For whatever it's worth, my AU policy has always been -- in this and the other fanfics I've written, in the Buffyverse -- to change one event and to see where it flows from there, logically. I'm a little reluctant to try to force things to go the way I want them to go.

Obligatory disclaimer: 'tain't mine.

X X X X X

I finished up my homework, waited around for any other phone calls -- getting exactly zero -- and headed home. I went to take Backup for a walk and when we got back twenty minutes later --

"Dad?" I asked as I opened the door.

He had that look on his face. You know the one. The one of the cat who ate not only the canary, but the budgie, the macaw, and is doing its damnedest to finish off the guinea pig. He picked me up and hugged me, then did his patented Keith Mars dance of victory. "Mr. Todd Vanetti was sitting in his tent in the campgrounds at the edge of Neptune," Dad said. "He never saw me coming."

"They never do," I said, grinning.

"Damn right they never do!" He shouted. "Put on your fancy duds, sweetheart," he added, doing the worst imitation of Humphrey Bogart you've ever heard in your life. "We're eatin' lobster tonight!"

Over dinner at Ocean Pride -- I actually got myself some shrimp scampi, but Dad, true to his word, was plowing his way through a sizeable lobster -- I brought up the reporters hovering around the Echolls estate.

"How long do you think they'll be there?" I asked innocently.

Dad wasn't buying it. He never does. "Not like you to be so interested in such things, Veronica."

"I was just wondering," I said. "What could distract them?"

"Well, they'll all go away eventually, given enough time."

"Assume time isn't something you have a lot of."

"Well, then," Dad said. "The only thing I can think of is a bigger news story. Unless someone started shooting at them." He looked at me sternly. "Don't start shooting at them."

"Wasn't even thinking about it." Weevil? Certainly the appearance of a biker gang roaring towards the reporters might panic a few of them, especially if they stopped and started making threats, but the odds of Weevil voluntarily helping Logan Echolls do anything were less than the odds of Dick Casablancas saying something intelligent.

Okay, so no odds were that bad. But still.

I went on, "What kind of bigger news story?"

"I'll keep playing along," he said after he finished another bite of the lobster. "Sure you don't want any?" I shook my head no. "Your loss," he said, happily cutting another piece. "At this point, the only thing I can see topping the stabbing death of a major movie star would be a high-level political assassination, another war, a major natural disaster, or an alien invasion." Well, damn. I mean, I'm good, but even I can't rustle one of those up on a moment's notice.

Nor would I want to. There are limits to the lengths I'm willing to go.

"Veronica? What's this all about?" Dad asked.

I explained how Logan had hired me to clear the reporters away from the Echolls house so that he could sneak his mother away. "But if distracting them's out, I'll have to think of something else."

He relaxed. "That doesn't sound particularly dangerous. And I have faith that you will not, in fact, arrange for aliens to invade our fair city."

"Though parts of it could probably stand a good phasering."

We finished our dinner and the subject of distracting the reporters was back-burnered for a while.

So distracting them's out, and violence is out. What's left?

X X X X X

I thought about that night but hadn't really come up with any viable solutions by the time I drove the LeBaron to school the next morning. I bounced a couple of suggestions off Wallace that night but he shot them both down. It was getting so I was seriously considering trying to find where I could rent a couple of Klingons.

There was a logjam of cars entering the parking lot, for some reas – well. Of course. Dick Casablancas was showing off a new surfboard to a bunch of his friends, doing some moves in the middle of the parking lot, never mind the fact that there were seven cars waiting to try to get past him. (None of them were '09er cars, of course. Not a car from the last four years in the line, except for Mac's.)

I took the key out of the ignition and walked over to where Dick was perched.

"Hi, Dick," I said cheerily.

He looked at me. "Veronica Mars. Wow. I didn't realize the petting zoo was coming to school today." He laughed as though he'd just told the funniest joke in the world. Around him, his friends laughed. Only Cassidy Casablancas had the grace to look embarrassed.

I made a production of looking at his forehead. "What are you doing?"

"Wow, Dick, I'm impressed. You can barely see the lobotomy scars." Cassidy chuckled but was quickly silenced by glares all around. "Now look. You see all those vehicles over there?" I gestured towards the line, which was now fifteen cars long. "They didn't come to see your killer moves."

"They should have," he said.

"And if you want to see some of my killer moves, just keep blocking traffic."

"You couldn't take me," he sneered.

"I wouldn't take you if you came free with a Happymeal. Now move the board."

He held up his hands. "Whatever, Miss Buzzkill," but he took the board and got out of the way.

I dashed back to my car so I wouldn't be the one holding up traffic and I parked.

Despite the hassles of having to deal with Dick, though, I was actually happy I'd had the confrontation.

I now knew how I was going to deal with the reporters.