Saturday, June 13

7:00am

Veronica

Gai is barely conscious when Veronica drags him out of bed to take him to Neptune. The way he drops off the minute they get in the car and practically zombie-shuffles up Dick and Char's driveway, she'd think he barely slept last night. She waves from the car when Char opens the front door so she won't get pulled into a conversation.

It's only eight-thirty, but Weevil's shop is already bustling. From the lobby Veronica can see each bay is full and a swarm of mechanics move around, their hydraulic drills filling the space with a loud whine that she can hear through the glass.

The three people manning the front desk know her and raise a hand when she passes by on her way to Weevil's office. Since his door is open three inches, Veronica pops her head in. "Look at you, The Man. Loafing it back here while your guys do all the real work."

He taps his pen on the stack of forms in front of him. "Any of them want to trade places and do this paperwork, fine by me."

"How's Gai's car coming?"

"Got a sweet deal on a new quarter panel, but you said I had time."

"Just asking." She closes the door and drops an envelope on his desk. Weevil tucks the promised cash payment into his top drawer without counting it. "Got a minute?"

Veronica can tell he doesn't, but he puts down the pen and waves her to sit, anyway. "What can you tell me about Michael Hugo?"

If Weevil had a hairline, his eyebrows would lose themselves in it. "Probably nothing you don't know."

"Suspected of running a car theft ring, fifteen years ago they sentenced him to a nickel for conspiracy because that's all they could make stick. Owns a small repair shop in Cornell, been squeaky clean since he got out."

"If that's true, what do the feds want with him?"

"I didn't say they did."

He nods, thinking, then leans in. "Well, since I have also been squeaky clean since doing my time, I have no idea why you would ask me. But if I did know something, I'd tell you to be careful. A lot of times when you hear car theft, there's more to it. A lot more."

"Thanks, Weevil. Kiss Felix for me, will ya?"

"You can do it yourself, if you stick around another hour. His mom's dropping him off."

"Another time."

He picks up his pen and nods, not even looking up when she leaves.

Veronica again waves to the employees at the counter, only to turn and practically body-slam the next customer coming into the shop. A hand shoots out and grabs her arm, steadying her. "Whoa there, mini-Mars."

His low voice is just this side of hoarse, and as usual he flashes a teasing grin. Veronica always thought Tom "Buford" Justice, her dad's partner, was made for undercover work. Caucasian, mid-thirties. At five-six he blends into a crow and, with his mud-brown hair and eyes and plain face, he's utterly forgettable—as long as he doesn't turn on the charm. Which he does with impunity.

"Hey." Veronica pulls her arm out of his grasp and steps back. "Sorry."

He shakes his head at her. "Where's the fire?"

"Work day. You, too, right? Dad said you're covering the office while he's out of town."

"Call forwarding." Buford waggles his cell phone and flashes her an impudent grin. "I get great reception at the beach."

She wants to be irritated at him, for her dad's sake, but one glance out the window at the beautiful day and she can't blame him for taking advantage of it. Saturdays are notoriously slow at Mars Investigations, anyway. "Hmmm… thanks for the blackmail ammo."

"Blackmail works best with evidence." The familiar flash of tease lights his eyes. "Come with, you can take pictures of me flirting up all the surf bunnies."

"Tempting, but I'll save the beach for a day when I'm not wearing a pants suit."

"I think someone left a bikini behind in my backseat you could borrow."

"As much fun as an unlaundered swimsuit sounds, pass."

He shrugs. "It probably wouldn't fit, anyway. She's kind of," he rounds his hands in the air, imitating curves.

Veronica rolls her eyes, because of course she is, then laughs, surprised when Buford says, "Chubby."

"Chubby," she repeats.

"Mmm Hmm." He nods and snaps his teeth together in a loud clack, simulating biting but conveying lust.

"Bye, Buford," she says with a nasal whine, stepping around him to go out the door.

He imitates her tone, moving his pitch up six octaves and talking out his nose. "The name's Tom, Ronnie."

"If you say so, Buford."

Cornell is one of those blink-and-you-miss-it-towns that dot the more rural areas of California. Technically, it's not even a town. Veronica frowns at the GPS that's leading her down a street of small houses, then has to brake as a peacock crosses the road in front of her. Glancing at the couple walking hand in hand on the sidewalk, she sees a pea hen scratching at a grassy lawn. The couple doesn't take notice, so it doesn't seem to be a unique occurrence in this tiny burg.

Hugo's repair shop is a stand-alone, three-stall building a block away from the residential street. The location is perfect—no nosy neighbors to keep track of comings and goings and a hill behind it, perfect for anyone who wants to leave on foot.

When she came up to Weevil's shop that morning, all the bay doors were open to let in the fresh air. Here, they're locked tight though the sign in the window says "Open."

Veronica parks and secures her pistol in the small of her back. She takes her time walking up to the front of the building. The day is warm, but not so much that her linen blazer looks out of place.

The office appears empty, though she can hear the same whine of hydraulic tools she heard at Weevil's garage.

She turns at the sound of a side door, and a man in dark blue work pants and a grease-stained blue button up, both polyester, walks toward her, wiping his hands on a rag. He looks to be late forties, early fifties, with the same jutting jaw and hard eyes as in his mug shot.

"Afternoon, officer."

Veronica's not sure if he recognizes her from the news stories about Jennifer, or if he simply has the cop radar of a lot of criminals. Either way, she almost smiles, glad she doesn't need to pull out her badge for him to assume it's an official visit. It'll be easier to sell as a misunderstanding later if necessary. "Mr. Hugo."

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for an acquaintance of yours, James Weston."

His eyes widen. "That's a name I haven't heard for a good while. What d'you want with him?"

"I have a few questions. Do you know how to get in touch with him?"

"No, ma'am. I haven't talked to Jimmy in years. Have you tried his wife?"

Veronica pulls out a small notepad, though she doesn't need it. "Do you have her name?"

At that, Hugo's eyes narrow. "Abby. But my guess is, you already know that."

"They divorced years ago, but my guess is you already know that."

Hugo tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms. "No ma'am, like I said, I haven't heard from Jimmy in years."

"Do you know any other friends of his that might have heard from him?"

"No ma'am."

The ma'ams are getting on her nerves. The man rolls each one off with more contempt than the last. Veronica takes three steps closer and holds up a yearbook photo of Jennifer. "How about this girl? Have you seen her?"

Hugo barely glances at the picture, but his eyes go hard. "No, ma'am."

"Take another look. This is Jennifer, James and Abigail's oldest daughter. Did she show up here, maybe looking for her father?"

This time his eyes don't even waiver toward the photo. "I said no. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Veronica writes her cell number on the pad and hands him the piece of paper. "If you," she hesitates over the word, "remember anything, give me a call."

"Yes, ma'am."

6:30pm

Logan

"The direction," Logan says

"The plot," Mac counters, her heels resonating in the empty lobby.

He holds open the theater door and waits while she walks through."There was no such thing."

Mac tucks her hands into the pockets of her electric blue leather jacket and snickers. "You know what's weird? That's the first time I've ever walked out on a movie before it finished."

"It's the blue-collar pragmatism in you. Veronica suffers from the same affliction."

"What do you mean?"

"She made me, Lilly, and Duncan sit through 'Swept Away' because she couldn't stand that she wasted eight bucks on it."

Mac laughs. "You're right. Good thing you paid."

"You still owe me dinner."

She nods and waits while he clicks the car locks open. "Why don't we surprise Dick and Char? It's too early for you to play wingman, and we can do DoorDash."

Their plan for the evening, to hit up a local club, is scheduled for much later, after the movie and meal. "They won't mind?"

"I'll text that we're on our way."

Logan navigates the streets, bickering with Mac over the radio station and ignoring any memories triggered by being back. The Casablancas house has every window lit up, as if welcoming them in.

Char is pretty and relaxed in couture sweats and her face scrubbed of makeup. She hugs Mac and pulls them in the second she opens the door, and takes their jackets before Logan can say hello.

It's only when he steps into the living room and looks out the window, down at the pool, that he realizes Gai is there. He watches as Gai and Dick stand by the edge of the pool, backs to the water, and execute a synchronized backflip. They come up and float on their backs, Dick talking while Gai listens.

"Mac," Logan turns away from the window. "Maybe we should go."

"Gai," Char says to a confused Mac. "Veronica called last night, something about a work trip, and asked if he could stay the weekend."

"Oh." Mac heads for her coat, lying on the back of the couch. "We'll—,"

"Stay. Dick and I already talked about this—our house is neutral." Char plucks up their coats and hangs them in the closet, as if that's the final say on it. "Chinese? I was just about to place an order."

Predictably, when Char goes outside to let Dick and Gai know that Logan and Mac are there for dinner, Gai goes up the back stairs to his room. He appears only briefly, frog-marched by Char, to give Mac an obligatory hug and grab a plate of food which he, of course, takes outside.

By the time they're down to the fortune cookies, Mac's deep in her third drink and her shoes are off, her feet curled up under her on the couch. Logan settles back, pretty sure their club plans are off for the evening.

Dick opens his fifth beer and puts his feet up on the coffee table. "Hey," he throws at Logan. "Todd, Howard, and I are golfing tomorrow. You wanna stay over? I'll loan you my spare clubs and you can join."

"Do me a favor. Tell all those assholes you lost my number."

"Why?"

"Because they're the same guys they were. Nobody's changed at all."

"Not true," Mac says, a slight slur in her voice. "What about us? Could you have pictured this," she waves around, indicating the house, or the air. It's hard to tell. "Back then? I hated Dick's guts, now he's one of my best friends."

"Aww, Mackie," Dick says.

Mac sits up straighter and points at Logan. "You smashed Veronica's headlights with a crowbar, she planted bongs in your locker to get you arrested. Nobody would have thought, all these years later, you guys would have a kid."

Dick raises his hand. "Huh uh. Anyone who shared a hotel suite with them knew someone was getting pregnant."

Logan kicks him. "Shut up, Dick."

"I'm just saying. You guys were like bunnies. Loud bunnies."

"And what if Gai hears you just saying?"

"Nah." Dick settles deeper into the couch, his head on Char's shoulder. "That kid spent the whole day plugged in. I had to take him in the pool just to get the headphones out of his ears."

"Is that normal for him?"

"Before Sam died, no," Char says. "He was a total chatterbox. Remember when we went camping in Yosemite, and Sam was so hungover for the ride home he paid Gai to be quiet?"

"Only after I kicked Gai out of our car in Coarsegold." Dick shrugs at Logan. "Sam wasn't the only one hungover."

Mac smiles. "Yeah, but when we rented that house in Tahoe you were the one who nicknamed him-,"

"Gaius interruptus," Char says. "I totally forgot about that."

They all seem to notice Logan's polite silence at the same time. He waves them off. "Sounds like I missed some good times."

Mac swallows the last of her bourbon while Char sips her water, looking away from him. Dick is the first to speak. "Dude, be glad you missed some of it. You think Ronnie's scary? You should see her in labor."

Logan presses his lips together. In his usual careless way, Dick's picked the one thing to say to make it worse.

"Just my luck, the kid came three weeks early," Dick continues. "Her dad was off chasing some bail jumper and Wally was snowed in, in Chicago. Even Mackie was gone, camping. Who the fuck goes camping in January?"

Mack sighs, her eyes droopy. "The Mackenzies."

"Wait," Logan leans toward Dick, remembering something Veronica once said. "You held her hand through labor?"

"He did." Char rubs his shoulder, her smile proud. "Veronica said he fetched her ice chips, rubbed her back, and even supported her when she was pushing."

"Not by choice, man. Ronnie's water broke when we were hanging out, and a contraction hit right after. She squeezed my hand so hard I still have scars from her screamed all deep, like a warrior going into battle. My balls are still shriveled from it."

"Oh, that's why." Char screams when Dick tickles her. They wrestle on the couch for a minute, laughing, before settling down again, Char sidesaddle on Dick's lap.

Logan recalls what Veronica told him on the ship, about the guy who held her hand also picked her kid's name. "You're the one who named Gai?"

"Yeah." Dick clears his throat and looks toward the window. "I fell asleep after he was born, on the couch in the room. When I woke up, Ronnie was in the shower. The nurse shoved the birth certificate in my hand—Ronnie already signed it, and filled out everything but the first name. She said Ronnie was waiting for me to pick the name, and she's almost off shift so would I hurry the fuck up, please."

Dick scratches the back of his neck. "Turns out Ronnie was waiting for her dad, the nurse thought she was waiting for the father, and since I was there for the birth…" Dick throws open his hands in a shrug.

"She thought you were the dad."

"Yeah, and she's toe tapping for me to put something on the line. So I picked Gaius, after Julius Caesar. The paperwork got processed before Ronnie realized what happened."

Logan would pay his entire fortune to have been in that room when Veronica found out. "Why Julius Caesar?"

"Because that was his real first name, Gaius."

"I know that. I mean," Logan catches Mac looking at the ceiling and Char turning her head away, biting back a smile. "Did you see my kid playing dictato, or something?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Dick," Char admonishes, her tone as much tease as reprimand.

"Okay, fine." Dick sits forward, earnest. "I figured your kid was like Julius Caesar, you know? His dad abandoned him when he was little and had to take on a kingdom by himself. No way was I going to name him Julius, so…?" He shrugs like that explains everything.

Logan searches his memory to reconcile this. "What the hell are you talking about? Caesar's dad didn't abandon him and there was no kingdom—,"

"Yeah, I know that now. I might have, kind of," he rolls his eyes, "passed out in my Roman history class and woken up in European history, without realizing it."

"You are such a—,"

"Dick." Mac supplies helpfully.

8:30pm

Gai

Their voices drift through the open window to where Gai sits on the upstairs patio, not by the pool where he said he'd be. Seriously, the Logan dude smashed in Mom's headlights and she got him arrested? How do you go from that to screwing like rabbits?

His mom's relationship with the Logan dude must have been fifteen flavors of fucked up. Nice to know he came from that.

Gai's mind wanders to his mom, like it has a thousand times that day. Where is she? What's she doing? Did she find the gun that killed Dad? With that question can only come an image of who's holding it, pointed at his mom.

The Logan dude's voice drifts through the open window again, making Gai curl up tighter on his chair. Maybe he can go to Leo and file charges with the SDPD. Like stalker charges or something. The guy only came back like a month ago, and Gai can't get away from him. There should be a law against that, right? Or he can file a restraining order?

When they move into the story of how Gai got his name, he goes down to sit by the pool so their voices become far away and indistinct. The story is part of family lore, as old as he is. Gai's not sure why everyone still laughs about it. Whatever—Mom kept the name. Plus, he's always liked it, no matter how he got it. What rankles him, though, is it's like one more piece of him is handed over to the Logan dude without his permission.

Dad would have his back if he were here. He'd go toe-to-toe with this jackoff and make sure he went back to Chile. But who knows? Once upon a time Gai would have said the same thing about his mom.

The pictures of Dad, dead on that morgue table, surface again. With them are the same questions. Where's mom? What's she doing? Did she find the gun? Until the two morph, and it's his Mom on the table, her eyes cloudy and staring through him.

Gai's not sure how long he sits there, hearing the voices come and go until they quiet. Now there's only one light shining in the house and Uncle Dick comes down the stairs, calling his name."Yeah?"

"It's midnight, my Gai. Time for bed."

"I'll go up soon. It's nice out here." It isn't, it's cold, but the misery of it suits his mood.

"Logan and Mac went home." Dick sits down next to him, on the chair. "I'm sorry if tonight sucked. He didn't know you were here."

"He could have left."

"He tried. Char wouldn't let him."

That surprises Gai. "Why?"

Dick's quiet for a long time. "Did you know Char's folks wrote her off when she married me? And that I haven't talked to either of my parents in at least ten years?"

Gai doesn't remember ever meeting or hearing about Dick or Charlotte's parents, but never thought about it. "No, why?"

"Doesn't matter. You know Logan's dad—he beat him and murdered Lilly, and his mom killed herself. Veronica's mom ran off when she was in high school, and none of us have grandparents anymore."

"Yeah, so?"

"So," Dick runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply. "We're like this ragtag little family, dude. I know it's weird for you, but Logan's part of it. He always has been, even if he wasn't here."

The Logan dude was never even a conversation a month ago, so the thought is foreign to Gai. Until he thinks of Uncle Matthew. Gai's not supposed to know about the drugs, or the way his uncle's disappointed and hurt everyone over and over again, but he's always been good at listening in on conversations he's not supposed to hear. None of it's made him love or miss Matthew any less, or dampen his happiness whenever he's around.

"And we were all mad at Logan, remember? Now that we know why he really left," Dick's voice grows thick. "It's like I got my brother back from the dead. I know this is hard or weird for you or whatever, but I can't kick him out so don't ask me to, okay?"

Gai doesn't know much about Dick's brother that died, only that he did. Any other time the comparison might drop like a lead weight to his gut, but tonight it only goes in the numb pile. "I don't know what to do with all that."

"Me either." Dick laughs, sounding hollow. "No going in the water alone, okay?"

"Kay."

Dick pulls him into one of his big bear hugs, the kind that usually makes Gai feel small and safe. "Love you."

The words twist inside Gai's chest, reminding him of other dark nights and bedtimes. Other big, masculine hugs and I love yous. More than anything, he misses that feeling of being safe. Even in Dick's arms, he's adrift in a big sea, alone. Dad's autopsy pictures keep surfacing in his mind, mixed with questions about Mom. Where she is tonight, what she's doing? Did she find the gun?

Beneath those questions yawps terror so vast and deep he has to push it aside and return to his anger at the Logan dude. That's tangible. He can feel his way around the edges, grasp on and anchor himself to it.

His phone buzzes with a text.

2:00am

Veronica

The seedy Malibu motel is a dying breed, willing to take cash and forgo identification for an extra twenty. Veronica caught a decent nap on the bed, after laying towels over the bedspread, and adjusting to the mildew smell of the cramped space.

By the time she's made the short drive back to Cornell, she's mostly awake, and the brisk walk in the cool air from the residential street to Hugo's shop has her practically crackling by the time she gets there.

The place is dark, sealed tight. Only two windows are reachable from ground level, both locked tight with no visibility. While there's no sign of a security system, there are closed-circuit cameras by both the office and bay doors, so she avoids those lines of sight.

All of which says Hugo has taken his own precautions, but doesn't want to involve the cops if he has a break in.

Veronica spies two large vents at the back of the building, eight feet up. Finding the dumpster empty, she unlocks the wheel brake and rolls it into position, wincing at the squeak from the right front wheel.

Using all the stealth she can muster, Veronica opens one half of the lid and gently folds it back so it rests against the back wall of the shop. Now she has an edge to grip and climb, though she has to bite back her squeamishness at the rich smell of garbage from inside the steel container, and the sticky residue where she grabs on.

Her lock pick set is missing, likely mislaid at Logan's. However, Veronica brought a few basic tools with her. She's thankful for the small Phillips screwdriver, and the upper body exercises she does because the vent is a good fifteen pounds. It takes considerable strength to lift and lower it silently, and pull herself up into the small space left behind.

She finds herself with a choice to either drop to the ground, or climb into the rafters over her head. Sweat drips down her temples and pools between her breasts.

She chooses the rafters over the drop, both to save herself a broken ankle and to get the lay of the land before dropping into a trap she can't escape from.

The garage below her is dark, quiet, and empty of people. Risking the light, she shines a small flashlight around. No cameras, which makes sense. If Hugo is doing anything illegal in the shop, the last thing he wants is to catch it on tape.

Below her are five cars and one empty bay, the pit below it bringing to mind an overlarge grave. She goes the other way, where a 70s era Cadillac rests elevated on a lift. The huge hood is about the size of a king-size bed, and she winces at the loud thwump her body makes upon impact with the hood.

The drop to the ground, while less than eight feet, is still intimidating. She lies on her belly, grasping onto the side-view mirror and the niche where the hood meets the windshield, and swings her legs over the side. Veronica dangles there a moment, working up her nerve, before dropping to the ground and on her ass.

Her heart flutters, waiting for Hugo or some lackey to respond to the small sound of her body hitting the ground. While her head knows the place is empty, the place is seriously giving her the creeps.

Finally, her breath evens. She stands and shines the flashlight around again. Nothing out of the ordinary. The cars on the rafters are standard fare, nothing desirable enough to risk a jail sentence. Cement slab floor, open shelves and tool boxes with usual tools—at least as far as her non-mechanic's eye can tell.

Veronica tries the office door and finds it locked. Again lamenting the misplacement of her lock pick set—why didn't she pick it up already—she makes do with a few small wires from a workbench, and metal scraps by a machinist's tool.

The computer is, predictably, password protected. The drawers hold repair paperwork and paperclips—nothing remarkable. Veronica climbs into the cubbyhole of the desk and feels around, satisfied when she finds the sliding panel underneath the bottom drawer.

She pushes the panel back and reaches inside; her hand closes around a small padded box. Before she even pulls it out, she knows it's a gun case. Which is very interesting considering felons can't own guns.

Pulling the case onto her lap, Veronica shines the light on the case and catches the latch to open the lid.

The gun is now especially interesting, since it's a Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm. Hugo can't even claim it's a forgotten leftover, since the model came out less than a year ago.

5am

Gai

The last mile is the hardest. Gai pushes through his exhaustion and, finally, pedals the last few feet up Dick and Char's driveway. Everything is quiet, the driveway empty of either his Mom or the Sheriff's cars. He sneaks Char's bike back through the side gate, into the storage shed, and slides the padlock into place as the sky lightens around him.

He waits just inside the door, relieved when the house stays quiet. Gai pulls out his phone and, after a quick Google search, finds kosher salt and olive oil in the kitchen. Before Char and Dick are up, he gets most of the orange spray paint off his hands and makes it back up to his room.

Without even bothering to pull off his shoes, he lies on top of the bed and falls asleep.