Chapter 33 - Daddy Issues

Mullers was so kind as to drop me off at my apartment that evening, and I sat in the dusty stuffiness of my domicile, frowning as I thought of all the shit I had to catch up on. Not only that, but I was pissed at whatever stunt Harris was trying to pull. He'd shown himself to be more than just a jerk, and now he'd suddenly committed himself to taking the most antagonistic stance he could possibly take against the instructors and the commandant of the academy. And to think, it was only a couple of evenings ago that he looked forward to the weekend, to go on a proper date, and now, since speaking with Lassard, he'd completely changed his tune. Like, what the hell had gotten into him? His reasoning for doubling back on being a dick once again made no sense to me.

The next morning I awoke to loud rapping at my door. I put my robe on and watched over to the door, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, my hair a rat's nest.

"What gives, Carnegie?" Harris remarked, looking surly. "Didn't see you leave yesterday. Thought you'd call me."

I crossed my arms, barring him from entering my apartment.

"Yeah, well, now that you're the victim of a massive police conspiracy, you ought to toe the line."

He frowned as he took in my words and leaned against the doorjamb.

"What are you sayin', exactly? This don't have to end. I read the police academy handbook cover to cover and it don't say nothin' about what happens off-campus."

"Does it discourage this on-campus then, I take it?" I said, not backing down.

"Let's just say it's fuzzy on specifics. I did tell you I'd take you on a proper date. I was thinking we could—"

"No," I interrupted. "There's no way this can work. You threw everyone under the bus on Friday, and it's only a matter of time before you do it to me. I have enough problems as it is without worrying about that."

"What, are you tryin' to break up with me again? I'm beginning to see a pattern here…"

"Don't you see how hypocritical this makes you look?" I blurted, throwing my arms up. "If you want to play the role of poor misunderstood loyal cop Thaddeus—"

"Why don't we talk about this inside your apartment?" he growled, shoving past me and shutting the door. Immediately after entering he turned around, an intense scowl on his face, pointing in my face. "Now, listen here, Carnegie, you more than most can see how unfair I've been treated. I get demoted and passed over for promotion, all the while my former students get undeserve—"

"Do you think this is how you're gonna get promoted, by trashing everyone at the academy? I thought you were smarter than this."

He shook his head now, seemingly taken aback.

"Are you sayin' I'm stupid?!"

"I know that the instructors have been pranking you all week, and it's clearly gotten to you, but rather than call them out on it, you threw the whole police department under the bus! Don't you need letters of recommendation when you get promoted or even when you get a new job? Who's going to write one for you now?"

"I don't kiss ass."

I rolled my eyes.

"I could have guessed that."

He frowned again, this time apparently due to confusion.

"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on; is there anybody in the police force you respect? Anyone you look up to?"

"You mean, besides myself?"

My eyes were beginning to get sore from rolling around in their sockets.

"Seriously? No one? Who inspired you to be a cop?"

Now his frown melted away as he stared off into the filth of my apartment, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I happen to come from a long line of cops. It's our family calling."

I gasped, not expecting that. Maybe I could fetch him back from the cliff of mania and return him to reality.

"So it was expected that you become a cop as well?"

Harris didn't look over at me, instead staring off into space.

"I don't answer to no one, not even my old man. It's just that we Harrises have the temperament for it. We were born to be cops. My granddaddy, uncles, dad, older brother, all cops. Not to mention my great-grandfathers on my daddy's side—they were both Texas Rangers…"

"Huh," I muttered. I guess it was his destiny and, unlike my own failed destiny to be what my family wanted me to be, Harris had actually followed his. "And what did your mother think about your being a cop?"

He paused for a second, looking irritated.

"I dunno—she died when I was seven. I barely remember her, let alone what she said."

"So you were raised by your dad?"

Now he was frowning at me, having snapped out of his nice little sentimental reverie.

"What is this, some kind of trial? What the hell does this got to do with—"

"Like if your ancestors, your dad, were here right now, what would they say?"

His frown only deepened.

"Is this some kind of guilt trip you're trying to set up? Because it ain't gonna work. I thought that's what made us compatible. You go directly against your family's wishes for you, not giving a shit about those things. I respect that."

"You may respect it, but you didn't do that yourself. You're a cop, just like everyone else in your family. How are you and I alike in that way?"

"I don't gotta hear this right now," he said, frowning. "In fact, I was gonna suggest nailing your future brother-in-law this weekend with a covert operation, but it's clear that you are too high and mighty to think of throwing people under the bus who damn well deserve to be there."

"What?" I blurted, stunned by this admission. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, you don't have to do this," I said for the fiftieth time, as Harris went over his game plan.

While he explained what he'd be doing, I looked at the numbers and words he'd scribbled on a piece of paper, apparently dictated to him by Proctor last night. Because of the rigmarole of Proctor successfully gaining access to Larry's office, Larry Allen had since fired the security guard who'd failed and was currently looking to hire a new security guard. This weekend there was an open interview for a new security guard at the very scene of the crime.

"What do you mean?" he countered. "It's the perfect setup for poetic justice, this security guard interview. The perfect chance to gain access to his office, to his records. I know I'll find what I'm looking for. I'm also going to be wired, so I have the chance to pick up any clues. I've got top-notch surveillance equipment I've been itching to use. I'll be in constant contact with Proctor through an earpiece, and—"

"Don't you think they will have their eyes on the candidates the whole time? Also, isn't it illegal to record someone without a warra—"

"Ah ah," he interrupted, with a wag of the finger. "This isn't yet an official investigation, just an exploratory, fact-finding mission. Don't need no warrant for that."

I blinked in confusion.

"Are you sure? Because—"

"Don't you think I know the rules and when and how they can be bent? Gimme some damn credit, Carnegie. I'm doing this for you, you know."

"Well, I think you're doing this to impress your dead father," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Now his eyes went wide with anger.

"What are you talkin' about?" he drawled, spit flying from his mouth. "My daddy ain't dead. He's alive and well in Texas as we speak."

"Well, the way you talked about him made it seem like he had died. That's even more reason to try to impress him. Him and your brother."

"In fact, it's my brother who's dead," he snapped, eliciting an immediate sinking of my shoulders in embarrassment. "You think you're so smart, don't you? Tryin' to read me, my motivations, my family situation. In fact, you got it ass backwards, Missy. My daddy's alive and well and my brother's been gone now for a good ten years."

"What happened?" I said, stricken, all confidence gone. His anger seemed to dissipate as well.

"Got killed, in the line of duty." He didn't expand.

I could only stare at him now, my face probably a mix of pity and shock. He looked uncomfortable now, keeping his mouth shut.

"How so?" I pushed, watching his expression sour.

"He wasn't paying attention and some criminal shoved him right off the top of a skyscraper. Just a puddle of blood and broken bones. Probably why I'm leery about heights."

"What do you mean, he wasn't paying attention? Was he not a very good cop, is what you're saying?"

"Oh no," he replied quickly. "He was the perfect cop, believe you me. Methodical, by the book, all his i's dotted and t's crossed in every damn police report. And yet, it didn't save him in the end. If he hadn't been so intent on reading that scumbag his rights, he would have seen the second guy coming…."

"That's awful," I said, sickened. I hadn't realized the tragedies that obviously shaped Harris's attitude into what it was. First his mom dying when he was only seven and then his cop brother plummeting to his death. Just horrifying.

"You're telling me," he snuffed. "I had to go and ID his body. I'll never get that image out of my mind…"

"I had no idea you'd gone through so much tragedy—"

Suddenly his far-off stare was gone, replacing by a line of teeth.

"And no one else is gonna know it, either; you hear me?!" he said, pointing in my face. "This kind of shit don't need to spread around the academy all willy-nilly—"

"Why don't you want anyone to know?" I interrupted. "Seems like something really important—"

He put his hand up by my face, shutting his eyes in frustration.

"I don't want word of it getting out. Understand?"

"Okay," I muttered.

"So today I'm going there at eleven, right when the interviews start. I got my fake mustache, some coke-bottle glasses, and my bandanna. Proctor will be my contact." Now a smile crept onto his face. "Your asshole soon to be brother-in-law won't know what hit him, once I find out his secrets."

"You really don't have to do this," I again countered. "Just forget about it and relax for once!"

There was nothing I could do to convince him, and I could only frown as he left my apartment, completely confident that he was going to be successful at whatever this stupid plan was. I had a bad feeling in my stomach about what he was doing, a feeling that got worse as the minutes went by. Why would he depend completely on the incompetent Proctor to make sure he'd be okay?

As much as I wanted to just lie around all weekend and do nothing, Harris had forced my hand. I rolled my eyes as I went over to my phone, to call Proctor. The only smart thing Harris had done was give me Proctor's number when I asked, so at least I had that.

Lieutenant Proctor and I sat in his unmarked Crown Victoria at the curb only a block or so down from Larry's building. This part of the city was all skyscrapers and garbage-strewn sidewalks, the sun unable to reach down to the shadowy roads below. It was now 10:45 am and entirely possible that we'd beaten Harris here.

Ugh, why did I have to be forced to wake up so early today? I had been planning on catching up on all my sleep and thinking about why Harris was sabotaging himself, and now I had to sit here in this stupid car with this stupid man waiting for Harris to make a fool of himself in front of a very powerful CEO in the city. What was his deal, anyway? Not to be perfect like his brother so he wouldn't die? I really didn't get it.

I leaned back in the seat, reclining it as far as it would go. In the meantime, Proctor began singing Christmas tunes under his breath. I rolled my eyes. What a rotten weekend this was turning out to be.