Chapter 28 - Radio Shack Junk
"Lieutenant Harris!" the voice screamed, followed by the blankets being pulled off us completely. It was a rude awakening, and I sat up, instinctively covering my breasts while crossing my legs to obscure the view.
Thaddeus also sat bolt upright at the awakening. He did not speak right away, instead growling as he lunged forward and yanked the blankets back over his body. He peered over at me, and tossed a corner of blanket over me to protect my modesty.
"What the hell are you doin' in my bedroom, Proctor?!" Harris bellowed, once we were decent again.
"It's twelve-thirty, Sir," Proctor replied, clad in his police uniform, sidearm at his waist, a police hat perched on his head. "You missed the press conference downtown. Captain Mahoney and I have both been trying to call you, but we couldn't get—"
"What?!" Harris bellowed. "Are you pullin' my leg?!"
I could see his eyes go wide, and then wider still when he checked his bedside clock and the wristwatch on his nightstand.
"No, Sir, just your bed sheets," Proctor said. "Did you have your alarm set?"
"Of course I did," Harris lied, his face draining of color as he spoke. There was an uncomfortable pause that Harris felt the need to fill. "Alarm must have been set for pm instead. That damn button has gotten stuck before. Radio Shack's gonna be getting a piece of my mind."
"I tried to call you when you first hadn't showed, but I couldn't get through," Proctor added, turning towards Harris's blatantly unplugged telephone in his bedroom. "It just made a weird noise—"
"Funny you should say that, cause my phone's been acting up, too," Harris interrupted, lying again. "More Radio Shack junk—I gotta go buy a new one. Mark my words, Radio Shack is gonna go out of business for the garbage they peddle."
Proctor glanced at Harris's phone, and spotted the phone line lying on the floor.
"Hey, Sir, I figured it out! The phone was unplugged! Here," he said, picking up the cord, "let me fix it for you!"
"Huh," Harris scoffed, rolling his eyes, not missing a beat. "Jack must be loose. Radio Shack junk, like I said."
"It works now!" Proctor exclaimed, smiling broadly, holding up the handset, a dial tone barely audible from our position in bed. "No need to thank me!"
For a moment or two, Proctor could only gape at Harris and then me. Harris said nothing, instead crossing his arms and rolling his eyes with exasperation.
"Pardon me, Miss," Proctor said, giving me a little tip of the hat. "Have we met before? You seem familiar, yet—"
Now Harris was peering over at me sidelong, and I scoffed. Finally I began to reply.
"You have met me before, a couple of weeks ago," I said. "My name is—"
"None of your business," Harris cut in, his face moving from me to Proctor. "Did Mahoney have anything to say about my missing today?"
"Wait—that's that cadet, isn't it?" Proctor said, his eyes widening as he pointed at me, mouth going slack. "Wasn't your name June Frick, something like that? I met you at the academy, and then at that party in the game lands."
I rolled my eyes at his guess and opened my mouth, preparing to speak, but Harris shot out an arm to grip my shoulder, stopping me before I'd said a word.
"Lemme take it from here," Harris said, giving me a quick glance before glaring back up at Proctor. "What's it to you, anyway, Proctor? We're both adults."
"So it is that cadet!" Proctor said, grinning toothily. "I knew it! May I say, you never cease to surprise me, Sir!"
"What, you gonna run back this info to Mahoney and get me demoted again?" Harris snapped.
"About that…" Proctor mumbled, taking off his hat and holding it in front of him now, "…I was sent here to tell you that you aren't getting that promotion after all. Oh, yeah, and I'm off your covert operation starting—" he looked at his wristwatch, "–uh, starting now."
I could see Harris's face getting redder and redder, and yet he couldn't stand up and physically threaten or throttle the lieutenant due to his state of undress. I could see his eyes wandering to the floor and he quickly leaned down, hastily snapping his boxers off the floor.
"Ohh, I'm gonna get that pissant, if it's the last thing I do," Harris snarled, snaking the boxers under the blankets and pulling them up. "What balls he's got, to bribe me with a position and an assistant, and then when I miss his little fan club meet and greet through no fault of my own, he snatches his bribe away the very next day, without so much as a phone call?!"
"He tried to call you, Sir. Several times," Proctor replied, his voice trailing off. "Anyway, he says you bribed him." Now Proctor's eyes were wide and fearful as Harris leapt out of bed, clad only in his boxers.
It was an odd sight, seeing the practically naked Harris trying to dress down the fully clothed Lieutenant Proctor.
"You tell Mahoney he's got another thing coming for him!" Harris spat, right in Proctor's face now. Proctor continued to try to smile, but it was obvious he was intimidated by the boxer-clad Harris. "And now you're gonna climb back into his ass and tell him everything I've told you!"
"I wouldn't do that, Sir," Proctor swore, shaking his head, his face solemn for once. Which part, I mused. There was a silence that followed, in which Lieutenant Proctor didn't look like a happy doofus, for once.
"I, uh, imagine you didn't collect any intel on Larry Allen since yesterday," Harris grumbled, his voice no longer shrill.
"Oh, in fact, I did!" Proctor replied, grinning once again. "He was at the thing today downtown!"
Now Harris took a step away from Proctor, clearly taken aback.
"You better not be lyin' to me, Proctor," he threatened through clenched teeth, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Nope!" Proctor began. "I saw him at the edge of the crowd watching the speeches. He was wearing a suit and tie—very fancy! Must have been on his lunch break, I think. His building was only two doors down from the building our press conference was filmed in front of today!"
"How did you come to that conclusion?" Harris questioned, hands now on hips.
"'That's easy; I followed him!" he quickly replied. "I left the stage after you didn't show, and I followed him back to his office."
"Did he see you following him?" Harris asked now, his voice slightly higher in pitch now.
"Well," Proctor began with hesitation, looking embarrassed, wiping the back of his neck. "Not at first, but when I got in the elevator with him, he definitely suspected something."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because he asked me if I was following him."
I could see Harris struggling to maintain his composure.
"And what did you say?"
"Well, I couldn't lie to the Larry Allen!"
"Oh God," Harris said, slapping his own forehead. "Proctor, you imbeci—"
"I just told him I was a big fan because of the humane society."
"Then what happened?" Harris moaned. "Wait—maybe I don't even wanna know…."
"He asked me who sent me."
Now Harris raised his eyebrows, sensing Proctor had more to say.
"He didn't let me reply," Proctor answered. "He just blurted out your name, Sir! I guess both of us aren't very good at covert operations, are we?"
Harris let out a groan of disgust before replying.
"And what did you say to that?"
"I said Lieutenant Harris who? I don't think he was convinced, though. I mean, I didn't expect him to just blurt out your name like that! How do you know him, anyway?"
Now Harris began to shake his head slowly.
"Never mind that last point." Harris laid his hands on each of Lieutenant Proctor's shoulders, his face full of exasperation. "What I fail to understand is how you, who were just at a press conference in which I was supposed to be a major speaker, could say something so completely idiotic. Could you not think of anything else to say or—hell, I dunno, fake a seizure?"
"I was star-struck, Sir," Proctor replied. "I mean—you saw it—Larry Allen's face is on every one of my Humane Society magazines."
Harris rolled his eyes.
"Okay, so he figured you out. Then what?"
"The elevator stopped at his floor—it's the 16th floor of the First Bank building—and he got out of the elevator. I saw him walk right into a corner office and then I was approached by some security guards who asked if I had a warrant—then I left."
"So you were in your police uniform?"
"Of course—we were all on TV!" Proctor replied, nodding. "I wore this exact uniform when I met him. That reminds me-I don't think I wanna wash it again! Larry Allen breathed on me!"
"Jesus, Proctor," Harris groaned, shaking his head. His expression that of absolute disgust, he turned around and picked up his pants and my shirt off of the floor. He threw me the shirt and held the pants in front of him in preparation to dress. "You do know what the word covert means, don't you?"
"Of course, Sir, but I just wanted to seize the opportunity to—"
"Where's my surveillance equipment?" Harris interrupted, slipping on his pants as he spoke. "Being as you're, you know, off the case now."
"In the car, Sir. Want me to go and get it?"
"Uh, yeah, I do," Harris said in a mocking tone. "I want my key back too."
Now Lieutenant Proctor looked crestfallen. It was a strange look for the perpetually smiley man.
"This almost feels like a breakup."
"You could call it that," Harris grumbled, holding out an impatient hand. "Now, my briefcase and keys, if you will, Proctor."
Upon hearing the door shut after Lieutenant Proctor finally left, Thaddeus quickly left the bedroom and locked the door.
I'd since fished my pants off of the floor and sat on the bedspread fully dressed, my arms crossed. Harris returned, a deep frown on his face.
"Do you know what this means?" he said, throwing his hands up. "I'm gonna be vilified worse than ever before. Those little harmless pranks the other instructors always seem to involve me in are gonna be ramped up 50-fold now." He sat down on the bed, lifting his arms into the sky with frustration.
"Maybe you can talk to Captain Mahoney, get another crack at defending Tackleberry in a different way," I suggested. "I mean, you had intended on going today."
"Talk to that asshole? No thank you," he grumbled. "He'll probably be pulling the strings behind the scenes on their pranks."
"Maybe we can find a news station that will let you make a statement on his behalf," I said.
"You know what? Maybe this was meant to happen," he said, standing up now. "Tackleberry can't go around shooting through closed doors, tackling people to the ground before they can so much as react, putting people in headlocks 'til they pass out. Being a cop doesn't give you free reign to whip out a gun and shoot all willy-nilly like you're in some old western saloon."
"Well, your silence doesn't exactly say all that," I said. "If you really feel that strongly about it, maybe you should tell people what you think about him."
"And get crucified on the academy lawn?" he said, chuckling. "I value my career far too much to do that."
We sat in the house watching the broadcast of the press conference for Tackleberry and the commentary after it had taken place. I noticed that just like in the newspaper, they had made it a big point that both of Tackleberry's former instructors were to make statements, namely Lieutenant Thaddeus Harris, a man with a long tenure at the academy. He'd really been built up as an important voice in all of this, third only to Commandant Lassard and Commissioner Hurst in the length of time he'd been working in some capacity for the Metropolitan Police force. I wondered why Lassard or Hurst weren't due to make a statement—maybe they were supposed to stay unbiased; I wasn't sure.
When Captain Mahoney stepped forward at the press conference, he spoke of Tackleberry's good heart, gentle ways as a father-of-one, and a friend to all at the academy. I could tell he and Tackleberry were close friends by his statement. As I listened to him speak, I could see that Captain Mahoney certainly had the social graces that Harris did not. As the others stepped forward to speak, there were similarly positive comments made about Tackleberry's most important arrests, tender moments, and all of that. I could certainly believe Tackleberry had made an honest mistake, but Harris was insistent that he was known for doing this very thing over and over again without consequence—until now. Following all their statements, the group of police on the stage could not hide that they were waiting for Harris, and the shouts of the reporters asking for Harris confirmed it.
Now we could see on the screen Lieutenant Proctor leaving the group, most likely to follow Larry Allen, all while the press conference was left in chaos with the absence of Tackleberry's senior instructor, Thaddeus Harris.
Thaddeus and I could only look at each other as the commentary on the news focused on his absence and not on Tackleberry's good aspects that had been brought up at the press conference.
"I wonder if they'll come to campus tomorrow," Harris muttered, looking more excited than I'd hoped he would look about something like that. "Can you imagine, reporters chasing me around all day, begging for a statement?" he commented, looking amused. "I'll have to wear my best uniform."
"That's all you can say?" I replied. "What if they ask you to make a statement? Are you going to tell them what you told me?"
"Hell no," he responded quickly. "Gotta keep 'em in suspense. It's very possible I can use this rigamarole as a boost to my own reputation."
I gaped at him for his rather egocentric response.
"But what about the people at the academy?" I asked. "Didn't you say they'd be pranking you? What if they try to embarrass you in front of the—"
"No way they'd pull any stunts in front of the news media, when we are trying to keep a united front," he grunted. "Mark my words."
On Sunday night, Lieutenant Harris and I sat just outside the police academy campus in his Crown Victoria. Ever since Lieutenant Proctor had come by to deliver the bad news, the day hadn't gotten much better. For the rest of the afternoon and evening, we watched the news discussing Captain Tackleberry, including several interviews from people who'd seen him shooting indiscriminately or had similar experiences with him, and other news specials discussing Harris's absence. Mostly we discussed how things would have to change on campus.
"I gotta toe the line," Harris grumbled, glancing over at me, reiterating his point for the fiftieth time. "I have to appear as the ideal cop this week, respectable in every way. I can't be seen cavorting with you in public."
"I understand," I said, frowning. "But you're going to need someone to talk to you, someone on your side. Are you going to be okay?"
"I can take care of myself," he said, bristling a bit. He shuddered, his head sinking between his shoulders. "It's tough, but we gotta steer clear. Just like last week."
"Good luck," I murmured, as he began driving once again towards the academy. He dropped me off near the women's dorms and then drove over toward the men's dorms, where he stayed during the week.
I couldn't help but dread the week ahead. For as nice as the other instructors made themselves out to be, they did seem quite cliquish. I hoped they wouldn't all band together and torture Thaddeus this week. Maybe he was right—maybe having reporters around would keep them at bay. I was skeptical.
