Chapter 4 - Swim Meet

My stomach still nauseous from the announcement, I went back to my room to change out of my now sweat-soaked clothing, but then remembered that I only had one set now—the other set was still in Lassard's office. Why had he assumed that he'd killed Birdie when there was a rather incriminating duffle bag in his office?

I tried my best to make my current uniform presentable, and headed to the classroom. How could Harris be so smug about something so horrible, a lie so serious that it had led to a life-changing decision by a man who was retiring in guilt and shame!

In class, one would never have guessed that anything considered to be a bad thing had happened today. Harris was never happier, never more upbeat than he was in the classroom, scribbling unintelligibly on the chalkboard while he made several remarks indicating that his time in the classroom would be no longer. The students lapped it up; Harris was still the hero cop who had shot and killed a bad guy, and who owned a limited edition ZR-1 Corvette.

Although Harris was giddy with joy, he did not so much as exchange a glance with me throughout class. I knew what that meant, now that I saw what had unfolded. In order to be picked as the next commandant, his record had to be spotless; essentially, screwing around with cadets was now over.

Even so, after class I followed Harris across campus, staying a comfortable distance behind him as he strode to his office whistling a happy tune.

Once he was in his office, I opened the doors and walked right in. His back was towards me, so at the sound of the door opening, he spun around and glared towards whoever was disturbing him.

"Don't you know how to knock—" he began, his sentence ending once he saw it was me. I was livid.

"Thaddeus, you have to tell commandan—"

"That's Lieutenant Harris, Carnegie," he bellowed, stepping towards me aggressively as the door swung shut behind me. My eyes widened with anger until I saw him lift his hand up in a quieting gesture.

"We can't talk here," he said, his eyes anxiously scanning everywhere. "See the ceiling?"

I looked up to see a bullet hole in the ceiling above Harris's desk.

"That hole goes right up to his office," he indicated very quietly. "If you wanna talk, we'll have to do it after hours."

"What happened?" I said, pointing at the hole. "Did someone try to shoot you?"

"Actually, I done that myself," Harris muttered, looking a bit embarrassed. "In fact, it was 'cause Mahoney was pissing me off, tryin' to get himself kicked out the academy."

"Okay," I said, still confused but wanting to get back to the subject at hand. "When can we meet?"

"How 'bout at the poolhouse?" Harris offered. "Pool closes at dusk, so it'll be after dusk."

"Right," I replied. I must have hesitated for a moment, which he took as interest, or something.

"You oughta go," he said. "They can't see me with cadets while I'm in the running."

"This is wrong," I spat. "This shouldn't even be happening."

"In fact, Carnegie," he began arrogantly, "the man was supposed to retire back in '88. He's long overdue." A smile crept across his face. "Why deny a man his retirement?"

I shook my head disappointedly at him. Harris was a manipulative, ruthless man who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. In fact, his allowing Lassard to retire under these circumstances made me begin to seriously reconsider our relationship.


Shortly before dusk, I made my way to the academy pool and sat poolside, my bare legs and feet dangling in the water. Everyone was already back in the buildings for the evening. I could hear crickets and all manners of bugs chirping around me and realized just how remote it was out here, even though it was still on the academy's campus.

What a stupidly vague time I'd agreed to! After dusk—what time was that, exactly?

It was another 15 minutes before Lieutenant Harris showed up, his whistling making it obvious to me when he was nearby. Interestingly, when he arrived, he wasn't wearing his usual police academy garb but he was smiling toothily.

"After dusk is too vague a time," I blurted, standing up from my position by the pool. Instantly his smile faded and he looked confused.

"Huh?"

"We agreed to meet after dusk. If we are going to meet again, a precise time is better."

"Didn't you go swimming?" he asked in an innocent voice, walking up to me. I crossed my arms, irritated by his question. Did that really sound like something I'd do?

"No," I replied. "Even if I wanted to, my bathing suit is ruined."

"Damn right it is," he murmured, moving in close to me as he wrapped his good arm around my back and pulled me against him. He moved to kiss me but I turned my head. I was not in the mood—this was supposed to be a serious talk.

"We need to talk," I began, feeling like some kind of stereotypical woman as I spoke; however, this wasn't about feeling lonely or unwanted or whatever. Harris was going to let an old man retire in sadness and shame based on a rather heavy lie.

"One day and you've already lost interest?" he grumbled, moving his hand away from me and taking a step back. "Thought you were against one night stands."

"It has nothing to do with that," I said, shaking my head. "This has to do with your killing—"

"We can't talk here," he cut in. "Too open. Anyone could be spying on us."


Harris and I stood facing each other in the poolhouse, surrounded by rafts and weighted dummies. He'd locked the door from the inside and now looked to me to continue, since he apparently didn't have anything to say.

"You killed Lassard's fish," I began angrily. "It wasn't his fault. When are you gonna tell him the truth?"

"Like I said, goldfish can live up to 7 hours outta water," he responded. "Maybe Lassard's starving the fish contributed to his premature death."

"No, your dropping the fish on the floor over and over again contributed to that," I retorted. "How can you be okay with the fact that your lie is going to basically ruin the end of his career?"

"It's just a damn fish," Harris said, throwing up his hand dramatically. He saw that my expression stayed angry, and continued explaining. "If a damn goldfish means that much to him, then maybe he should retire. The success of our academy and its graduates should be more important to him than the fate of some… cold-blooded carnival prize."

"How can you be so cold about this?" I shot, my anger increasing. "It's your fault that the fish is dead. This is not the way to get the commandant job; I'll tell you that."

"Are you implyin' what I think you're implyin'?" he asked, glaring suspiciously at me.

"What," I asked in a monotone.

"That I killed the fish because I knew it'd make him retire!"

I was shocked. Was it possible that he was actually thinking that? He knew Lassard better than I did.

"You said it, not me," I said, putting my hands up and shaking my head.

"I thought you were supposed to be my ally," he said with a scoff. "Dating is not only about screwing around; it's about having someone on your side." He shifted on his feet, looking irritated. "Tell me, when did you get all pious and holier-than-thou? I kill a man and you're overjoyed. I kill a goldfish and you're ready to throw in the towel."

This conversation was getting nowhere. Harris would never change his mind about this opportunity to take the commandant's position. I could do nothing but roll my eyes, realizing how stupid it was to try to reason with a man who cared more about the possibility of a promotion over the legacy of an old man.

"You know, Lassard appointed me to find out whose duffel bag was in his office. Some of the other instructors suggested that whoever owns the bag messed with the fish. Now, you don't have to worry," he said, winking. "I'm not gonna rat on you."

"Actually, maybe I should take the fall for the fish, since you're not going to own up to it," I said, sighing loudly. "At least Commandant Lassard won't blame himself for its death for the rest of his life."

"Do you realize what you're saying?" Harris spat, approaching me and grabbing my wrist as his face lost much of its color. "It's a fish. He'll forget about it soon enough. Hell, he's been forgetting things as long as I've been here."

I let out a long sigh.

"I guess I'm gonna have to take the blame for the fish then," I said, rolling my eyes. "Whatever. Lassard seems the kind of guy to forgive people. I may even get to stay at the academy; we'll see."

"But… he'll stay!" Harris yelped, his eyes wide with horror. The thought of Lassard changing his mind about retirement really irked him.

"Exactly, just like he should," I replied, crossing my arms.

Harris's eyes darted back and forth nervously, sweat beading on his forehead as he attempted to quickly decide what to do. In the meantime, I turned around, prepared to the leave the mildew-covered rafts and Harris's lying nature behind.

"Listen. April. I'll tell him. You don't gotta say anything."

I turned around quickly, surprised at how rapidly he was backing down. Just the use of my first name had a powerful effect on me.

"I'll do it," he said with a comforting smile plastered on his face. "You're right; he has to know the truth." He took several steps toward me, touching my arm. "You're my moral compass; you know that?"

I gave him a puzzled look.

"Where did all that come from?" I asked him. "Seconds ago, you were spouting off several justifications as to why you should say nothing. What made you change your mind?"

"Your, uh, reasoning," he said, now appearing uncomfortable as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. Immediately he straightened up, pointing confidently at me. "So let's get this straight—you don't say anything to him." He pointed to himself. "That's my job."

His face looked sincere enough, though his eyebrows indicated that he was pleading with me. He had chosen to do the right thing before; maybe all it really took was a little pushing.

"Okay," I said. "Make sure to tell him soon, before it's too late. It's less than a week from now."

"Of course," he said, waving his hand.


The next day was full of activities, including a hand-to-hand combat class and some more practice on the shooting range. Harris looked just as he did yesterday, happy and carefree, which concerned me. It wasn't like him to not call out Beaner when he loaded his pistol wrong two times in a row, jamming it so badly that it took ten minutes to pry out the bullet each time.

Today was a bit more stressful for me, because I figured that once Harris told Lassard, he could go back to his normal self. Because he wouldn't be actively in the running for the commandant position, we could talk again in public and he wouldn't care. The fact that Harris was still avoiding speaking to me was ominous.

Not only that, but Brookstone noticed this quick cooling off of our very new relationship and used it to get in little flirty comments here and there. She had begun to pile the makeup on again, looking more like a model than an officer-in-training.

"Can you help me, Captain Harris?" she asked him on the range, batting her eyelashes at him as he turned around.

"It's Lieutenant," was his reply, as he let a long sigh out to approach her.

"I don't care what they think," she said with a big smile, her pitch of voice higher than usual, "I'm calling you captain."

I turned my head away and rolled my eyes. Mullers, who was standing in the shooting stall next to mine, stared at me.

"I saw that," she said. "I'm sure she doesn't mean any harm by it. It does seem like you two are done, though. Are you?"

"It's complicated," I said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Anyone can do whatever they want—it's a free country."

When I turned my head to look back at Brookstone, she'd moved uncomfortably close to Harris, so much that her head was almost touching his as he explained something about her pistol. Ugh.

I was distracted by something going on a couple of shooting stalls over.

"Get away from me!" Manson spat, jerking her hand away as Beaner suddenly backed away from her shooting stall. "Yuck!"

"What's going on?" I asked, trotting over as she made a face of distaste at the male cadet.

"He was hitting on me—eww!" she cried.

"Didn't you say at the beginning of the academy that you want to get married?" Mullers cut in. "Well, there's your new name."

"Beaner? No thanks." She began waving her hand in front of her face. "I'd rather be Manson than that fart name."

I could see then that Beaner could still hear us. He glared at Manson as he went back over to his buddies Bordeaux and Alberts.


Later that day, I was able to catch Harris alone.

"Did you get to tell him?" I asked, being as generic as possible in my question, in case someone was listening in.

"No, but I will," was his quick reply. "Don't you worry, Carnegie." He then gave me a reassuring smile that was anything but reassuring.


"Tomorrow you will be wearing your official dress uniforms," Harris explained to us before dismissing the squadron for the night.

"Why, Lieutenant Harris?" Fenster asked. I rolled my eyes, waiting for Harris's sure-to-be-sarcastic reply.

"Because, Cadet Fenster," Harris replied. He turned back to the squadron and continued on his explanation.

"Make sure to be plenty hydrated for tomorrow. That goes for you especially, Carnegie," he said, giving me a little grin as he pointed out that embarrassing incident to everyone again. I resisted the urge to shake my head and instead took in the bout of laughter from Beaner and Bordeaux.

"Will we be getting some real world experience?" another student called out.

"Hell no," Harris replied, looking taken aback by the comment. "It'll be a long time before any of you are ready for that. You dirtbags couldn't even handle security detail at a nursing home!"