Thaddeus Harris and I sat across from each other in the booth of a fast-food restaurant after being dropped off at Harris's house first by Proctor. The restaurant was empty but it was in public; perhaps this would keep Harris from bringing up the proposal again. I still wasn't ready to talk about it.
I'd set up our beverages and food containers in front of us and yet neither of us began to unwrap our sandwiches just yet. Harris reached into his pocket instead of digging into his food.
"Some, uh, day today," I muttered, unable to make eye contact with him.
I could tell that he was trying to get me to look at him. I could see him playing with a small item in his hand.
"Yeah, so about my question… What do you think?" He opened his hand, revealing what looked to be some kind of masculine ring. "I got a ring now—more like a placeholder for now, but it's something, at least."
I made a sheepish face, amazed that he'd brought it up again, and in public of all places. It was now twice that Thaddeus Harris had shocked me today.
"You're serious? Like actually serious?" I asked.
"Well, I don't just propose for the hell of it. I meant what I said. And now I got a ring to back it up."
"Oh," I muttered lamely. I really didn't know how to bring up my reservations. The whole damn academy thought we were still broken up from last time. I had enough going on in my life just trying to finish this police academy. I couldn't just ignore the big red flag Harris had waved just yesterday, when he basically vilified everyone he knew.
"So what's the holdup? Yes or no? If you don't wanna do it, I'd like to know why."
"No pressure though, right?" I said, chuckling nervously. I cleared my throat, hating that he'd put me on the spot like this. Today was stressful enough. "I, uh, guess I'm just afraid how quickly you can turn on someone," I said, unable to look him in the eye. "I mean, it was only yesterday you threw Commandant Lassard, who was so kind to you on Thursday, under the bus along with all of your colleagues. Not to mention what you've said to me during fights—"
"Alright, I'm an asshole. Fair enough. Thank you for explaining."
I rolled my eyes.
"I'm not say—"
"It's okay," he cut in, holding up a hand, his face reddening by the second. "Let's eat. Forget I ever mentioned it."
"but I'm—"
"Just let it go; will ya?" he sighed, clearly agitated. The conversation had ended more shittily than I would have preferred, but I did have my reservations and he needed to know that I saw no loyalty in him whatsoever. My sister Angie's engagement to Larry Allen looked so great superficially, and that was clearly over. For the good times Harris and I had, there was a bad time or two to pair up with each and every one.
I started to eat my food as quietly as I could. Frowning, Harris shoved the ring back down into his pants and tore open the food wrapping, his eyes no longer able to lift off of the table.
The lunch was awkward as hell and I hated it. I couldn't wait to get out of there.
He hadn't even tried to fight me when I asked to be brought back to the academy after lunch. I made some lame-brain excuse about needing to study for an exam, and he didn't even push the subject.
We sat in silence in his car throughout the drive, a growing distance between us that I could feel. I kept my eyes on the road in front of us as he drove, my mouth firmly shut.
He pulled into a parking spot by the main building in his Ford Crown Victoria and as soon as I got out and shut the passenger side door, backed up and sped out of the parking lot. Wow. Apparently he'd actually been serious about his question, because he seemed to be really hurt by my reply. I felt like an asshole too. Maybe he and I really did deserve each other.
On Monday I took my position on the green with D squad, having not heard another word from Lieutenant Harris all weekend. I made sure to be early in the formation so that he would have no reason to yell at me, in case he was planning on blowing off some steam with me.
As the clock struck 8 am, there was no sign of Harris on the green, only Callahan in her red tracksuit and sunglasses. We went through our morning routine as usual, with no one the wiser as to what had happened this past weekend. There was no mention of our missing squadron leader, or of Tackleberry, for that matter. Apparently no one knew that Lieutenant Harris and Captain Tackleberry had almost been killed this weekend, that Lieutenant Harris had proposed to me, and that I had not exactly agreed to the proposal.
Just before breakfast, several press vehicles pulled up with reporters emerging, but they didn't flood into our squadrons and chase down the instructors. Instead, they stayed next to their vehicles, holding their stupid little microphones and talking to their cameramen about a press conference. Ugh, when were they ever going to get over that stupid press conference Harris had missed?
Sweaty and disheveled, I walked into the cafeteria, collected a tray of dried-out pancakes and bacon, and sat down with Mullers and Stiner. We could hear the PA announcing for everyone to report to the cafeteria immediately.
My eyes narrowed as the reporters and their cameramen ran into the cafeteria, excitedly narrating their little journey, along with the instructors and cadets of every squadron. What the hell was this all about?
After another minute or two, in strode Lieutenant Harris in his hat and uniform, his baton—and confidence—nowhere to be seen. Rather, he looked sheepish and anxious and kept his eyes low as he walked to the front of the cafeteria just in front of the buffet line. Now I could see Lieutenant Jones carrying a microphone and stand, and placing it in front of Lieutenant Harris.
I looked around the room, watching as Lassard strode in, standing quietly by the rear wall, as well as Callahan, Hooks, and Hightower. Now the room fell eerily silent, the reporters having finally shut up as well as they all waited for Harris's next move.
"So, uh, welcome everyone," Harris muttered into the microphone, his voice far more guttural and gravelly than usual. "I, uh, called up the press today because there's something I need to say."
"Haven't you done enough damage?!" a heckler yelled out.
"This isn't about you!" another called. "This is about Eugene Tackleberry!"
"Heh," Harris weakly chuckled in reply. "Yeah, well, let me explain why I called you here. What I, uh, said on Friday to the reporters was stupid and unwise. Not just because it was dead wrong, but because of the damage it does to the public's faith in law enforcement. My suggestion of some kind of police conspiracy was a bald-faced lie. A tantrum, you might even call it, a tantrum 'cause I wasn't getting my way."
"What kind of tantrum, Sir?"
"Which parts were wrong?"
"But what about your thoughts on Captain Tackleberry?" another reporter called out. "You called him reckless and impulsive. Do you still stand by that statement you made?"
"Was Captain Tackleberry wrong to shoot through the door?" Harris replied. "Yes. What he did was impulsive and poor judgment and it is not how we are trained to respond to potential danger."
"Douchebag!" a male cadet yelled out. Harris ignored him.
"You're just rubbing it in now!" another cadet cried.
"But did Tackleberry learn from his mistake?" Harris continued, speaking louder now. "Will he be more careful in the future? I'd bet my life on that being the case."
"Sir," a reporter called out, "is the department paying you to make this refutation—"
"Hell no. In fact, I made a serious error in judgement just this past weekend and got in way over my head on a case. People could have died from my mistake."
"You didn't shoot any children, did you?" a reporter called.
"No, but that's not the point. Now, fortunately for me, it was Captain Tackleberry who happened to be nearby and who made the correct decision, and for that I am standing before you alive and well today, and so is everyone else involved in the case that day."
"What happened?" several reporters called out, their words garbling together. "Were you in danger? What mistake did you make?"
"I'm sure it'll come out in the news soon enough. Anyway, I called this press conference to apologize to the Metropolitan Police Department and to my academy colleagues for the harmful statements I made, especially Commandant Lassard. He has been nothing but the consummate professional and I've let him down. I've let all of you down."
"So are you saying there is no conspiracy?"
"That's right." He bowed his head. "More like, I'm not worthy of the position of commandant and rather than accept that, I decided to take everyone down with me."
"What's next?"
"Glad you asked. This morning I put in my two-week notice at the Metropolitan Police Academy and at the precinct office." Several gasps were heard in the audience, including my own. "What I said on Friday damaged the reputation of my colleagues and I need to spend my time fixing that now, if it's even possible."
I stared up at him as he bowed his head again, taking his hand off of the microphone.
"No further questions," he murmured. "Thank you." And with that, he kept his eyes low and strode quickly for the nearest exit.
The reporters, students, and instructors all looked at each other as Harris left the cafeteria, at the quiet anticlimactic end to his remarks. What had prompted him to resign, to throw himself under the bus? On Saturday Captain Mahoney had told him he was going to recommend him for promotion, and Lassard had said something very similar on Thursday night. Now he was quitting his job completely?
The reporters were now facing their respective cameramen again, explaining to their audience what had just happened as they filed out of the building. Most of the cadets had resumed eating, but I couldn't take one bite. I didn't even say anything to Mullers and Stiner; I simply stood up and followed the line of reporters back outside.
There was Lieutenant Harris way off in the distance, his hands in his pockets and head down as he walked towards the parking lot.
I didn't want to cause a scene or draw attention to him or me so I took off at an angle away from the reporters and from Harris, and eventually reached the parking lot just as he was getting into his car, his eyes still locked on the ground, completely unaware of my presence. I frowned as I spotted several filled cardboard boxes in the back seat of his Crown Vic, and I grabbed the passenger door handle without thinking.
"What the hell do you think you're—?" he began, but as he lifted his eyes to see that it was me, he stopped speaking.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Did you not just hear my little press conference?" he said, his eyes immediately falling back to the ground as he slid into the driver's seat. "I'm resigning."
"Why now, though? In the last couple of days alone, you've had two people who talked about promoting you!"
"But do you really think I deserve it?" he grumbled. "I sure as hell don't."
"Does this have anything to do with what we talked about Saturday?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Carnegie," he scoffed, frowning deeply. "I can soul-search on my own just fine. Would you let go of the door? There's a damn reporter heading my way. I'm done talking to those assholes."
"Can I come with you?" I heard myself ask. Instantly I felt mortified. He looked up at me now in shock, his mouth hanging open.
"Why would you wanna go and do something li—"
Holding my breath, I plopped down in the passenger seat next to Harris. He tugged on his seatbelt, wide-eyed and anxious as he looked over at me, and shifted the car out of park. Interestingly he didn't question my actions further. Within a minute, we'd left the academy behind in a cloud of exhaust.
