“Then I guess it's a good thing I've got a trick downtown doesn't know about.”
CHAPTER 15
Just as Jeff Downs regained consciousness, he felt two sets of hands tugging on his suit and tossing him into the back of a van. By the time he gathered his bearings enough to notice the rust and the dried blood strewn about the metal floor, the double doors slammed shut and he could hear the rattling of chains being run through the door handles. Downs took a moment to catch his breath, wincing when the simple act of sitting up sent a burning, throbbing pain along the back of his head. He reached behind himself, feeling a small cut mark behind his ear, and he could feel the dried blood caked into his skin.
He heard the front doors slam shut before the engine roared to life. It briefly sputtered as whoever was behind the wheel forced the vehicle into gear, but before Downs could reach up to grab one of the metal bars along the partition, the tires squealed in protest and the van violently lurched forward. The force of the acceleration threw Downs back, and he skidded along the floor before his back slammed into the rear doors. The blow knocked the colonel onto his side, and though the throbbing in the back of his head had intensified, the pain in his lower back and the panic of the unknown were of greater consequence.
He scrambled to his knees, only to lose his balance again when the van lurched to the left. His shoulder popped upon impact with the floor. Downs yelped in pain, and he could hear laughter through the partition. He tried pushing himself back up, but the jolt of pain in his shoulder sent him crumpling back down in a heap. A hard right sent the colonel rolling along the floor of the van, smashing nose-first into one of the bars on the side.
His nose broke, blood gushing.
“Stop!” he yelled in as authoritative a voice as he could muster, given the pain. “Stop this van right now!”
The laughter on the other side of the partition grew louder, and several voices had joined in on the fun. Downs couldn't tell how many there were, only that the van sped up even more. The motor vibrated so much that the entire vehicle shook, and Downs couldn't believe this van was capable of such speeds. Not that he could tell exactly how fast they were traveling, but it felt far too fast. The van rocked from side to side every time whoever was behind the wheel jerked into another lane. Downs staggered and clutched for anything he could reach. The acid was churning in his stomach. Downs squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath to try and calm his gut, but every sudden movement sent bile trickling up his throat.
“BPD!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, though his voice cracked. “Pull the van over!”
A shotgun blast tore through the partition, the deafening boom sending Downs scrambling as the bullet zipped inches away from his ear and punctured the double doors. One of the masks peered through the makeshift hole before sliding the barrel of a handgun through the opening. “One more word,” the muffled female voice, the same one from his office earlier, warned, “and the next one's in your forehead.”
The next time the van lurched to the right, it seemingly cut through several lanes of traffic. Horns blared and motorists shouted, a cacophony of annoyance and road rage ignored by whoever was in the front of the vehicle. The van accelerated, even as it motored down what appeared to be an off ramp, and the tires hollered in protest when the van made a ninety-degree left-hand turn, sheet metal scraping against a concrete wall. The sharp scraping sound sent a chill down the colonel's spine and he recoiled, hands covering his ears despite the mind-numbing pain in his shoulder.
Another hard left sent Downs rolling to the other side, slamming back-first into the rusted metal. He grunted in pain through clenched teeth; he had tried not to verbalize the pain, so as not to give the jackals on the other side of the partition the satisfaction, but he was in so much agony that it was impossible. Rolling onto his back, Downs stared at the ceiling, his vision blurred by tears. He was weak, the throbbing in his head and shoulder overwhelming almost every other sensation. He barely even noticed the blood on his face, which had now made it way onto his chin. His vision was growing dark. He felt as if he would pass out at any moment. Hell, it had occurred to him this might actually be his last night on Earth.
On meat loaf night, no less.
CHAPTER 16
Jill watched as the van careened off I-83 and onto one of the countless side streets that connected North Baltimore with downtown. Her perch atop the John and Frances Angelos Law Center on the campus of the University of Baltimore gave Jill a perfect vantage point for the chaos, and she was glad she had decided to tail Colonel Downs after her conversation with Officer Carter. Not that she had considered Downs a suspect, but if he had anything that could have led her to one of the other perpetrators, then she was going to take every advantage she could.
Even if that meant breaking out the black leather and letting her hair down. The katana felt heavier than usual strapped to her back, a family heirloom that served as her symbol as much as anything else. Since the fallout from Vernon Delaney’s murder, Jill had kept her vigilante exploits to a minimum... mostly because far too many people now knew her secret. Sure, the vast majority of them were co-workers, people she trusted with her life, but the last thing Jill wanted was for her double life to become common knowledge. If that meant toning down the rooftop brooding and the bad guy pummeling for a bit, she had to make do.
But if any case begged for off-the-book investigating, this was it. If Jill's hunch that cops were involved in Devin Buckner's murder was correct, and if the pattern of behavior had been laid out before the brass downtown and nothing had been done, then something told Jill she wasn't going to solve this case with her badge. Internal politics were her least favorite part of the job, and a large reason why she never showed much interest in moving up the proverbial food chain.
So why had she accepted Downs’ offer?
Sure, Captain Richards was desk-bound most of the time and got to go home at a decent hour most nights, but at what cost? She had heard some of his phone calls with the deputy commissioner and others at the Bishop over the years, and she decided long ago she wanted nothing to do with that. Jill became a cop to do good, not put up with bureaucratic hurdles. But still… maybe Jill could have used that newfound power to her advantage. Slowly but surely change the system for the better. No doubt countless others had felt the same way… only to watch helplessly as the wheel spun along, unchanged.
In the distance, Jill saw the van take the exit that led onto North Avenue, going far faster than any vehicle that size should. It almost toppled onto its side, and Jill wasted no time beginning her descent. This was one of those times where Jill wished Project Fusion had given her the ability to fly; at the very least, she wished she could afford to invest in a quality grappling hook. But she had to make do with fire escapes and improvising ways to get down off rooftops without injuring herself. The last thing Jill needed was another multiple-story, terminal velocity tumble.
Her infrared sight gave Jill the advantage of spotting the van from such a long distance. She had expected the van to keep on North, going westbound, but a sharp left took the vehicle onto Mt. Royal, and it was coming right toward her. Jill couldn't believe how fortuitous that was, considering there was no way she could've made it from the University of Baltimore to North Avenue on foot and been able to keep up with the van. Then again, Jill wondered if maybe this was too easy.
But like Ramon once told her... gift horse, mouth.
◊◊◊
When Jill saw the van pull out from behind a black Cadillac, swerving into the right lane, she dropped into a crouch. She had to time this perfectly; otherwise, she would either bounce off the vehicle's hood and wind up being run over by traffic behind, or she would miss the mark completely and possibly land in the middle of an intersection. Frankly, she didn't want another trip to the hospital… especially considering what happened the last time. Not only did her secret get out to more people than she wanted, but Jill also had someone attack her in her own hospital bed.
Mentally counting down from three, Jill leapt into the air at one. She landed on the roof of the speeding van with a dull thud, trying to maintain her balance when the vehicle swerved in response. As expected, her stunt got the driver's attention. Dropping to a knee, having an easier time balancing herself now that she had lowered her center of gravity, Jill pulled the katana from its sheath and pierced the sheet metal. She sliced through as best she could before using her free hand to pull the roof back like it was a sardine can.
She found Colonel Downs on his back, his face bloodied. He was still alive, writhing in pain. Jill was just about to drop down into the back of the van when gunfire erupted from the front of the vehicle, tearing through the partition. Jill dropped herself until her chest was flat against the roof, her free hand latching onto the peeled-back sheet metal. None of the bullets hit Downs, and none of them came up her way. Instead, the rear double doors had been hit, now resembling swiss cheese.
Once gunfire had been replaced with the click of an empty chamber, Jill hopped into the back of the van, crouching beside the colonel and checking his pulse. It was faint, but it was there. He groaned in response to the leather-clad fingers pressed into the side of his neck, his eyes little more than open slits as he lifted a hand to point toward what was left of the partition.
Before Jill could turn around, one more gunshot burst through the partition. She ducked and covered Downs' body with her own, squeezing her eyes shut before realizing neither one of them had been hit. Even with that knowledge, Jill needed a few seconds to gather her bearings -- the sound of gunfire in such close proximity sending her back to a few months prior, when she had been chasing down a murder suspect downtown and wound up with a bullet in her gut. A bead of sweat rolled down Jill's temple, her dark hair splayed out over her face. Her heartbeat thundered away in her ears, and Jill gulped in a deep breath to calm herself. But another gunshot rang out, this one clearly a shotgun blast. The concussive force dislodged her sword from the roof, and it fell to the floor with a clang.
Grabbing the weapon, and operating on pure adrenaline, Jill lunged toward the partition. She then reached through the hole the shotgun had torn through the metal, grabbing one of the masked figures by the neck and yanking them into the back of the van. She slammed the short man onto his back and pointed the tip of her blade at his throat.
“Keep driving!” a female voice ordered, changing the clip on her pistol.
“I'd re-think that,” Jill warned. “Unless you wanna hear this guy gag on his own blood.”
“You wouldn't,” the driver said, never once tearing his gaze from the windshield. Though the voice was muffled by the mask, it sounded an awful lot like the asshole cop she had questioned earlier that day.
“You really wanna find out?”
Silence filled the front compartment, and Jill hoped the masked attackers were reconsidering their strategy. Jill was flying by the proverbial seat of her pants; this was, by far, the strangest scenario in which she had found herself -- which was saying something, considering she once had a man's heart sitting in a box outside her apartment. She knew she wasn't going to stab this guy in the neck. Colonel Downs probably knew she wasn't going to stab this guy in the neck. But Jill needed the four in the masks to think she might.
What she hadn't counted on was the press of the gun barrel into the back of her neck.
“What I want,” the female voice hissed, “is for you to put down that sword.”
Well, if this was ever an impasse... they wanted Jill to put down her sword, she wanted them to pull the van over. They didn't appear willing to acquiesce, and Jill was worried pushing the issue further would get someone killed. But if she lowered her weapon, showed any sign of surrender at all, there was no telling what kind of signal that would send.
“How do I know you won't pull the trigger even if I do?”
“You'll just have to trust her,” the driver called out over his shoulder.
Jill swung her free arm behind her, her coiled fist hitting the masked woman in the elbow. The bone gave way and the woman howled in pain. The momentum of the blow sent her into the driver's right side, their shoulders colliding before he yanked on the wheel and the van skidded across two lanes of traffic before hopping the median. The right front tire took out a speed limit sign, the twisted metal rod bent at a ninety-degree angle before the van slammed back onto its wheels right in front of oncoming traffic. Cars skidded onto the sidewalk and crossed the median as they slammed on their brakes, and there were three crashes as motorists tried to keep from running into the van.
Jill reached for a metal bar on the left side of the partition, grunting when the force of the van almost popped her shoulder out of its socket. Fortunately, the four masked figures were too busy trying to hold on or control the vehicle to notice her, so by the time Jill gathered her bearings, she grabbed the sword again and reached around the driver, placing the blade flush against his neck.
“Stop the van!” she ordered. “Now!”
“Or what?” the masked man in the back of the van with Jill asked. “We all know you won't press down. That's not your style.”
“You don't have what it takes,” the man in the passenger's seat, who to this point had been silent, added.
Even as they spoke, the van was decelerating, the front tires hoping over the curb as the vehicle bounced and teetered onto the sidewalk. Onlookers from across the road had pulled out their phones, snapping pictures and taking videos -- because apparently, a high-speed chase was great social media fodder, but no reason to call the authorities. Not that Jill wanted the authorities here just yet; with any luck, they wouldn't show up until she was already gone. That was seldom how it worked out, but Jill figured one of these days, it had to go her way.
Then again, it wasn't like she could just tie up the bad guys in a makeshift spider web and just... leave them there.
She pressed the blade harder against the driver's neck. It wasn't yet deep enough to cut through skin, but if the van jostled just the wrong way...
“You know nothing,” Jill muttered under her breath. She didn't need Carter -- if he was indeed behind the mask -- recognizing her voice.
The man who had been on the ground behind Jill got up and punched her in her kidney. Though the blow caused her knees to buckle, and Jill bellowed in pain, she kept her grip on the katana and it moved just slightly against the driver's neck. It cut through the material of the mask and came to rest against his skin. Maybe-Carter tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and she felt him tense around the weapon.
Before Jill could react, though, she heard her attacker howl in agony before crumpling to the floor of the van. She frowned in confusion before seeing Colonel Downs, resting on his good elbow and holding onto a black taser. The anger and pain on his face made for a potent mix, and Jill reminded herself to never actually cross him. She also respected him a lot more than she had before; despite his cooperation earlier, part of Jill had considered him part of the downtown cover-up that allowed these four officers to get away with these rough rides in the first place. But if they had kidnapped him and subjected him to a rough ride of his own...
Jill turned her head so that by the time Downs looked directly at her, he wouldn't see her face. She so did not need someone from the Bishop figuring out who she was.
“You alright?” he asked.
CHAPTER 17
As soon as the van skidded to a stop, Officer Carter yanked off his mask, tore open the driver's side door, and hopped out. Pulling his handgun out of the waistband of his pants, he crossed to the back of the van as the other two masked individuals followed. Cocking the gun, Carter shot through the chain before yanking the battered double doors open and climbing into the back. Colonel Downs turned around just in time for Carter's boot to smash into his chin, knocking the older man out cold. The van skittering along the median had caused Jill to lose her bearings, and she had regained her grip
on her sword when Carter then grabbed Jill by the wrist, the two behind him having drawn their weapons. But before Carter could hoist Jill back to her feet, she slugged him across the face with the hilt of her sword, spinning out of his grasp and kicking him in the solar plexus.
The force of the blow sent Carter stumbling out of the van. As he landed on the sidewalk, writhing in pain, the other two in masks cocked their weapons. Jill stood near the double doors, twirling the katana in her right hand. Her left eye glowed red, which would've been far more formidable had she been tucked in the shadows. But she wasn't, and the scene was gathering quite the crowd. Before long, other cops and TV trucks would be on the scene. A fire engine roared to life three blocks away, a siren cranking up to undoubtedly check on the hydrant that had been demolished.
“There were four of you when this all started,” Jill said. “Now you're down to two. Sure you wanna keep going?”
The woman tightened her grip on her weapon, even as she cradled her broken arm against her side. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she put up a good front, even as the hand holding the gun shook. “We'll put our weapons away if you do.”
“And what, we go ten rounds like Pacquiao and Mayweather?” Jill laughed. “Trust me when I say neither of you want that.”
“Well,” the burly man said, unruly strands of red beard poking out from underneath his mask, “aren't we full of ourselves.”
Jill shrugged before sheathing her katana and hopping off the back of the van. She really needed to get Colonel Downs some medical attention, but until she dealt with the dynamic duo in front of her, she couldn't do much of anything. So shifting her body weight to her back foot, Jill put her fists up in front of herself -- before unfolding her right hand and waving her fingers toward herself. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”
Behind the Badge Page 6