"They're five minutes out," Jessica said to Misty after placing her phone back on the table as the pair sat as far away from the door as possible in Luke's dining room. "Things are about to get hot."
It wasn't late, not compared to Jessica's usual schedule. But she felt completely drained, and the look on Misty's face told Jess that she wasn't the only one to feel that way. They were both scrubbed to within an inch of their lives, and they had each made a stop home after returning to the city to exchange their gifted green scrubs for normal attire, but both women would admit if asked that they felt much more secure in their personal health and safety after the mandatory cleaning. It would take a bit longer for their clothes to be returned, but it was a small price to pay to ensure not dying a horrible death, even if the chances had been minuscule.
"The two of you ever do anything like this?" Misty asked, bringing Jess's mind back the the conversation she had just concluded with Beth.
"What, raid a mobster's hideout and snatch him up?" Jessica asked before considering the question. "Actually, yes. But that was different. We used stealth to get in. We didn't storm the place like Beth and her crew are about to do tonight."
"Stealth?" Misty asked. The meal they'd enjoyed, on the house courtesy of Luke, who had been very happy to see Jessica return hale and whole, was ancient history at this point. Jessica's appetite, for food as well as alcohol, was still suppressed; and more than on regular turned their head in surprise when Luke himself made several trips to the table with nothing more than the coffee pot in his hands.
"Well, subterfuge anyway. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you sometime," Jess said as her phone vibrated against the surface of the table.
gettin ready to rock and roll, the text from Trish said.
Jess didn't bother to share the message with Misty. As far as she was concerned it was all one op, and the main thing was the results, not the details. But for Jessica Jones the details were very important. Two of her best friends were heading into enemy territory, and one of them was almost certainly walking into a shooting gallery. No fucking way Freddy Giancona wasn't sitting in some room that was surrounded with automatic weapons in the hands of very well trained men. The other guy... Jess didn't have enough information to know how worried to be for Trish and Laurel. He'd definitely been warned that two of his men had been picked up, and he'd be a total fucking idiot not to assume that those guys had talked. Anyone with half a brain would be hundreds of miles away right now, and getting farther away by the minute.
"What's on our dance card?" Misty asked as she picked up her cup of cooling coffee. "Any doors with our names on them, just waiting to be kicked in?"
They had the promise of some at least, depending on what they learned tonight. Men had been taken in New Jersey and in Arkansas, and Jess didn't think that any crooked Chicago cop was going to drive that far just for that. And anyway, it would take someone with a fair amount of local knowledge to plan where and when to grab each guy. That meant that any doors marked for Jessica's and Misty's attention would be local. It also meant that someone was operating in Arkansas, where they didn't have any resources of their own. They'd need to find someone willing to make the trip.
Jessica looked down at the ancient boots she was wearing. She'd kept them around for the rare occasions (now that no one was shooting up her office) she painted her domicile. They would have to suffice for any door/ass kicking until her newer pair were returned to her.
"I can think of four or five doors right now, but none of them connected to this fucking mess," Jess replied, "drug dealers mostly. An illegal Chinese police station that Trish hasn't gotten around to yet. Not bad as far as consolation prizes goes, but nothing to work up a sweat."
"Well, just so you know, Colleen was bitching up a storm about being left out. I mean right up until in mentioned what you found in the warehouse on Avenue C. Then she remembered she needed to train. But she'd be up for some make up violence, as long as it didn't involve a deadly virus."
Jessica smiled. "Always plenty of that in Our Fair City."
Julia was sound asleep, and Bruce had no desire to wake her. Not that he had a need to either, his mind worked just fine when he was as still as a statue; and it was his mind that he was using at the moment. Which was fortunate because her head was resting on his chest, his left arm wrapper around her. His mental activity began with him trying to remember how long it had been since he'd had sex last. He lived the life of a monk, there was no point in arguing otherwise; if fit his lifestyle best, and one night stands didn't require long term explanations of missed dinner dates or birthdays.
Fasching, Munich, so eight months more or less.
If he focused hard enough he could probably remember her name. She was wealthy, he remembered that, and his recollection was that she'd been ten years younger than him. He was probably just another faceless rich American to her. Neither of them had gone into it with any expectations past the one night, which he'd enjoyed and she, unless she was a very good actress, had also enjoyed. He eyes went to the beautiful face that was so close to his, and her rhythmic breathing that he could feel through the muscles in his chest. He suddenly realized that Julia was also about ten years younger than he was; twelve years if he was being exact. And now that he thought about it more, the woman in southern Germany had reminded him of Julia, which was why he'd chosen to approach her. Could he really have been fantasizing about Julia while he'd been making love to...
what the hell was her name?
His mind moved from sex to work as if it was a natural progression, but he knew that it was only the identity of the beautiful naked woman sleeping next to/on top of him that cause that leap. He didn't need an explanation what the thing was that gave him and Julia the freedom that ultimately led them to Julia's borrowed bed. She'd admitted what had sent her down the private flight of stairs, and what she'd found there. If he was being honest, he would admit that he was feeling jealous, maybe even a bit hurt, that no one had invited him.
Jim Gordon didn't even think to include me? Kate neither? What am I, chopped liver?
Sure, he was injured, more than he liked to admit; but it was by no means the worst injury he'd received in his life, and a simple knee brace (OK, maybe not so simple, but he had several that would serve) would do the trick, and no one would notice it under his armor. If it came to it, he could wear part of his exoskeleton. The point was he was fit for duty if anyone asked, which no one did which, come to think about it, ended with him and Julia Pennyworth, the woman he had fantasized about in Germany, the opportunity to have some pretty exceptional sex.
Shit, I didn't call that woman in Deutschland by Julia's name when we were having sex, did I?
Did I?
Renata! Her name was Renata. Renata Kesselman.
"Hmmmmm," Julia vocalized softly.
"Shhhh," Bruce whispered just as quietly as he brushed his lips across her hair.
Julia was just as uninformed as he was when it came to the specifics of the thing. But the fact that Julia's messages to everyone, whether they called Chicago home or New York, went unanswered told them both that it was no small thing. And the largest thing that came to mind was large indeed. Bruce new Freddy Giancona by reputation, which was not a good reputation at all. But even Freddy wasn't stupid enough to mess with weaponized toxins or engineered viruses.
Viruses? Viri? What's the plural of virus?
Bruce was forced to admit that if James Gordon had asked him for help, he might not have gotten far, though he probably would have gotten around to searching the records in the ancillary building; probably only after searching the ME's office and finding the originals missing. And even with the actual records he had no one in Washington he could count on, and no one except Alfred who could do the dirty work of finding a fingerprint database to crack.
Bruce's face broke into a slight smile when he thought of the late night/early morning meeting that saw in Thanksgiving Day in such memorable fashion. He was impressed. Beth and Kate had put together quite the team, and it had only grown larger since then. Bruce was sure that it was that team that was probably knee deep in the thing by now.
And one member of that team, if you could call him that, which Bruce wasn't sure he should, that guy...
He'd seen it for himself finally. He'd heard about it from Julia as well as Beth, and Julia said that tonight was different, but it was still an opening, a portal of some sort that connected an apartment on the 33rd floor in the Gold Coast to a beach in Buenos Aires. Bruce had felt the breeze. He watched a bone dry oversized German Shepherd run in only to run back out a moment later soaking wet. There were probably still monster paw prints on Kate's rug.
You wouldn't think it to look at him. Sure, he was attractive; if you liked that flawless, chiseled, sensitive look. Laying on the couch moping about something, he seemed just like anybody else who was having a bad day. Beth swore that he was just like anyone else. He's just a man, she'd said. But could just a man do the things he could do? Bruce wasn't sure, but he was leaning towards no.
Whatever he was, Bruce felt like he owed the guy a heartfelt Thank You for whatever part he'd played in bringing him and Julia together. Just thinking about her seemed to stir something in Julia as her cheek moved slowly on his chest while her right calf rubbed gently across his leg.
Whatever tomorrow might bring, tonight life was good.
James Gordon had typed up most of what Barbara sent him, plus all of his hand written notes, and the information he had pulled together himself on all the major players that they'd identified so far.
They, not me, Jim thought as he reviewed the lines of text, I didn't uncover anything.
In his defense, it wasn't his job to uncover anything; it was his job to give orders to others, orders and also resources so that they could do their jobs and uncover things for him; which was mostly how this had worked out, except for the half-dozen or so women (and Harvey) who didn't work for him, who had no official connection to him, or CPD, or any other law enforcement organization, who had done most of the heavy lifting vis-à-vis the whole information thing.
Detective Louis D. Alvarado - 55, and Detective Donald M. Sternberg -54, both from the 12th District – Near West. Those were two of the four men sent to snatch State's Attorney Kristen Wolf, at least according to the statements they obtained from the other two, Officer Herb I. Jones - 43, and Officer Jack T. Murphy - 41, both from the 4th District - South Side. Barbara had implied while sharing this information that her father would be better off not knowing the details as to how that information was obtained. The two officers were now in custody, but who's custody was another one of those details that she wasn't going to share until they could talk in person and away from prying ears. A wise precaution, given that the two named detectives were still in the wind, almost certainly in hiding after informing their master that their plan had failed and, much worse news, two of their team were almost certainly captured. Thinking on it more, those two assholes from the 4th were lucky that nobody in the CPD knew where they were, or they'd probably be dead already.
Commissioner Gordon now had five names and two bodies. Both of those bodies swore on their mother's graves (despite the fact that their mothers were still very much alive) that they couldn't identify anyone else. John Dorazio was convinced that they were telling the truth as far as that went. Jim Gordon would have to take his word for it, but he had faith in the man he had personally selected on several occasions for very difficult and important tasks. Commissioner Gordon's main problem now was how to go about picking the other three men up. Any official request for their presence after today's fucked up mission would have them running for the hills, assuming that they hadn't already bolted.
So whatever we do it'll have to be unofficial, Jim Gordon thought, and for that task he had someone in mind. A couple of someone's in fact; though one of those someones was still on the disabled list, and the other was too close to his heart. She'd do it, he didn't doubt that; and three men collectively was well within her capacity. He was just reluctant to send her into harm's way. The other someone...whatever else he was, whoever he was, he was not Jim Gordon's child.
As for the other's, the ones responsible for the attack on John and his lead detective, Jim assumed that each assault involved two men, so figure there were still at least four names yet to be discovered, and the most likely source for them, possibly the only source, was Detective Lieutenant Bill Van Dyke.
He'd been hoping (praying would be closer to the truth) that his unofficial sources of information had been mistaken, that it was all some galaxy sized coincidence, that the three dead men where in no way connected with a weapon of mass destruction, but those same sources had dashed his hopes to fine powder. Now his prayers were that Randy Dunn's 2010 Acura was nowhere near Chicago, not if there was any chance that something in it could kill millions of people in the city he lived in.
Goddammit, he thought suddenly, I'm going to have to call whereeverthefuckitis, Arkansas and warn them. He could leave that to John Dorazio if he could get him on the phone, which he couldn't, not matter how many times he tried. And he was somehow, someway, going to have to figure out what to do about Fredo Giancona.
But it was late, and those details could wait until tomorrow, or Monday. There was shift change underway at his house, the men protecting him trading places with the ones who'd gotten the chance to rest, and shower, and eat; all of which sounded good to Jim Gordon, though not necessarily in that order.