Chapter 25 - A Proctor Bribe

"What was that about, that fight you were having with Captain Callahan at the obstacle course the other day?"

We had just headed out from the diner for his house, and I just had to ask about his early leave from the obstacle course.

"Huh? Not sure what you mean," he replied.

"You know, when you left the obstacle course before we even got started."

"Oh," he said, laughing. "That."

He said nothing else, looking as if he were now enjoying the what I perceived to be an awkward memory.

"Yeah?" I pushed.

"Well, Tackleberry's in deep shit and she invited me to be part of a united front defending him. I told her I wouldn't do it."

"Why?"

"'Cause he's a loose cannon, and everyone knows it. Just a matter of time before he did something like this. Whenever the precinct receives a complaint of an officer using effective force, we all look at each other and know who they're talkin' about. In fact, Tackleberry's had eight such complaints in the last five years alone."

"Oh," I replied, genuinely surprised. "I had thought you were talking about Commandant Lassard."

"Yeah, the whole thing with Lassard is water under the bridge now," he said, "after that standoff with Manson. Now the bug up Callahan's ass is this whole blind loyalty thing, which I ain't buying."


I woke up early the next morning, having realized Thaddeus and I had fallen asleep shortly after we'd gotten changed. I tried to remember how such a thing had happened, when nearly every encounter we'd had as a couple had involved sex.

I recalled that just before bed, he'd taken off his uniform to reveal boxers and a white sleeveless undershirt, and then fell heavily onto the mattress, letting out a big sigh as he did so. I was a bit slower to get changed into night clothes, and I slipped under the covers beside him. We had begun speaking of my sister Angie and future brother-in-law Larry Allen and the lie that Angie had left on my message machine.

"I saved it," Harris said with a smug grin, "to use as evidence when we figure out what they are up to."

"How are we going to do that?"

"Am I not a police officer?" he said matter-of-factly, raising his eyebrows. "Am I not in fact the most qualified person to figure out exactly what is going on?"

"But don't you need a warrant for that?" I countered. "Like, probable cause and all that?"

"That recorded telephone message could be called probable cause."

"Couldn't they just argue that they just don't like you? You know, some perfectly non-criminal reason?"

"Or it could be jealousy," he replied, shrugging. "It's not every day someone snags a seasoned cop. Now, people like your sister's fiancé, who don't even know what their company does, are a dime a dozen."

"People with so much money that they throw a party with all valet parking," I grumbled. "That was showy even for my family."

"Where does he work, anyway?"

"Somewhere downtown, I think," I answered. "I dunno."

We both fell silent. I found myself scanning his bedroom, admiring the sheen of the medals on the wall. The oriental-style rug on the floor was spotless. His bed was immaculate and would have easily passed a military barracks inspection. I could sense his dark eyes boring into the side of my head; clearly, he was waiting for me to speak.

"Anyway, their scheme didn't work, so I guess it's done for. I'm definitely not going to the wedding."

"That's it?" he blurted.

"I guess," I said, shrugging.

"So what you're saying is you… forgive them?" he remarked, narrowing his eyes. "Your family acted like a bunch of assholes and you're just gonna let it slide?" he said, snorting derisively at me. "I say we figure out what your sister's little boyfriend is up to, and nail him."


I had been lying beside Thaddeus for the last half an hour or so, wide awake as I watched him sleep. I was surprised more cadets didn't hit on him. I suppose if he didn't come across so angry and shrill, he might be seen as the attractive man he was. Strands of silver and dark brown made up an amazingly thick head of hair. His nose was unbelievably small and yet with the combination of his chin and rough skin, gave him the profile of a rugged, Jack Palance-like cowboy. And yet, as he slept next to me, his cupid's bow lips and boyish nose made him look like a child.

"Ugh, what time is it?" Harris muttered, attempting to open his eyes. The likeness of Thaddeus Harris to a little boy was gone with the first deep growl coming from his throat.

"It's eight," I said, from a position probably too close to him. Now he was squinting, getting used to the sunlight streaming through his blinds. I could see his pupils widening and now his eyes were locked on mine, his expression accusatory.

"Were you watchin' me sleep?" he remarked in his Texas drawl.

I could feel my face getting hot. I supposed he deserved to know what I was thinking.

"Yeah," I replied, definitely blushing now. "I couldn't help it. You're nice to look at."

Now he was smiling, giving me what seemed to be an appreciative look with his eyes. He stretched out his legs and I could hear his knees crack, and then he rolled over to look at me.

"You're not so bad yourself," he said with a chuckle.

I wasn't good with compliments, and replied with a little roll of the eyes and a scoff.

"You gotta give yourself more credit than that," he said, his eyes moving to my unruly hair now. "I've never gone after a cadet before, and I've been at the academy for 19 years."

"Maybe it was the hooker move I used on you," I said, laughing as I recalled how I'd attempted to stand up after inadvertently falling on Harris on the gym mats. "Remember when you called it that?"

"Well, that could have had somethin' to do with it. In the past I've had to pay to have a woman do that to me, and only in certain establishments," he added, chuckling. He pulled himself up to a seated position. "What do you wanna do today? Here's the first thing I'm gonna do."

With that, he glanced down at the large gauze bandage on his right upper arm from the gunshot, and peeled back the tape holding the gauze to his skin. It was the first time I'd seen the wound—it was now a white circle of scar tissue, a pucker of light skin in the midst of his tan arm.

"Phew," he said, smiling at the very much healed wound. "Finally, I got use of my arm. And I can do this—"

Suddenly he flipped over, landing on top of me. He planted his hands on either side of my body, grinning down at me, the wind crushed out of me by the move. I flashed a look of surprise, quickly replaced with interest. He certainly had a libido to brag about.

"Just think of what all we can do now," he drawled. "No more baby-booing that damn sling. What'dya say?"

"I think you know me well enough by now to know my answer," I said, smiling back.


Twenty minutes later, we pulled ourselves out of bed, far less dressed than before, and staggered showers to wash the sweat away. When I returned from my shower, Harris was sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at his TV set in wide-eyed wonder. I came around the corner to see what the fuss was about.

There was a rather large protest happening downtown, a protest where quite a few people held signs denouncing Captain Tackleberry. "Fire Tackleberry," and "weed out bad cops" signs were very legible in the sea of white signs.

"They're having a demonstration," Harris commented, gesturing at the TV. "Apparently they're planning to march until Tackleberry is fired. Like I said, his sins have caught up to him."

Suddenly, Harris's telephone rang, making us both jerk at the sound. He strode slowly to his message machine, which was already blinking "2," rolled his eyes, and turned back to face me.

"I'm not answering it," he remarked. "Probably more of the instructors begging me to vouch for him."

"Lieutenant Harris?" the voice on the message machine said. "It's Lieutenant Proctor. It's very important, Sir."

"Ugh, I can't believe I'm at the same rank as that pinhead," Harris muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Sir, I know you're home," Proctor said on the machine.

"Now, how could he know that?" Harris growled.

"I'm parked right outside your door, right behind your car," Proctor's voice announced again. "Captain Mahoney needs to speak with you."

"What are you going to do?" I whispered, my eyes wide. Were these cops going to ruin the whole weekend with a series of meetings? I had been looking forward to having a relaxing, non-cop and non-family-related weekend with Thaddeus.

"Proctor will sit there all day if I don't say something," he said with a grimace. "He's got nothing better to do with his time than be Mahoney's errand boy." He pulled the curtain back half an inch to look. "Geez, he's blocking in both my cars."

Harris quickly strode toward the phone and picked it up.

"What do you want, Proctor? This is my weekend."

I couldn't hear what was being said on the other end of the line, so I moved toward his bed and sat down, attempting to watch the television again of the anti-cop crowds while eavesdropping on Harris's replies to his former assistant.

"I never heard of such blatant ass-kissin' in my entire life," Harris grumbled. "Where was the ass-kissing brigade when I was put in control of the academy while Lassard was promoting his stupid C.O.P. program? Hmm? Where was this so-called united front when I was trying to catch the Wilson Heights Gang? And don't get me started on Russia and how I had to do everything by myself."

There was a pause as Proctor presumably replied.

"Well, I'm not standing for it!" Harris said, slamming his newly freed right fist on the phone stand for emphasis. "Tackleberry's gotta face the music sometime!" A pause.

"What do they care what I have to say, some recently-demoted shmuck? Maybe I don't wanna face the inevitable questions about why Tackleberry outranks me, in spite of my accomplishments and my years in service."

"Oh, is that right?" Another longer pause. "A bribe, from Mahoney."

A pause, as Proctor replied to that.

"Bullshit," Harris muttered. "Don't gimme that. Getting Tackleberry off yet again is Mahoney's main concern, not finally giving me the respect and recognition I deserve. What, is Kirkland no longer available to get him off?"

I had no idea who Kirkland was, but Harris's double entendre, if that's what it was, was gross. This conversation was certainly crude, and I rolled my eyes as I stayed facing the television, the big white signs all through the growing crowd denouncing Tackleberry and the Metropolitan Precinct.

"You tell him I'll consider it," Harris muttered. "I'm sure he's also well-aware of my long-standing interest in the commandant position…"

Now there was a short video of Tackleberry entering the courthouse again, a clip that showed him grimacing and staying silent as he walked past the cameraman.

"Wait, you want me to talk to Mahoney now?" Harris whined. "You gotta sweeten the pot if I'm to…"

"…Fine. I'll be out in ten minutes."

Harris hung up the phone with a triumphant grin and turned to me.

"Looks like Mahoney is desperate enough to get support for his butt buddy that he's striking quite the deal with yours truly."

"Ah," I replied, "so they're buying your loyalty. Are you really gonna let them do that?"

Now he was frowning. Apparently I'd struck a nerve.

"Now, see here, Carnegie," he said, pointing at me, "they're gonna force me to defend Tackleberry whether I want to or not. Might as well get my proper rank back while I'm at it. No harm, no foul."

"You mean, they're going to promote you back to Captain?" I asked, gaping. "I'd thought Mahoney had more… principles than bribing someone to change their opinion."

"Mahoney's got no principles whatsoever," he huffed. "In fact, when Mahoney was forced—yes, forced—to join the academy some years ago, he was no more than a common criminal," he said with a sneer. "His title may have changed, but he hasn't."

I was aggravated by his remark and made a face, Harris's eyes widening as he instantly began backpedaling. He knew damn well I had been in the same boat.

"…Uh, not that that's something to be ashamed of…." he sputtered, face reddening as he spoke. "In fact, he was in for totaling three cars from the valet lot where he was employed! Breaching the trust of three of his own loyal customers! That's far worse than your little—"

"I now can see you really feel about me beneath it all," I groaned.

I could see him roll his eyes now and shake his head. He sighed, glancing sidelong at me; he'd dug himself deep now.

"Can you just set aside your pathological self-loathing for just a minute and let me do what I need to do? This doesn't involve you, Carnegie. What I decide today will affect how I'm gonna be treated by my peers for the foreseeable future."

I gaped at him now, my mouth wide open but unable to say anything. Was that how I truly came across to him, as someone who loathed herself? I began sinking into more thoughts, each one more disturbing than the next. Was he truly a better person than me? Or was he using me because he knew I didn't have the self-esteem to realize I deserved better?

A silence now falling between us, he grabbed his police uniform top from the post of the bed and began buttoning it, and then slipped on a pair of pants. As I watched him with arms crossed, he tucked the shirt neatly into the pants.

"Since when do you care what your peers think?" I finally blurted, standing up from the bed.

"I gotta care at some point, if I'm to be commandant someday," he announced, shrugging. "Being captain again will also advance that cause."

"Well, if this is all about wanting a promotion back to captain, you could have had it from Commandant Lassard after the Manson thing. Instead, you acted like you didn't deserve it. What changed?"

"I don't know what came over me that day. Something he said must have hit me weird."

"That's your conscience."

"Ha," he replied flatly, "I thought you were my conscience, standing there like a little angel on my shoulder."

"Wow, I went from being a common criminal to being an angel really fast."

Harris lifted his hands in surrender, making a face of defeat.

"I give up, Carnegie. Guess you got more resolve than me. As for me, I gotta keep my eye on the prize, being a commandant. And this may very well be the thing that finally gets me some long overdue respect around the Metropolitan police precinct and the academy. Anyway, you sit tight; I won't be long—probably less than an hour, I wager."