Part II - Chapter 2

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns..." Logan wasn't sure it really fit, but he loved his movie quotations so he figured he could make it work.

The Casablanca parallel wasn't perfect, of course. For instance, there hadn't been a girl, no beautiful Ilsa, bravely sacrificing her personal happiness to help the war effort. No, there had only been Dexter Briggs and his gadget. But Logan often wondered where he'd be if Dexter hadn't come into that gin joint at just that particular moment. Often wondered how he would have survived. If he would have survived.

For the first few weeks after Veronica left him, Logan had felt like he was sleepwalking. As if he'd simply forgotten how to live. He slept when he was too tired to stay awake any longer, ate when he felt a gnawing in his stomach, but otherwise, he just...took up space.

At first, he tried to avoid everything that reminded him of her, but it just wasn't possible. She was everywhere he looked, in every room of his house, along the beach where they'd walked for hours, in the flower boxes whose contents had withered and died because what was the point in watering them?

In the beginning, and for a long time afterwards, Logan had wished that he could wither and die, too. Everywhere he'd looked there was pain. He'd lost his child, the one he hadn't even known he'd wanted until it was on its way. And the love of his life had left with scarcely a word. He hadn't the smallest hope that she'd ever return.

But the human spirit is resilient, and the pain gradually began to recede, until one day it became...manageable. And Logan thought that he might want to live after all. He'd considered selling the house, but there didn't seem to be much point. There wasn't a chance that he could ever forget Veronica, or the child that had died, so he thought he might just as well remember them in the place where he'd been so happy.

When Dick finally got home after frittering away six months of his life, he spent weeks trying to coax Logan out of his house to play. He was only partially successful. He managed to coax him exactly two miles down the road, where Logan discovered the Beachside Tavern, an establishment that he had never before set foot inside, but which quickly became his watering hole of choice.

Even though the clientele were mostly working class stiffs with absolutely nothing in common with the 22-year-old multi-millionaire, Logan soon began to waste time there on a regular basis. The bar's usual customers found him a little eccentric, and at first they gave him a wide berth. But that problem resolved itself very satisfactorily once he began every visit by buying a round for the house. A measurable increase in popularity soon followed.

For Logan, the Tavern's main attraction was that its patrons had no earthly idea who he was. He was obviously a stinking rich oddball, but the Tavern had always been the kind of place that accepted oddballs of all stripes.

Like, for instance, Dexter Briggs.

Logan was sitting one night at what had become his usual table, when the door opened with a bang. Standing in the doorway was the nerdiest-looking guy that Logan had ever seen. And he was soaking wet. Which was odd, because it had finally stopped raining in Southern California.

"The goddamned Pacific Ocean is fucking cold!" the newcomer announced to the room in general.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan Echolls was amused.

"So do you often swim in," he paused to take a closer look at the man's sodden attire, "a business suit? Because unless that suit is made of some kind of miracle fabric, I think it's pretty much trashed."

The man moved further into the room, and Logan could see that he was shivering. Logan thought suddenly that this looked like someone who might be even more pathetic than he was.

"Hey, man," he said, "why don't you sit down here and we'll see about drying you off a little?"

"Hey, Jack," Logan called out to the bartender, "you got any kind of towels around here?"

The barkeep eyed the newcomer balefully, watching as he dripped seawater all over the hardwood floor, but he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the large tip that he knew would be coming his way from Logan at closing. He fished out a half dozen bar rags from beneath the counter and tossed them over.

Logan pushed a chair out with his foot and said again, "Sit."

The newcomer blinked once, twice, and finally heaved himself into the chair. Logan pushed the bar rags in his direction, nodding that he should use them. The man picked up the top one and began to wipe off his face and hair.

"Now why don't you tell me what you were doing in the Pacific Ocean, in the middle of February, at," Logan glanced at his wrist, "eleven o'clock at night?" He smile slightly. "Wearing a suit."

The man set down the rag, looking a little chagrined. "It was stupid."

"Well, that part's obvious. But what was your particular brand of stupidity?"

"I was going to...kill myself."

"And what stopped you?" Logan asked. Considering his mother's unhappy end, Logan wondered why he didn't find this conversation more upsetting.

"It was too cold," came the response.

And suddenly, the two of them were laughing at the absurdity of the situation as the man picked up another rag and began again to dry himself off. Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a good laugh. Or any laugh at all.

The man suddenly stuck out his hand. "Dexter Briggs," he said.

Logan took his hand, shook it, and offered, "I'm Logan. Why don't you tell me the rest?"

Dexter shook his head ruefully. "It's all about this," he said, taking off his sodden suit coat. From the inside pocket, he pulled out an object, and began to unwrap it from the multiple layers of plastic surrounding it. "I hope I haven't ruined it."

"What is it?" Logan asked.

"It's a tricorder." Dexter looked up at him defensively, as though expecting his next remark.

"A...tricorder? Like...in Star Trek?"

"Why does everyone ask that?" Dexter whined.

Logan didn't even attempt a response to that. "So what does this have to do with your midnight swim in the Pacific?" he asked.

Dexter sighed. "Okay," he said, "here's my pathetic story. Of course I know that a...tricorder is a fictional device. I just called it that while I was working on it. Because there is no name for this thing."

He looked to make sure that Logan was still paying attention.

"I've been working on this for years. Well, ever since I graduated from MIT. It's a medical diagnostic tool. It can be used to detect 15 different diseases, reads body temperature, blood pressure, pulse rate, and oxygen levels. All without ever touching the patient."

He looked up then, searching for a reaction.

Logan looked skeptical and intrigued all at the same time.

"And this...device...really works?"

"Oh, yeah," Dexter said. "It works. Five different pharmaceutical companies have tested it and agree that it works."

"Well, then," Logan was perplexed. "Seems like it would be kind of useful. Like maybe someone should start making them."

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" Dexter said. "And maybe I'm being selfish, but dammit! I spent so long creating this and I want to see it through." He paused at the deepening confusion on Logan's face.

Dexter sighed. "They all want the device. They've all been working furiously on their own versions, but they haven't been able to..."

He looked up at Logan. "I'm a selfish prick. I know it. But they just want to buy my patent and make the thing themselves. I know I should let them." He laughed at himself. "That's why I had it wrapped up in plastic. I figured they'd find it and use it after I was...gone."

Logan stared at Dexter for a moment. "You know you're nuts, right? Your body could have ended up anywhere. And that...thing would probably have been ruined."

He looked thoughtful. "So they all looked at it and wanted it, but didn't want you along with it. Is that it?" Dexter nodded.

Logan suddenly realized that for the past hour, while he'd listened to Dexter Briggs and speculated on whether his fantastic device could possibly work, he hadn't once thought about Veronica or their baby, or about how empty his life was. He'd been interested, engaged, even intrigued.

What the hell? he thought. It's better than sitting in this bar every night waiting to have a life. And what the fuck else do I have to do with my money?

"Okay," Logan said to a disbelieving Dexter Briggs. "What do you say we go make a whole lot of these things?"

He paused. "But first, let's change the fucking name."

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Logan gave the still-soaking Dexter a ride back to his motel and extracted a promise from him that he wouldn't leave Neptune until he'd heard from Logan. Dexter's face said he wasn't sure if this was on the level, but he was desperate enough to take the chance.

The next day, Logan put in a call to a surprised Keith Mars.

"Logan," he said, his tone uncertain. "How have you been?"

"Relax, Keith," he said. "This call has nothing to do with...her."

"No? Well, okay, then. What can I do for you?"

"I want to hire you. I've run into a little...business opportunity, but I need to have someone checked out before I decide whether or not to invest."

Logan gave Keith the particulars and asked for a complete rundown on Dexter Briggs as fast as he could get it done.

"What's the rush?"

"I don't know, Keith. I just have a feeling about this project, like it's something I'm meant to do. Hell, I've been sitting around feeling sorry for myself for months now, and I can't do that for the rest of my life. So, yeah, quick as you can."

"Logan..." Keith paused. "How are you...really?"

"I've been...better."

"Yeah," Keith said, just before he hung up. "Haven't we all?"

Logan was even more reluctant to make the next call, but he felt like he needed some technical advice and he knew this was his quickest option.

Mac's voice was wary when she answered. "Logan. This is a...surprise."

"Don't worry, Mac," he hastened to reassure her. "I've already figured out that...Veronica is probably with you...but that's not why I called."

"No?" Her voice was noncommittal as she waited for his explanation.

"No. I'm calling because you're the only computer genius I know."

Mac laughed. "Genius may be overstating it just a little. How can I help?"

As Logan told his tale to Mac, he realized how very odd it must sound. Guy in a bar, covered with sea water. Pulls miracle gadget out of his pocket. He began to feel more and more like a fool and his voice started to trail off. But then...

"Oh, my god!" Mac's voice practically exploded into the phone, as she barely waited for him to finish. "I just read about some bio-medical engineers who were trying to create something like this, and now you say you've actually seen a prototype?"

"Well, if it works...how can I find out if it's the real deal?"

"This one would be fairly easy because the end user is any kind of medical professional. Do you know someone you can trust to evaluate something like this?"

"I'll find one. Thanks. It's good to know I can still spot a whack job. And let's just keep this between us for now."

"Of course," she said. Then hurriedly, before he could hang up, "Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"How are...are you okay?" She sounded almost afraid to hear his answer.

Logan huffed a small laugh. "Everyone wants to know the answer to that question today, Mac. Including me."

He tried to give her an honest answer. "I'm...better than I was a couple of months ago, but not as good as I'd like to be."

Logan paused.

"And, Mac? Please don't tell her I called."

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Keith's investigation found that Dexter C. Briggs, MIT class of 2006, BS summa cum laude in Bio-Medical Engineering, was exactly who he claimed to be. Keith also had a contact in the medical field who agreed to test the prototype. And who afterwards wanted to know where he could buy one. A quick call to Cliff McCormack, and Logan was directed to a patent attorney who could ensure that the patent was securely in Briggs's hands.

Dexter moved into the beach house, and the two of them spent the next several months working on a business plan. Once assured that any further desperate nighttime forays into the cold Pacific waters would be unnecessary, Dexter threw himself into the project. He'd been thinking about it for years and had already worked out any technical problems in his head.

It proved to be just the distraction Logan needed, and he was surprised by how quickly it all came together. Manufacture, cost analysis, marketing, all were eventually checked off in his business plan. Since the device never actually came into contact with the patient, they were able to avoid many of the usual delays in the manufacture and marketing of medical equipment.

By late summer, they were ready to launch their product, and by end of the year, the Briggs Digital Diagnostic Device - or 3D - was an unqualified success and was soon in demand by medical professionals everywhere. Dexter moved out of Logan's and into the home he was able to buy with his first profits.

Logan gradually eased out of direct involvement with the company, preferring to remain a silent partner. When they toasted their success at their regular table at the Beachside Tavern and Dexter tried to express his gratitude, Logan told him quite truthfully that he was the one whose life had been saved the night they'd met.

"So what will you do now?" Dexter wanted to know.

"I'm going to look for my next adventure," Logan said. The next day, in a stuffy lawyer's office in LA, Logan Echolls Adventures, Inc, or LEA, was born.

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It was Dick who found Logan his next adventure, and at first, Dick wasn't very happy about it.

"I can't believe you're finally done with all that business shit so you have time to come surfing with me," Dick said as they carried their boards across the sand to a favorite spot.

"You know, Dick, most people would probably see 'that business shit' as earning a living."

Dick stopped in his tracks and looked at Logan like he was crazy.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dick said. "Why the hell do you need to earn a living? You were already richer than god before you got hooked up with Mr. Nerdypants and now you could probably buy and sell half of Neptune."

Dick's voice showed his bewilderment. "But you never just, I don't know... just play anymore. And now you got this new company. What's it called again...Leo?"

"LEA," Logan said, smirking. "Aw, is little Dickie getting bored all by himself?"

"Shut the hell up! I got all kinds of surfing buddies," he said, looking down the beach. "And there's one now!"

Dick started running across the sand. "Hey, Kyle, dude, where the fuck you been?"

Kyle turned when he heard his name.

"Hey, you still got that new kind of surfboard you designed? I want to show my buddy, Logan, here."

"Hey," he said, turning back toward Logan, "you're not going to believe this board Kyle made. He let me try it and it's sweeeet!"

"Yeah?" said Logan, shaking Kyle's hand. "Let me see this thing that's got Dick more excited than the last three women he dated."

Logan looked at the new board, and later on he tried it out. Then he had a question for Kyle.

"How would you like to make a lot of money?" he asked as they were having a beer at the Tavern.

Dick heard the question, looked at the expression on Logan's face, and immediately said, "No, no, no. No fucking way!"

But it was too late. Logan had found his next adventure, the first since he'd formed LEA. But this time, since it involved a surfboard and not some crazy-ass sci fi thingie, Dick not only got used to the fact that Logan was doing that 'earning a living' thing again, he eventually got involved himself.

After talking it over with Kyle, it was clear to Logan that the creation of custom surfboards would necessarily be a small, craftsman type of operation. He wrote up a business plan with that in mind, tailoring the manufacture and the marketing to an upscale surf shop that they would open once he found the right location.

Kyle already had a 'regular' job as a teacher that he didn't want to give up, and Logan didn't want to be tied down to the operation indefinitely. So six months later, to his everlasting amazement, Dick Casablancas found himself 'earning a living' as the proprietor and part-owner of Surf's Up, the trendiest new surf shop in Southern California.

After that, other LEA projects seemed to appear serendipitously, so that just as Logan would find himself done with one adventure, another would appear on the horizon. He couldn't say that life was good...but it wasn't terrible, either.

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LEA had been in operation for a couple of years when an adventure was brought to him by two very old acquaintances. Having either Wallace Fennel or Weevil Navarro appear at his door would have been surprising enough. Having them appear together was downright surreal. He hadn't seen either one since his graduation from Hearst three years earlier.

"Wallace," he said, "and Weevs." He looked them both over carefully. "This is, uh, more than a surprise. Are you sure you knew that this was my house?"

"Yeah, Echolls, we knew." Weevil turned to Wallace and said grimly. "This was a bad idea. Come on, Fennel, let's go." The former biker turned to leave, but Wallace grabbed his arm to hold him in place.

"Whoa there, homeboy, we can't leave without at least tryin' to get what we came for."

Wallace turned back to Logan with an apology and a look of determination.

"Sorry to drop in on you like this, but it was tough enough gettin' Keith Mars to give up your address. We weren't about to push our luck tryin' to get your number off him, too."

"Keith sent you here?" Logan was more and more baffled.

"Sent? Not so much. Look," Wallace was conciliatory, "I know we haven't exactly been your biggest fans, but something's come up and we're kinda out of options, so here we are."

"Right. You and Weevil are here. Together." Logan considered, and curiosity won out. "Anything that can bring you both to my doorstep, together, asking for my help, well, this I gotta hear." He opened the door wider. "Come on in."

Logan grabbed some beers out of the fridge and led them through the house to the back deck, where he'd installed a patio table and some chairs. "Have a seat," he said.

They all sat in silence for a moment, until Wallace finally cleared his throat.

"I hear you sometimes make investments in new, uh, technology. Stuff that maybe no one else is interested in, uh, funding." Wallace paused as if waiting for confirmation, but Logan just continued to suck on the micro-brew in his hand.

Wallace waited a few more moments before he inhaled deeply and said, "It's about helmets."

"Helmets?"

"Yeah, rich boy, helmets!" Weevil broke in. "You know, the headgear that's supposed to keep bad things from happenin' when kids play football. Except the ones they use at Neptune are pieces of shit! Not that the school board gives a damn. They ain't never gonna get better ones since there ain't no 09ers playin' football."

Logan thought that Weevil's hostility seemed to stem from something personal.

Glancing with concern at Weevil, Wallace looked back at Logan and explained. "Weevil's cousin got hurt a couple of weeks ago playing for Neptune." He paused. "Kid's still in a coma." He sighed. "Diego's a great student, and a football scholarship woulda been his way out."

Logan turned toward Weevil and nodded, but he had a faraway look in his eyes. "Sorry, Weevs," he said. "That really sucks."

Weevil was taken aback. He hadn't expected sympathy. He especially hadn't expected sincere sympathy.

"So," Logan thought he was starting to get the picture, "you want me to donate the money so Neptune High can buy the football team sturdier helmets? Is that it? Because that can probably be arranged."

This time, both Wallace and Weevil were surprised by Logan's willingness to help.

"It's not quite that easy," Wallace said. "The thing is, there are no better helmets, at least we can't find anything out there that's any safer."

At last Logan understood - or thought he did. "But you've come up with a better product?"

Wallace gave Logan a crooked little grin. "Not me," he said. "A guy I knew when I was still studying mechanical engineering at Hearst, before I changed my major to education. Greg Carter. Hell, the guy was a genius even then."

Wallace shook his head, remembering just how frustrating it had been trying to keep up with students like Greg. Thank god he'd changed his major because he loved teaching and he'd never been sorry that he'd taken a different career path.

He continued. "Anyway, Greg and I, we've kinda been keepin' up, and he called me right after Diego got hurt. He'd read about it and wanted me to know that he'd been workin' on the helmet problem for a while now, and he'd figured somethin' out, had the design for a brand new helmet already drawn up. Said I should see it. His helmet was gonna be stronger than the old ones, but still lightweight enough to be practical. Problem is, he can't get any of the sporting goods companies to even take his calls."

Wallace paused. "Then I was havin' dinner with Mr. Mars and, well, he told me you had this...company...where you sometimes invest in things that interest you..." His voice trailed away as he eyed Logan.

Logan's adventures had made him a lot of money over the past few years, money he didn't really need. But this one, he thought, this one was going to bring him a different kind of reward. He picked up his beer bottle and clinked it lightly against his guests' bottles.

"Gentlemen," he said, "you've come to the right place."

Logan was right about one thing. Of all the projects that LEA had funded, this one was by far the most rewarding. It took several months to complete the prototype, and Logan asked Dexter Briggs, bio-medical engineer, to consult. Within a year, the improved helmets were standard equipment in almost every school in the state. LEA donated the helmets to the Neptune High School football team.

Diego Navarro eventually regained consciousness and made a nearly full recovery, but he would never play football again. The dream of a football scholarship was over, but when he graduated a year later, Diego was the first recipient of the newly-created Learning is an Adventure Scholarship, and the first member of the Navarro family ever to attend college.

Weevil Navarro never again referred to Logan Echolls as "rich boy," or "white boy," or indeed, any kind of boy at all.

The first year that the helmets were used by the football team in the San Francisco suburb of Sausalito, a very promising player named Jamie Farnsworth was hurt during an exciting post-season game. The doctors told Jamie's parents that if he hadn't been wearing the new-style helmet, he'd very likely have had a serious head injury rather than just a bad headache.

Jamie's parents, Jim and Ginny Farnsworth, had enough money and enough clout to find out not only the name of the company that made the helmets, but also who was the man behind the curtain. They wanted to meet Logan Echolls, but were told that he liked his privacy. Some time later, Logan received a letter from the Farnsworths acknowledging a perceived debt of gratitude. "Any time, any place," it said. Logan was touched and kept the letter.

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Four years after the surf shop opened, business was so good that a group of San Francisco investors approached Logan through his attorneys with a proposition to franchise a Marin County branch of Surf's Up. A meeting had been set up at which Kyle was slated to represent LEA, but at the last minute he was required to attend a teacher conference instead.

"Dude!" Dick was perplexed when Kyle told him. "Why the hell are you still putting up with those snot-nosed brats every day? I know you earn enough from this place that you could quit."

Kyle chuckled and clapped Dick on the shoulder.

"I like teaching, Dick. I don't want to quit. Besides, you can go to San Fran in my place."

"Me?" Dick was dumbfounded. Kyle wanted to send him to a meeting with lawyers and shit? "Uh, Logan will never go for that."

"Hey, man," Kyle said, "it was his idea. So go pack a bag and I'll give you all the details."

Dick couldn't have known that there was a reason that Logan wanted to avoid the San Francisco area, and that he considered sending Dick just slightly better than sending no one at all. No, Dick took it as a vote of confidence in him, and vowed to himself not to screw up.

But Dick was still Dick, and responsibility was not his middle name, so it wasn't surprising that he was rushing toward the doorway of a downtown office building, late as usual, when he suddenly stopped still right in the middle of the crowded San Francisco sidewalk.

It couldn't be, he thought. And yet it most definitely was.

"Ronnie!" he yelled, and a familiar blond head turned around, staring wide-eyed when she saw who'd called her name. The only one it could have been, really, who would call her by that name.

"Dick," she said, a faint edge of panic in her tone. "What are you doing in San Francisco?"

"Hey," he said, somewhat exasperated. "Good to see you, too. Uh, Logan sent me up here because he couldn't come himself. Too busy."

"Logan," she said, her voice so faint he could hardly hear her. She cleared her throat. "How is Logan?" she asked.

"Oh, he's always so damned busy with LEA that I hardly get to see him," Dick grumbled.

"With...Leah?" Dick nodded, confirming. "Oh," she continued, her voice wooden, "I hadn't heard anything about Leah."

"Yeah, coming up on the four-year anniversary..."

"Look, I really have to go," Veronica broke in on his ramblings. She pivoted away, but then turned back briefly. "No need to tell Logan you ran into me, Dick," she said.

"If you say so, Ronnie," but he was already talking to her swiftly retreating back.

No problem there, Dick thought. Why should he mention seeing Ronnie to Logan, anyway? As far as he knew, they hadn't seen each other since the middle of senior year at Hearst. And the last thing he wanted for his best friend was to see him hurt all over again.

Dick hurried into his meeting and promptly forgot all about running into Veronica Mars.

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Five years, Logan thought. Five years since he'd created LEA, and nearly six since Veronica had left him. In many ways, it was hard to believe it had been that long, but in others, it seemed a lifetime ago. He considered that he'd built a pretty good life for himself. He had Dick, and Kyle, and Dexter. And, in one of those strange ironic twists that life sometimes throws at you, after they'd worked on the safety helmet project together he'd been able to reconnect with both Wallace and Weevil in a way that he never would have believed possible. Maybe they'd all changed, grown up enough to just let go of all that old shit.

He grinned to himself. Weevil called him "Logan" now when they played poker or went out for a beer. But somehow, he just hadn't been able to switch to "Eli." Nope. Weevil would somehow always be just Weevil.

Of course Weevil had a wife now. Logan had gone to the wedding. And Wallace? He had a girlfriend, and things had looked pretty serious the last time they'd all been together. But for Logan, after six years he was beginning to think that there was only ever going to be one woman that he could really love, and she'd slipped away forever.

Not that there hadn't been any women. There'd been plenty of women, but they'd all had a "sell-by" date.

After Veronica left, it had been months before he'd even been able to think about being with another woman, even just physically. Then another six months where the only thing he'd wanted was a quick fuck and an even quicker goodbye. After a year, he'd finally begun to date casually, and then more than casually, but the relationships had never lasted more than a few months. Just long enough for the women to find out that he wasn't interested in anything long term. That he wasn't looking for a wife.

He could usually see the signs. They'd want to redecorate his house, or redo his wardrobe. Bring him potted plants. His current girlfriend, a party planner named Sabrina Colbert, had engaged in none of these activities so far. But after four months of semi-casual dating, he knew it probably wouldn't be long.

Tonight they were going to a party at Dick's house, which was either a short drive or a long walk down the beach. Logan thought he'd take the car tonight. That way, he could take Sabrina home without ever coming back to his place. He didn't feel like overnight company, and sometimes Sabrina wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

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As she sat in Dick Casablancas's plush living room, gulping a vodka tonic, Madison Sinclair wondered why the hell she'd even bothered to come. She'd run into Dick as she was leaving work, a dead-end job as an "associate" in a boutique where she used to shop when she was in high school.

Things had not gone well for Madison of late. Her modeling career had never really taken off and she'd been forced to take a series of what she thought of as menial jobs to support herself. Her parents had unenthusiastically allowed her move back in with them, but they wouldn't pay for her clothes or her makeup or any of her personal expenses. Madison sniffed. Of course that was still better than living in a dumpy apartment that wasn't even in the 09 zip code.

Nothing had seemed to work out with the men in her life, either. She'd lived in LA for a couple of years while she was trying to get modeling work, and she'd made some bad...choices there. But even after she'd returned to Neptune, nothing seemed to pan out. Her most recent lover had turned out to be married, a fact Madison had found out only by listening to her gut and following him home one night. She'd seen the silhouette of the wife - and the kids - in the window.

So when she'd run into Dick - sometimes she could hardly believe that blockhead had been her first boyfriend - and he'd told her about the party, she'd decided to come. At least there was plenty of booze, she thought, as she sat on Dick's couch downing her third vodka tonic and wondering if anyone even remotely interesting was going to show up.

She sat up a little when Logan Echolls walked in the door, but her interest faded immediately when she saw that he had a girl with him. Madison looked her over critically. Tall, slender, dark hair cut expensively in a chic bob. She watched as the girl clung to him possessively, and her mouth twisted into a wry smile.

Although she'd been happy to see him here, if only for the sheer novelty, Madison knew that she didn't have a chance in hell of ever attracting the interest of Logan Echolls. And as long as she was in this alcohol-induced state of honest self-reflection, she might as well admit to herself that she probably never had. She watched now as the latest wannabe simpered at him, and at the look he returned. Pleasant, attentive, detached.

Madison chuckled to herself. The only difference between me sitting over here on this couch and the current hopeful over there clinging to his arm is that I already know damned well that Logan Echolls is never going to belong to me and she just hasn't figured it out yet.

Madison thought back to that day at the mall, when she'd run into Logan with the only girl she'd ever seen his face light up for, and remembered those enticing glimpses of metal on their fingers. She hadn't thought about that day in years, but now she wondered all over again.

At that moment, Logan looked over at her and nodded coldly, while his companion glanced at her speculatively. Madison raised her glass and saluted them, before finishing off her drink and going back to the bar to make another. She decided that this had better be her last or she'd never make it home, and there was certainly nothing keeping her here, other than sheer boredom.

When she returned to her spot at the end of the couch, she found it already occupied by Logan's date. Madison looked at her quizzically before sitting down next to her.

"Sabrina Colbert," the girl said quickly, holding out her hand. Madison looked at that hand for a fraction of a second before ignoring it, nodding at the glass held by both her hands, and allowing, "Madison Sinclair."

Sabrina pulled her hand back, narrowed her eyes, and said, "Yes, I know. Logan told me who you were. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?" Madison masked her very natural curiosity, maintaining her focus on the drink in her hands.

"You see, I've heard that you caused problems for Logan in the past when he was dating some other woman," Sabrina continued.

Madison's head came up. "Who did you hear that from?" She wondered which of her 09er "friends" had been trash-talking about her.

"It doesn't matter," Sabrina said. "What matters is that I'm letting you know not to try that with me."

"Not to try that with..." Madison threw back her head and let the laughter rip out of her. "Just what is it that you think I might get in the way of? Do you really imagine that you have some kind of future with Logan Echolls?"

Madison cradled her drink in her hands and looked at Sabrina Colbert with pity.

"You're never going to land Logan, and if you think you might then you're delusional. The only woman he ever really gave a fuck about is the one he married," she sneered.

"Married! He's never been married," Sabrina insisted, but Madison could see the uncertainty blossom in her eyes as she got up and walked away. "Just stay the hell away from him!" was her parting shot.

"Well, well," Madison muttered as she swallowed the rest of her drink. "Bet that's going to keep you up all night."

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Married! He never said he'd been married. That hag was lying. Of course she was. This is what she does. This is what they were talking about. I don't want to ask around. I'll just look like a fool if it's true and I didn't already know. But of course it isn't...

But...maybe I should have Daddy check into it. I mean, lawyers can find out about shit like that, right? Then afterwards I'll tell Logan how she tried to break us up, and we can have a good laugh together.

I've been wondering how to bring up the "M" word, anyway. It's about time I got some kind of commitment.

Sabrina looked down at her left hand, imagining the huge rock that she was sure was in her immediate future, and smiled.

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It was three nights later that Sabrina showed up at Logan's house with fire in her eyes. He was surprised, because he was pretty damn sure he hadn't invited her.

"You son of a bitch!" she flung at him as soon as he opened the door. "Do you think you can treat me like I'm some bimbo? Make a fool of me?"

Her hand came up then, as though she were going to slap his face, but he was too fast for her, grabbing her wrist.

"Calm down, Sabrina," he said, holding her in place with both hands. "Now what the hell are you so worked up about?"

"Your marriage." She spit it out at him, and suddenly Logan felt like he couldn't breathe.

"How is that any of your business?" he'd dropped her arms then, and if Sabrina had known him as well as she thought she did, she might have been afraid of the expression in his eyes.

She was taken aback. "You think it's none of my business that my boyfriend is a married man?"

Logan could hardly get the words out, but since this was going to be the last time he would ever see this woman, he wanted this over and done with.

"Not is married. Was married. It was a brief marriage a long time ago, it ended in divorce, and yeah, it's none of your fucking business!"

He wanted her out, he wanted her gone, he wanted to shut the door on this painful conversation.

But Sabrina's expression had turned nasty now. "And now you're lying to my face! There was a marriage, but there was never a divorce. I had my dad look it up in the court records. You just conveniently forgot to tell me that you were still married to Victoria or Veronica or whatever the hell her name is!"

"Shut up!" he roared. "You don't say her name! You don't even think her name!" Logan could feel himself losing control.

She suddenly caught sight of his face, and all the anger drained out of Sabrina. "My god," she said, "she was right, wasn't she? Madison was right."

"Madison?" Logan's head was spinning and he felt like he'd entered some alternate universe.

"Madison. From the party the other night. She's the one who told me you were married." Sabrina paused and shook her head. "You know what? You're pathetic. You can pine away for your dream girl all you want. Just leave me out if it."

Sabrina turned and moved quickly down the walk, but for a moment Logan was rooted to the spot. He finally closed the door and wandered back to the book he'd been reading, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to be able to read. Or eat. Or sleep. Or do fuck all until he found out if it was true.

Was it possible that he might still be married to Veronica?

xxxxxxxx

Cliff McCormack was surprised to see Logan standing outside his office when he arrived the next morning.

"Hey, kid," Cliff said, unlocking the door and ushering him in. "I haven't seen you in a while. Is there something I can do for you or is this just a social call?"

Cliff moved to the seat behind his desk but Logan remained standing by the door, silent.

"You're starting to scare me, Logan," Cliff said, "so why don't you just spit it out?"

Logan opened his mouth, but at first no words came out. He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and tried again.

"Is there any chance...could it even be remotely possible that...Veronica and I are...still married?"

He'd gotten his question out, but just the asking of it seemed to have taken everything out of him, and he moved across the office and sank heavily into the chair across from Cliff.

Cliff was silent for a moment, a perplexed look on his face.

"Logan," he said finally, "where is this coming from? It's been almost," his eyes flickered and Logan could see him calculating, "six years."

Logan's face was devoid of expression. "It's just something...someone said to me. I looked through all my personal papers last night, but I couldn't find a divorce decree. I don't remember ever getting one, but that doesn't mean anything. I don't really remember much from those first few months after..."

Cliff sighed. "Yes, as I recall, you were paying close attention to your friends Jack, Jim and Jose, and not much else."

He got up quickly and made his way to some filing cabinets that were set along the far wall. "With the wonders of modern technology we can get this information online these days, but why don't I just make you a copy from my original?"

Cliff unlocked and opened the drawer marked "D-F," and began searching for the correct folder. "Here it is...Echolls..." When he opened the folder his brow puckered in confusion.

"Perhaps we should take advantage of those 21st century shortcuts after all," he said, replacing the file and returning to his desk to switch on his computer.

It took a minute to log into the Balboa County website and find the legal records section, and another minute to find "Echolls, Logan." But it took only seconds to determine that while there was a record of the marriage between Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars, there was no record that that marriage had ever been dissolved.

Cliff switched to the "M" section, and ran through the entire process again using Veronica's name, only to find the same results. He logged out of the site, sat back in his chair, and looked blankly at Logan.

"So...you can't find a record of the divorce?" Logan asked, shaking his head. "I don't get it. I signed those papers, and I saw that Veronica had already signed... I'll never forget that day." He looked up at Cliff. "It was the most miserable day of my life and it was raining like hell. Suited my mood to a T."

"Raining. Of course," Cliff said, his eyes drifting in memory. "It was the day of the floods, I had an appointment...and I asked my secretary to bring the documents to the courthouse." He looked at Logan. "But she did that for me all the time. It was part of her job."

"Then let's ask her about it," Logan suggested. "What time does she get in?" He turned his head in the direction of the outer office.

"Can't," Cliff replied. "That was Betty. She quit a couple of years later. Got married. Moved to Fresno,"

He thought for a minute. "I don't have anything going on today that can't wait. Let me go downtown and check everything out in person. I'll call you this afternoon."

And for the moment, Logan had to be satisfied with that.

But Cliff didn't call. Instead, he appeared in person that afternoon, and as soon as Logan opened the door and saw Cliff's face, he knew that his ordered life was about to get turned upside down.