A WEDDING STORY - CODA by ALL

Two months earlier...

"Veronica Mars."

The owner of the name jerked her head up in surprise. Vinnie Van Lowe was leaning in the open doorway of her office. "Guess Dad forgot to pay Terminex for our monthly pest control maintenance."

Ignoring the dig, he said, "A little birdie told me I'd be hearing wedding bells soon."

Vinnie was sure he saw a flicker of fear mingled with annoyance flit across her face. Ha! So it is true! Still, he was always impressed by her ability to deflect with an insult, and this time was no exception.

"What is this, your fourth desperate housewife? Fifth?" Veronica smirked. "Send her my condolences."

"So you and the Echolls kid, huh? I can see the headline now" -Vinnie held up his hands framing the imaginary words- "Logan Echolls, son of movie star Aaron Echolls, marries girl who accused famous father of murder."

Veronica stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing her response. "That's quite a mouthful- do you get paid per word?"

"It really warms my heart that you two kids are making it work. And if your daughter is anything like her parents, I'll be busy getting paid." He rubbed his thumb across his index and middle finger to symbolize all the money he expected to make following the future exploits of one Wyatt Echolls. "Cha-ching."

Veronica's gaze narrowed. "You know I'm licensed to carry a gun now, right?"

"Whoa, easy there Mars," he said, holding his hands up. "No need to get the claws out. I just came by to offer my congratulations." Turning to leave, he stopped and added over his shoulder, "I'll keep an eye on the mail for my invitation."

He waved and shut the door behind him, whistling as he left the building.

XXXX

The next day he got the first email.

To: VanLowCanYouGo

From: InsiderSecrets

Rumor has it Charlene Lawrence's family is going to kidnap her! They think she's brainwashed by her boyfriend and his alien-based "religion." Mission: Cult Deprogramming set to happen on October 7th during her big secret birthday bash in L.A.

It was such an obvious diversion tactic. Thought she could get me to drive all the way to L.A. and miss her wedding. Vinnie shook his head. Poor kid, motherhood is turning her brain to mush.

Veronica's first mistake was sending the email the day after he visited her office. Her second was using Charlene Lawrence as a lure. Everyone knew she was starring in that movie Logan's dumb sister produced.

Now that he had the date he just needed the deets on the time and location. Luckily he had that covered.

In general, Vinnie had no use for kids, but he had a soft spot for his sister's kid, Dougie. The kid was a natural at hiding in the shadows, waiting for information. He showed a real talent for sucking up to the "in-crowd" at Neptune High. The 90909 zip code was teeming with the "one percent" and they all sent their kids to public school. Vinnie didn't know why - they weren't fooling anyone with their "man of the people" routine. But, whatever. Their desire to seem "approachable" made them easy targets. Teenagers talked more than the help.

From your garden variety extramarital affairs to secret plastic surgeries, married men on the down-low, hidden drug addictions, and that one actor who had an illegitimate daughter with his housekeeper, Dougie was an invaluable source. And now he was going to help Vinnie teach the Mars family a little humility.

His instructions to Dougie were simple - shadow Coach Fennel and report back.

Wallace was as tight-lipped as Veronica used to be and it was two weeks before Dougie had anything useful to report. "Coach was complaining about the time and—"

Vinnie snapped his fingers to shut the kid up. "Tell me his exact words.

Dougie rolled his eyes. "First he said, 'who gets married at sunrise' and then he said, 'she's having it at Dick's?' When he finally hung up the phone, he muttered something like I can't believe I gotta drive all the way to San Diego in the middle of the night."

As a reward for the information, Vinnie drove Dougie home and tossed him a few bucks. The information was easy enough to check out, he called Dick's restaurant in San Diego and tried to make reservations. A typical wedding was four to six hours long so there was no way Sans Souci —pretentious name— would be open for lunch. But it got even better. The hostess told him the restaurant was closed that weekend for "renovations."

Day, time, location - check, check, check. Look how far the mighty have fallen.

He'd drive down early, have a little breakfast, and then scope out a good place to get his pictures. It was almost too easy. Vinnie frowned. Picking up his cell, he called his nephew and told him to keep up the surveillance on Fennel.

Dougie was back in his office a week later with more information. "It was another phone call. Coach didn't even see me. I was hiding—"

Teenagers. "I haven't got all day; just tell me what he said."

"It's already taken care of, V, I hired Clarence Wiedman." Dougie pulled a sheet of paper from his backpack. "Then he left this on his desk and I made a copy." The kid was beaming with pride at his achievement.

Vinnie ignored him. Printed on Porcellian Security letterhead, it was a detailed plan of the security arrangements for the big day. You're slipping, Mars, letting your little flunky take care of something this important.

"It's good right?" Dougie asked eagerly.

"Yeah, nice work. Now you better go home before your mother calls here looking for you." The last thing he wanted to do was listen to Sherry bitch.

He didn't even notice his nephew leaving. The date and time were confirmed, but it wasn't going to be as easy as he first thought. Wiedman had arranged for a filming permit to shut down the street to the restaurant —probably the reason for the early hour— and they were locking down the location early. No one in or out past five a.m. unless they had an invitation. Roving guards with night-vision, license plate checks, video surveillance. Geez, who did they have coming to this thing?

He'd have to get there earlier than planned and find a way to get inside. Vinnie shrugged. He could lose a little sleep for such a big payday. We undesirables do our best work in the middle of the night.

XXXX

3:30 a.m. - October 7, 2018

It was close to three a.m. when Vinnie walked up the beach toward Sans Souci. Accessing the venue from the beach was a stroke of genius. The restaurant was dark. He pulled out his own night vision and checked for movement. Nothing was stirring, not even a mouse. Vinnie turned on the jamming device to disrupt any alarm calls and approached the back door.

The lock was a piece of shit. Inserting a bump key, he hit it with the handle of a screwdriver and unlocked the door. It opened into a dark office where he almost immediately tripped on something small and round. Clicking on his flashlight, he searched for the offending object, finally spotting a… mini beachball? The office of a man with a tiny pet seal, apparently. Kicking the toy aside with a silent curse, he shielded the flashlight beam, and silently moved into the restaurant looking for an ideal place to hide. Vinnie mentally discarded one potential hiding place after another until he found himself in the bar area. Where he stopped short.

What the fuck?

The pendant lights over the bar area were on, illuminating the space, and a flat-panel television was on the bartop. It had been paused on an image of Veronica and an envelope was taped to the the screen. 'VINNIE VAN LOWE' was written across it in big, block letters.

Vinnie knew instantly that he had been outplayed.

Ripping off the envelope, he opened it and pulled out a single, slip of paper. More block letters, PRESS PLAY. Vinnie did as instructed.

On screen, Veronica waved a Mars Investigations pen and then started singing Lady Gaga's Paparazzi into the pen like a microphone.

I'm your biggest fan; I'll follow you until you love me

Papa-paparazzi

Baby there's no other superstar; you know that I'll be your

Papa-paparazzi

Veronica stopped singing. "Nice try," she said with a wink, flipping him the finger.

Vinnie laughed, shaking his head in reluctant admiration. I'll get her next time.