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Two Weeks Later
It was two weeks from Veronica's confrontation with Mr. Kane when she was finally contacted by Weevil. Mr. Mars was out of town meeting some acquaintances he had made as Sheriff. Since it seemed Mr. Kane was having difficulties holding up his end of the bargain, Mr. Mars was trying to locate other officials with some power. Logan was once again visiting the FBI to convince them that he was not a delusional college student with a grudge. Veronica, following Weevil's instructions, was heading deep into PCH territory. She was hoping to see if they had noticed the Sorokins infiltrating the crime syndicates of Neptune. If so, this could be the proof the FBI needed to protect both Logan and herself.
Veronica stepped out of her car and wandered around the parking lot of an abandoned store waiting for someone to show up. Eventually she heard the high rumbling of the PCH-ers' preferred mode of transportation and looked up to see a lone biker park opposite her car.
As he dismounted from the bike and removed his helmet, Veronica was surprised to realize that she didn't recognize the new leader of the gang. She was hit with a wave of nostalgia, fondly remembering high school and all the drama that entailed. Veronica immediately banished that thought as it entered her head. High school had been hell, and she certainly wasn't going to romanticize it, but she couldn't help but yearn for a time when mobs and dangerous secret societies weren't involved.
The boy, because that's all she could really see him as, looked her up and down, silently accessing her.
"You Mars?"
"That's me."
"So want do you want? Weevil was a bit sketchy on the details."
She nodded, "I wanted to know if you've noticed any change in whose running the big crime operations in Neptune."
Veronica felt a difference in the air even though he gave no outward appearance of the tension that suddenly permeated his body.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really? So Sheriff Sacks is mistaken when he mentioned the escalated gang violence?"
He quickly looked around, scanning for danger, "You've been to the cops?"
She quickly placated him, "Not about the PCH-ers. My friend and I were recently attacked by the Sorokins."
This time his discomfort was visible as he quickly stepped towards his bike. "Look, Weevil vouched for you and that's the only reason that why I'm here. But I'm not gettin' my boys in trouble with the Sorokins."
Veronica lunged at him, physically restraining him with a hand on his shoulder as he edged closer to his bike.
"Hey!" he whirled around, knocking her hand off him.
"Look, I'm not asking you to risk yourself or any of your gang. I just want whatever information you have right now about the Sorokins."
He glared at her, "And what are you gonna do with it, Blondie? You look about as fierce as my sister's Malibu Barbie."
She laughed, "I might not have much to do with what goes on around here anymore, but I know my reputation preceded me before this meeting. Weevil must have told you some of my previous exploits."
At his reluctant nod, she continued, "I've helped take down some of the most powerful men in Neptune. The Sorokins don't scare me."
"They should," he warned darkly.
Veronica allowed some sincerity to seep into her next words, "Listen, just give me whatever information you have right now, and I'll never bother you again."
He looked from her to his bike, as if those two objects could tell him what he should do. He shook his head and let out a sigh before he shared all he knew.
He told her that the PCH-ers were being shouldered out by the bigger and stronger Sorokins. That they were scrapping with the Fitzpatricks for every territory they could salvage. Before the Sorokins, Neptune had been clearly marked between the Fitzpatricks and the PCH-ers, and they would only clash on rare occasions. The PCH-ers would supply the youth of Neptune with drugs, and protect each other's backs if needed. The Fitzpatricks mainly dealt with money laundering and protection bribery. But the Sorokins were taking away the suppliers for the PCH-ers and stealing the cliental of the Fitzpatricks.
He told her that the Sorokins were unstoppable. That even the Fitzpatricks didn't think they could withstand the take-over that the Sorokins were manufacturing of Neptune. So they were sticking close to the Styx, and relying on the fear they had previously summoned to keep their dealings going. They were acting tough, but it was all talk. They just didn't know how to handle the Sorokins' organization.
He told her that the Sorokins could take them all out if they wanted. He told her that they had the power and the people in the right positions to make this a reality.
"What do you mean the 'people in the right positions'?" she interrupted. "Have they infiltrated the police department?"
"I don't know. I just hear that they've got some people in powerful positions. So that's it, unless you plan on inviting me out to tea."
She looked at him; contemplating again on how young he was and how much trouble he was entrenched. She smiled, "How about a rain-check on that tea. I've got a mob to take down."
He snorted, "Yeah, good luck with that, Blondie." But Veronica saw the real hope that shown behind his eyes as he pictured a future without the Sorokins.
She watched him ride away on his bike before breathing deeply and driving away herself. She had to get home and see if her father or Logan had any more news to share.
As Veronica arrived back at the apartment, she was practically vibrating with her excitement. She bounded up the stairs eager to share her information. In her haste, she did not notice the end table that had been moved to trip her.
She cursed as she fell quickly scrambling for her bag that had been flung across the floor. Her bag held her gun, and her gun meant protection from whoever had placed the trap.
Her fingers, almost touching the strap, were stopped by a heavy weight landing on her back, and a wire biting into her neck. Instinct diverted her hand from its original path, now going to her throat, trying to alleviate the pressure of the cord, trying to breathe. Her mind frantically tried to discover a means of escape.
The weight holding her down was oppressive, silent, professional. The only noise she heard was her own stifled gasps for air, the scratching of her nails against the floors searching for purchase to escape, and the pounding of her heart.
That sound, her heart, which had started so quick, was now becoming slow, sluggish, becoming the only noise she could hear. Her fingers stopped clawing for escape. Her gasps stopped. Black spots were exploding in her vision, swamping all she saw. The will to fight was gone. Her plans of escape too far for her to reach. The weight was too heavy on her back, and the arms holding the cord around her neck too strong. For the first time, Veronica stopped fighting and gave up.
Her last awareness was of a puff of air before everything went black.
