Title: Get Tough, Get Even

Author: zmdr

Fandom: Veronica Mars

Rating: PG-13 for Language

Characters: Veronica

Summary: Post 3x20, Veronica takes it personally. Waaay personally.

Spoilers: All of VM is spoiled. Warning: Major character death. Possible OoC.

Disclaimer: Veronica Mars is one of the greatest shows. Ever. Pity I don't own it. Actually, if I own it I'll probably ruin it, as can be seen in the following fic. Rob Thomas owns all, CW owns rights. And thanks to for the transcript of Gory's confession. I lifted some of the premises from House of Lies, which is another excellent series with Kristen Bell acting in it. Also, any resemblance between my supporting characters and actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental – I picked names out at random – and I apologise.

Word count: 3400

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the subs.

Veronica

The sky, and Veronica Mars, weeps for Logan Echolls.

I take my keys, my wallet, my camera.

Loganohgod

I sprint out of Sunset Cliffs apartments.

Loganloganloganlogan

I have to remind myself to lock up.

I jump into the Saturn. I fling everything else on the passenger seat. I start the engine. I close the door. I check the rear view mirror. I reverse out of the parking lot.

I compartmentalise. Focus on the simple things. Close up the wall on the grief, rage and self-pity that threatens to spill out and cripple me physically like it did for the past hour.

I put the pedal to the metal.

I remember to switch on the headlights.

I make it to the Neptune Grand in record time. I don't run into any cops; they are probably all either at my destination, or glued to Sheriff Van Lowe's antics on live television.

I almost run over some paparazzi that are crowding the sidewalk. News vans crowd around the gates of the Neptune Grand. A news team scatters as I drive into a parking lot without stopping.

Yeah. Paparazzi. The flies who feed on celebrities. Scavengers. Last year they were here in force; what with Aaron's murder and BEAVERnotcassidy's suicide… Nothing escapes their lenses. I know that. I'm often behind a lens as well.

I ignore their dirty looks and shouts of protest. I ignore all but my objective: the Neptune Grand penthouse. Where the possible love of my life lies dead.

Stop thinking like that, Veronica. It may be a hoax. It may be a publicity stunt. He may just be missing.

My heart sinks as I round the corner. Police vehicles fill the Grand's parking lot. Their sirens illuminate the face of the hotel with alternating blue and red. White and blue police tape blocks the main entrance to the building. Police are keeping the press at bay.

This is no hoax. The police department is not that bored.

I spot a familiar face guarding a side entrance. I make a beeline for it.

Leo D'Amato

Fuck. This is not going to be pretty.

I see a short, blonde girl walk out of the crowd and toward me.

Veronica's wearing rumpled clothes. Her hair is pulled back from her face in an untidy ponytail. She's beautiful.

She's been crying. Her eyes are bloodshot and she looks absolutely exhausted.

I know the reasons why.

I know that the former sheriff has left for Sacramento to defend himself at the State Court.

I know that Vinnie has won the Sheriff race.

I know that behind me, Logan Echolls, who may or may not be Veronica's boyfriend, lies dead. And it's not pretty.

And I know that Veronica is in no shape to see what has happened to Logan Echolls.

"Leo, please let me through,"

"Veronica, now is not the time."

"Let me through."

"Veronica, this area is restricted."

"Let me through."

"You don't want to see what's inside. Trust me on this. "

"LET ME THROUGH!"

I was shocked. I had never seen Veronica exhibit such emotions before. She has never raised her voice in my presence. Her voice was full of raw emotion. Loss, anger, fear, and pain came out of those three words to slap me in the face.

"Ok Veronica, I'll let you through. However, I will be with you throughout. And I'm warning you, you really don't want to see this."

There I go again. Have I ever managed to say no to Veronica Mars?

She nods.

I call to Deputy Kramer. He agrees to cover for me, after I tell him that Veronica knew the vic.

I take her up to the penthouse.

Veronica

The lift doors open. I rush out as soon as they are wide enough. Leo grabs my arm, slows me down. I glare at him. He does not release me.

We walk through the open doors of the penthouse. I close my eyes as I cross the threshold.

When I finally open them, I feel grateful for the warnings. I feel grateful that I didn't rush over here immediately upon hearing the news. I feel grateful that the last I saw of Logan Echolls, he was giving me a look I could only describe as primal, and then owning up to his mistakes by apologising to Piz. He was so alive then, the future so full of possibility. I feel grateful that the coroners have already removed the body.

I hear that hangings are not pretty. At all.

I look around the room. I force myself to be clinical. Concentrate.

A leather belt hangs from the ceiling. It is looped around a light fixture. The belt is leather, and of good, solid construction. The belt is white, a stark contrast from the polished gold of the fixture.

Below the fixture is a stool, fallen on its side. Oak, four legs.

I see open bottles of liquor on the table. I identify Jack Daniels. Cristal. Absolut Vodka. Blue Label. I see and smell vomit in the dustbin. The television is turned on, looping The Big Lebowski. We used to watch it together all the time. I know half the lines, Logan knows…knew… maybe a quarter that.

I see a photo of him and I on the table. It is a shot of us in happier, livelier times. We are smiling. Right now, the amount of smiling we are doing on that photo seems a little unhealthy. It is from the day Logan first took me surfing, the day when I had the most fun I had in a very long while. It was the day when I had the audacity to think that there might actually be a happy ever after.

The universe has a way of throwing a spanner into the works. There is no happy ever after, no riding off into the sunset for future adventures, no end to the misery that plagues our existence. The higher you get, the more you hurt when the world brings it all crashing down.

Stop it, Veronica. Remember to be clinical.

I comply. The windows are securely locked. The door is undamaged, perhaps indicative of an absence of forced entry.

There is no sign of a struggle.

Oh God. This is about me. Logan killed himself because of me. Gory had nothing to do with it.

I feel myself losing control, and attempt to avoid my emotions with action.

I keep a straight face as I turn to Leo.

"Did he… did he leave a note?"

Leo brings it over. It's on a plain white sheet of paper. A brown stain in the shape of the underside of the cup graces the top right corner. It is enclosed in a transparent evidence bag.

I read it.

Ronnie,

I'm sorry for all the hurt I have caused you. Everything is my fault. I am, and have always been a coward. In the end, I'm my father's son. And I cannot risk hurting you anymore. I know that I will die someday. At least now it's on my terms. I'm sorry to leave you like Lily did.

Logan Echolls.

I stiffen. Logan would never call me Ronnie. And he would never sign off a note with his surname. He hated his father. He quoted from the last exchange I witnessed between him and one Gory Sorokin. And Lily was murdered.

I know what happened. It all makes sense now.

I was right. I had been right from the start. Gorya Sorokin, connected to the Russian mob, visited Logan last night. He probably forced him to get drunk, or Logan was already well on his way there. Logan probably thought that it was me at the door. Gory forces Logan to write a fake suicide note. He probably threatens me to ensure Logan's compliance. Maybe he even brought some muscle. Logan left clues for me in the note, something only I can pick up. Gory hangs Logan and makes it look like a suicide.

I suddenly notice the lack of crime scene photographers. I notice the lack of detectives. I remember seeing housekeeping outside the doors, waiting for the police to close the case so they can clean up. I realise that the esteemed Balboa County police department has categorised this as a routine suicide. No foul play suspected.

Why should they suspect foul play? The room was devoid of signs of struggle, the victim was clearly intoxicated, and he left a pretty compelling suicide note.

Except that the note was meant for me. Only I knew the truth behind the crime scene.

"May I take some photos?" I enquire.

"Go ahead, if that makes you feel any better."

Leo shakes his head at the police guard who attempts to stop me from photographing the crime scene.

I will thank him later.

I take as many shots as possible. Different angles. Every room. Every surface.

I take about five hundred shots. It takes about an hour.

I am steady, methodical, obsessive.

There is plenty of time to break down later.

I thank Leo and show myself out of the Neptune Grand. I ignore the video cameras and mikes that are shoved in my face as I push under the police tape.

The reporters block my way.

I continue walking.

They relent.

Once in the sanctuary of my car, I place my forehead on the steering wheel. Surprisingly, tears do not well up automatically in my eyes. I must have really cried myself out at home.

I reach within, and find not tears. I find a seething rage, bubbling and threatening to boil over.

I find not tears, but an all-encompassing sense of purpose which surpasses all other needs. The need for food, the need for sleep, the need for companionship.

The need to keep my father happy.

Dad is hundreds of miles away. He can't help me now. I'm 19, a legal adult. I have all the resources of Mars Investigations at my disposal.

I will stiffen my upper lip. I will straighten my shoulders. I will do what needs to be done.

I will burn the bridges behind me. There will be no going back.

I owe that, and more, to Logan Echolls.

I pull out of the parking lot abruptly, scattering some new journalists who are late to the biggest story in Neptune.

I smirk at their furious expressions.

Talk about small blessings. With Logan's death, Sheriff Van Lowe can't hog the victory spotlight much more.

More small blessings. The rain has slowed to a fine drizzle. The puddles on the road are slowly getting absorbed by the roadside drains. The streetlamp's diffuse reflection off the slick road surface forms halos on the windshield. I dial the wiper speed down to intermittent. I no longer have to worry about skidding off the road.

Now I am in no hurry to get anywhere. Gory will still be there in the morning. Logan will still be dead in the morning. Sleep sounds good. It will rest, revitalise, repair.

No. It will also make me forget.

I know I'm running on empty, but I have places to go, people to see, things to do.

Thunder fills the sky, threatening more precipitation.

The weather captures my mood.

I know what to do now. Gory must be destroyed. He must pay for what he has done. However, he can't be touched as long as he continues being a member of the Castle.

Jake Kane is going to hate me for this.

Mars Investigations

I open the safe. I remove the hard disc taped to the bottom of the top shelf.

I plug it into my computer. I flip through the folders filled with incriminating confessions.

I find Gory's confession. I watch through it. To the end, this time.

Gory: So...we figured we'd go up to the mountain cabin, get loaded, and take the boat out. Parents didn't need to know. So we're getting high up on the balcony. And I hear a car pull up, and I hide, but I got a good angle. And I see my dad and Uncle Lev get out of a car. They open the trunk and pull a couple bodies out. They-they are bloody as hell. And so they drag the bodies into the workshop. And the next thing, I hear the power saw going. I always wondered why my dad put a wood shop up in the cabin. So the next thing you know, he and Uncle Lev are taking a couple hefty bags down to the boat, going out to water. When they came back, somehow they knew I had seen them. Turns out that they are the Russian mob. Uncle Lev's the head, you know… Dad's the second in command. They warned me never to tell…

I grin to myself. It is savage and mirthless. I'm glad I don't have a mirror in front of me right now.

Note to self: when being videotaped, never do a confession and then say the disclaimers...

I could make Gory's life very unpleasant. After all, what could I lose? Without Logan my life was pretty much meaningless.

I sensed that I was missing something important.

What could it be? What's my subconscious trying to tell me?

I shrugged. My subconscious had a nasty habit of suggesting extremely stupid things. And also showing my recently dead friends in my dreams. Another reason as to why I am, temporarily at least, forgoing sleep.

Seeing Logan right now will only make it worse. I will, at best, lose my concentration and focus. At worst, I will lose my reason for living.

I reached out and grabbed a new empty hard disc from my drawer.

Can't hurt to make yet another copy. If Jake Kane wants his hard disc contents permanently destroyed, he'd have to find about 10 copies which I've hidden in every good place I could think of. Safe deposit boxes under assumed names, my car, my room, Weevil's house, Cliff's place, a few other lawyers; I think I've even sent one copy over to New York for Jackie. If I should suddenly disappear or die in an accident, the lawyers have instructions to turn the discs in to the nearest newspaper. I planned to make more but 10 copies, meticulously hidden, is still pretty good for half a day's work.

I plan for an hour. It is a bold plan, but it will be effective. It will undoubtedly royally piss some very powerful people off, but I have been there, and done that.

But this plan requires information.

Information which I do not have at the moment.

And the plan requires me to get my hands dirty.

I'll cross that bridge when I'm there. Then I'll burn it behind me. And dance in the ashes.

You can never be over-prepared. I need to approach this case with the utmost caution. I need to measure and predict the consequences of my actions.

No more What Ifs.

As I checked the space requirements for the file transfer, something catches my eye.

I have never noticed this before.

The total size of the files on the disc is less than the actual space used on the disc.

I need an expert opinion.

Which is why I'm calling Mac at midnight.

I call her from the Mars Investigations phone.

"Veronica?"

"Hey, Mac, sorry about the time…"

"Ohmygod I was soo worried! Why aren't you answering your phone?"

Oops.

"Erm. Hrm. I left it at home. I'm at the office right now."

"Look, Wallace, Piz, Dick and I have all been trying to call you for hours!"

Ok. Mystery solved. I'd forgotten about Piz. Who, as usual, comes second place to Logan. I really need to talk to him about this. It's clear my feelings for Logan significantly eclipse what I feel about him.

"Mac, I'm sorry. Can you do me a favour?"

"Veronica, I saw the news. I'm sorry about your Dad. And Logan? Oh my God..."

"Mac, this is not the time. I need your help."

"For you, especially now, anything."

"Tell me about hidden files. How do I locate them, view them, and do the above in, oh, about a minute? I'm kind of running on fumes at the moment."

Mac gives me the instructions. It is relatively simple. Turning on the 'view hidden files' option doesn't reveal anything new, so she sends me a file excavator which does the trick marvellously.

"Veronica, are you all right? Want me to come over? I'm sure Wallace and the rest would like to come too."

I am seriously tempted.

However, the night is still young.

My crusade for justice is just starting.

I hang up after saying no.

I turn my eyes to the files that were, until just recently, so cleverly hidden in plain sight.

It is good reading.

2 hours later

I sit back, amazed.

The Castle. Besides sharing all their dirty little secrets between members, something much larger is at foot. The hidden files are documents. Documents detailing various dealings. Records of financial transactions. Illegal dealings. Insider trading. Favor trading. Fraud on the scale of which Richard Casablancas, Senior can only dream about.

Investigation does not require the best memory. It does not require the best intelligence. It does, however, require the ability to connect the dots, and to be sharp. A good investigator needs to be able to take a look from above, see the big picture. I have always been good at that. It's a fact. I do not hide behind modesty. And luckily, I have also been blessed with above average memory and intelligence.

A PI with less perception would have been puzzled with the results of the Kendall Casablancas investigations. I saw the real estate fraud and I knocked down Big Dick Casablancas' house of cards.

What I am seeing is larger than a mere house of cards. It shows financial transactions numbering in the millions. It shows who received what, who gave what. LeBron La'toya, quarterback for the California Sharks, 1989 Castle pledger? Multimillion dollar sponsorship deal after a Castle-controlled company buys out the Sharks for a pittance. Jake Kane, owner of Kane Software? Short sells on Metro Capital Bank just as it files for bankruptcy.

Other tawdry tidbits I find in the folder: Sexual favors between staff of different Castle-controlled companies. Quid-pro-quo cultures in the companies; the exchange of sexual favours for advancement in the company ranks. Business practices who will make the SEC very interested with them.

I find even more shocking information. A rising Neptune politician, Michael Day, who was gaining popularity by promising the crackdown of secret societies and increase in security was assassinated ten years ago. The murderers were never found. I find a scanned newspaper clipping of the incident. Day's head was circled in red. Below it was written: "McKinley - Velasquez $500k". Prominent local businessman Jason Richards, missing, presumed dead 5 years ago. Who knew that he used to be a Castle member who was threatening to expose the organisation?

Apparently the Castle takes care of its own.

This is serious stuff. I have really hit the mother lode.

Wallace wasn't lying when he said that being in the Castle would mean that the world would be at ones feet.

Everything is nicely catalogued. Jake Kane is a stickler for details. He makes an excellent secret-keeper.

Thanks to him, I have the ammunition I need.

From the difficulty in accessing these files, I can guess that this hidden folder was compiled by Jake Kane, for Jake Kane. It is a secret from the rest of the Castle. Which means, Jake Kane cannot allow the information that I have discovered to reach the notice of the rest of the society.

I hit 'print' on my computer.

He must bend to my will.

He will have to do it at 3 am in the morning. After what I've discovered, I own him now. He just doesn't know it yet.

I still have an ace in the hole. But that's one ace I'd rather not have to use.

I still think I've missed something.

I walk out to the Saturn, in the rain. It still hasn't stopped.

The sky weeps for Logan Echolls. Veronica, however, can no longer cry.

A/N: Please review! Constructive criticism is very welcome.