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Episode One: The Case of the Ex Ex

The little sand-dab of a town was called Neptune, after the god of the sea. The whole town smacked of pretension. Right off, I could tell dirty money was fertilizing all those manicured lawns and holding up the clean roads lined with rows of palm trees. California. What a crock. I wish I'd stayed East of the Big Creek. But here I was, tooling down the PCH in a black BMW convertible with the wind slicking aerodynamically off my dome. I don't know how anybody could live here. It was like a picture postcard. Too clean. Too neat. I knew there was going to be trouble.

Sure enough, it showed up in the form of a gorgeous little blond scorpion named Veronica.

"Servo," she said. "My dad and I are on the skids. Never mind why." She tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. "This case has me stumped, and I'm the best in Neptune. I know you're the best of the best. That's why I called you in."

"Don't get me wrong, Mars. You're one ripe tomato. You're such a dish, I want to fill you with ramchips. But, all the sugar in Jamaica won't sweeten up this bot, dolly. I don't trust the dames. Never have. I think you bumped off this Logan Echolls palooka yourself, and you're trying to pin the rap on some poor sap with non-functioning arms."

"How dare you talk that way to me!" Veronica leaned forward across her desk, and she slapped me across the face, then squealed, "Ow!"

"Sorry, baby. Like I told you. This bot's got a rock-hard chassis."

Veronica pouted, wringing her injured hand. "I could never hurt Logan. He and I... we used to drink out of the same bottle. You feel me?"

"Until you broke the poor slob's heart. Am I right?"

She sniffled prettily. "I... I never mean to."

"Your kind never do, sweetheart."

I left her there crying, like she had anything inside her chest other than an ice machine. I learned my hard lessons from Creepy Girl. Love is a sweet, greedy lie, like a fat kid with cake all over his face. I'm never looking back.

I had the manila case file with notes in Veronica's neat hand. Veronica had been the last person to see Logan Echolls alive, the previous month. Bad news for her. The sheriff's department impounded a yellow XTerra a week later, after it collected an impressive number of parking tickets at Dog Beach. From there, Echolls' trail went cold. Word around Neptune High was that Logan had walked into the ocean and drowned himself, because his ankle locator indicated he'd gone to feed the fishes. But, three other people had vanished from Neptune recently, and I crabbed the Chinese angle on this whole ball of wax. He wasn't dead. That would be the easy way out.

I hopped on the blower and asked around, and I greased a few palms, and finally the trail led me to my old drinking buddy, Vinnie Van Lowe. He owed me a few favors, back from the days when we worked the mean streets of Edina. Those were dark times. We both have the scars to show for it... and a few other scars that don't show on the outside. From Vinnie, it was pretty easy to track Echolls to the beach house he'd bought in Mexico, and a week later, I pulled up in front of it. Nice place. Right on the water. I could imagine faking the Big Sleep, getting away from it all, especially from a couple of angel-faced blonde skirts who broke my heart.

I knuckled the door, and after a few minutes, Echolls himself answered, wearing a pair of ratty cut-offs and a green tee shirt. He looked around, and then a second later, it occurred to him to look down.

"What the hell?"

"Logan Echolls?"

"Jesus!" He took a fast step back, then he stopped. "Hey, you're a robot. Neat!" He crouched down so we were eye to dome, and then he poked me in the front panel.

"Back off, meat boy."

"Sorry, dude."

"The name's Thomas J. Servo. I'm a private dick."

Echolls' face got grim and hard. "She sent you. Didn't she?"

"As a matter of fact, she did. She thinks you're toe-tagging it."

"Well, that was the plan."

I was about to add something else, when another mug entered the living room from the back of the house: a dark-eyed, shirtless man covered in tattoos. Eli Navarro. I put the finger on him easy, from the police reports. He had taken a bunk the day after Echolls. In one arm, Navarro carried a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket.

Navarro announced, "We're all out of Pampers."

"No, we're not," Echolls replied. "I bought some this morning. Hall closet."

"I checked there."

"You're going blind. Maybe you should ease up on the --"

"Hey, who's the fireplug?" Navarro interrupted, spotting me.

Echolls shrugged. "Private investigator."

"We don't wanna be investigated." Navarro growled. "What now? You rat us out to V.?"

"Depends," I said.

Navarro scowled. "You want dough?"

"Look... Servo," said Echolls. "We're happy here. This is a good place. Excellent surfing, adorable kid..."

"And you got each other," I said. "That the scenario?"

"Yeah," Navarro answered. "Something like that."

Echolls added, "Why you gotta go and screw all this up by bringing Veronica Mars back in the mix?"

"No more birds in the love nest?" I asked.

Navarro's frown got even darker, but Echolls grinned. "That's right. We're full up."

"Know what?" I said, "You're two of the shrewdest joes I've ever met. So, as far as Miss Mars is concerned, I turned up bupkis. Have yourselves a good life. All five of you bums."

With that, I turned around and made for my boiler. I'd have to refund my retainer, but shine the spinach. Mars could keep it. Some things trumped money in this big bridge game called living.

"Hey, wait!" Echolls hurried down the steps after me, his bare feet slapping up little puffs of sand. "Hang out. Have a drink. Astrid makes a killer margarita."

"Well..." I said. "All right, Echolls. You talked me into it. One for the road."

THE END

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