Introduction
So, this is a continuation of the best series of all-time: Veronica Mars. The story will vary between Veronica's POV and Third Person. When it switches to third person, a word/group of words such as Logan's or Mac's will appear. This is more similar to the first and second seasons of the show and hopefully will do justice to the untimely death of our beloved persnickety sleuth. If you need me to explain what the title references, please drop your query in your review.
The regulars:
Veronica Mars
Logan Echolls
Cindy "Mac" MacKenize
Dick Casablancas
Wallace Fennell
Leo D'Amato
Eli "Weevil" Navarro
Keith Mars
Veronica Mars:
Year Four
Chapter One: The Day the Quad Stood Still
The testosterone-charged surf of the day-- the scantily-clad girls chasing after a summer fling-- a summer in Neptune. So sorry I missed out this time around-- wait, scratch that. I don't care. Where'd I spend my summer you might ask. Well, the possibility of an internship at the FBI was too tempting to pass up-- I spent my summer two thousand five hundred and seventy four miles away from Neptune California-- and it still didn't feel like enough.
I left for Washington June 9th-- a day sandwiched between two life-altering events; the day before Wallace's departure for Africa-- and the day after the results of the sheriff election were tallied. In short, Dad lost. Again-- well, at first… But that's skipping ahead…
---
The plane ride is a blur-- okay, I've always hated flying so I slept through it. I woke up right as we were landing-- perfect timing, right?
Still groggy, I got off and found out that this guy who'd been sitting a few rows in back of me on the plane was a fellow intern-- we shared a cab to the hotel we'd be staying at for free courtesy of the FBI and got to talking; he seemed like a great future colleague-- charming, handsome-- he had a girlfriend back home who'd been in my Calculus class.
Too bad he turned out to be such an ass.
---
The door opens.
"Miss Fennell," I greet.
"Hello, Veronica," she replies.
"How's Wallace?" I ask-- it seems like the millionth time since August.
Before she can answer, my name is called: "Veronica!"
Wallace. I still hate looking at him. I don't know what does it to me-- anger--? compassion-?- empathy? Try all of the above; Wallace spent his summer in Darfur-- helping people-- and someone thought it'd be downright rebellious of them to leave a packaged bomb outside the door.
Wallace picked it up.
It blew off his right hand.
---
I got the call mid-August; the week before I was due home.
Dad's the one who told me; I cried for about an hour, called my supervisor and explained the situation; he gave me the okay to take the next flight home. I did.
There was a lot of waiting around; me and Dad stayed in the living-room whenever he wasn't at work. Miss Fennell kept us posted on Wallace's condition-- there were a few days we weren't sure if he'd live or not.
A couple weeks after his surgery, Wallace was discharged from the hospital and Dad and I drove to the Fennel's to see him.
Overcome with emotion, I started crying the second I saw him. He looked so-- so different; paler-- he'd lost weight.
"How's it going, buddy?" I asked, trying to sound calm despite the altogether wildness of the situation.
"Better… I guess," he sounded indifferent; I'm pretty sure I'd be at least a little angry if I lost a hand-- maybe that makes Wallace a stronger person than me. Who knows. He showed me the stump of his right arm, "Makes me wish I was a leftie."
---
Wallace climbs into the passenger-seat of the car gracefully-- I guess I expected the opposite.
"Are you sure you're ready?"
Wallace turns around; his mother is watching him-- worry in her eyes.
"I'm fine, Mom," he replies.
"Bye Miss Fennell."
"Bye Veronica. Wallace, be--"
"I'm fine, Mom."
With that said, we begin the trek up to Hearst, "Now that the freshman fifteen's behind us, let's remember to avoid carbs at all costs-- we really should make our role models the lovely girls of the Theta Zeta Beta sorority."
Wallace laughs; I still find it hard to believe that he can laugh.
What Wallace doesn't know-- and maybe it's better that he doesn't, I'm doing my damndest to try and find out whoever blew off his hand.
---
"Mac."
"Veronica."
I slide into the seat beside her, "So, how's our love life treating us?"
"Max is as great as ever-- the illustrious college dropout he is."
"So, that whole thing didn't put a damper on your relationship?"
"Surprisingly not-- I decided let him make his own mistakes-- they're not going to effect me. His money earning technique isn't going to get me to stop from getting full points in this class without trying."
She and I signed up for one of those Info Technology courses-- a joke yes, but ten credits nonetheless.
"How's yours?"
"Well-- nonexistent. I haven't really had time for dating what with the internship, Dad, and Wallace since the breakup."
Did I mention that Piz and I are officially over?
---
A couple days after my arrival in Washington, I got a voice message. From Piz. Thinking it'd be the usual "Hope your internship is doing great," I gave it an eager listen. I found an "We need to talk" instead.
I called Piz after listening to the message about ten times to make sure I'd heard right. In less than five minutes, we were broken up. Over the phone-- I guess that's what pisses me off the most-- I mean, sure I've had bad breakups-- but at least every time, it was done in person-- I mean, how callous is it to end a relationship standing somewhere thousands of miles away?
The reason? I'm still not entirely sure-- I vaguely remember Piz saying something about me being able to "get over it quickly."
After that, I didn't here from Stosh Piznarski again-- and to be frank, I don't care to.
---
"Hey, you're the one who solved the Dean's murder last fall, right?"
"The same."
I turn around to find a kid I don't know-- a more-than-slight acne problem and a bulbous nose. How do these people find me?
"Veronique, right?"
"Veronica. Mars. Private investigator," I still give myself chills whenever I say that-- if only I had business cards to hand out to do the bit properly.
"Yeah, whatever-- look, I need a favor."
---
After school, I pick Wallace up and drop him off at his home before heading over to the office.
"How was your first day?" he asks casually.
"Abysmal. Why?"
"I saw Piz-- he asked about you."
"I'm flattered. How was your day?"
"Eh… There was some staring-- I guess it's expected. Anything exciting at all?"
"I got the first case of the year-- didn't even catch the client's name."
The case ended up being one of those two hour things; a missing wallet if you'll believe it; I ended up finding it in the kid's Creative Writing classroom-- the professor had picked it up and was safe-keeping it for him.
An easy hundred bucks.
I guess my Private Investigator career is beginning to flourish.
---
"V Mars, PI."
Did I mention I love the sound of that?
A deep breath is taken by the caller-- I know what (s)he's going to say before the words pour out of his/her mouth, "I think my husband's cheating on me."
A woman-- or a cross dresser. That'd make the case a bit more interesting-- the likelihood of that one is a bit fleeting though.
I explained the going rates; in a couple of minutes, I'd gotten the client's address and license plate number of her husband; I ran the plate number: one Stephen Thompson. Hearst alumni, avid skier, yada yada yada.
"Hey, Veronica."
Dad. I shut off the computer and turn around to face him, "Hey," I greet, "How was work, Sheriff Mars?"
"The usual. Caught a coke dealer-- sent him to prison. Leo handled the paperwork. How was school?"
I made a fake yawn, "Fine. I got a case-- got another just right now-- I'm holding an old-fashioned stake-out to catch an adulterous businessman-- just like old times when I called you Boss."
"You never called me Boss."
"Okay, maybe I exaggerate sometimes."
"Wealthy family?"
"Probably-- usually is-- poverty usually prevents infidelity; a poor family is a happy family after all."
"When are you leaving?"
"Right now-- I'll grab some drive-through."
"Junk food is good food."
"Okay, I'll see you when I get home-- I'll try to get the money shot before midnight."
Grabbing my keys, I head out the door.
"Veronica," I turn, "be careful."
"As always, Sheriff Mars."
Okay, you might be confused-- I know I said Dad lost the election and all that good stuff, but there's more to it than that.
---
The major reason Dad lost the election 30 to 70 in favor of his opponent Vinnie Van Lowe was due to evidence disappearing right under Dad's nose-- evidence that concerned me. Dad was behind it all-- one of the reasons I was fuming at him for about a month after I left home.
While in Washington, however, I got an envelope from Mac: I opened it to find a newspaper. The headline: "Vinnie's Friends in Lowe Places." I read on to find that an "anonymous tipster" had sent in pictures of Vinnie in obvious cahoots with the Fitzpatricks-- and helping carry out quite illegal actions.
An anonymous vote chose to re-embrace Dad as Neptune's sheriff.
So, Vinnie lots his job-- his trial is set to begin this December-- best of all, his first job as official sheriff, Dad put Liam Fitzpatrick behind bars. The crime of Neptune is at an all-time low and Dad and I are best friends forever again.
---
I took a long sip of the Diet Coke I'd picked up at Jack in the Box. The carbonation was gone-- how long had I been here? I checked the time on the dashboard: 11:47-- over three hours. I'd picked up the guy as he left work-- he'd met up with the hussy-- or whoever she was at a house a couple blocks away from Weevil's.
No money shot as of yet.
They must be having the time of their life.
My phone rings: it's Dad. I pick up, "Hey."
"Hey. You all right-- you sound--"
"Nope, just tired. The guy should be out soon-- they've been in there canoodeling well over three hours. I'll be back by one."
"What happened to twelve?"
"Sorry. Don't wait up for me-- I'll be fine. Mr. Sparky's tucked away safe in the glove compartment."
"All right, baby-- just be safe."
We say our goodbyes and hang up; he's been acting like that lately-- more overprotective, I mean-- ever since what went down in Washington. It was nothing life-threatening or anything but that's what dads do. It's their job: they worry.
The door to the house opens, "Finally."
I snag five incriminating shots of the ill-fated lovers and zoom off into the distance before I can be spotted.
---
Logan's
He hears Dick's snoring in the other room but doesn't bother to shut him up-- Dick met up with some skanky tramp on the beach that day-- she'll wake him up before long: "Ow, what was that for?" he cracks a smile at Dick's annoyance.
Summer was a bust; after Parker's and his breakup and her deciding not to return to Hearst for Sophomore year in conjunction with Dick's father's legal troubles, Logan had spent half the time at the beach trying to get his mind off of Parker and Veronica and the other half of the time in the hotel room trying to ignore the urges to slap Dick out of his nearly catatonic state in which he spent the whole day drinking and bitching about Beaver-- scratch that, Dick now only referred to him as Cassidy: "All he ever wanted was to be loved, you know? And all he got was crap from Dad, me, then Kendall-- and Mom didn't seem to give a rat's ass about him either-- I remember one time-- he was eight or nine-- and Mom decided to take her family skiing in the Alps-- Cassidy begged to go for weeks, man-- and Mom told him in the end she just didn't want a 'nuisance' coming along. Can you believe that, man? She called him a goddamn nuisance-- and that's nothing compared to what I called him." This speech-- among Dick's similar rantings about forgotten birthdays, pantsings at NHS and various other glimpses into the troubled childhood that drove Cassidy to a suicide-- Dick seemed to forget now that he'd also managed to kill about a dozen people.
Logan rolls over, gets out of bed and turns on the tube. The Big Lebowski is on.
He can't sleep.
He has Veronica on his mind.
---
Logan's
He wakes up almost forgetting he has a class today.
He calls for room-service (a bagel and coffee-- nothing too fancy), and dresses as Dick sees his one-night stand out of the room, "I had a nice night," she says.
"Me too," Dick says before slamming the door in her face-- he doesn't even bother to kiss her goodbye.
Since his father's incarceration, Dick's been "spending the night" with a different girl each and every night-- Logan's lost count.
"Not seeing her again," Dick says, slightly disgusted.
"Your bluntness surprises me."
"She told me in the sack in the middle of-- y'know-- she told me that my face scractched her-- she said I needed a shave."
"How rude of her," Logan replies sarcastically.
The doorbell rings, "Room service?" Dick asks hopefully.
"I didn't order the breakfast champagne or anything-- you'll have to do that yourself."
Logan answers the door, tips the server and heads out the door after eating his breakfast in a haste in order to avoid Dick's morning lamentation.
---
The following evening, after school, I phone Mrs. Thompson. She's at the office in about five minutes; her hair's messed up, her makeup less than perfect. She left the house in a rush-- I almost hate handing her the evidence that's going to destroy her marriage.
She looks through the photos carefully; at the end, she basically lets out a high-pitched shriek of despair, "What is it?" I ask almost scared.
"This woman…"
"Lydia Peters… a dental assistant."
"Is my mother."
"Wow."
"You're sure they're--"
"…being intimate? He was there for almost four hours-- I'm sorry, Mrs. Thompson."
Her shrieking subsides into a gentle sobbing; mumbling a "Thank you," bewildered, she heads out the door.
Talk about a drastic change-up from the usual adulterous husband I-can-solve-this-with-my-eyes-closed-case.
---
The following day, I head directly for Hearst without picking Wallace up-- I've memorized his schedule for him and he doesn't have a class today.
Class drones on as usual; an unexpected pop quiz on the first day of my second Criminology course proves an easy A-- although it also riles up my fellow classmates.
---
Class ends.
I head for the car.
It's then that I hear it-- an explosion.
I turn around to find one of the fraternity houses up in smoke-- the smell of it is awful. In a matter of seconds, a crowd forms around me.
And the worst part of it is, we can actually hear the people inside as those who have survived the initial explosion slowly and painfully burn to death…