Chapter 24 - Diner
After deciding to renew our relationship, things were still a bit awkward, and so Harris again gave me a little pat on the leg before leaving, though this one was accompanied by a genuine smile.
I wondered how Friday would pan out at the academy. I knew that tomorrow was supposed to be a shooting range exercise with our new A-squad cadets, in which they would make us look stupid yet again. Usually our exercises were announced the day of, so I had no idea what would be taking up the rest of everyone's time tomorrow.
I turned on the TV to the news and zoned out soon after Harris had left, wondering if he'd come back after the cadets were dismissed tomorrow. How would he act, now that we were back on? Would he treat Captain Callahan with renewed arrogance? Would he give Stetson a hard time? I guess I would have to find out on Monday from Mullers, maybe, or perhaps I'd hear it from the horse's mouth tomorrow.
Even though I'd nearly drowned, I supposed it hadn't turned out as bad as I thought it would. Now I knew that Harris had defended me against my family and was going against his very nature to forget my lousy behavior toward him this last week, I felt much better. Maybe we could go on a real date sometime, he and I. Maybe he'd let me drive his Corvette. Maybe we could take swimming lessons together. Maybe I could help him get revenge on Mahoney and Zed or perhaps Callahan or maybe even my family. I smiled to myself, shaking my head behind my stupid mask. Damn. He and I have beefs with a lot of people!
After a lousy night's sleep, I flicked on the TV in my room to the news and was soon visited with a person bringing me in breakfast, which smelled bad and tasted even worse.
I tried hard to stomach breakfast, but ended up only drinking the orange juice and biting off the end of an overcooked sausage before I pushed it aside and began paying attention to the news.
Wait—was that…. Tackleberry?
I blinked a couple of times, wondering if my mask had fogged up my eyes. He was on the news, striding quickly past whoever was filming, into what appeared to be a courthouse. Wow. So he was in real trouble. He looked dead serious-no sign of the big toothy smile he usually sported.
Now the reporter was speaking about how the victims' dad had created a petition, to identify more people who might have been brutalized by Tackleberry and his overzealous trigger finger. I assumed the man on the screen now with tears in his eyes was the dad of the kids who'd been shot, and he was speaking directly to the camera, asking anyone who'd been manhandled, shot, or harmed by Captain Tackleberry or anyone in the Metropolitan Police Precinct to contact him at a phone number he then gave.
Whoa. And here, I thought Harris had gotten himself into some nasty messes. This was something else altogether! Yikes!
At 6 pm on the dot, Thaddeus Harris strode into my room, looking quite pleased with himself, wearing his police uniform as usual, a small bag slung over the shoulder with the sling. I would definitely have to ask him why he was so happy—what had happened today at the academy?
I was thankfully done with the mask by now but had not yet been visited by the doctor to be discharged. The glowing thing on my finger that I heard them call an oximeter or some such crap said 98, which seemed okay, I guess, if it was supposed to be out of 100. I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I did not want to spend another night here. I would walk out of here myself, if that's what it took.
"You look better," Harris immediately said, talking off his hat and walking over to my bedside. "They discharging you tonight?"
"Haven't heard a thing," I shrugged, making a disappointed face. "Haven't even seen a doctor yet today. You look like you're in a good mood. What happened today?"
"Nothing to write home about," he quickly replied. "Just glad to be here."
I raised my eyebrows.
"At the hospital?"
"Really, Carnegie?" he said, looking at me with disappointment while rolling his eyes. "Here with you."
I could not help but smile at him. All those people who mistreated him and played pranks on him was certainly missing out on the niceness deep within him. Somehow I got to see it alone.
"Well, I hope to get out of here soon," I said. "If that doctor doesn't come by within the next half hour, I'm walking out of here myself."
"Oh really?" he shot back sarcastically. "In your hospital gown or in your bathing suit?"
"Right," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I laid heavily against my pillow and sighed. "Figures."
"Or… maybe in this outfit," he said with a spreading grin, pulling a t-shirt and shorts out of the bag over his bad shoulder.
My mouth opened into a big wide smile, and I sighed again, this time with relief. I'd be getting out of here tonight, doctor or no doctor. Nothing was going to stop me.
"I can't believe I just did that!" I said, striding excitedly out to Harris's unmarked Crown Victoria. The doctor hadn't shown up at all though we'd waited for more than 45 minutes, and so I'd yanked off the heart and breathing monitors and oximeter, changed my outfit, and left. No nurses had even come to check on all the wildly beeping monitors and alarms going off, being as they blended seamlessly with all the other ignored beeping monitors and alarms going off in other rooms.
"Well, I'm sure you know they have no legal authority to keep you here," Harris said, unlocking the passenger door and holding it open for me. "Of course, if you'd studied for your second exam, you'd already know that. This isn't a psychiatric hold."
So when Harris had supposedly gotten me out of the hospital the first time by telling the nurse that the bill wouldn't be paid, it had been pure BS. Could no one be fully trusted around here?
"Right," I replied, making a sheepish face for a moment. I threw my bathing suit and police academy towel in the back of the car and put on my seatbelt, placing my hands on my thighs. "Well, now what?"
"I was gonna ask you the same thing."
"Honestly," I said, "I would like to get a shower."
His eyes widened for a moment, as he probably wondered if I was coming on to him.
"You would, would you," he muttered, the phrase coming out as more of a statement than a question. I knew then I needed to clarify. I wasn't trying to be seductive—I just wanted to feel like myself again, to smell like myself again.
"Yeah," I said, "I smell like a hospital. Eugh."
Eventually I'd made it clear that I wanted to go back to my apartment to shower, so he happily drove me back to the abandoned campus so I could fetch my key from my belongings.
I grabbed other necessities and was glad to be ready for the weekend now, all my valuables and money with me.
"Didn't get a good look at the place before," Harris commented, as he took a seat in my combination living room/kitchen. "It's… uh, cozy."
"It's a dump," I said, "but it's cheap. Smells mustier than usual because I haven't been here all week. Let me crack a window."
I moved to the window in front of the sink, which being a basement window, had bars on it. I was able to raise the pane about two inches before it ground to a halt. Probably painted shut. Ugh.
"I'm sorry I don't have cable," I called out to Thaddeus, as I readied for my shower. "Too expensive."
"I think I'll survive, Carnegie," he said in a sing-song tone, on the other side of the door. "Unless you're one of those women who has to take a 3-hour shower."
"On my budget?" I remarked. "More like five, ten minutes."
"My kind of girl."
It was the last thing I heard him say during my stay in the bathroom. I thought I'd heard my message machine beeping—another new message? I could count on one hand the number of people who regularly called me—not even a hand. Hmph, maybe I had a new message from my goofy sister.
I walked out of the bathroom wearing my non-police clothes, which consisted of denim shorts and a plain blue blouse, and carrying my hair dryer and a comb. The exhaust fan in the bathroom didn't work so when I opened the door, all the steam spilled into the rest of my apartment, covering everything in a mist.
"I just have to dry my hair," I announced, looking for the outline of Harris in the chair where he'd sat down. "We'll be ready to go soon."
Where was he? The steam was clearing, getting sucked out the slightly cracked window, and yet he wasn't where I'd left him.
"Thaddeus?" I called out.
"Uh, sorry about that. Got lost in the fog," he said, materializing from the direction of my bedroom. I had nothing to hide, if he wanted to wander around and look at my pitiful existence.
Finally we were back in the Crown Victoria, but it was dark out. He turned on the headlights of his vehicle as he started the engine.
"Oh, shit—I forgot to check my message machine."
"I took the liberty of checking it," he said, with not a bit of embarrassment. "Seems like your whole damn family is in on this scheme."
"What scheme?" I shot back, gaping at him. "Who called?"
"Your mother, sounds like. Said she was sorry to hear that it didn't work out. Now, I don't understand how she could say that unless—"
"Unless what?" I cut in.
"Unless you told them we'd broken up."
"Which I didn't do."
"Huh. Well, she wanted you to call her."
"Whoops." I rolled my eyes. "I guess she'll just have to wonder what happened."
"I also listened to your sister's message from last Sunday," Harris added, shifting his car into reverse. "She's a real piece of work. Very capable liar, I must say."
"Takes one to know one," I retorted with a smile, watching him make a hurt face. I had to expand on that ASAP. "I mean, that orphanage story you told the triage nurse…"
"…a white lie," he cut in. "Unlike your sister, that lie didn't hurt a soul."
"We cut in line though," I said. "Someone could have been way worse off than me, someone who had to wait."
"We delayed their bill skyrocketing up; that's all."
"I guess."
"So what do you want to do? You hungry? I heard the hospital food is shit." He winked at me.
"I guess I am hungry," I replied. "Could we go to a restaurant?"
He glanced over at me now, and in the darkness of the car I could see his little grin.
"You mean, like a real date?"
"Yeah," I said. "We always seem to skip that part and go right to the—"
He cut me off mid-sentence.
"…which is more than fine with me, if that's what you'd rather—"
"A real date would be nice," I interrupted right back. As happy as I was that my impulsive decision to dump him might be forgotten, I still wasn't feeling 100% yet. It had been a hell of a day yesterday and the whiplash from being brought back from the dead and back from a breakup was still very much there.
We sat at a little diner smack dab in the middle of the suburbs, one I'd not been to before. Harris had not exactly come up with choices on where to go, instead driving directly to this place with no comment. It was definitely retro, with little jukeboxes on each table. The diner was no bigger than a trailer, long and skinny with only two rows of booths and one long bar behind which the kitchen could be seen in its entirety. No one else was there except for the people working there. I wondered what time it was.
"You been here before, I take it?" I asked him from behind the gigantic menu, as he sat across from me, apparently not even needing the menu.
"Yeah, I come here all the time," he said. "They got good sandwiches here."
"Which one are you talking about?" I answered. "They have like thirty sandwiches on their menu."
"The Philly cheese-steak," he quickly replied. "I get it every time. It's always good."
"Ah," was my reply. I could have figured he didn't branch out much, being as he hadn't even glanced at the menu. "What else do you like to eat?"
He looked surprised by my question, and then flattered.
"You mean, here? Or in general?"
"Either."
"Well, in general I like a good medium rare steak," he began, "nice limp bacon. Spaghetti loaded with Parmesan cheese. Ice-cold white wine."
I gave him a smile in reply. He seemed easy enough to please with food. At least he didn't prefer some kind of exotic cuisine that only the elite could afford.
His smile while describing his favorite foods had faded to a thoughtful, if not slightly sad, expression. I picked up on it and asked what was wrong.
"I can't remember the last time anyone's asked me about myself," he replied, staring at the table. "Besides that nincompoop Proctor, but that don't count."
"You ever been married?"
"Once," he said, looking uncomfortable, "but that was a long time ago. Eons."
"I'm sorry," I said reflexively.
"What for? It's her loss," he said with a scoff. "She likes the bad boys. In fact, her new beau isn't up for parole 'til 2010."
I wasn't sure what else to ask him about his apparent divorce. I wondered if she'd cheated on him with the criminal. So I'd learned something new about Thaddeus Harris today. It wasn't long ago that he'd confessed all his shortcomings to me in a mutual self-hate fest, and I very much wanted to redirect the conversation somewhere positive.
"So, what do you usually do on the weekends?" I asked, changing the subject. I smiled at him, thinking about what he might say. Certainly cruising around in the Corvette would be one….
"You mean, before I met you?" he began, chuckling. "Well, let's see: driving around in my Corvette—and getting it detailed. Polishing my medals. Reading police training manuals and history books. Feeding the poor. Going to bars with good music and clientele that don't cough at the smell of a cigar."
"Uh, did you just say feeding the poor?" I said, most certainly sounding like an awful person for even questioning it. It just sounded so… unlike him.
He nodded, looking a bit unsure of himself.
"How—I mean, where do you do that?" I asked, hoping it would take the sting out of the question.
"Downtown at the homeless shelter," he responded, looking more and more ill at ease. "I go a couple times a month, especially in the off-season."
"What a sweet thing to do," I said, probably not sounding as sincere as I wished I did. There was an awkward silence that followed my reply, a silence in which it looked like a vein might pop in his neck.
"I don't do it 'cause I'm some saint; I do it 'cause I made a promise."
"Well, that's really nice that you do such a thing," I began to babble, attempting to make up for what he was surely thinking was a rude question. "I can definitely say I've never done that. I'm just surprised you don't mention it more to the people at the academy, or even Captain Mahoney, or really, any of—"
"I don't do it for them."
His eyes locked on mine, and then fell to the table. Had he mentioned this pastime to impress me? Just bringing it up seemed to take years off of his life. It felt wrong to question him further about this, and not only that, but he didn't seem very willing to speak more about it. As my eyes moved back to my menu, Harris seemed to visibly relax his shoulders. I still hadn't quite figured this man out, but I was finding out more and more good things about him, the longer I knew him.
