book in Ep 1.08 Like a Virgin, and he’s kind of a jerk about it. Due to the events of this book, Duncan beats up Cole after Ep 1.08, though he probably doesn’t tell anyone why. Duncan is, in fact, still hung up on Veronica, and as Ep 2.03 Cheatty Cheatty Bang Bang shows, he’s not above beating up someone to defend her.
The mayor, who is unnamed in the show, makes a brief appearance in ep 1.11 Silence of the Lamb. He is inexplicably not mentioned as running for re-election in a story arc in season 2, and newcomer Woody Goodman is the frontrunner - this book tried to provide an explanation.
Keith has what appears to be a friendly relationship with a reporter, Lloyd Blankenship. Using a tape like the one here to get a favor would help keep the otherwise laughingstock former sheriff on the good side of some press.
The Casablancas costume party, which occurs during the events of this book, is a major plot point for the later episode 1.10 An Echolls Family Christmas. The Casablancases are presented as a couple in that episode with wife #2, Sadie, mentioned as hosting. By Ep 2.03 Cheatty Cheatty Bang Bang, “Big” Dick Casablancas is now a “twice-divorced” man with a very new wife that he met during basketball season. Basketball season starts in November, so presumably wife #2 is on her way out the door during the events of this book, giving a bit more insight into Dick and Cassidy’s home life. Wife #1/the boys’ mom, Betina, makes a brief appearance in Ep 2.07 Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner.
In season three, ep 3.16 Unamerican Graffiti, Keith becomes pro tem Sheriff. By the end of the episode he fires four deputies that had been hired by Don Lamb, including Deputies Smith and Taylor. The names of the villains of the week here are intended to be the progeny of those two deputies, and are also a nod to two actors on Home Improvement. Two actors on the sit-com (Zachary Ty Bryan and Jonathan Taylor Thomas) guest starred on Veronica Mars as some of the less sympathetic jerks at her high school, Caz Truman and Ben the ATF agent, respectively. Taran Noah Smith, the actor who played the youngest brother, did not appear on the Veronica Mars show.

Non Plot related running gags and references:

The reference to The Outsiders, likening Veronica and Weevil to Darrel and Ponyboy, harkens back to an exchange between Wallace and Veronica towards the end of Ep 1.01 Pilot. Wallace was Sodapop.
Sunkist soda were one of the less subtle and most consistent product placements throughout the show, appearing prominently in Episodes 1.07 The Girl Next Door, 1.14 Mars vs. Mars, and 2.07 Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner.
“We used to be friends, a long time ago,” used here to describe Brock Trimalchio, are the lyrics to Veronica’s Mars’ title song, and was similarly used as a line in the precredits sequence of Ep 1.13 Lord of the Bling.
Matchbox 20/Rob Thomas (the musician) have a running gag throughout the Rob Thomas (showrunner) universe. Ep 3.19 Weevils Wobble But They Don’t Fall Down notably includes the line “Rob Thomas is a whore,” ironically right after product placement.
Ernest Hemingway has a bit of a running theme in Veronica Mars, being mentioned early in the Episode 1.21 A Trip to the Dentist and later in a plot-relevant manner, Ep 3.15 Papa’s Cabin.
Paris Hilton has a bit of a running gag in Veronica Mars. After appearing in Ep 1.02 Credit Where Credit’s Due in what was potentially a publicity stunt, the show then lampooned the heiress by name twice, once in Ep 1.20 M.A.D. (regarding the notorious video) and once in Ep 2.18 I am God (a House of Wax reference). The latter reveals that Paris Hilton gives Veronica nightmares. Ms. Hilton’s character (Caitlin Ford) makes no appearance in canon after episode 2, and has presumably left school in shame after that point. She does, however, make an appearance in E.E. Bailes’ excellent Kindle Worlds book Queen of Neptune, which would take place several weeks after the events of this novella. I had written it as if the person dressing up as the hotel heiress is just an unnamed blond ‘09er, but it works either way.
There are a number of cultural references in the book – most of them are called out by name in some fashion or another. Some also relate to similar references in the show, notably Johnny Cash Ep. 2.16 Rapes of Graff, Donnie Darko Ep. 1.16 Betty and Veronica, The Room Ep 3.16 Unamerican Graffiti, Spinal Tap Ep 1.11 Silence of the Lamb, Charlie’s Angels Ep. 1.02 Credit Where Credit’s Due, Animal House Ep. 2.16 Rapes of Graff, and Star Wars, which is a recurring theme.

Although not explicit, some other Kindle Worlds books which may relate to this one:

If E.E. Bailes’ excellent Queen of Neptune is part of this world, then Caitlin Ford is still around and she could be the Paris Hilton look-alike in this book. This was not intended.
Jeff Semonis’ Kindle Worlds short story gem First Day, which would take place a couple of months prior to this novella, has a similar outcast theme. The confrontation between Veronica and Weevil in The Scarlet Liter may also have more depth based on the somewhat antagonistic portrayal of their relationship in First Day. This novella is intended to work either way.
If Vin DeLoach’s outstanding Chekhov’s Gun is part of this world, it adds a bit of color to why the word “random” is in quotes when the random locker searches are mentioned in Chapter 2. The show made it clear that Veronica had advance knowledge of locker searches somehow, but Checkhov’s Gun gives some concrete reasons how and why. This novella is intended to work either way.

Chapter Text