Just not for Jill.
But as expected, the other vigilante was nowhere to be found. She wondered if he had a name. She wondered if there was someone pulling the proverbial strings. Such was likely, and Jill had a sneaking suspicion of who that might be, but she was actively not letting herself think that far… mostly because she was so physically and emotionally exhausted at this point that she didn’t want something else creeping up on her. She just wanted all of this to be over. She just wanted her life to return to something resembling normal, even though she realized that was fleeting.
But that dramatic, final showdown with Gregor was coming… likely sooner, rather than later. Jill wondered if Gregor siding with her on this case was just an attempt to throw her off, make her see him in a slightly different light before he pulled the wool out from over her eyes.
That wouldn’t have surprised her in the least.
Once again holding vigil over the sidewalk where Devin Buckner was killed, Jill dropped to a knee and traced her fingers over the pavement. The sound of a gun being cocked stopped Jill in her tracks, and she held her breath expecting to hear the gunshot. But no shot came… until she turned to look over her shoulder.
The force of the blast knocked Jill back several feet, the concussive force of the trigger being pulled ringing in her ears even once it registered that she was physically unharmed. The bullet had hit square against the metal eyeplate on the left side of Jill’s face, then ricocheted who knew where. But Jill’s vision was blurred, and she struggled to get back to her knees as the ringing in her head briefly intensified.
Her nerves were also shot at this point. Her mind flashed back a couple months, when a bullet barely missed her BPD-issued vest and somehow found itself near her liver. Being shot and undergoing surgery for it had been one thing; to have her secret broadcast without her knowledge and to later be attacked in her own hospital bed was something altogether traumatic in its own right.
So one could forgive Jill if having a gun pointed at her, if hearing the trigger being pulled, still made her jumpy. A black mark on the eyeplate aside, though, Jill was none the worse for wear.
“Get up,” an unfamiliar voice ordered from behind. She heard the gun being cocked again. “I know you’re not hurt. Get. Up.”
Reluctantly, Jill got back to her feet, taking a few moments to gather her bearings more before turning around to face her attacker. She frowned when she didn’t recognize the bearded man standing before her, wearing a black winter cap and a bulky overcoat. His red beard and blue eyes stuck out even in the overcast night.
“Hands in the air,” he ordered, though the gun in his grasp quivered. “You reach for that sword and the next one’s going in your gut.”
She did as asked.
“Good.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Now… where’s Detective Paulson?”
Jill’s frown deepened, and her arms almost lowered. But she kept them right where they were when she watched the man’s fingers flex around the gun. The left side of her face was still warm from the impact of the gunshot, and Jill briefly wondered if the infrared mechanism inside her head was broken.
“Still in police custody,” she said. “What’s it to you?”
“Yeah, I heard you was workin’ with the damn cops,” the man practically snarled, taking two steps toward Jill. The tough guy act was almost convincing, aside from the shaky hand. “The fuck’s gone on in this damn city since I got run out? Hm?”
“Who are you?”
It wasn’t Jill’s best strategy, but there weren’t a lot of options for her so long as there was a weapon trained on her. The red in the man’s beard looked a little too deep, like the guy had been coloring his hair. And if he was all bent out of shape over Paulson being in police custody… Jill had a theory as to who it was, but she was hoping against hope this guy was actually dumb enough to tell her.
“Name’s Brady,” the man surprisingly obliged.
Sam Brady. Of course. Paulson’s old buddy and fellow crooked cop. The two had allegedly committed the murder of an unarmed teenage boy named Carlos Grainger, and her father had been the one to catch the case. All Paul Andersen got for his troubles was a concussion, bruised ribs, and missing out on what would be his only shot at a promotion. All because Brady and Paulson were protected by the “Blue Wall.” Paulson had moved onto bigger -- but not necessarily better -- things, and Brady wound up run out of the BPD for something else entirely.
“Let me guess,” Jill said, “you found out your buddy was in trouble again and you just couldn’t help yourself.”
“On your knees,” Brady ordered with a flick of his wrist.
Biting back the sarcastic remark she desperately wanted to make, Jill slowly dropped to her knees, her arms still held up on either side of herself. The muscles were starting to get sore, the accumulation of abuse they had taken in recent days catching up with her, but she kept them still… anything to keep this man from again pulling that trigger. Brady’s nerves offered a potential opening, but Jill had to be careful nonetheless.
Brady approached, his nostrils flaring. He pressed the barrel of his gun into Jill’s forehead, gritting his teeth and letting the metal dig into her skin. Jill kept her gaze on Brady’s, never even so much as blinking.
“Been back in town for a while,” he said with a bit of a growl. It almost felt forced, like Brady was trying to convince Jill he was big and tough. “Long enough to know the Baltimore Police Department I used to know and love has turned into a shitshow free-for-all where criminals are allowed to roam the streets and cops are too pussified to do anything.”
Someone misses the good ol’ days…
“You’re a smart gal,” he continued. “So let me tell you a little story. See, back in the day, me and Paulson had this shit locked down. Ain’t no one in this town dared to do anything with us patrollin’ the streets. That Grainger kid? Sold crack outta his momma’s basement. Had a juvy file thick as a Tolstoy novel.
“And we got the prick. Put him outta this city’s misery once and for all. But then this goody-goody fuck from downtown had to get involved, and he brought that fuckin’ Affirmative Action captain wit’ him.”
Jill’s fingers twitched. She knew exactly who Brady was referring to, even if he hadn’t mentioned any names. Every instinct told Jill to bring this guy to the ground and dislocate every socket and joint he had. But with that gun burrowed into her forehead, she kept still.
“Fucker starts pokin’ around where his nose ain’t welcome. Andersen, I think his name was. Real insufferable bastard. Didn’t know when to quit. Even after we told him what the deal was.”
Jill’s jaw clenched.
“But time goes by and the Grainger thing blows over.” The pressure of the gun on Jill’s forehead lessens, but the gun was still pressed to her. “Josh and I get reassigned, but we’re still employed. Least, til that bitch DA gets to office.”
“Parish?” Jill kept her voice even.
“Yeah, that fuckin’ waste of space.” Brady’s lip turned into a disgusted sneer. “Bitch found out I was hittin’ my wife, decided she wanted to make an example of me.”
“Right,” Jill shot back, “God forbid the law apply to a cop.”
Brady grit his teeth again and smacked Jill in the temple with the butt of his gun. The blow sent her teetering to the side, but Jill never toppled over -- and where the skin tore, instead of blood, there was just more metal.
“The fuck are you?” Brady spat.
“The only hero this city’s got, apparently.”
“You wanna talk about the law?” Brady cocked his head to the side. “What about you? You runnin’ around, playin’ hero and dishin’ out ass whoopin’s? Can’t imagine the BPD would take too kindly to that.”
“They have other problems right now.”
Jill kept her gaze even, despite the anger burning a hole in her gut. Her fingers were threatening to curl into themselves, turning her hands into fists that could beat Sam Brady within an inch of
his pathetic excuse of a life. The urge was as strong as Jill could ever remember experiencing, and though it scared her, in the heat of the moment she wanted that fix more than anything.
“I’m gonna find Josh,” Brady warned. “And I’m gonna get him out, and then we’re both gonna make sure you never stalk these streets again.”
Jill fought the urge to roll her eyes; yet another bad guy too busy talking about what he was going to do to actually do it. The pressure of the gun against her forehead was gone. Jill looked up in time to see that Brady was no longer standing in front of her. She couldn’t see him on any of the streets or sidewalks within her view, and Jill slowly got back to her feet.
Paulson’s friend was back in town, and hellbent on helping. The fact that Brady shot at Jill before uttering even one word told her all she needed to know about his motivations and what he was willing to do. She wondered if Brady had ever killed anyone; no one had specified whether Brady or Paulson had pulled the trigger on Grainger. He certainly had the look of someone who had taken a life before. What was worse, he had experience in making sure the system chugged along the way it always had. Brady was never an agent of justice; he was nothing more than a bully.
The only problem was, the bullies were starting to outnumber the heroes. Or maybe they always had, and Jill was just naïve enough to believe otherwise.
One thing was certain: this was nowhere near over.
CHAPTER 48
“I'm getting nowhere.”
The apartment was empty, yet Jill felt she had to get the words out. She stood in front of the body-length mirror propped up against the wall in her bedroom, studying the way her black leather bodysuit fit on her athletic frame. Her thighs were toned from a childhood of playing soccer, to say nothing of her physical exertion that came from her four years in the Army and the fact that she made it a point to keep in shape now that she was a cop. She had seen more than her share of police officers and detectives let themselves go over the years, to the point where the physical demands of the job became more of a chore.
Then again, Jill had an unfair advantage in that department. Her increased stamina, speed, and constitution from Project Fusion allowed her to engage in foot chases and other physically strenuous police activities that others could only dream of. She was teased for it on occasion, but the fact of the matter was, some of her colleagues had simply let themselves go too much.
Detective Stevens had been coming close to that, but a few months ago, he realized exactly what Jill had been telling him: don't get back in shape because of how you look or because of Juanita, but because chasing suspects half a block should never leave you winded and doubled over.
More and more, Jill identified with her alter ego far more readily than before. She supposed it began two months ago, when the state of Maryland executed her father. On top of that, she discovered -- without a doubt -- that Paul was the monster he had long been accused of being. No false testimony, no tampered evidence. Her father, once Baltimore's most decorated cop, had killed three people in as violent and despicable a manner as possible. Proving her father's innocence hadn't been the reason Jill became a cop, but it had been one of the reasons.
Now that she realized how hopeless a task that had been, how she had practically broken herself for almost three years for nothing, Jill couldn't help but wonder...
What was she doing?
At one point, Bounty was the alter ego. Bounty was the mask. Now, Jill wasn't so sure. Maybe the infrared eye and the slab of metal on the left side of her face were her true self now. Maybe her secret identity lay in the badge and gun on her nightstand, sitting on top of a layer of dust. She stared at them, thinking back to Brady. It turned her stomach to think he once carried those same implements, once took the same oath she did. His interpretation of that pledge was so different from Jill’s, and yet she was the one having a hard time making a difference.
She hated that thought. Truth was, Bounty was never supposed to be a long-term solution. Jill had naively thought her double life would eventually bring equilibrium back to her city, but the exact opposite had happened. Murder rates had practically quadrupled, and drugs were pouring into the city at an alarming rate -- exacerbated by the fact that so many cops in Narcotics were allegedly on the take. Jill's hometown was no longer deserving of the moniker Charm City.
A soft knock on the front door almost didn't register. Yet Jill froze. Had Brady followed her home? Was someone else on the other end, waiting for a confrontation?
A second knock followed, more insistent than before, and the pattern of the raps against the wood told Jill exactly who was on the other side. Her shoulders deflated when she let out the breath she had been holding, before Jill crossed into the living room and cracked the door open.
“C'mon, Ramon.”
She was already heading back to her bedroom when the front door shut again, her partner's footsteps following close behind. Jill stopped when she caught her reflection again, standing just a little bit taller as strands of brown hair framed her face. It made her look far more intimidating than she felt most of the time; if nothing else, her alter ego was a big ego boost.
“You headin' out?” Ramon asked, staring at the same reflection.
“Just got back,” she admitted, her hands curling into fists so she wouldn’t have to feel her fingers shaking anymore. “Guess I'm just...”
The crease in Ramon's forehead deepened, and he came up to place a hand on his partner's shoulder. “You okay?”
Jill wanted to say yes. She was tempted to put on the best front she could and convince Ramon that this case wasn't tearing her up inside. She wanted to assure Ramon that all of the doubts and insecurities she had felt over the past several months weren’t being confirmed through this case, but there would be no fooling him. Ramon might have had less experience at detective than Jill, but he was far brighter and more perceptive than many thought. There was no way she could lie to him.
“No.” She ducked her head. “No, I'm... I’m starting to think we can’t win this.”
Ramon took a few moments, staring at the reflection of his partner in what he referred to as her superhero outfit -- because essentially, that was what it was. He chewed on his lower lip and scratched at the hairline on the back of his neck.
“I ever tell you why I became a cop?”
A rueful smile crept onto Jill's face. “It obviously wasn't to pick up chicks.”
He huffed a nervous laugh at that, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Growing up in Inglewood... things were rough. And the cops weren't exactly our friends. But our parents, still new to the country, always told us that if things went sideways to find a cop.” Ramon emerged from behind his partner, standing between her and the mirror. “When I was 13, I saw a friend of mine killed in a drive-by. I caught the license plate, I got a good look at the driver. I told the detective at the scene everything I knew. You know what he did?”
Jill shook her head.
“He didn't take down a single note. He never asked any follow-up questions. Every time he looked at the body, he looked so angry and disgusted.”
“I'm guessing the case never went anywhere.”
“Gang violence,” Ramon said with a shrug. “And they never bothered to go any further than that.”
Glancing over Jill's shoulder, Ramon crossed to the armoire resting along the far wall, opening the double doors and reaching for the katana she had hidden away. The weight of it surprised him, but Ramon studied the sheath with all the reverence it deserved before gently, slowly, removing the blade. He stared at his own reflection in the weapon, sitting on the edge of Jill's bed.
“Even back then, I knew that was wrong,” he added, feeling the mattress sink beside him when Jill sat. “And I thought... the only way I'm ever gonna change that is to become a cop myself and do better.”
“That's how it always starts,” Jill muttered, staring at the floor. “They hand you your badge and you think... this is it. I'm gonna change this plac
e.”
“The idealism of youth.”
“I don't know how much more of this I can take,” Jill admitted.
Ramon frowned. “The case?”
“Any of it.” Jill shrugged. “Even back when... I mean, corrupt cops are nothing new. I, of all people, should know that. But I'm spending more time fighting off other cops than I am actually solving a murder. A teenager had his brains blown out in broad daylight, and it feels like I’m the only one who gives a damn about it. It's to the point now where I almost hope someone makes good on those threats. They wanna take the Sergeant's exam away from me? Fine. They wanna take my badge? Fine.”
Ramon's frown deepened, a pit opening up in the bottom of his stomach. “You're not... Jill, you're not quitting, are you?”
Jill shrugged and glanced at the ceiling. The confrontation with Brady had been just been the tip of the metaphorical iceberg. “I don't know. I'm just tired of fighting people who are supposed to be on my side.”
“We all are.” Ramon turned to face his partner, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “And now, for the real reason I came here...” He reached into his coat before pulling out a small off-white envelope. “I hope you're still here a month from now, because you're supposed to be my Best Man.”
Jill glanced at the envelope with a furrowed brow before the insinuation sunk in. Her right eye widened as Jill took the envelope and read over the cardstock inside.
You are cordially invited to attend a day of bliss several years in the making on Saturday, the 19th of September.
Jill tossed the cardstock onto her bed without reading the rest, pulling her partner into a tight hug. She fought back tears when Ramon's arms wrapped around her shoulders. “You know I'll be there,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world.”
“I've wanted to say something for a while,” Ramon said when they pulled out of the hug. “But I could never find the right time, with everything.”
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