Authors: J.D. Cunegan
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 place.”
“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.”
“Never a bad time to share happy news,” Jill said, lightly elbowing Ramon in the side.
The sound of Jill's ringtone going off interrupted the moment, and Ramon rolled his eyes while his partner got up to retrieve the device.
“Andersen,” she answered.
“
Detective,
” a male voice greeted on the other end. “
This is Stanley with the
Sun.”
Jill rolled her eyes. “No comment.”
“
That's not why I'm calling. I've come across some information that, if I run with it, could be incredibly damaging to you.
”
Jill's blood ran cold, and she locked eyes with Ramon. “Damaging.”
“
I don't want to run with this story,
” he admitted. “
But I'm getting pressured to do it. Can we meet somewhere?
”
“How do I know this isn't a trap of some sort?”
“
Please, Detective
,” the writer scoffed. “
I'm just a newspaper writer. No criminal masterminds here.
”
Slipping into her bathroom and opening a sky blue box on her sink, Jill pulled out her skin graft. “Fine. The roof of the Transamerica Tower. Twenty minutes. Come alone.”
When she hung up the phone, she caught the crease in Ramon's brow. “That was Stanley Erikson from the
Sun
. He says he has information that could be damaging to me.”
“And you're meeting him?” Ramon asked. “To what? Beat him up?”
Jill shrugged. “He says he doesn't wanna run with it.”
Ramon's eyes widened. “You don't think...?”
“I hope not.” Jill leaned over the sink, applying the graft. “But what else could it be?”
CHAPTER 49
The Transamerica Tower, on top of being one of Baltimore's most recognizable skyscrapers, was as close as Jill had to a secret base of operations. She had her share of clandestine meetings on this rooftop since embarking on her secret double life, and this building represented her near-death and eventual rebirth. Not even a year ago, she had been tossed out of David Gregor's fortieth-story penthouse -- through the window. Only her titanium-enforced skeleton -- and some quick thinking while in freefall -- had saved her that night.
This building had also proven key in discovering who killed Dr. Trent Roberts, and who had ultimately funded Project Fusion. It was a stroke of irony that the man who funded those experiments was now the closest thing Jill had to an arch nemesis, and she wondered if that was the sort of tricks those comic books Brian used to read often employed. It all seemed a bit hokey to her.
Her stomach was doing somersaults as she studied her hometown's skyline, which practically shone under the full moon. Stars were hard to come by when one was downtown, but the way the buildings lit up, the way M&T Bank Stadium and Oriole Park at Camden Yards seemed to draw everything to the rest of the city made up for it. The Inner Harbor was its usually busy self, thanks to the litany of locals and tourists. The Inner Harbor was one of those rare cityscapes that attracted both kinds, and it usually made Pratt Street one of the busiest roads in the state, if not the entire East Coast.
Jill had changed out of her bodysuit following the phone call from Stanley Erikson. She had never met him personally, but she knew of him -- because he wrote the first article about her alter ego to ever appear in Baltimore's flagship newspaper. That article had given her the name
Bounty
, and Stanley had become -- for lack of a better term -- Bounty's beat writer.
She had an idea what this meeting was about, but Jill had hoped against hope that she was wrong.
But really, who was she kidding?
The heavy metal door leading out to the roof swung open and slammed shut, announcing Stanley's presence. Jill turned in time to see him leaning back against the door, catching his breath before ducking his head when a gust of wind hit him.
“Gotta say,” he called out before approaching Jill, “you have the strangest meeting spots.”
“It's for my own protection,” she countered, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. “If you're about to tell me what I think you're about to tell me...”
“This conversation will be completely off the record,” Stanley promised, tugging on the collar of his orange-and-black windbreaker. Like Jill, Stanley was a child of Baltimore, through and through. “Nothing that is said tonight will wind up in the paper.”
“No offense, but that doesn't really help my nerves.”
“Understood.” Stanley offered a smile that seemed polite enough before ducking his head. “A source tells me you're the vigilante.”
And there it was. Jill wondered who the source was, even as part of her subconscious screamed a name at her. But it couldn't be David Gregor; why would he out her like this when they were apparently on the same side regarding an issue? His public comments against police brutality had been a surprise, and Jill briefly considered it a break that she was working a case that didn't connect back to him. But it had to be him... everyone else who knew was either dead or on Jill's side. Her own colleagues wouldn't out her like that, would they?
“Don't suppose you'll tell me who this source is,” she pointed out, feigning indifference.
“I’m workin’ on that.” Stanley shrugged and joined Jill by the ledge, taking a moment to stare at the skyline. “We always take for granted how pretty this place is at night.” He went silent for entirely too long, resting his elbows on the concrete of the ledge. He stared out over the bay, shaking his head before he gazed up at the full moon. “I was skeptical at first. I mean, that's a hell of a thing, you know? A cop who's also a vigilante? But... going through all the photos we have of Bounty in our database, even a couple that we've got of you at crime scenes...” He turned to Jill and pointed at her face. “Even with that... thing, facial recognition software gave us a 96 percent hit.”
Jill arched a brow. “How does the
Sun
have better face-rec technology than the police?”
“Laying off a third of the newsroom, probably.”
Jill stared at the bay. “So you want me to confirm your source's claim?”
“I'm not gonna lie,” Stanley said, “my curiosity is getting the best of me. Not just ‘cause I'm a reporter, ya know? But... I don't wanna print the story if it's true.”
Jill couldn't keep the shock off her face. “You're kidding, right?”
“I know.” Stanley shrugged. “It's got Pulitzer all over it. I'd be a god in my profession, solving the biggest mystery in Baltimore since Jeffrey Maier. My bosses have been begging for me to break this story for months.” He sighed. “But the fact is, I like having Bounty around. If I write this article and broadcast her real identity all over the city, if not the state, that's a life I'm ruining. She'd have to go on the run. She'd have the police all over her. This city would lose one hell of a hero.”
“And you want Bounty around.”
“In this case, I'm willing to sacrifice professional acclaim if it means this city is a little less shitty.”
As logical as Stanley's reasoning was, Jill was stunned to hear it. She long figured the day the media caught wind of her secret, that was it. Her face and name would be broadcast all over the television, it would grace the front page of every newspaper in the BWI corridor. It was the reason Jill always kept a black duffle bag packed and tucked into the back of her closet, in case she ever had to bolt at a moment's notice.
This was so not what she expected.
“In that case,” Jill said, turning to face Stanley as she reached up to pull off her skin graft, “your source is correct.”
Stanley gasped when his eyes first set on the eyeplate, but the shock almost immediately gave way to a genuine smile. Stanley shook his head and held out his right arm. When Jill frowned in confusion, he nodded once toward the hand he had held open for her. When she grabbed his hand, he gave her a firm shake and another head nod.
“Nice to finally meet a genuine hero,” he said.
“I appreciate that,” Jill said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “but I'm not doing anything special.”
“You kiddin'? Detective, you're actually
doing something
about the shithole this city's become.” Stanley shook his head again. “Everyone just throws up their hands and says they did all they could, even when they didn't, and here you are doing
more
. That's not nothing, and don't let anyone tell you different.”
“I'm also technically a criminal.”
“Only if the wrong people find out,” Stanley said with a shrug. “And believe me, Detective, I won't be the one to tell them.”