"Hi, I'm Shannon," her voice chimed clear and sweet as she jerked out her hand like a sixteen-year-old on her first real job interview, "Shannon Mayfield. I'm so glad we'll get to work together. Maybe we can be friends!"
Sara's eyebrow lifted ever-so-sarcastically as her gaze ran her new colleague up and down in an obvious, appraising manner.
Come on, Sara, let's play nice.
"What's your name?" The petite blond agent smiled innocently, lowering her unreciprocated hand as discreetly as possible.
"Sara," the girl behind the bar grunted,"and that's all you need to know."
With a smirk, she flipped around to resume working on the cocktails, her thick, brunette pony tail barely missing Veronica's face.
Two years behind the desk sure spreads the rust.
"Oh, hi Sara. Maybe if you're not busy later, you can show me around the place? I mean, I've waited before, of course; but I've never been in a club as cool as this."
Stop the eyelash-fluttering, Veronica, that only works on boys.
She waited another moment before Sara turned back around. The senior waitress plopped a tray of tall glasses on the bar between them - each filled with mysterious, fizzing neon blue liquid. She nudged the tray towards Veronica.
"Look, Shannon, or whatever-the-heck your name is. Make yourself useful. The Marines ain't a place to play the ditzy blond and hook a rich boyfriend. These men - " she cocked her head towards the general crowd, "they got wives and girlfriends to go back home to. We're just here to serve them drinks, alright? Now snap out of it, Cinderella."
With an exaggerated huff in the direction of her side-swept bangs, Veronica-as-Shannon promptly picked up the tray and weaved a path amongst the shiny, well-clad crowd.
She wasn't lying when she asked for directions around The Marines. FBI agent or not, she still didn't quite know the ropes around this place. With barely enough inside-info, this assignment had been considered risky, if not dangerous. With only a food service employment agency as the fed's connection, anyone placed inside the subterranean nightclub would pretty much be left to themselves - and, of course, their partner.
Partner - yeah, about that.
Having subtly placed her tray on to an unassuming cocktail stand, Veronica slipped into an unoccupied corner. Her right hand slipped beneath her straight, blond locks to raise her earpiece volume. She jumped.
"Not so loud!" she snapped with no attempt to disguise her anger.
"Sorry, partner, I had no choice. You weren't answering me back," the male voice on the line complained.
"It's loud in here, alright, Seth? I told you I'd beep you if I needed you. So stop panicking every other minute."
"It's hard not to when your partner doesn't answer."
"Well, fine, partner, I give you permission to leave me alone. They're not gonna tell a new waitress everything, okay? I'm not gonna figure this out in a day. You don't have to listen to every frickin' word I say."
"Sorry, gal, I kinda do."
Veronica exhaled in pure exasperation. What was she thinking by letting another ex-boyfriend be her assignment partner? But then again, the moment she heard about the 20-year-old who'd been raped and murdered after being dozed with GHB at The Marines, she knew there was no one else for the job. She had experience waiting tables, could look very young at will, and carried in her an unquenchable fire to find the killer. Besides, after two years behind the desk, she was itching to get on the field again. And if Seth was the only other agent senior enough and vacant enough to be assigned to this job, then so be it.
"Sorry, Seth, I get it. Just - don't stress, okay? Give me a moment. I just gotta serve some expensive drinks to entitled fools for a moment. Talk to you later."
She lowered the volume and squeezed out to reunite with her abandoned tray.
With perfect ease, Veronica glided between the clusters of said entitled fools currently enjoying themselves at the Los Angeles hotspot, giving glasses in exchange for bills along the way. The Marines was not exactly a popular nightclub in the populace's definition of the word. It was, however, the hiding place for many a millionaire's mistress, young heiresses' underage drinking, and secret celebrity hook-ups.
And here we go, Veronica Mars. After a lifetime of running away from the 09ers, you are serving champagne in their backyard.
The shortlist of club owners given her may not have any Entertainment Weekly regulars on it, but she was certain each name had sufficient backstory for a front-page article. Phil Morris, Douglas Marks, Barry Hearn - she ruminated each name in her mind as she served her second round of drinks. She had been told about two other investors who had tried to keep their involvement incognito. The complete list would be sent over in a couple of days, but she was anxious to know before then.
Nothing shouts guilt like a secret benefactor.
"Hey, Shannon, two o'clock."
Veronica almost jumped at the sudden voice to her right; Sara leaned close with a smirk on her face.
Gotta re-sharpen those stealth skills.
Turning her eyes to Sara's indicated direction, Veronica spotted three tall figures exchanging handshakes. A frosted-glass sliding door intercepted her view two seconds later.
"Who are those?" Veronica whispered, all youthful curiosity in her tone. Sara, never one to waste a minute, had already moved forward with her own tray, leaving Veronica to play catch up behind her.
"Working at The Marines means keeping secrets, buddy. You hear nothing; you see nothing." The senior waitress did her rounds masterfully as she spoke.
"Okay?" Veronica struggled to keep her ear turned towards Sara's low whispers as the latter swivelled from side to side in a familiar path.
"And you don't react if any guest tries to interact with someone else, even if the other person appears unwilling."
This is interesting.
"I see."
"But there are some exceptions."
Veronica almost crashed into Sara when the taller brunette stopped abruptly.
With another smirk, Sara leaned in to instruct, "Those men in the room? They own this place. No one talks to them unless they're invited into the Red Room. If you see someone coming at them, you block the way. Understand?"
Veronica nodded, willing every muscle in her face to convey simple obedience.
"See? You're smarter than you let on, girl." Sara laughed. With an adept twist of her body, she did her magic at the bar and presented Veronica with a fresh tray of drinks; this time, each one different. "The orange one is for Mr. Marks, the curly-haired one in a khaki-colored suit. The kiwi fizz is for Mr. Larkin; you may know him from the movies. The black coffee's for Mr. Lester, tall one in black. Got it?"
A second passed before Veronica realized what she had just been ordered to do.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good, now go."
She lifted the tray, smiled, and took the path to glory.
Hard work means good intel. On the field, I've long sworn by the standard that any piece of information is best measured by the difficulty of its procurement. It couldn't really be this easy, could it?
Veronica feigned calm as she finally paused outside the sliding door. A tall, muscled guard to her left lifted an item that humorously resembled a barcode reader and scanned her name tag. With a nod from the man, the door slid open for Shannon Mayfield.
Her eyes quickly took in the interiors of the mysterious Red Room - modern back lighting, golden patterns on rich crimson wallpaper, spacious seats, and a generous metal-framed table. Three men sat leisurely on the big, luscious furniture. Two were facing her, while the other showed only the back of his head.
Remembering where she was, Veronica quickly sported a polite smile - not too warm, but not too stilted. She walked over to the table and placed the drinks in front of their corresponding owners. Mr. Marks, Mr. Larkin -
Thank God Connor Larkin won't remember every other standard issue fangirl.
When she turned with the last drink in her hand, the tall man in black whose face she had not yet seen was now standing straight in front of her.
She looked up.
She gulped.
"Mr. Lester," she squeaked.
A/N: How is it? Is there any potential? I've been ruminating on this story for so long that I think I've lost all objectivity about it. Hope you enjoy :)
