Chapter 3 - A Major Announcement
"All instructors report to Commandant Lassard's office," the PA boomed early the next morning, only half an hour before squadron activities were due to begin. I almost swallowed my tongue. The shit had definitely hit the fan—or should I say, the fish.
"I wonder what that means about morning drills," Gertrude muttered, her voice thick with sleep. She didn't even bother to turn on the lights, which was a good thing.
"Probably means we can sleep in for now, at least until they make an announcement that they are back," I said. I laid my head back down on the pillow but knew it'd be impossible to sleep. What would Lassard say? What would Harris say? What was going to happen?
The meeting must have been brief, because it wasn't even fifteen minutes before another PA announcement indicated for cadets to be ready and in position at the normal time. However, the meeting must have been controversial, based on Callahan and Harris's faces when we'd made our way to the obstacle course in the morning.
Lieutenant Harris was positively beaming, the most upbeat I'd ever seen the man. It seemed as if his face was stuck in a permanent smile. Captain Callahan, on the other hand, looked troubled and upset. It was like Harris had forgotten that he was supposed to be a hard-ass; twirling his baton and grinning off into space was not like him. What the hell had gone on in that meeting?
I tried to make eye contact with Harris throughout the morning exercises, but he seemed to be purposely avoiding looking my way. My annoyance at his wacked-out behavior made me roll my eyes after every rebuffed glance towards him. I even noticed several cadets slacking off during the course run, and yet, Harris said nothing, his mood apparently preventing from getting angry. I, on the other hand, was getting increasingly irritated. Just last night we killed Lassard's fish—it was as dead as a doornail. Had it somehow survived? Is that why Harris was smiling so damn much? And if that was so, why was Callahan frowning?
I sat with Mullers, Stiner, and Manson during lunch but kept my peripheral vision fully on Lieutenant Harris. As soon as he decided to leave this large open room, I was going to follow him find out what the hell was going on.
"You mentioned yesterday that you and Harris liked each other, Carnegie. You seem kinda pissy around him today. What gives?" Mullers asked me.
"Such is love," Stiner grumbled, jamming her fork into what was supposed to be a potato. "It's hard enough as it is. Now, with Harris, it's gotta be really hard."
"I'm just weirded out by his mood is all," I said. "It makes no sense."
"Why's that? Maybe it's his lovey-dovey mood," Mullers replied. Her face took on a mischievous look. "You guys consummate it yet? That could be the reason." With that, she winked at me.
I felt my face heating up but I pushed all the total shock from the rather accurate accusation down into my stomach. I hadn't considered that, but I figured the death of that damn fish would have cancelled out his joy over our tryst in the commandant's office.
"What? Just 'cause I said we 'like' each other doesn't mean that," I replied as quickly as possible, avoiding any silence after her words that could be taken as truth. "God—I can't believe you just said that."
"Has he used his handcuffs on you yet?" Stiner said, winking at me.
Manson spoke up. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if he was into… BDSM and all that kinky stuff—he just seems like he'd be a sadist."
Of course, Manson and her dark mind had come up with that rather strange idea. I supposed it was possible—the man did order me to bend over the desk to clean up Birdie's water. Even so, I was pretty sure that his little ranch house with its narrow hallway, Corvette-containing garage and nondescript bedroom had no room for a sex dungeon.
I'd never wanted Harris to leave the cafeteria so badly, just so that I could make an excuse to leave the table with my curious group of friends attempting to guess how Harris was in the sack.
"You know, Carnegie," Mullers said, "if you got him mad enough, I could see him trying that on you. Of course, that would only be good if you were into that sort of thing."
"Are you?" Manson asked, her eyes large.
My eyes darted around uncomfortably to see Brookstone down the way staying rather quiet about the whole thing, but keeping her eyes locked on the back of Harris's head as he sat alone at the instructors' table.
"You guys are crazy," I said. "I honestly never even thought about that before. I don't have an opinion on it either way."
Finally, Harris stood up and gathered his tray. I sat for another twenty seconds or so, and then excused myself to go to the restroom.
"Uh huh," Mullers said, having noticed Harris leaving as well. "I know the real reason. Go get 'em, Tiger!" she commented with a big smile.
"If he is actually into that sort of thing," Manson said quietly to me, "would you tell us what happens?"
I couldn't help but let out a guffaw.
"Uh, why?" I asked her. The other girls were now looking quizzically at her.
"Oh, just curiosity," she murmured, blushing. "Believe me, I'm not interested in him that way."
"Yeah, you don't have any competitors here for that, no matter how kinky he is," Mullers chuckled, holding up her arms as if surrendering. "I think it'd just make drills that much funnier, knowing that he gets off on yelling at us."
Stiner and Manson nodded in agreement, but Brookstone was still staring at him. Damn. Would I have jailbait like her as competition?
"Lieutenant Harris," I said, jogging up behind him as he strode down a hallway, baton in hand. There was a delay of response from him, but eventually, he turned his head and slowed his pace.
"Oh, Carnegie," he said, sounding surprised to see me. "We don't start gym exercises until 9."
"What went on in that meeting?" I asked, keeping my voice hushed. "I know you all talked to Commandant Lassard."
"Can't talk about that right now," he said. "It's privileged information. Lassard will be making a big announcement and I don't wanna spoil the surprise."
"Did the fish live?" I asked, my voice now a whisper.
"Nope!" he said with a smirk. "Just wait 'til lunch. You'll see." He began walking faster as if to put more distance between us.
"What?" I squawked, grabbing the back of his shirt. "I can't wait that long. What happened?"
Suddenly Harris yanked himself away from me, turning back to look at me with disapproval and then down the hallway behind us to see that it was empty.
"Listen, Carnegie, you gotta cool it for now," he chided. The only thing that was missing was a wag of his finger. "Don't go makin' it so obvious that you're head over heels."
"Me?" I retorted. "What about you, walking around here like you're on cloud nine? Looks like you're head over heels—except that you haven't even looked at me all morning."
"My mood today has a lot less to do with you than you think," he said. "It's way bigger than that."
"Gee, thanks," I snapped sarcastically. "And to think, I figured you actually enjoyed our—"
"Keep it down, Carnegie," he shot, his eyes flashing dangerously at me. "Just wait 'til lunch and you'll understand."
At lunch, I was bursting to know what the hell was going on. Not only was Harris some kind of happy robot all morning, but Callahan couldn't have looked more uncomfortable, and that sentiment was generally how all the other instructors behaved while getting their food in the cafeteria and heading to their table.
I sat down first and was joined by Mullers, Stiner, Manson, and Brookstone, who seemed to feel the electricity that was in the air. Maybe I was making it a bit too obvious that I was anxious about something. Thankfully, I didn't have to wait for long.
Commandant Lassard strode into the cafeteria with his shoulders slightly more rounded than usual, his eyes tired and red around the rims. He carried a little cigar box in both his hands as if it contained the hope diamond. It definitely looked as if he'd been crying. This was what Harris was happy about? Man, maybe he was a sadist.
I saw Harris turn in his seat to watch, his back straightening as Lassard walked past him. The students seemed to be able to tell something was wrong, and they fell silent without being told to do so. The silence and suspense were deafening.
The students' eyes all locked on Lassard as he made his way to the center of the room, with Sergeant Jones handing him a microphone.
"I have a very, very important announcement to make," Lassard said, his voice thin and wavering. "As you are all certainly aware, I have been commandant of this academy for many, many years. During those years, I have remained capable of taking care of all the things important to me: my loved ones and my job."
I felt a wave of pity for this sweet old man. Then I realized what must have been in the cigar box, and I felt sick to my stomach.
"Yesterday, however, I neglected to care for one of my dearest companions, Birdie, and as a result, he has died." His voice caught in his throat and I noticed how glassy his eyes looked. "I can no longer in good conscience remain the commandant of the academy after realizing these very, very grave issues concerning my memory." He took a deep breath, preparing to say what seemed to be the most difficult thing he'd ever have to say. "Therefore, I am hereby retiring from my position as commandant of the Metropolitan Police Academy."
I could see his lips quavering as he remained standing, one hand holding the microphone and the other holding the cigar box perfectly parallel with the ground.
"I will be taking care of the loose ends at the academy until my successor is chosen, which will probably be in about a week or so," he finished. "I have been very, very happy here and know that you will all be most excellent police officers." With that, he gave us all a little bow. "Thank you very, very much."
The room was left in silence. Surely almost all of the cadets, if not all of them, did not know who Birdie was—for all they knew, he could have been a person, by the way the commandant spoke of him. Several instructors begin to clap for Lassard, and I could hear their voices as they told him that he'd be missed. Eventually the entire cafeteria was applauding for the commandant and even did a standing ovation for him. Lassard could only stand there, the saddest smile in the world on his face. He bowed again, this time very slowly.
Before the applause had fully died down, Lassard handed the microphone back to Jones and trudged slowly out of the room, flanked by an ass-kissing Harris, who supported one elbow, and Captain Callahan, who stood at his other side.
I felt sick to my stomach and almost threw up. The commandant was retiring because of what Harris and I had done—he'd taken the blame!
