VM Fic: Magic 8-Ball (Logan, Weevil, Lilly)

Magic 8-Ball
Disclaimer: 'Veronica Mars' belongs to Rob Thomas and UPN. No infringement intended.
Summary: All Logan can do is squeeze his eyes shut and dream of emptiness. (Logan, Weevil, Lilly)
Spoilers: 1x22 'Leave It To Beaver.'
Feedback: concretecastle[at]gmail[dot]com


Logan feels the world fall away as he dangles upside down from the ledge separating betrayal from salvation. The blood rushes to his head like a cherry red waterfall in reverse while the bitter taste of vodka and the afternoon's lunch forces its way up his throat and into his mouth. He should feel bad, but all he can do is smile and pray that Weevil's leather-clad henchmen do him the favor of releasing his feet and letting him drop the hundred feet to nothingness.

"You're all talk, Paco," Logan shouts, his voice barely carrying up to the bridge.

He feels the back of his legs scrape against the rough cement ledge as they pull him up ever-so-slowly. The moment they plant his feet on the ground and move away, Logan feels like he's the cheap, plastic future inside a magic 8-ball (shaking hands; swirling lights; the question: will this misery end? the answer: highly doubtful).

He crouches on the ground, bringing his face as close to the pavement as he can to steady his vision. Instantly, everything he has clamped down is coming out in waves, his lemon-and-lime-tinted insides smeared all over black tar like an abstract painting.

"I'm gonna make you pay for what you did to Lilly," Logan hears Weevil say amid the cracking knuckles and corrosive laughter.
"Aren't you just her knight in rusty armor, Don Quixote?" he finally replies, his hand holding onto the ledge for support as he stands up.

One of the goons starts to move toward Logan before Weevil holds up his hand and shakes his head.

"I got this," he says, gesturing at Logan as if he were a bag of trash. "You boys get the car."
"That car is worth more than your lives," Logan informs. "Touch it and I swear—"
"That car is the least of your worries, white boy," Weevil says, pulling him away from the ledge.
"If you wanted to dance, all you had to do was—"

The cold steel of a ring digs into his bottom lip as Weevil slams a fist against the side of Logan's face. Tiny shards of glass plot points into his palms as he falls to the ground. He gets up in a matter of seconds and shakes his head disappointedly at Weevil.

"Is that the best you can do?"
"Did you hurt her?"
"What do you think?"
"I think I'm going to kill you."
"Good," he whispers with a nod. "It'll save me the trouble of doing it myself."

There's another punch, harder this time. The side of his face pulses from the sudden pressure of the impact as the wind nips at it. Logan can taste the blood in his mouth, salty like the rim of a margarita glass.

"Did you do it?" Weevil hisses, leaning closer so that Logan can hear him over the sound of rap music and shattering headlights. "Did you kill Lilly?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Getting to play the savior?" Logan asks with a smirk. "And hey Paco, you might even get a blurb at the end of the Lifetime movie!"

Weevil's boot smashes against his stomach like a concrete slab wedging its way through muscle and bone. Logan feels his breath escape in a cloud of cold air.

"Did you kill her?" Weevil repeats.
"Bite me, Pelé," Logan utters, managing to smile through the sharp pain in his side.
"Wrong answer," Weevil says disapprovingly with a tsk. He lightly plants his left boot on top of Logan's chest and glares. "Tell me what you did to her, Echolls."

Weevil starts leaning heavier on his left leg. Logan starts to feel a small burning in his chest, a lit match thrown away in his lungs.

"A gentleman never tells," he wheezes out, the words hoarse and painful even to his own ears.
"Wrong answer again. A little slow on the learning curve, aren't we?"

The street lamps get dimmer as Logan struggles to squirm out from under Weevil's foot. Weevil just shakes his head and presses harder. Logan blinks through the tears in his eyes as the world starts to go out of focus again. In the back of his mind, he hears someone shouting at Weevil to stop and he prays that it's not him. Weevil continues to stare at him as the voice gets louder. Finally, Weevil turns his head in the direction of Logan's car and starts to say something that Logan can't hear over the buzzing in his ears.

In fact, Logan is sure that he's about to die when Weevil suddenly lifts his boot. The air rushes into his lungs quicker than Logan is ready for (inhale exhale inhale exhale inhale) and he feels his head start to spin again. The dizzy feeling has come back, stronger and with every intention of staying.

As the humming starts to recede, he can faintly hear one of Weevil's lackeys stammering something about a special report on the radio. He tries to pay attention, but can only pick up bits of what he's saying – "They caught…he's not…man, his own blood…how messed up is that?"

After a minute, he feels a pair of hands lift him off the ground and push him into the leather seats of his car. The familiar revving of motorcycle engines fills the air and all Logan can do is squeeze his eyes shut and dream of emptiness.