Chapter 30 - Current Pranks

"Damn, Harris really let loose today," Mullers commented as we walked to the cafeteria. "That's very unlike him to get nasty with Captain Callahan."

"The man's got a lot of restraint," Stiner added, glancing back at the classroom as we strode down the hallway. "Maybe too much."

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"Like, I think he should just call the other instructors to a meeting and just spit it out. It sounds like he thinks Captain Callahan has been pranking him. He should just confront her and the others at one time."

"Maybe he'll make a statement, just like they all want," Mullers commented.

"What do you think he's gonna say?" Stiner questioned. "I've heard that Captain Tackleberry does tend to shoot a lot and carries around really big guns wherever he goes."

"…which isn't a good thing for a cop to do, at least not without good reason," I added. "I mean, he shot two little kids."

"Weren't they just grazed, though?" Mullers asked. "I mean, I heard they were shot through a door. It's not like he was aiming at them."

"Well, there have been quite a few people who've spoken out against him," Stiner explained. "Three older women on the news just yesterday made statements," Stiner muttered, "They said he'd shot their lost cats out of the trees where they were stuck. One of the cats died from the fall."

"Geez," I said lamely, making a face of distaste.

"His old former coworkers talked to the reporters on the weekend," Stiner continued, "saying he did the very same thing with them as what he did to the kids, shooting through a door when they'd thrown him a surprise party for getting accepted to the police academy. He was a security guard at the time. The story was in Monday's newspaper too. He's apparently been accused of using excessive force more than ten times in the last five years."

"Ouch," Mullers commented. "That doesn't sound too great."

"Not at all," I replied. As we picked up our trays, I suppressed a smile. It sounded like Harris had some credible real-life stories to back his unpopular opinion of Captain Tackleberry, and a definite pattern of behavior.

For the rest of the day, Callahan and Harris made it a point not to interact with each other, but there was definitely an uncomfortable tension in the air. Even so, for the first time in a couple of days, Harris finally seemed to be acting more like himself. He held his chin up and his shoulders back, bolstered by the reaction he'd gotten from the class earlier. When asked by the reporters about Tackleberry or the growing protests, he directed the subject back to his successes. Callahan, on the other hand, looked a bit spooked, and stayed away from him and the reporters both. And even though the A squad cadets were not happy to hear that Harris wasn't willing to defend their instructor, they seemed to respect Harris's opinion. I wish I could have said the same for the other instructors. As I watched Callahan, Jones, Hightower and Hooks sit down at the same table for dinner that evening, I scowled. I wondered which of them was involved with the pranks, and to what extent. Could they not see how childish they were being?

Finally free of reporters for the evening, Harris strode into the cafeteria with an air of importance, and picked up some food from the buffet. Afterwards, he took his usual seat at the cafeteria—which promptly collapsed under him.

Because he had been holding his tray as he'd sat down, it flew up in the air over his head and fell all over him. Mushy food landed all over his hat and shoulders, and a dollop even stuck to his nose. The table of instructors sitting nearby burst out into laughter, followed by many of the cadets in the cafeteria. Happily enough, Mullers and Stiner joined me in not laughing at the spectacle, instead watching him with pity. I had to resist the urge to go to Lieutenant Harris, feeling more than ever like getting up and telling off the other instructors.

Suddenly, Commandant Lassard strode into the cafeteria. The other instructors and several cadets continued to laugh at Lieutenant Harris, until they noticed Lassard was there.

"Lieutenant Harris," Lassard boomed, having approached his table, "are you quite alright?"

Harris was still covered in food, with mashed potatoes all over his hat and nose, and applesauce and gravy mostly on his shoulders and shirt.

"Never better," Harris muttered from his position on the floor, using his sleeve to wipe off his face.

Interestingly, Lassard then glanced toward the instructor table, causing all of them to abruptly stop looking in Harris's direction and to pretend to be eating.

"Hmmm," Lassard said, placing his hands behind his back. "Very interesting." And with that, he left the cafeteria.

I wondered why Lassard had thought to look towards the instructors. Was he aware of all their pranks? Had he himself participated in the pranks? He seemed perturbed by seeing Harris on the floor. Could he be convinced to tell them to stop?

With Mullers and Stiner thankfully not asking any questions, I quickly finished my food and left the cafeteria early.

The next day, Harris strolled onto the gun range in a uniform that was clearly not his—it was at least two sizes too small. His hair still looked like it was slicked down, and he looked tired and drawn. I had been hoping that yesterday would be a turning point for him, but apparently not. Some of the cadets in our squadron, specifically the male ones, seemed to feel more awkward around him than normally. They would flash him a little tight smile as he passed, rather than ignoring him completely as was the usual action.

"Lieutenant Harris," I said. "I think my gun is jammed."

As he came over to help, I handed him my revolver, and on its stock, I had a piece of paper with "can we meet up?"

He took the gun from me and quickly pocketed the piece of paper, followed by inspecting the gun.

"Don't look jammed to me," he said, frowning and striding away.

Later, while waiting my turn, I saw Harris pull out the piece of paper and read it. He took a pen from his breast pocket and wrote something on the paper.

"Lieutenant Harris," I called out again, holding up my revolver, "I ran out of bullets."

As he approached, he fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a bullet, pinching the piece of paper to it. I could hear him swallow as he handed me the message.

My office 2000 hrs

I knocked on Lieutenant Harris's door at exactly 8 pm that night, my eyes wide as I scanned the hallway continuously for anyone who might be coming. In my hand I brought my last exam, which I'd received a D on, in case I had to explain why I was going to his office. Of course, it didn't explain why I was visiting him so late in the evening, so I was being extra careful not to be spotted coming here.

"Come in," a voice muttered from inside the room. I opened the door to find Lieutenant Harris sitting at his desk, polishing his baton. His curtains were drawn, a smart move that ensured no one would see me in his office.

"Ah, you got your baton fixed," I pointed out, attempting to break the ice. He didn't look too happy to see me. My smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.

"Why did you want to see me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Tomorrow's Friday, after all. You were really risking it coming here tonight. Reporters have been swarming this campus all week and they'd be overjoyed reporting on this. Talk about news fodder."

"I wanted to see you because frankly, I can't stand watching you serve as the butt of all the jokes around here," I blurted. "Obviously the cafeteria today was another prank. At least your uniform seems to fit better now."

"I ripped out the ass of those other pants today in the cafeteria when I fell—did you not see it?" he growled. "It was apparently a riot, I've been told."

I'd left the cafeteria before he'd stood up, so I'd missed that. I made a sheepish face.

"I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, it's not nearly as bad as last night's prank."

I frowned, wondering what had been done.

"What happened?"

"When I was showering, they took my clothes and towel. Then they pulled the fire alarm. I had to go outside wrapped in a shower curtain. You didn't hear all that commotion?"

I recalled hearing the alarm going off, but hadn't thought anything of it, being as no fire trucks came. So apparently it was yet another prank against Harris.

"I did hear the alarm," I replied. "I just didn't realize—"

"And that's not even the end of the prank for the night," he continued. "When I got back to my room, the only clothes there—was that tiny uniform from earlier, the one two sizes too small. Nothing else. Perverts even took my underwear."

"Don't you want them to stop?" I asked. "You can't let them do this forever."

"Yeah, well, Friday is only a couple of hours away," he said, clasping his hands together now. "We'll be halfway through the academy, come Sunday."

"I guess you're right, but what about next week, and the next?" I said. "I just feel so bad that—"

"Is that all you came here to say, that you feel sorry for me?" he interrupted. "I don't want your pity, Carnegie."

"No," I replied, "in fact, I came to tell you that I—"

Suddenly Harris held a hand up, silently telling me to stop talking. He put a finger to his mouth, eyes widening.

"Someone's coming," he murmured. "You gotta hide!"

The blue curtains that hung behind his desk were not long enough to extend to the floor, but his desk came very low to the ground. I pointed at the floor under his desk, causing him to stand up abruptly and move aside so I could squeeze under it.

After I was safely out of sight, Lieutenant Harris sat back down. It was awkward because I took up so much room under the desk, so he had to spread his legs unnaturally wide, which seemed uncomfortable as hell.

There was a knock at his door.

"Who is it," Harris snapped, standing up brusquely, his hands planted on the desktop all the while.

"It's Commandant Lassard," the voice answered. "May I come in?"

I peered up from my position under the desk to see Harris's eyes widen.

"Of course, Sir," he said, sitting back down. "The door's unlocked."

The door opened and Commandant Lassard strode slowly towards Harris's desk. Harris stood back up respectfully, tucking his baton under one arm as he did so.

"No need to stand, Lieutenant," Lassard said cheerfully. "May I sit?"

"Of course," Harris muttered, sitting back down. He gestured to the single chair in front of his desk. "Please."

I heard the squeak of the chair as the commandant sat down.

"You're working late," Lassard commented. "How has your week been going thus far?"

"Uh, as well as can be expected, Sir," Harris replied, his voice low and anxious.

"That comes as a surprise to me," Lassard said, "being as I have heard about your… tribulations as of late."

"Tribulations, Sir?"

"What, is that not an accurate word for them?" Lassard responded.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"You needn't play coy with me, Lieutenant Harris," Lassard jovially replied. "I've very recently been informed of the many, many instances this week in which you have been the butt of a practical joke."

I could see Harris lowering his head now, as if ashamed of himself.

"Do you not, uh, share the sentiment of the joker or jokers, Sir?" Harris muttered, looking down. "I recall several instances in the past in which you said nothing when I was being—"

"This is different," Lassard replied. After looking confused for a moment or two, he added "is it not?"

Harris fell silent, seeming to shrug. I frowned. Lassard was losing the plot. I crossed my fingers, hoping he'd be able to get back on track with his train of thought. Lieutenant Harris was the next to speak.

"I appreciate your concern, Sir, but I can assure you that I have everything under control."

"Right," Lassard muttered, scooting his chair as he prepared to stand back up. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I won't keep you any longer." He rose to his feet as I slapped my forehead.

"Thank you, Commandant," Lieutenant Harris said, standing up as well. Ugh, he was leaving! No! This wouldn't do at all!

Desperation overcame me and I slammed my fist into the drawer metal of Lieutenant Harris's desk, hearing the rather loud metallic thud that came of it.

Now Lassard turned around, his eyes surprised. Harris scowled down at me and then abruptly looked back at his superior.

"Is everything alright?" he said, eyeing up the standing Harris.

"Yes, Sir," Harris replied. "What would make you think it's not?"

"Was that another… prank?" Lassard asked.

Harris glared down at me momentarily before answering.

"I'm, uh… not sure," he muttered.

I reached out and pinched Harris's leg, making him emit a high-pitched yelp as he bent down to rub the spot.

"Lieutenant Harris, I must say, I'm very concerned!" the commandant exclaimed. Now he was approaching again—I could see his feet moving toward the desk. "Is someone pranking you at this very moment?"

"I couldn't say," Harris muttered with uncertainty, shaking his head all the while.

"These pranks seem… quite serious, and apparently increasing in frequency," Lassard commented. "Do you know why?"

I wondered if Harris would tell the truth, and shut my eyes, waiting for his answer.

"It's 'cause I missed the press conference on Sunday," Harris replied, sitting back down with a sigh of frustration. "Slept in."

"I do recall now; was that the one regarding Captain Tackleberry?" Lassard asked.

"Yes."

"So you're saying you missed it because you slept in?" Lassard commented, now standing right in front of his desk. "That seems very, very unlike you. I suspect there is more to it than that."

I heard Harris gulp.

"Well, you'd be wrong, Sir," he replied.

"I understand you've been avoiding responding to the reporters that have been on campus all week."

"They don't deserve to be rewarded for infringing upon our campus," Harris replied matter-of-factly. "The jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police Academy needs to be respected."

"That may be so, but one question remains unanswered."

Lassard fell silent. Harris let the silence sit for longer than was comfortable, and finally spoke.

"That being?"

"Your opinion of Captain Tackleberry's conduct as a police officer, of course!"