Title: "What's LoVe Got to Do With It?"
Author: monimala
Rating/Classification: adult language, humor, gen. Veronica, Vinnie, Lamb. 1890 words.
Disclaimer: Not my characters!
Summary: Tools of the Trade, the VM What If? Challenge edition. Prompt: What if Lamb was at the strip club and hassled Veronica for being there, insisting that she might as well earn her keep?
Cesar's Palace made the Seventh Veil look like an upscale gentlemen's club. Actually, it made the back of Logan's XTerra look like an upscale gentleman's club. Dingy, small, vaguely smelling of pine cleaner and overtly smelling of booze and smoke, it was the cheapest club on Neptune's pathetic version of The Strip.
It was not Veronica's idea of a good time. Or even a mediocre time. But she was getting $100 and a free oil lube on the LeBaron to snap pictures of the underage girls who were being blackmailed into working the joint, so she'd dusted off her favorite frizzy black wig and not-so favorite halter top (she had to keep tugging it both up and down) and pulled an Alias.
Somewhere, somehow, she'd gotten a reputation for being Neptune's Patron Saint of Problem-Solving. Admittedly, there were worse reps in the world to have -- she had firsthand experience there -- but sometimes, a gal just wanted to spend a weeknight trying to stay on the Honor Roll and watching sitcoms while her dog drooled on her foot.
The only dogs drooling on her here would be the two-legged kind, like the Palace's owner, Cesar Velasquez...who, as luck would have it, had seen through her Spy Barbie gear in about 2 minutes flat. There went her hopes for a future career with the CIA.
"I'm filling in for Maricruz," she gasped, breathily, letting the words run together in her best bubble-headed Valley Girl voice. "She's, like, got cramps, you know? Really, really, bad cramps. And I told her, like, oh my God, I've always wanted to try stripping ever since I skinny-dipped with her brother last year and--"
"Fine." Just as she hoped, Cesar cut off the stream of chatter before she could run out of oxygen. But her relief was short-lived as the beefy entrepreneur wrapped one hand around her upper arm and began hauling her towards the tiny stage. "You can start now."
Way to go, Mars. She wondered if digging her stilettos into the threadbare carpet would actually work. (Who the Hell carpeted a strip club anyway? Wouldn't there be major spillage issues? And ICK.) Since Cesar had also been on the wrestling team as well as the shining star of the FBLA, her answer was "no." He practically lifted her bodily towards the cluster of tables at the front of the club and the decidedly emo stripper who was winding up a routine to Dashboard Confessional. (Stripping to "Vindicated" Seriously?)
"Got any Nickelback?" she asked, only half-kidding.
And then she wasn't kidding at all because spread out at the two tables right at the edge of the stage were none other than Dick, Casey -- wasn't he at college or still being deprogrammed or something? -- and Luke. What was this, a reunion? All they needed was tequila and some salt and they could recreate Shelly's party. Oh, joy. And her joy ratcheted up three notches higher when the fluttering in her stomach signaled that there was a fourth member of the Salt Lick Circle on the premises.
Danger Will Robinson, danger! Logan Echolls was in the hizzouse.
The last thing she wanted was to see him right now. Mostly because acknowledging that *he* came to places like Cesar's Palace was enough to make her run for the brain bleach. One would hope that her exes at least had the decency to make the Veil their cut off point, you know?
Veronica went ahead and dug in her heels, for all the good it would do her. She imagined smoke rising from the grooves in the floor, like she was in a Looney Tunes cartoon. "Um...on second thought...could I, like, wait and pick a good song and stuff? Do you have any Beyonce? Um, Mariah?"
"...Tina Turner?"
Oh, God.
Welcome to Hell, Veronica. It looked like a badly decorated Italian restaurant cum Tiki bar and featured pains in her ass that made hemorrhoids seem like a pleasant sensation.
Sheriff Lamb's gaze drifted over her slowly. Really slowly. And she resisted the urge to cross her arms over her meager cleavage. Forget the brain bleach...when this night was over, she was going straight for the steel wool and Lysol. He grinned at her, actually *grinned*, and she obliged him with a dose of Valley Girl for it. "Oh my God...you're the sheriff!" she said, just a little too loudly, bouncing her head around on her neck.
"That's right. I am the sheriff," he agreed, emphatically, grabbing his belt. Except he wasn't wearing a belt. He was in his "civvies"...jeans and a white T-shirt. (Who did he think he was, James Dean?) He shared some sort of creepy Man to Man look with Cesar. "And we're accepting donations to our Widows and Orphans Fund. Do you think your girl here would like to contribute, Velasquez?"
Could she donate a knock-off Manolo up his sphincter? Pleaseohpleaseohplease?
Before she knew it, she was transferred into a less beefy grip -- more metaphorically porky, given the whole "pigs/cops" comparison. God, did that make Lamb the other white meat? And why did she suddenly want to become a vegetarian? "If you think I'm going to be your 'Private Dancer,' Ike, don't hold your breath," she muttered as they spun away from Cesar.
"The way I see it, you don't have much choice, Tina," Lamb muttered back. "Unless you want 'Most Likely to Wind Up on the Spice Channel' under your name in the Neptune High yearbook."
"Why, Don...however did you guess my secret heart's desire?"
"Just lucky, I guess," he drawled, dryly, hustling her towards a half-moon shaped booth in a dark corner of the club. Perfect for corrupt law officials who wanted to see (naked girls) and not be seen...and corrupt PIs, too.
"Oh, God. What is this? Boys Night Out?" she groaned as Vinnie Vanlowe saluted her with his mug of Natural Light and a, "Hey, Veronica. Fancy meeting you here!"
"What, you couldn't resist the Tuesday dollar pitchers?" she snorted.
"It's Thursday," he and Lamb said simultaneously...which was more than a little terrifying.
What were they, the Wonder Twins?
Before she could entertain horrific thoughts about how exactly they activated their nefarious powers, Cesar came bearing down to investigate the bribery corner of his precious palace.
"You might want to at least pretend to strip, Sparky," Vinnie suggested, sprawling back in the booth. "Or Velasquez is going to boot you out on your nosy butt."
"Take it off. Whoo." Lamb sounded absolutely thrilled. The "whoopty-doo" finger motion only clinched it.
Oh, yeah. Veronica absolutely felt like the sexiest person on the planet.
Especially with Cesar standing right there as she did a half-hearted bump-and-grind and ran her hands up and down her chest (adjusting her halter with each pass). Fortunately, a few moments were enough to convince him that her Girls Gone Not Quite So Wild act would pacify the local law enforcement and she was left alone with the Sunshine Boys again.
"Keep going," Lamb directed, actually making conducting motions now. "He's not entirely convinced…and, frankly, Mars, neither am I." She had half a mind to make a definitive finger motion of her own.
And she was horrified to remember that she was wearing a pair of cute Victoria's Secret low-rise panties that she'd never expected Lamb and Vinnie to see. They were pink and they said "Very" on the crotch. And now she was on her way to getting editorial comments of the "Very WHAT?" variety.
She tried to turn a strangled laugh into something like a sexy moan (quite a feat) as Dashboard Confessional actually *did* change to Nickelback.
Lamb reached for a bottle of something, knocking back half of it and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before asking, "Why are you here?"
As she flipped her fake hair around like Tawny Kitaen in a Whitesnake video (spitting out a mouthful of strands), she answered with a question of her own. "Did you know half the female workers are underage and came over the border illegally?"
"Well, you'd know all about illegal border crossings, wouldn't you, Veronica?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
Vinnie stayed conspicuously silent and she had to throw him a glare. Oh, so he didn't want his BFF to know he'd actually been the getaway truck for Duncan and the baby, huh? Way to let her twist in the wind! Way to let her twist in general, actually. How did strippers do this without herniating something?
Vinnie *was*, however, quick to offer up criticism of her performance. "Tiger, you couldn't turn on my TV with whatever it is you're doing there. Pilates? Jazzercise?"
"Sweatin' to the Oldies," she snapped, a little bit miffed.
Okay, so Lilly had been Most Likely to Pole Dance, not her. There was no need to be mean-spirited.
Oh, who was she kidding? With present company, of course there was a need. And Lamb proved her right: "I think the description you're looking for, Vanlowe, is 'epileptic muppet.'"
"I don't know, Don…which muppet are we talking about?"
If either of them said "Miss Piggy," there was going to be bloodshed.
Veronica stopped emulating seizures, folding her arms mutinously across her chest and scowling at them both. "I don't see either of you shaking it like a Polaroid picture!"
"We didn't come here under false pretenses," Lamb was quick to point out…while Vinnie talked over him, scoffing, "I don't shake it until the second date at least, Sweetums."
Sweetums? Was that his way of picking the muppet she danced like?
While she was still working that out, his hand suddenly closed around her wrist and she found herself being jerked around the table and into the booth. At an angle. One that put her face-first in Lamb crotch. "Hey!" she said against tight denim.
"Whoops!" Vinnie hauled her up by her shoulder. "I was aiming higher."
"I'm not complaining, Vanlowe. That might actually be a place I could tolerate Veronica Mars."
"Oh, fuck you both!"
"Shush!" Vinnie directed. "Logan Echolls is on your six, Babe."
"My what?"
"He's about to pass us, so get cozy, Tina! Earn your keep."
Veronica would've cussed in outrage and maybe kneed something, but the concept of Logan passing her in this get-up while on his way to the bathroom or whatever nipped any blue streaks in the bud. Despite her misgivings and general sense of disgust, she found herself settling into Lamb's lap, keeping her head strategically down while Vinnie cheered her on with the appropriate "yeah, baby" and "work it"-type comments.
Except that she couldn't quite "work it" knowing that Logan was on her six, her five, or her 24. Or in the same state, really.
Oh, God. When this night was over, she was so seriously hanging up her Problem-Solving hat. And she was avoiding any and all places with the word "Palace" in the title, so if the Queen of England ever invited her over for tea, it had better be at Windsor Castle.
This was not Veronica's idea of a good time. Or even a mediocre time.
But one thing was painfully, sharply clear as she hooked her leg around a surprisingly lean hip and met Vinnie's amused gaze over her shoulder.
Sheriff Lamb was having a blast.
--end--
June 13, 2006.