We had plenty of time to get showers and make our way to the classroom, a small, radiator-heated room with a giant, wall-sized chalkboard in the front. I wasn't going to like this, namely because I hated the squeak of chalk on a chalkboard. This was going to be torturous, but I had to hide it, lest Harris alter tonight's disciplinary proceedings to include the chalkboard.

At precisely 1:30 pm, Harris entered the room, his baton neatly tucked under an arm. He laid it down on the plain wooden desk that sat at the front of the room and proceeded to pick up a piece of chalk.

Animatedly he began writing words on the board as he talked in his gravelly drawl.

"Now, this course will teach you proper police procedure—arrest warrants, Miranda warnings, arrest reports. We'll also talk about how to tack on extra crimes to a suspect's rap sheet—such as, say resisting arrest. We will also learn how to command others with our voices. A police officer needs to have control over his subjects at all times. This class probably won't have much of an issue with this part of training; none of you seem unusually shy—and some of you are less shy than others."

With that he briefly flashed me a knowing look. Evidently he was referring to my 'hooker move' on him. I wanted to punch him so badly that my eyesight shook.

After that little potshot, Harris turned around to begin the lesson. As he spoke he wrote in large flamboyant letters, his handwriting grotesquely sloppy. Rather than spell large words, he'd abbreviate them in nonsensical ways. Basically, it was like college all over again. I cringed as he wrote, though the chalk seemed to be a bit old and so wasn't quite as squeaky as I'd guessed it would be.

Meanwhile, Norris chatted with Bordeaux at the back of the room, completely ignoring all that Harris was saying. Admittedly, though I'd taken a refreshing shower and my hair looked decent again, I was in the process of actively fighting off sleep. I could feel my eyes begin to cross up into my head, my eyelids threatening to close one at a time. Several times my body fell into micro-sleep and I snapped myself out of it, holding it off for five-minute periods of time where I'd forcefully swing my crossed leg under my desk.

"I'm talking to you, maggot; what's the third line of the Miranda warning?" I suddenly heard, and though my head was facing forward and my eyes were presumably open, I flinched at the very close by sound. I hadn't heard a thing before this moment, and so I realized I had lost the fight to stay awake.

Harris was standing beside my desk, aiming his question Norris's way. I ensured that Norris was his intended target by turning my head ever so casually. I heard a quiet little chuckle from above me.

"Don't try to hide it, Carnegie."

Rather than question him in front of all these people, I refrained from looking up at him or responding to his accusation. It didn't matter anyway. If he felt the need to punish me for my indiscretions, there was always the gym later on.

"I'm waiting, Norris," he said in a singsong voice, continuing to walk past me.

"I—I don't know, Captain Harris."

"You have the right to an attorney, dirtbag!" he bellowed at him.

"For what?" Norris replied, obviously confused. "Are we gonna face off in court about this?"

Norris's stooges Bordeaux and Alberts began to laugh, but stopped abruptly as Harris marched his way to the back of the room.

I even knew that line…. Hell, I'd had to hear that three times now for my three arrests.

"You think you're some sort of comedian, boy?" Harris growled, his expression surly.

"Oh, of course not, Captain Harris," Norris replied, sitting up straight in his chair like a soldier. I got the impression that he was mocking Harris.

"You know," Harris said, planting his hands on Norris's desk and leaning towards him, "Years ago, I had a wise-ass just like you on my squadron. I know how to handle wise-asses," he added, jamming his finger down on the desk for emphasis.

To use a tired phrase, Norris was the kind of guy who was all talk and no action. He shut his mouth abruptly and said no more. When Harris left Norris's desk, he looked smug.

"Now Wayne," Harris announced, moving away from Norris's desk with renewed arrogance, "Can you tell me the Miranda warning?"

I turned my head to watch as Wayne hesitated. Surely this strong-but-silent type had been fantasizing about the life of a cop for years. Surely he'd know this….

"No," he stated.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Harris retorted, hands on hips. His patience was clearly wearing thin at this point.

"Yes," Wayne replied, looking especially brooding.

"I just said the third line, numbnuts, so you can state that part at least."

"You mean, about attorney?"

It was the first time I'd heard Wayne speak. His voice was nothing like Michael Keaton's Batman. It was deep and quiet and yet had a distinctive accent, and he'd skipped using 'a' or 'the' in front of attorney. What was that accent, exactly? I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Yes, Wayne, about attorney," Harris shot back, doing his best attempt to mimic the man's unusual accent.

Wayne seemed to consider before speaking. I wrinkled my brow. Was he a half-wit or something? Why was he taking so long to say a simple thing?

"You have right to attorney," he stated, after a couple more seconds.

"Is that stupid accent supposed to be intimidating, being as the rest of the Miranda warning somehow escaped your memory?" Harris interrupted. His southern drawl was even more apparent now than before, being as he spoke immediately following the foreign accented guy. He stared the guy down as he waited for him to reply. Rather than simply call on someone else, Harris was somehow insistent on making this guy spill his guts.

"I not… understand," the man muttered.

"Are you mocking me, boy?" Harris growled, getting up in the guy's face. Wayne remained relatively serene, though I could see that the excess attention was beginning to get to him. He looked taken aback but stayed silent.

"I asked you a question, dirtbag!"

"No," Wayne replied.

"Then why are you speaking English like a damned Ruskie?"

I saw an expression of shock on Wayne's face that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

As Harris continued to stare down Wayne, something occurred to him. I watched as his eyes narrowed, as he scanned the room suspiciously. When he leaned back towards Wayne, there was a smirk of pride on his face.

"Tell me, Wayne—if that's even your real name—did you bring any… comrades with you?" This question seemed to amuse Harris, who now smiled triumphantly.

"No," Wayne replied, now seeming more irritated than anything else.

"Did Konali send you to spy on me? Is that it?" Harris growled, leaning towards the dark-haired cadet. "Is he trying to get his revenge on me for arresting him? Well, it ain't gonna happen."

Wayne looked puzzled by Harris's words but didn't reply. Instead he shook his head, looking up at Harris with eyebrows raised as if attempting to quiet a child who had just began telling his grandmother about mommy and daddy's not-so-great opinion of her wig. After several silent seconds had passed, Harris took a step away from Wayne's desk, clasping his hands behind his back in preparation to announce something or other.

"I don't care who sent you; you get your ass out of my classroom—no, better yet, get your ass out of this academy! You're finished, Ruskie!"

I was appalled at Captain Harris's erratic behavior. Did he have a prejudice against Russians? What was his reasoning for throwing the guy out? And who was this Konali guy?

Wayne scoffed as he stood up from his desk, dwarfing Captain Harris in height. He loomed over Harris, casting a threatening shadow over Harris all the while, and I crossed my fingers for one good punch thrown in Harris's face. The tension hung thick in the air as they faced off, both silent as they stared each other down.

"Do you know who I am?" Wayne finally stated, now openly pissed off.

"No, and I don't give a damn either way!" he yelled, the volume and pitch of his voice steadily rising. "Get outta here or I'll have you arrested!"

Wayne stood there for another moment glaring down at Harris, and I could almost swear I saw Harris cringe a little.

"What for?" Wayne asked. "I was invi—"

"Do you not understand English? Outski! Move it! Move it! Move it!"

Shaking his head all the while, Wayne stepped around Harris and strode out of the room.

As soon as the door shut behind Wayne, or whatever his name was, Harris turned to the class and was met with about thirty pairs of curious eyes. For a moment his look of triumph flashed uncertainty, but then his ego was restored to its normal level. Walking with purpose, hands still clasped behind his back, he went to the front of the room.

"I don't have to explain myself to you dirtbags."

"You don't have to," Fenster mumbled under his breath, though his voice was amplified in the silent room.

"Shut it, fatso," Harris retorted. Of course he couldn't pass up a brilliant story when given the chance. He stood there for a few seconds more, as if considering.

"Fine—you win," he said, rolling his eyes even though no one had said a word. "Due to my well-known expertise in this country, a year ago I was invited to Moscow, Russia to bring down Konstantine Konali, the head of the Russian Mafia. It wasn't long before I tracked him down and arrested him. It's clear that's he's sent a henchman to spy on me and exact revenge on me for putting him away for good. You always have to be on your toes in this business."

I sat back in my chair, considering. Was it true that Captain Harris was a hero in Russia? Even so, Wayne hadn't really seemed very threatening; he almost seemed affronted that Captain Harris was kicking him out. Was this the way a secret Russian Mafia spy would act? I had no idea.

After his little spiel, it seemed like Captain Harris was satisfied with what had occurred. Wayne had not denied being Russian, and I had even caught the shock in Wayne's eyes when Harris had first pointed it out. Had Harris actually been correct to assume Wayne was Russian?

The next hour or so went by without a hitch. The excitement with Wayne had made Harris completely oblivious to my occasional micro-sleep episodes; instead he spent his time writing incomprehensible things on the board while he spoke of police procedures.

To my relief, I was able to find a seat with the other female recruits at dinner. We chatted mindlessly about the day's activities until it came to the subject of our squadron's bit of excitement in the classroom.

"What are you talking about?" I heard someone ask, as it was mentioned that Harris had kicked a male recruit out of the academy. I looked down the row of tables making up our huge single table to see that the asker was my roommate Gertrude. She gave me a nod of recognition, but said nothing more directly to me.

Mullers was the one to answer her.

"Our class instructor Captain Harris asked Wayne to recite the Miranda warning. Well, when he finally did recall a line, he said it with a funny accent. Harris accused him of being Russian and basically kicked him out when the guy didn't deny it. I dunno though; if it's true Wayne was some kind of spy, why didn't he try something before—"

"Why would there be a Russian spy in the police academy classroom?" I heard Gertrude ask. "It's not like you can't learn all that stuff in a textbook. Nothing top secret there."

"Apparently Captain Harris is some kind of hero in Russia," Stiner explained. "He arrested some mafia guy over there. He thinks everyone is out to get him—maybe he's right this once."

I wasn't so sure about the mafia link, and voiced my concerns.

"It sounded to me like Wayne was trying to tell Captain Harris that—"

"Oh my—there's Wayne now," Mullers said, pointing at a man entering the cafeteria.

I craned my neck to see. It certainly was Wayne entering the cafeteria. It didn't make sense. Several hours had passed since the incident. If he was indeed a spy, why was he still here?

I glanced towards the buffet lines and saw Captain Harris sitting at the officers' table by himself, his back to Wayne, completely unaware that the dark-haired Russian was steadily approaching him….

A/N: So the action starts to pick up a bit! Opinions? Comments?