His name was Orlando James. It was the type of name a mother gave her child with hopes that it might bring fame or fortune, or at least look good on the jacket of a book. He was a two-bit photographer who spent his time trying to take pictures of celebrities in compromising positions, dreaming that he'd stumble into the middle of the perfect tabloid scandal, making him rich. He also had a little habit on the side, one that he told himself he could control even though most of his money from the papers would be spent on getting higher than a kite. It was his little habit had lead him to cross paths with Trina Echolls.
It'd been easy to get the pictures. After all, she wasn't a movie star any more. She was a junky and out of it half the time. He'd spent a couple days feeding her heroin and taking pictures as she shot up, fucked anonymous guys for money and lay passed out on the dirty bedspread of the rent-by-the-hour fleabag motel. He'd developed the pictures, each one better than the next: his best work ever. Then it was time for part B of Orlando James' ride to riches.
He'd found Logan's address, knocked on the door and introduced himself, telling the maid that Mr. Echolls would indeed want to talk to him. He had some information for him. About Trina. Orlando had stood on the stoop for fifteen minutes, shifting his weight from foot to foot, before Logan finally stepped into the doorway. He would have waited forever because this was his moment to finally hit it big. He handed Logan the envelope, told him these were all copies and he needed 100 grand or he'd take them to every tabloid on the face of the earth so the world could see what had happened to the daughter of the infamous Aaron Echolls. A smile broke across his scraggly face as he turned and walked down the long driveway. Orlando James had hit jackpot. It was his lucky day.
Mr. James luck was about to change.
Veronica walked into the station room and threw herself into a chair at the desk of a middle-aged, slightly overweight police officer. He looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled.
"Know who this guy is, Smitty?" she asked, smacking on a piece of gum. She pushed a picture across the desk, a thin man in a camouflage jacket standing in front the doors of the Echolls house. Thank god for security systems.
The police officer looked down at the picture and back up at the small blond slouching down into the uncomfortable office chair. She'd been off the force for five years, but Veronica Mars had kept in touch with her boys and bought them enough donuts that she could ask for favors now and then. This was one of those times.
"Jesus, Ronnie. Not even a fucking hello for an old man."
"Fucking hola, Smitty. Now, who is he?"
Hundreds of perps passed through the main station and it was a long shot this guy would be recognized. But Veronica had to take it. She'd been hoping the blackmailer had at least had the lack of intelligence to have driven to the Echolls house to the security cameras could capture a license plate as well as a face, but she'd had no such luck.
"Yeah, yeah." Smitty said after studying the picture for a moment. "You're in luck. This guy came through a couple months ago. Some high and mighty bitch starlet complained he was harassing her. We didn't have enough to hold him. Let me see…"
Veronica pushed herself up in the chair as Smitty's fingers clicked across his keyboard.
"Orlando James. Yeah that was his name. Fuckin' pretentious, but this is Hollywood baby."
Veronica smiled at Smitty's wisecracking tone.
"Could I have the print-out?" she asked, knowing her request would meet resistance but she had faith in her power to charm.
"Crap, Ronnie. You know we can't give this stuff out to civilians…"
She batted her eyelashes.
"Am I really a civilian? Don't I fall into some gray area?" she said, putting her hand out. "Please, Smitty."
"Ah, fuck." He clicked on the screen and Veronica heard the whir of the outdated printer sitting behind the desk. Smitty leaned back and grabbed the papers then shoved them across the desk, along with the picture of the infamous Mr. James.
"Thanks sweetheart." Veronica said, shoving the papers into her bag.
"Don't be such a stranger, Mars." Smitty said as she pushed herself out of the office chair.
"I miss you guys." Veronica said sincerely.
Being an officer had given Veronica meaning for a little while. There were bad guys out there in the world and she needed to kick their ass and put them in their place. Then the raid had happened and Veronica could still feel the strange cold feeling that had spread through her shoulder when the bullet hit, tearing through muscle, tendon and bone.
Their source had said only two people would be in the house. They hadn't mentioned the third person that had risen up from behind boxes of figurines stuffed full of cocaine smuggled from the Caribbean.
It was a typical drug bust, a house that was used for cutting blow, a table set up where illegal immigrants would sit working with dangerous chemicals for less than minimum wage while the dealer got rich. The girls had gone home for the day when the police banged on the door, yelling LAPD before breaking it in. They'd found the two guys the informant said would be there and quickly thrown them to the floor. Veronica remembered one of the officers yelling at her to secure the back. She'd looked over at Martinez and he'd nodded as he motioned toward the back of the house.
Veronica couldn't tell anyone how much she wished she could have been the first person through that door that night. If she had, it might all be over. Instead she was left with the memory of falling to the floor, her arm grabbing at her shoulder, jaw clenched with pain. She was covered with something sticky. She'd only realize later it was what was left of Martinez's brains as they splattered all over her after the bullet blew off the back of his head.
It wasn't long after that she'd left the force.
It was hard to go to the station. Too many memories. Veronica walked out into the hazy L. A. afternoon, took a deep breath and hucked her gum into a garbage can. She was always glad to leave the memories behind. She walked over to her Volvo, pulled open the door and slipped inside. Then she sat, just staring for a moment, feeling the ache in her shoulder that always started any time she got around this building. Finally she turned the key in the ignition and back out of her parking spot. Time to get back to the task at hand.
A half hour later she was back to the comfort of her office, the past left firmly behind as Veronica started to think through what her next move would be in figuring out what to do with the illustrious Mr. James.
"Hey boss lady." Mac called as Veronica walked past her office. Veronica stopped in the doorway and leaned on the doorjamb.
"How was dinner last night?" Veronica asked, knowing the answer already.
"Fantastic. Indonesian fried rice with tofu and some red wine. You should have come."
"And Alice?"
Mac's face lit up at the mention of her girlfriend's name.
"Fantastic. She's finishing an article for some anthropology journal and her semester will be over in a couple weeks. She said to say hi and you should come over soon."
Mac always invited her over, but she'd been especially persistent the last couple weeks since she knew the anniversary coming up. Veronica would always say no, but there was some comfort in knowing that her friend cared. Mac was one of the few stable people in Veronica's life.
"You're the best, Mac." Veronica said, her voice filled with genuine warmth and love. She turned to go to her office then stopped. She'd almost forgotten about Mr. James.
"Hey, I have a new case and I need background."
Mac nodded. No problem boss lady. Veronica fished in her bag and pulled out the print out she'd gotten at the station. Mac grinned as she took the paper, knowing even having the printout was illegal.
"And…" Veronica hesitated. "I need one more thing."
"Sure." Mac said, already clicking away at her computer.
"Could you do a background on Logan Echolls?"
The tapping stopped and Veronica winced. Then Mac peered around her computer screen, eyes wide at hearing a name that was never mentioned around her tough-as-nails boss.
"Fuck me. Are you sure?"
No, Veronica wasn't sure. She'd promised herself when she took Logan's case that the past was the past, that this was just another case, another paycheck. Less than 24 hours and she was crossing the line she'd drawn in the sand. Now Mac was staring at her, her eyes asking if this was the best idea. She and Wallace had been one of the few pieces who saw the devastation Logan left in his wake. She was one of the few who knew how much Veronica had lost.
Veronica could have told her to forget it. She could have done the right thing and left Logan in the past where he belonged. Get the case over with and walk away. But she didn't. Instead she lied.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
