Bounty

by J. D. Cunegan

The shower gave Jill a jolt far more effective than the nap, and Jill passed on her usual mug of coffee because of the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She had one more stop to make before she could finally put this case to bed, truly get on with the future instead of spending all of her time looking over her shoulder. She approached the Transamerica Tower just as Gregor emerged from the main entrance, waiting on the sidewalk to see which way he would turn. Fortunately for her, he turned to walk in her direction, brown leather briefcase clutched in his left hand. His suit was a more muted navy blue than his usual attire, but the tie was still blood red. She stepped in front of Gregor, flashing her badge and her best plastic smile -- a smile that turned genuine when she saw him roll his eyes.

  "Detective Andersen, BPD." Jill pocketed her badge. "Is there somewhere private we can talk, Mr. Gregor?"

  Glancing over his shoulder and stroking his white goatee, Gregor's eyes flashed in anger before he nodded to the side, leading Jill into an alley behind the Transamerica Tower. He wouldn't dare try anything in broad daylight, even if the alley was empty, but Jill was glad to have her service piece on her anyway. It fit nicely in its holster on her hip, and Jill was thankful to be wearing her off-white turtleneck when the wind picked up, threatening to undo the black band holding her hair back in a ponytail.

  "What do you want, Andersen?" Gregor snarled. "I'm already late for a meeting with the mayor."

  "I hope you've learned your lesson here." Jill took a step toward Gregor, cocking her head to the side as her voice deepened. "You sent three people to kill me. One didn't have the stones. One is dead. And now, one is behind bars."

  Gregor sucked in a deep breath. "I don't know what you're talking about, Detective." The look in his eyes spoke otherwise.

  “I have the file,” Jill announced as Gregor turned to leave the alley, biting back a smile when the businessman froze and finally turned back to face her again. “I know everything. Not just Project Fusion, either.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Gregor countered with a shrug. “Nothing you can do with it. No one would believe you.” The businessman closed the distance between them, leaning in so he could whisper in Jill’s ear. “Besides, you know you do that, I air your dirty laundry for everyone to see. I bet the Sun would love to exclusively reveal who Bounty really is.”

  "Don't try to play me, David." Jill's eyes narrowed, and she pushed him away after grabbing the lapel of his suit. "The next time you come for me, you do it directly. No more games." She shook her head, glancing over her shoulder. "I have half a mind to slap the cuffs on you and lead you into the precinct for questioning. But I know your lawyers will never allow that. But rest assured, Mr. Gregor, we will meet again. Very soon."

  Andersen turned to walk out of the alley, satisfied that her message had been sent. She smiled to herself, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Just as she reached the mouth of the alley, she heard footsteps from behind. Gregor’s shoulder bumped against hers before the businessman stood in front of her, regarding Jill with the sort of smile that sent a chill down her spine.

  "How's your father?" He asked.

  Jill froze, her eyes wide.

  "How much longer does he have?" Gregor shook his head and made a tsk noise. "Shame what happened. He really was one of the city's best. You'd be lucky to be half the detective he was."

  "You don't get to talk about my father," Jill spat through gritted teeth.

  Gregor smiled and shook his head, turning to leave the alley. "We'll do this again, Detective."

  Jill watched Gregor disappear around the corner, her hands curled into fists in her pockets. She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves, waiting for the fire in her stomach to simmer down before leaving the alley herself, wandering down the sidewalk and making her way over to the Inner Harbor, crossing the packed street before approaching the water. The crowds were still light, but the absence of yellow crime scene tape made the place feel like Baltimore's crown jewel again. She smiled at that, glad things were starting to get back to normal.

  She knew she would eventually have to deal with Gregor again -- someone as influential and full of himself as David Gregor would never go down easily, or quickly, or without a fight -- and the specter of her father's pending execution cast a pall over Jill that she desperately tried to hide. She couldn't be a good cop if she was busy weeping over the man who was about to be wrongly put to death. Nor would she be a good cop if she didn’t do everything she could to make sure such an injustice never happened.

  Staring out at the bay, which was remarkably calm given the wind, Jill's phone buzzed. She glanced down at the screen and smiled with a shake of her head. Brian had apparently called during her confrontation with Gregor, and he had just followed up with a text.

  Dinner tomorrow? We should talk.

  Glancing at her watch, Jill decided it was time to return to the precinct. She paused, took in a deep breath, and glanced skyward before turning to cross the street again. She could feel the weight of everything looming over her as she walked, but Jill was too busy being hopeful to pay it much mind. Her partnership with Ramon was stronger than ever, and if she could find a way to reconcile with her brother... well, that was something, wasn't it?

  Chapter 60

  With the Inner Harbor again open to the public, downtown Baltimore was back to its usual boisterous self. Locals and tourists alike crossed Pratt Street, clogging the sidewalks, filing in and out of Phillips like a colony of ants coming and going from the nest. Seagulls perched on the pier, the stiff breeze ruffling their feathers. They were undeterred, though, content to hang around until someone left behind something from the restaurant for them to feast on. A late October chill did little to dampen everyone's spirits; downtown was awash in black, orange, and purple, and the city was more alive than it had been since the summer. The Orioles being two wins away from the World Series had a lot to do with that.

  Her remarkable constitution aside, Jill was still sore from the last few days. Even with all of her gifts, she supposed being tossed out of high-rise buildings and engaging in fisticuffs with highly trained military brass weren't great for her longevity. Yet Jill had survived this ordeal and made sure Dr. Roberts' murderer was dealt with -- even if she couldn't lead all of the others involved away in handcuffs and read them their rights. Nelson Blake was behind bars, and federal authorities were also waiting for their turn with him, thanks to the intel NCIS had provided on the case. Justice didn't always wear the same, familiar mask in this city, but as far as Jill was concerned, unconventional justice beat no justice at all. Ramon and Captain Richards both seemed to agree.

  Even in the euphoria of a recently closed case, Jill knew things weren't over with David Gregor. He would have escape routes not available to others, and she knew he would be vindictive enough to come after her at the first opportunity -- if not directly, then definitely through someone close to her. Jill could warn Gregor until she was blue in the face, but she knew his arrogance would never allow him to sit back and leave her in peace. Something told Jill she would never be rid of him until one of them had been permanently dispatched.

  Still, this was a day to celebrate. Jill would worry about what-ifs some other time. She smiled when she saw Ramon approach, laughing and shaking her head at the fact that he had broken out his winter hat and scarf -- despite the fact that it was still in the forties. Damn Cali boy, through and through.

  "I promise not to make fun of your old man winter shtick," Jill smirked, "as long as you don't order a burger at a seafood place again."

  "Even if it's a damn good burger?"

  She nudged her partner and they laughed as they weaved their way through the crowd into the restaurant. The waitress immediately led them back to their usual table near the rear of the establishment, where two glasses of water were already waiting. Jill placed her phone on the table before pushing the menu aside; she already knew what she wanted.

  "So how's it feel having a superhero for a partner?"


  Ramon smirked. "It'd be a lot cooler if I could brag about it."

  Jill smiled. "Oh, come on, there's gotta be at least a little thrill that comes with keeping a secret this big."

  "There is." Ramon nodded and played with the black straw in his drink, poking at the floating ice cubes. "You never cease to amaze me."

  Jill stopped mid-sip, giving her partner a pointed and quizzical stare. Her right eyebrow arched in question, and she let go of her mouth's loose grip on her straw. Leaning forward on her elbows, Jill felt a smile tugging at her lips. "What?"

  Ramon shrugged, hunching his shoulders and suddenly looking a lot younger than he actually was -- though that might have been because he had actually shaved that morning. "You're," Ramon started, staring at his fidgety fingers, "I'm not gonna call you my hero, because then I'd deserve to be slapped for being cheesy, and you're the last person in the world I want slapping me..."

  Jill laughed. Ramon rambled when he was nervous.

  "... but Jill, I already thought you were a badass with a badge, and I've always marveled at your grit, the fact that you never back down..." He shook his head and huffed a short breath. "First time I observed you interrogating a suspect, I almost quit because I thought there was no way I'd ever live up to that standard. You're everything I aspire to be as a cop, and the strength you've showed in the face of everything involving your dad..." He shook his head.

  Jill frowned a little. Such unabashed sentimentality was rare from her partner, young as he was. It was a bit out of character for him to speak out like this, and it made her wonder if there was something going on she didn't know about.

  "And now, I find out this whole new side of you,” he continued. “So different and yet... still so you."

  Even as his words warmed her heart and gave her a much-needed affirmation of what she was doing with her life, even as the smile crept onto her face and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Jill couldn't resist getting a dig in at her partner.

  "Does Jorge know how you feel?"

  He laughed and shook his head. "No offense -- I mean, the skin-tight leather really suits you -- but you're not really my type."

  They shared a laugh as the waitress dropped off Jill's order and placed a plate in front of Ramon: breaded butterfly shrimp with a side of fries and hush puppies. The waitress gave him a smile and a nod before walking off to tend to her other tables. Ramon arched a brow at Jill and she smiled.

  "We'll break you of your burger-at-seafood-places habit yet."

  Laughing and squeezing his lemon wedge over the shrimp, Ramon shook his head, dunked a piece in cocktail sauce, and bit all the way down to the tail. They ate in silence for a few moments, before Jill sipped at her water. "So... you were saying?"

  Ramon laughed. "What, more ego-stroking?"

  "Hey," Jill shrugged, "Dad's about to die, Mom's dead, Brian hates me -- I could use the self-esteem boost."

  Gallows humor, a tried-and-true coping mechanism for cops. This job would suck out one's soul in a few hours if they let it; if nothing else, inappropriate humor was a way to relieve that stress, a way to keep one's sanity even in the face of humanity's worst capabilities. Unfortunately for Jill, that reality described her personal life as much as her professional one.

  "You're the best partner I could've asked for." Ramon picked at a bit of shrimp shell that had gotten stuck in his teeth. "Moving across the country and learning the ropes in one of the most homicide-heavy cities in the country... how I didn't go insane after my first two weeks is beyond me." He shook his head. "I mean, yeah, I still blow chunks at the really bad crime scenes, but..."

  Ramon tossed a shrimp tail onto a side plate. "... I'm a better investigator. I'm a better interrogator. I've learned when to trust my instincts and when to back off. I didn't learn all of that at the Academy or in some book. I learned that from watching you. I don't know how you do it, Jill, but I'm impressed as hell that you do and I'm honored to be your partner."

  Her smile was broad and genuine and there were even a few tears in her eyes. But instead of acknowledging them like a normal person, she playfully smacked at Ramon's hand before digging back into her crab cakes. "You're not so bad yourself, Ramon. You're a pretty damn good partner."

  "Oh, yeah?" His face visibly brightened. "Why's that?"

  "You're beyond loyal." She shrugged. "Loyalty and trust: everything else is secondary. I trust you with my life."

  Jill's phone buzzed, and she frowned, because she knew their lunch was about to be cut short. Her eyes scanned the screen of her smartphone, and her theory was right; there had been a murder on the other side of Camden Yards. Setting her phone down with a sigh, Jill left a couple twenties on the table and wiped her mouth.

  "Let's go, Ramon. Pray it's not a gruesome one."

  Ramon swallowed hard, his eyes wide before he grabbed his hat and scarf. He hoped this was a relatively clean one, because as good as the shrimp had been, he wasn't keen on seeing it again.

  COMING IN 2016: BLOOD TIES

  Acknowledgements

  As difficult as writing this book has been -- particularly while holding down a full-time job -- I think writing this section is even harder. There is no shortage of people to thank, both for their input on this project specifically and for their involvement in my life over the years. It might be my (pen) name splashed across the cover, it might be my mugshot on the back of the book (apologies for that, if so), but this book was far from an individual effort.

  My first thanks go out to Anton Kromoff, whom I met in an art class in my junior year of high school. Back then, I was little more than a burgeoning comic book artist who had just started to think about creating my own characters. I had already created a male hero around whom to build a story, and I was in the process of wanting to create a female hero as well. That hero wound up being Bounty, and Anton’s input was crucial -- not just in how it taught me some of the finer points of character creation and world building, but for the simple fact that a lot of his ideas have survived the years, even as this character has undergone several reboots.

  My sister Kat, to whom I refer in the dedication, has supported me ever since my middle school days, and her belief in me -- both as a writer and as a person -- has given me the confidence needed to push through this manuscript. In the almost two decades we’ve known each other, she has been my rock, my constant when everything else in my life seems to change non-stop. I love her for that and will be forever grateful. This book is for her.

  Likewise, my friend Kate -- whom I’ve known since college -- has been a source of inspiration and strength. Part of my creative renaissance is thanks to her; more specifically, my inclusion into the Buffy the Vampire Slayer fandom and the creative endeavors it wrought. And yes, I just admitted to being in a fandom. In fact, I’m in several of them, and I don’t much care for creators who act like they’re too good to admit they’re a part of them. Fandoms are wonderful things that foster community, friendship, and creativity. Without fandoms, books like Bounty don’t exist.

  My creative influences -- Stan Lee and Joss Whedon -- are heroes in a sense for entirely different reasons. Lee should be obvious, because I’m assuming that anyone reading this book has at least some passing knowledge of the superhero genre. Bounty originated as a comic book heroine, and my love for the genre hopefully shows through, even if novel writing is a completely different animal. Perhaps one day I’ll be fortunate enough to see this character and her world on the shelves of my local comic book store -- maybe on the silver screen, too, if I’m really lucky (in case you’re wondering, Hollywood, I want Kristen Stewart to play the role of Jill) -- but for right now, seeing my prized creation as a novel character is pretty damn sweet.

  Whedon’s influence on me is slightly different. There’s no doubt that much of his material has influenced me -- Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Firefly/Serenity are longtime personal favorites -- but I came across his work at a time when I was blocked creatively. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t d
raw. Nothing worked, no matter what I tried. But once I got sucked into Joss’ world of Slayers and monsters and prophecies, the creative spark ignited once more, and many of the revamps that my characters and worlds underwent were a direct result of Whedon’s influence.

  In that vain, I also need to acknowledge another person whom I don’t know personally but has been equally as important to this book and my process as a writer: Nathan Fillion. His portrayal of bestselling author Richard Castle is what truly spawned the creation of this book. Not the characters within it, not the overall framework of the story, but my need to sit down and just write the damn thing. For some reason, discovering Castle has given me a jolt of creativity not seen since my Whedon discovery, with the added benefit of showing me the ins and outs of a genre I hadn’t previously considered as a reader or a writer. It amazes me how well murder mystery blends with the superhero elements of Bounty, and I may not have ever made that discovery if it weren’t for Fillion’s current alter ego. Besides, if a man who doesn’t even exist can make The New York Times bestseller list, why can’t I?

  From my background as a journalist, I owe thanks to the likes of former colleagues Marty O’Brien, Lynn Burke, David Squires, Dave Fairbank, and Doug Roberson, each of whom either currently work at or have worked at the Daily Press newspaper in southeastern Virginia. In their own unique ways, each helped me grow as a writer just out of college, and though this is the farthest thing from anything I ever wrote for a newspaper or website, I find with age that all writing, regardless of subject matter, is connected.

  Which is why I will close with this bit of advice: if you’re an aspiring writer, just do it. Sit down and write. Don’t worry about being perfect on the first go-round -- you won’t. Don’t worry about plot holes or spelling errors or continuity problems -- there will be a time and place to address those things, and it’s called editing. The book you have in your hands barely resembles the first draft, and that’s due to repeated rounds through my manuscript, making notes and fixing what needs to be fixed. Don’t expect to be Stephen King or James Patterson from the get-go, because -- spoiler alert -- even Stephen King and James Patterson aren’t Stephen King and James Patterson on the first draft.