Behind the Badge

by J. D. Cunegan

  The redheaded woman telegraphed her first move, lunging at Jill with her weapon raised above her head. Jill sidestepped the blow before trapping the woman's arm against her side and hoisting her over her shoulder. The woman landed at the burly man's feet before he attempted a charge, not unlike a linebacker approaching the ball carrier to make a tackle. Fortunately, sparring sessions with Detective Stevens had taught Jill the finer points of using someone's momentum against them, so Jill tucked herself into the blow and let the bearded man soar over her. He slammed face-first into the rear bumper, falling to the sidewalk in a heap.

  Well, that was disappointing...

  The redhead tackled Jill from behind, sending her face-first into the sidewalk. Jill had turned her head just before impact so the metal plate on the left side of her face would take the brunt of it, and by the time the woman pushed Jill onto her back, Jill responded by tucking her legs back into herself and pushing the soles of her combat boots into the redhead's abdomen. The force of the blow sent the woman skidding along the pavement as Jill leapt back to her feet and cracked her knuckles -- a rather unnerving sound given her skeletal enhancements.

  “Officer Stevenson, I presume,” Jill said, reaching for the redhead. But the other woman rolled out of her grasp before sweeping Jill's legs out from under her. Her movements were impressive, considering she only had use of one arm. Adrenaline was likely overwhelming whatever pain she felt in the moment, and Jill almost felt sorry for her when it would eventually wear off.

  By the time Jill landed chin-first on the sidewalk, the other woman had climbed on to straddle her back, wrapping her good arm around Jill's neck. As the redhead tightened her grip, Jill gasped for air. “So,” Kayla spat through gritted teeth, “this is the infamous Bounty. Frankly? Not impressed.”

  “Sorry...” Jill grit her teeth and slammed the heel of her boot into Kayla's left knee. She sprung free once Kayla released her grip and crumpled into a heap. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  When Jill's boot caught Kayla in the chin, it instantly knocked the redhead unconscious.

  Diving back into the rear of the van just as the fire engine had arrived on the scene to tend to the hydrant and the massive puddle left on the road, Jill leaned against the wall and broke into a coughing fit. Once the coughing had subsided, and Jill could no longer stand to rub the raw spot on her neck, she crawled over to Colonel Downs. He still had a pulse, but was now unconscious. With another sigh, Jill sat with her back propped up against the left side of the van, fishing a black flip phone out of her left boot. Her free hand snaked through her hair as the call connected.

  “Captain Richards,” she greeted, as if she didn't consider the man on the other end a second father, “got four perps for you. And Colonel Downs needs medical attention.”

  CHAPTER 18

  As Bounty, Jill wore her hair down, used black lipstick, and didn't bother with the skin graft that normally covered the left side of her face. Short of a mask and disguising her voice, it was the best way Jill knew to hide her identity. But as Baltimore homicide detective Jill Andersen, she wore her hair in a tight ponytail, often went without lipstick altogether, and the skin graft made her face as normal as anyone else’s. The graft was so detailed that to someone who wasn't paying close attention, her left eye resembled her right eye.

  Her colleagues all swore they could still see the infrared underneath, but Jill couldn't help but wonder if that was because they knew her secret or if they could actually see her true self underneath the mask. Knowledge, for all of its power, could play tricks with the mind on occasion.

  Ramon often joked that Bounty was her true identity and that Jill was her mask, but truth be told, she sometimes worried that was actually the case. In some ways, it seemed like Jill Andersen had died the night Dr. Trent Roberts operated on her and Bounty took her place. But for right now, it was Jill's turn behind the proverbial wheel.

  She fought the smirk threatening the corners of her mouth when she barged into Interrogation Two – which, for some reason, was twice the size of Interrogation One -- and saw the four suspects wearing black outfits from head to toe. Three men and one women, with bruised and bloodied faces, looking as if they had been horribly put upon by having to be here. She enjoyed their collective annoyance and decided to use it to her advantage. If they were already feeling some type of way, maybe they were one small push away from snapping and she would find the break she needed.

  “You four have apparently had quite the night,” Jill teased, slapping her notepad against the rusted table and flipping the chair around so that when she sat, she could rest her arms over the back. “I'll try not to keep you so you can go lick your wounds.”

  “Fuck you.” As expected, Officer Carter was the first to speak.

  “So not the tree you wanna be barking at,” Jill said with a shake of her head before flipping open her notepad and taking a moment to study its contents. Not that she hadn't already committed it all to memory, but she wanted these four to squirm. They weren't the typical suspects; they already knew every page of the interrogation playbook. Jill had to be on top of her game. “Nolan Carter... Kayla Stevenson... Scott Harper... and Freddie McPhee. All badges with the Fourth Precinct, and according to your official files, some of the finest this city has.”

  “Then why are we here?” Kayla asked with a sneer, her chin black and blue and her broken arm pinned to her chest in a faded blue sling.

  “Well, how about having a police colonel unconscious in the back of your van, for starters?” Jill asked.

  “You can't prove that,” the burly man, Harper, sneered. “All you got's the eyewitness account of a vigilante.”

  “A vigilante who has more than proven her worth to this city,” Jill countered, finding it odd to refer herself in the third person.

  “That bitch is breaking the law,” McPhee, the shortest among them, said.

  “Not as many as you all have.” Jill flipped through sheets of legal paper tucked into the leather-bound notepad, letting an awkward silence fill the room. She waited for one of the officers to fire back at her, but they all sat with their arms folded over their chests. Whatever they were in on, they were clearly in this together. If one of them went down, they all were going down.

  Which was just fine with Jill.

  “I mean,” she continued, “where should I start? Kidnapping a high-ranking BPD official? Assaulting him? Breaking more traffic laws than I care to count? Attempted murder? And I haven't even gotten to Devin Buckner yet.”

  “That little fucker?” Carter shook his head; clearly, his little game of subterfuge the first time they talked was over. “No great loss.”

  “Tell that to his mother.” Jill pushed herself away from the chair, crossing to the other side of the table. “Tell that to his best friend, who was looking forward to rooming with him at Morgan State. Tell that to his high school basketball coach, who said he was the first kid to come to practice every morning even after tearing his ACL.”

  “Tell that to the deadbeat he bought weed from,” Kayla said.

  “Last I checked, smoking marijuana isn't punishable by death.”

  “What about the time he shoplifted a fucking CVS?” Harper.

  “Shoplifting's not grounds for capital punishment, either.”

  Carter snarled. “Well, aren't you just judge, jury, and executioner.”

  “Actually, these are all officially outlined in our legal code.” Jill arched a brow. “The law literally tells us what punishments fit what crimes.”

  “We got a menace off the streets,” McPhee said.

  “You tortured and murdered a child!” Jill let her voice rise to the point that it echoed off the drab walls, before plunking herself back into her chair and glaring at the four officers with as much anger as she could manage without visibly shaking. “I bet this isn't the first time you've done it, either.”

  “Even if you could prove it -- which you can't,” Carter said as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the ta
ble, “you'll never bag us. Downtown, public opinion, the media... it's all on our side.”

  Jill refused to believe that. She refused to consider the fact that her police department would systemically allow something like this to happen. And yet... it appeared that was exactly what was happening. Well before Devin Buckner, too... to this day, Pedro Mendoza's family was pressuring the BPD to punish the officers allegedly responsible for his death. Now that those officers were apparently involved in yet another death of a black teenage boy, the pressure was mounting again. WJZ had already announced that Pedro's mother would be on their morning show.

  Not to mention the laundry list of names before Pedro. The only reason Pedro's name was still in the news was because his father was a prominent lawyer. Constant threats of legal action against both the BPD and the mayor's office had a way of shining the spotlight on something that otherwise would've long fallen out of the public eye. The protests had died down, but the debate over police brutality and systemic racism never went away. Devin Buckner's death would only stoke the fires once again.

  “The evidence is on mine,” she said, pushing herself off the chair again and grabbing the doorknob. “Underestimate me at your own risk.”

  CHAPTER 19

  No sooner did Jill return to her desk, slapping her notepad on the surface in a show of frustration only uncooperative suspects could get out of her, than the phone on her desk rang. Hoping it was one of the other detectives calling with news, or even Juanita with an update on the autopsy, she practically yanked the receiver from its cradle and plopped herself into her chair.

  “Andersen.”

  “That was quite the display out there tonight,” a male voice greeted on the other end, and Jill's blood ran cold.

  “What the hell do you want?” Jill spat through clenched teeth.

  “Now now... put away the sword,” David Gregor teased. “I come in peace.”

  “Why don't I believe that?”

  “Because you are one insufferable little pest,” the billionaire answered. “But in this case, that's actually a good thing.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Jill trapped the phone between her shoulder and ear before folding her arms over her chest. She considered having the call traced, but she knew Gregor wasn't the sort to hide from her. If she really needed to go after him, she knew exactly where he would be. For the thousandth time since she got out of the hospital, Jill wondered why she hadn't done just that. The business card that FBI agent had left her two months ago was still tucked away in her drawer, all but forgotten.

  “Is there a point to this call, or are you just gonna mock me?”

  “The public is against you on this case,” Gregor explained, as if Jill didn't already know that. “Sure, the more socially conscious know what really happened, but as far as anyone else is concerned, a black kid with legal trouble is off the streets. Your little stunt tonight probably won't help matters.”

  “Never mind the fact that they were going to kill a police colonel.”

  “You know the public narrative won't get that far. Colonel Downs’ name might never make the newspaper. All the people will hear about is the vigilante who beat four cops to a pulp.”

  Jill rolled her eyes; the last thing she needed was someone else telling her to be careful. Especially someone who probably would rather see her dead. Then again, maybe Gregor had a point. Jill certainly didn’t enjoy throwing down with cops -- even if the cops in question were one level up from scum in her mind.

  “I can help you.”

  The laugh burst from Jill's lips before she had a chance to stop herself, because those were the last four words she ever expected to hear from him, and she sat upright again. “You? Help me?”

  “This is an epidemic, Detective,” Gregor said. “You remember what happened the last time those jackals killed a black kid. Frankly, I'd rather not watch my city burn again.”

  “Funny, I would've thought police brutality was right up your alley.”

  “I don't pay for bodies, Detective.”

  “Other than the time you tried to pay for mine.”

  “That was different,” Gregor countered. “But this? Detective, the longer this case drags on, the more they'll box you in. They will ostracize you. They'll do everything in their power to make sure you can't solve this case, and the harder you push, the more they'll isolate you and make your life hell.”

  “Your concern for my well-being is touching,” Jill deadpanned. “Assuming, of course, that all of this won’t happen because of an order from you.”

  “Alright.” Gregor sighed on the other end. “If you won't think of yourself, at least consider this: the longer you go without an arrest, the more likely we're heading toward more riots. More protests. More demonstrations downtown where ordinary citizens stare down police officers wearing riot gear. I know you don't want a repeat of that, because I most certainly do not.”

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, Jill heaved a weary sigh. As much as she hated to admit it... Gregor was right. Everything he had said to this point had been on the money, and she hated that the voice of reason in this instance was the one man who had been a thorn in her side for the past several months.

  “This the part where you tell me you have a plan?”

  “I have a guest appearance lined up tomorrow night on a prominent national cable news program,” he explained. “I will use that platform to speak out against police brutality and -- knowing the host the way I do -- defend your alter ego in the process.”

  Jill’s heart briefly leapt into her throat. The last thing she wanted was for Gregor to start talking about the vigilante on the air. There was no telling what he would say. “You really think that's gonna work?”

  “Not on its own. But that's why I have something else up my sleeve, Detective.”

  Jill arched a brow, even though she knew he couldn't see it. “You gonna tell me what that is?”

  “No. But you'll see soon enough. Until then... do be careful.”

  The line went dead before Jill could respond.

  CHAPTER 20

  Nolan Carter groped for the bars in his Holding cell once it slammed shut, glaring at Officer Sorenson as he walked away. The other three in his cabal sat along the far wall. Stevenson was too busy nursing her broken wrist to notice anything else around her, while McPhee and Harper chose to stew in their own anger. Neither of them were big on words, and Carter knew that when the dam finally burst for them, whoever was on the receiving end would be in a world of trouble.

  Good thing, too, because he needed that anger.

  “This is bullshit,” he muttered, as much for his benefit as anyone else’s.

  “Yes, it is,” Daniel Richards agreed as he approached the bars, hands stuffed in his pockets and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. The red tie hung loose around his neck, and the shirt’s top button was undone. To study Richards’ body language, one would never be able to tell he had spent the better part of the day dealing with suits downtown. “Though I’m guessing we feel that way for different reasons.”

  “Captain.” Carter’s grip on the bars tightened.

  “Officer.” Richards lifted his chin, peering down through the lenses of his black-rim glasses. He was literally looking down his nose at the four officers huddled in the dingy, dark cell.

  “Don’t suppose you’re here to let us out?”

  “Nope.” Richards folded his arms over his chest and approached the bars. He made sure that both his badge and department-issued firearm were easily visible. That way, if Carter was actually dumb enough to try something, he knew what was waiting for him. “I had my way, we’d be shipping your ass to Booking.”

  Carter smirked and shook his head before staring at the ceiling. It was one thing for an overzealous detective looking to redefine herself to take a run at Carter, but for a captain? Someone within the department with enough clout and leadership to do something, and he was barking up this tree?

  Pathetic. />
  “I’ve seen your kind before,” Richards explained. “You take the badge a little too seriously. Sure, your record is spotless, but that’s more a product of who you know.”

  Carter narrowed his gaze. “Fuck you, old man.”

  “Defensive to boot.” Richards allowed himself a light chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced down at the floor. He could see the stink eye the other two male officers were throwing his way. Something told the captain that if the redhead weren’t desperately in pain, she would be doing the same thing.

  “When this is all over,” Carter warned, “I’ll make sure the Bishop hears about this.”

  “They already know.” Richards smiled at the blank expression on Carter’s face. “See, not too long after you got out of Interrogation, I got a very interesting phone call. Seems you have a friend in very high places.”

  One thing Carter wasn’t good at was playing dumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, so David Gregor was lying when he said he knew you?”

  The mention of Gregor’s name caught the attention of the other three officers, all of whom directed their glares at Carter. They were equal parts confused, suspicious, and more than a little angry. It appeared murdering teenagers was alright, but taking money under the table was a no-no.

  “I’m not saying shit,” Carter said, puffing out his chest.

  “You don’t have to.” The smile on Richards’ face grew. “He told me everything. Well, not everything… I’m sure there’s something he left out so he wouldn’t incriminate himself, but we know enough.” The captain cocked his head to the side. “Tell me, Nolan… if we pulled your financials, what would we find?”

  “Yeah, Carter.” McPhee was now standing over Carter’s shoulder. “How much you got? You been holdin’ out?”

  Richards pursed his lips. So the anger wasn’t based in any morality; the others were just upset they weren’t invited to the party. David Gregor was a wealthy man, so whatever he had been slipping Carter under the table had to be significant. Especially for someone on an officer’s salary.