The diner on 14th and Holloway had always been Kennedy's spot. That kind of place where the coffee was burnt and the neon light flickered every few minutes. It had a booth in the back where no one listened too closely, and that was enough for him. One could see the whole bar from the back.
Jesse was seated across from him, still in his pressed shirt from precinct duty, Kennedy was off today and Jesse had just finished his shift. He was staring at the mug of coffee, still full to the brim-he hadn't taken a sip from it, his eyes were locked on the dark swirl of the coffee.
Kennedy watched him silently for a moment while he chewed his fries.
"When are you ever gonna learn to live, White?" Kennedy asked, as he leaned back in the booth. There was this familiar mix of authority and dry humour in his voice.
Jesse looked up with a flat expression. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"Doesn't count," Kennedy said, gesturing to the untouched mug of coffee and grease stained menus. He sighed. "You are still thinking about Rachel Moore and that cold case file sitting on your desk right now, aren't you?"
Jesse didn't deny it. He did not affirm it either.
Kennedy sighed again, drumming his fingers on the table. "You are twenty six kid. You can't just chain yourself tightly to a badge and think that's all life can offer you. Hell, even Lena says you're like a ghost every time I mention you at home."
"She doesn't like ghosts?" Jesse asked as he gave a faint smirk.
"She doesn't like kids who forget that they're not machines but human beings."
The waitress passed by refilling their cups, sorry, refilling Kennedy's cup. Jesse finally took a sip, the bitterness of the coffee grounding him. Kennedy waited until the waiter walked off before he leaned forward, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial tone.
"You know you've been making waves since you got promoted, then there's the Pike case. Reporters are swarming, trying to get a buzz from you. One in particular; Victoria Kane. If that woman is anything, it's relentless. She already been at the precinct three times this week asking for you. You're the story she wants-youngest detective in the city's history, the golden crest award, you're climbing fast, tied to two high profile case already".
Jesse's jaw tightened. "Not interested. I'm not talking to the press."
Kennedy smirked. "That's what you say, that's what almost everyone says. Believe me though, you'll have to face her, sooner or later. I've heard of women like Kane, and trust me, they don't back off."'
Momentary silence. There was a calm hum in the atmosphere.
Jesse took another sip. Finally, Kennedy steered the conversation where he'd wanted it all along.
"And then there's Deuce Black."
Jesse's head tilted slightly as he close his eyes and sighed warily. He opened his eyes and said nothing.
Kennedy's gaze was steady. "You need to keep an open mind about him, you know."
"I have kept an open mind." Jesse's tone was sharp. "And every time, every damn time, the trail leads back to him. Crime scenes, bodies, rumours, if we're counting those. If it walks like a suspect, talks liked a suspect-"
"-it might just be a man with shadows all over his name," Kennedy interrupted. "Don't forget something, White: you've been there before, don't forget. Wrong place, wrong time and suddenly Victoria city was ready to bury you alive, use you as a scape goat. Or have you already deleted that from memory?"
Jesse froze and not for a moment only, his hands stilled on the coffee cup. He hated whenever Kennedy brought it up. Hated it because it was true, hated it because it was a pain he relived almost everyday.
He tried hard but he couldn't push back the memories. The words dragged him back-
He was only nineteen. A kid trying to survive the rigged system.
The first thing that Jesse remembered was the sound of shouting, argumentative shouting. He'd been bussing tables at Lou's Diner, the greasy joint off 6th street where the night crowd always spilled trouble with their beer. He was nineteen, broke, working double shifts to cover rent at the foster home he hated. He was buried in his thoughts about his life.
The crash of bottles outside yanked him from his thoughts. He dropped the tray and bolted into the alley.
And stopped dead
A man lay there, blood blooming across his shirt, his chest rose once, then fell still. He was already in a pool of his own blood. Jesse's hand moved before his brain did- pressing down, trying to stop the bleeding, his fingers slick with warmth, warmth of blood.
The came the sirens. Flashlights blinded him on both sides of the alley. Voices shouted.
"There! Hands up! Step back immediately!"
Jesse froze in place, palms coated with blood. "Wait-i didn't- he's hurt-"
"Step back!" The officer shoved him roughly against the wall, the brick cold against his cheek. Coarse hands twisted his arms, metal biting his wrists. Another officer checked the man laying on the ground, he looked up and said, "Dead"
The cuffs clicked shut on Jesse's wrists.
"You're under arrest for murder"
"No! I didn't do anything, you're mistaken. I just-" His words and pleas fell useless into the night.
The interrogation room smelled of mildew and cheap coffee. Jesse sat in the metal chair, his heart pounding furiously in his ears. Across from him, Detective Frank Loras leaned back, chewing on a toothpick so reluctantly like he had all the time in the world. He was staring at Jesse with a lot of accusation in his eyes.
"You're covered in the guy's blood," Lora said, with a smirk that seemed to tell Jesse that he's going down for this. "Witnesses saw you running out of the diner after him, so it's just a coincidence that you found him like this?" He dropped the picture of the body on the table.
Jesse's eyes bulged, "I was working" Jesse's voice cracked with panic, somehow the picture of the dead man looked more haunted than the actual corpse. "I heard the fight outside, i only wanted to help him!"
Loras snorted with disbelief, flipping through a thin folder. "No priors, but plenty of attitude and colour. Orphans like you- always end up in places like Rock irons. No family to keep you straight, you're like a wandering puppy, a dangerous one. No future." He leaned in, with he low and venomous voice, he said. "Confess now, and maybe, just maybe you don't fry"
Jesse swallowed hard, this was his truth. Most cops always judged him because of his colour and his name didn't make it better. He was a black man answering "White".
The room suddenly felt like it was closing in on him at this point. He knew it was pointless but he still maintained his innocence. "I didn't kill him"
"I'm sure you didn't". Loras closed the file as he stood up. "You'll definitely be facing time for this kid".
Hours went past in a blur. The damp cell reeked of sweat and despair. Jesse sat and gazed forlornly at the floor. He thought of his life: school, work, the dream of something better for himself. All that had fizzled out now, because he'd been in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong hands stained in the wrong blood.
When the cell doors clanged open, he expected another drilling with Loras. Instead, another detective stepped in. A bit younger than Loras, sharper though. His coat was fairly new, his tie was evidently old, but his eyes carried a kind of firm resolve.
"White, Jesse?"
Jesse sat up warily. "Yeah"
"I'm Detective Kennedy Maddox. I'm taking over your case"
Kennedy held back his laughter. "Doesn't really matter. They've already decided to believe that i did it." Years later, Kennedy told Jesse that he could hear the bitterness in his voice at this point.
Kennedy's gaze didn't waver. "Then their belief is wrong"
He wasn't Lieutenant then, just Detective Kennedy Maddox, already carried a reputation of digging deeper that the surface. Most of his colleagues said he dug too deep. As he sat across from Jesse in interrogation, he studied him quietly, then started asking real questions- about his movements, the alley, the timeline that Loras was so trying to build up against Jesse. The coroner confirmed that the victim was in a brawl just before he was shot, probably with his killer. Jesse had no scratches of marks that indicated he had a fight with anyone. The murder weapon was not on him.
Then the timeline finally broke, the city surveillance cam in front of the diner that Loras pretended not to notice showed Jesse cleaning up after customers the same moment the shot rang out. Results came in, the DNA that was found under the victim's nails didn't match Jesse.
With Jesse now edging speedily towards freedom, Kennedy dug further to find the real killer. He pulled records of the victim, his movements and the people he ran with. Then he found a stalker, who had left threatening messages. The hidden Email address was decrypted and the sender tracked down. A former employee who felt the victim had ruined his life and suddenly felt the push to retaliate months later. Evidence was clean, the case cracked open. Kennedy still believed there was a story behind the story, a bigger picture that was invisible to them.
Jesse was cleared.
Even after being cleared, freedom didn't erase the stain, it couldn't. The days he spent locked up in that damp cell left scars- the whispers in holding, the looks from people who assumed guilt, his boss firing him, the weight of knowing how close he'd become to being convicted for murder. After his release, walking on the streets again was a drag, the silent suspicion in people's eyes didn't vanish just because the charges did. People's heads turned as he walked past, and not in a good way.
On the very day Jesse walked out, Kennedy pulled him aside. Kennedy was the only one who treated him like a human being, like more than a case file. "You've got a head on your shoulders and sharp instincts. Don't waste it kid. You can either let the city break you completely or you can fight to keep it honest and safe." Those words sunk deep like a seed planted, it never left him, he nurtured it instead. It was why Jesse wore a badge now, why he worked with so much devotion and why he hunted justice like it was his debtor.
BACK TO THE PRESENT
Jesse blinked rapidly as he pulled himself out of the memory. Tears had gathered in his eyes, Kennedy was watching him calmly, his expression firm.
"I believe you see my point," Kennedy said. "Black deserves the same fariness you got. Whether he's guilty or not and i doubt he's guilty- it's our job to know, not assume.
Jesse exhaled slowly, "Fine, maybe you have a point."
Kennedy smirked. "That right there, is progress"
Later that night, Kennedy drove through Victoria City's streets, the wipers pushing rain across his windshield. The pour was relentless. As he turned a corner, a blur slipped past him-silent, sleek and he only noticed because of his keen eyes. A motorcycle. Not the kind kids raced on highways, this was something darker, it blended with the night. Streamlined, it moved like it had a purpose.
The morning in Victoria City revealed itself with sirens blaring.
Every news station in the city shop blared the same thing: a hooded vigilante caught on camera. The footage showed him intercepting a kidnapping attempt in the part of the city known as High rise Rockside. He moved with so much precision, his silent strength was deafening. He moved swiftly, knocking men down and dragging the victim freedom, then cuffing the kidnappers. The clip was rough and shaky-probably due to how old the city surveillance cams in that area were . The city was abuzz with mixed feelings- some were excited about this new shadow that had stepped into the void the city pretended was non existent, while some were scared of what he might be.
At the 21st precinct, Jesse stood in the breakroom with a cup of coffee in his hands while watching the vigilante loop play again and again. His reflection in the TV glass looked back at him silently. His gut twisted, he didn't know exactly how to feel about this, he remembered the vigilante from their previous encounter. A man outside the law- but saving lives.
His chest tightened and he put down the cup of coffee on a table. He rubbed his wrists as he remembered the handcuffs biting the same wrists at nineteen. Kennedy's voice rang in his head: "You can fight to keep it honest and safe."
He recalled the whispers of doubt in every cop's voice when Deuce Black's name came up.
He sat alone in his apartment with the lights off. The past wouldn't let go. He was getting nowhere with Rachel's case and nothing was turning up on Warren Loft, the deceased officer. How could've a dead man be seen coming out of the house of a reporter who was murdered few days later.
His minded still drifted off to the past. After Kennedy cleared him, life hadn't been simple. People still looked at him like he was a criminal. Jobs wouldn't hire him. So called friends drifted. The stain of accusation lingered, but Kennedy kept checking in, constantly reminding him that he had the instincts and mind to be more. Kennedy paid his tuition till he graduated and then he applied for police academy.
Realising his potential for police work was the turning point in his life. The reason Jesse stood where he did now.
And it is why he didn't know how to feel seeing the vigilante on the screen. Because in some twisted way, he understood the vigilante.
The phone rand and snapped him out of his thoughts.
Jesse grabbed it, accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear.
"Detective White," the dispatcher's voice came. "We've got a body. Homicide. You're up."
Jesse sprang up immediately, grabbing his coat, the shadows of the city pulling him back into their vile grip.