"This is the police!" I called out, finger gun at the ready. I had since slipped on Harris's police jacket and hat for increased realism. "Hands up, where I can see them!"
Harris was sitting behind his desk in the same civilian clothes he had worn earlier at the homeless shelter, a simple white polo shirt and blue slacks. On the desk next to him was the replacement Birdie he'd bought today for Lassard, the healthy little fish swimming rapidly around in his fresh new goldfish bowl. Until I'd announced myself, he was pretending to read something in front of him.
At my command, Harris's face went serious and he put his hands up, remaining seated. Tonight we'd talked about my practicing arresting him, and he'd encouraged me to get out all the giggling I might feel in doing something like this. After having repeated the proper procedure a couple of times, I understood the frisking procedure and how it was similar and different compared to more intensive searches, like strip searches and body cavity searches. A frisk was simply a way to look for a weapon, nothing more. I had successfully frisked Harris twice now, and the initial giggling and anxiousness I felt about bossing him around was gone. I was dead serious now, and he could see that on my face.
"Stand up," I said, my finger gun gesturing for emphasis.
Until this run, I'd followed the arrest procedure by the book while Harris gave me pointers, making sure I'd done an appropriate pat-down, handcuffing, and reading of the Miranda rights. On this particular run, I was free to… embellish all that I wanted to. I needed to be serious and intimidating to start, maybe even a bit annoyed with him, and so I thought about my impromptu arrest in the cafeteria to goad me along.
Already Harris was breathing harder, knowing that this time I wouldn't be treating him as I would a typical suspect. I didn't giggle or break character, but my body was already responding to his obedience. He stood up behind his desk, and I could see him swallow.
"Officer," he said, trying to smile, "what's this all abo—?"
"Go over to the wall and spread 'em," I interrupted. "No talking."
His mouth remained open and he looked genuinely surprised. Last time, I'd let him talk. My finger gun didn't waver. Harris took a deep breath, his hands still up, and walked past the closed maroon curtains behind his desk, over to the only wall that didn't hold any vintage weapons or pictures of him. I watched him, unmoving, as he placed his hands on the wall, legs about shoulder-width apart. God, this was a different level of thrilling, watching Harris's shoulders rise and fall as he waited for what I was going to do in this very non-standard arrest.
Once he'd been standing against the wall for a good half a minute or so, I walked slowly towards him, stopping behind him. I holstered my finger-gun and I used my shoe to push his legs further apart. I then moved my hands up under his armpits and pushed firmly, moving slowly downwards with firm touches. When I got to his hips, I felt him shudder.
"You've been bad, haven't you?" I said, hearing my own heart thudding in my ears. I removed my hand from Harris's hip and gave him a smack on his clothed backside. Harris nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden contact, making a kind of moaning sound as he recovered, quickly getting back into the frisking position.
"Yes, officer; yes, I have," he murmured, his voice thicker than before. He bowed his head now, his ears reddening. I gave him another smack to his ass, a harder one. This time he whimpered.
"I'm looking for the weapon you've been seen with in several public places," I said. Now I had one hand between his thighs and the other just below his hip. Harris was breathing loudly now. "Do you know what I'm talking about?"
Now I ran my hands in a place where normal frisks didn't happen; down over his chest and then beneath the waistband of his trousers. In a smooth motion, I untucked his shirt and started to unbuckle his belt. His body trembled under my touch. He muttered something unintelligible, and I could tell he was getting turned on by the new tighter fit of his pants. As I finished unbuckling his trousers, I brushed my hand lightly over the tent in his trousers and he jerked.
"Oh, God," he muttered, his voice now shaky and barely audible.
"I think I've located the weapon," I said, and now my hand went under the waistline of his boxers, taking hold of the weapon in question, which seemed very close to firing; damn, he was really responding to this! Harris gasped at my firm hold, looking down wide-eyed at his still-clothed groin.
"You've been flashing this around in public," I said, giving it a little tug. "Bad, bad boy."
"Y-yes, Ma'am."
"I'm taking you in," I said, abruptly removing my hand from his body as he nearly fell over in disappointment. I smiled briefly at the unintentional double entendre, Harris quickly correcting his posture. "But first, I gotta cuff you. Hands on the back of your head."
"So I'm not—?"
"No talking," I said, giving him another smack to the ass. Already I was throbbing, and I hadn't even removed one article of clothing from his body. Harris whimpered as he quickly complied with my commands, threading his fingers together on the back of his head, his shoulders dramatically rising and falling. I took out a pair of handcuffs and clicked them around one wrist and then the other, handcuffing Harris behind his back. He hung his head, face now a shade of pink, as I pulled a chair towards him.
"Sit down," I barked, and as soon as Harris tried to turn around, now facing me, his trousers fell to his ankles. His face went white and he looked at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, totally unsure as to what I'd do next.
"Step out of the pants," I said. I heard Harris gulp and then look down as he carefully stepped out of the trousers, leaving him wearing boxers and a polo shirt. He stood next to the pants now, his polo shirt tenting at the bottom and the hair on his legs standing on end.
"Turn around."
Harris made a face of confusion, but obeyed, turning around to face his desk now and the closed curtains. As soon as Harris turned away from me, I jerked his boxers down and gave him another smack to his now exposed ass, sending him staggering into his own desk.
"Oh, God— I can't—" he whimpered, practically doubled over the piece of furniture, his voice barely understandable between swallows.
"No talking," I warned, my body thrumming. I placed my hand on the hot skin of his ass, and felt him shudder again. My hand still remaining on the exposed flesh, alternately rubbing and squeezing it, I read him the Miranda warning. "You ready to be taken in?" I finished.
"Y-yeah," he gasped. "I mean, yes, Ma'am."
"Sit down here," I indicated, stepping back away from him, and Harris turned his head to see that I'd indicated the chair in front of his desk, the one I'd been sitting in during the earlier discussion of arrest procedure. I looked down to see he was still very ready as he turned around, and he sighed as he plopped down, bare-bottomed, onto the wooden chair, having left his boxers by the desk.
I took my place in front of Harris, looking down at him from my standing height. His face flushed, he was still breathing hard, his hands remaining cuffed behind him against the back of the chair, and I took a moment to enjoy the view of him being so very turned on by all of this. After a minute or two of my blatantly staring at him, Harris finally lifted his head and looked up at me, half-questioning, half-impatient; what a view, indeed! Now was the moment. I promptly removed my own clothing and proceeded to sit on his bare lap. I was lucky to be at the very edge myself, because as I took him in, Harris instantly finished.
"Damn, I don't think I've ever finished that fast," Harris muttered, rubbing his wrists after I'd freed him from the handcuffs. We sat on the large floor rug together, both of us still bottomless as he shook his head. "I owe you an apology for—"
"What? But I finished too," I interrupted. "Did you, uh… like that?"
"You couldn't tell?" Now he was smiling at me. "I don't understand; why have I never tried that before? That was… that was something else."
"You seemed to be genuinely scared of me at some points," I commented.
"I was," he replied, bending his bare knees, his hands now on the floor. "You don't understand; I've never voluntarily given someone else the reins. Hell, I've never even been arrested before, if you don't count the Mahoney-Zed thing that one night. I didn't know it could feel like that."
"Did you like getting smacked on the—?"
"God, yeah," he cut in. "I didn't expect that at all. They really, uh, sped up things."
"I really enjoyed that as well," I said. "I was just about done when you launched yourself into the desk after that last smack. What a view!"
Harris looked self-conscious now as he peered up at the desk, his shoulders rising toward his ears.
"Hmph. Well, it's a good thing fish can't talk," he said, "because Birdie Junior here saw it all." I looked up at the desk; the new goldfish had lived.
"You really have been a bad boy," I said, shaking my head.
"Those damn reporters were even able to figure out that I'd broken into Commissioner Hurst's office back in '88. I don't know where they found all this shit on me, because I was so caref—"*
"What?" I blurted. "You did what?"
"I, uh… stretched the law a bit. I was looking for dirt on Lassard, and instead they found it on me. So I guess it's time for me to own up… in front of everyone." His smile had since faded and now he had crossed his legs, placing his elbows on his bare thighs. "Oh, God—what if I think back to this on Tuesday, when I gotta make that speech? Talk about humiliation!"
"That's what the podium is for," I said matter-of-factly.
"That's not funny." He extended his leg, using a heel to drag his discarded boxers back to his hand. "If I get a hard-on during the announcement on Tuesday, I'm personally blaming you."
"Hell, you can even arrest me again," I said with a wink. "At least it'll be for a good reason this time."
On Monday, I could see that Commandant Harris had been true to his word about reinstating the instructors. Jones, Hooks, and Hightower were in the cafeteria at breakfast, and students gathered around them, talking at them nonstop. Unfortunately, Proctor was still the instructor of our now 11-member squadron and was just as frustrating as ever. He seemed confused to see me back at the academy, but thankfully knew better than to ask outright about my arrest. Maybe Harris had filled him in. Thankfully, I passed the arrest procedure test with flying colors, greatly aided by the Sunday night practice with Harris. What remained of the squadron were surprised at how well I had done; maybe they assumed I'd learned it all during my own arrest last Monday. I couldn't be sure.
Today the dismissed cadets would be receiving the letters from Harris inviting them back, so this was hopefully the last day of this uncomfortably tiny group.
On Tuesday morning, the gymnasium once again served as the location for the big announcement. I could quickly see that most of the dismissed cadets were back, including Mullers, Thomas, and Brookstone. Captain Mahoney, Commissioner Hurst, and several reporters stood in the back of the room, reflecting how important this speech would be. I even saw Lassard, wearing civilian attire, sitting down in the back row next to Lieutenant Hooks. The time was now 9 am, and still Harris hadn't appeared. Was he going to renege on his decision?
Two more silent minutes passed and finally, Commandant Harris entered the room. He was wearing his fancy commandant's uniform, which looked even crisper and cleaner than usual. Maybe he'd had it dry cleaned in preparation to wear it for the last time. He carried a single piece of paper with him, placing it on the podium in front of him. There was no sign of his oft-carried baton. His mood was somber.
"Good, uh, morning, everyone," Harris said, stepping up to the microphone, his voice gruffer and more reserved than usual. No one greeted him back, but that was to be expected. Harris's face was as solemn as I'd ever seen it, his dark eyes scanning the room as he spoke. "As you have all come to realize, in these past three weeks, I have made several rash decisions as commandant that I have since reversed. These include the unjustified dismissal of three of our esteemed instructors, as well as the dismissal of many of our cadets."
Everyone remained silent.
"As you'll recall, I came into this position touting increased police accountability. That being said, it's not enough for me to simply undo the bad decisions I've made, decisions that affected countless lives. Accountability is about more than learning from your mistakes; it is about accepting the consequences for those mistakes. Now, the mistakes I made as commandant are just a small sampling of the mistakes I've made since my own graduation from the police academy. This past week, the news has brought my many past and present failings to light. I don't deny any of the accusations, except for that of the Blue Oyster Bar."
I made a face.
"Which part?" someone said, just loud enough to hear. I recalled seeing the preview of the bar owner's statement accusing Harris of having sex with a young man in the bar's restroom.
Harris's eyebrows rose at the inquiry and his eyes darted about, locking on mine. Would he simply deny the entire thing? After all, public sex was against the law.
"I was with a woman," he blurted, swallowing audibly. Now his eyes went back down to his paper. "I have always believed it was my destiny to be commandant; it's something I've always wanted. And yet, the decisions I've made since achieving this lifelong goal, along with my own glaring lack of accountability, make me a hypocrite of the highest order." He kept his eyes locked on the paper; I could see how difficult this was for him to say all this.
"And so, in the spirit of accountability, and to begin to atone for my own wrongdoings, I have decided to resign as commandant of the Metropolitan Police Academy, effective immediately." He gave a little bow of the head and then awkwardly leaned toward the microphone one final time. "Uh, thank you."
It was an awkward moment, because normally after a speech, applause was expected. Several cadets who probably hadn't been paying attention to the subject matter had begun to clap, but they were quickly silenced by their peers. The room now awkwardly silent, Mahoney stood up and walked to the front of the room, Harris sliding over so he could now stand at the podium.
"How about a round of applause for the positive policy changes Commandant Harris made to our school, hmm?" Mahoney said. "The new exercises and ethics lessons he developed and implemented are exceptional and will be applied to graduating classes for years to come." Now Mahoney turned and faced Harris, clapping for him before continuing to speak. "Now that he is stepping down, he will return to his instructor position here at the academy, where he can continue implementing the important changes he made to the curriculum. Thank you for your incredible contributions as commandant, Captain Harris."
My eyes went wide at Harris's new rank. Had they decided to give him back his captain position, or was that a mistake? Had Harris known that was going to happen? Before he'd become commandant, he'd been demoted from captain to lieutenant. This would surely lessen the blow of his voluntarily giving up the commandant position. The cadets and instructors clapped politely as Harris stood humbly beside the much taller Mahoney, his head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. He didn't even raise his eyes to look at Mahoney as he was being applauded.
"As you all know, there are less than five weeks of instruction left at this year's academy," Mahoney said. "In the interim, I will be serving as the police academy commandant until graduation."
Many more people clapped for him than they did for Harris.
"Now, just to be clear, this isn't permanent," Mahoney said, putting up his hands to calm the crowd. "I have important ongoing duties at precinct 19 and am stretched about as thin as I can be, and so I have invited Commandant Lassard to implement my decisions as interim commandant as he continues his recovery, which has been nothing short of miraculous." With that, Mahoney gestured to Lassard. "Commandant, would you like to say a few words?"
Everyone cheered wildly now, and in fact, all the cadets and instructors gave Lassard a standing ovation as he haltingly strode to the front of the gymnasium with a cane. Even Harris participated in the applause, having folded up his own speech and tucked it away in a pocket. Lassard's happiness at being recognized was obvious, and yet, it was jarring seeing him wearing civilian clothing. The applause continued even after he'd reached the podium, with Mahoney and a downcast Harris alongside him.
"Thank you very, very much for making me feel so welcome," Lassard said, a big smile on his face. "I can't tell you how thrilled I am to be back at the police academy. This job is truly my life's greatest work."
More applause followed.
"Commandant Harris has done well in teaching and learning with you, and in your teaching and learning with Commandant Harris," Lassard said, speaking in a regal tone. "He was also very diligent in taking care of Birdie, who was so very, very happy to see me. I am relieved to know that I have many, many capable people here to act in my stead."
Cadets and instructors alike looked at each other with confusion at the mention of Birdie's name. It had, in fact, been the announcement of Birdie's death back in week three that had greatly shaken up the academy and first caused a rift to form between Callahan and Harris. Perhaps now people could see that Lassard's mind wasn't all there, and that he wouldn't be able to make any important decisions.
Lassard followed his statement up with more servings of gratitude, and then the press conference was over. Harris was once again a captain and the head of my squadron, Captain Mahoney would be serving as interim commandant, and Lassard would be able to enjoy his title once again in a figurehead role. I wondered what the next five weeks would bring. Mahoney was stretched incredibly thin, so he probably wouldn't be making any big changes as our class finished the academy. What would become of Tackleberry, Callahan, and Proctor? I wouldn't have to wait long to find out.
I sat at lunch with Mullers, Stiner, Brookstone, and even Stetson, who were all pressing me for details on how I'd gotten Harris to reverse all his latest decisions and step down.
"I saw that whole thing with the arrest," Stiner said. "I don't get it. Harris has been holed up in his office all week, and suddenly decides to admit to everything? What, did you threaten to squeal on him when you got to jail or something?"
"He didn't actually take me to jail," I explained. "He'd planned on my coming back to the academy later on in the evening, all teary-eyed and sorry. I didn't."
Now Brookstone was walking over, and she sat her tray down across the table from me.
"I owe you an apology, April," she said, and I looked up at her to see that she'd even toned down the makeup some. "I heard you got Harris to reverse his decision on the cadets that were… parking. I honestly would have understood if he didn't want to change his mind on that. I should never have called you a bitch."
"Thanks, Brookstone," I said.
"How'd you do it?"
"He made the decision to do what he did. I just told him that it was super hypocritical of him, being as he and I had, uh… well, I'm sure you saw the news."
"Listen, I was really pissy the day I called you a bitch. Stetson here had just turned me down outright and I was feeling extra bitchy." With that, Brookstone put a long-nailed hand on his shoulder and sat down next to him. "I mean, it's not like I could have done anything about it, but—"
"April, was that you at the Blue Oyster Bar with Harris?" Stetson asked, trying to change the subject. "That's the only accusation from the news that he denied today."
"Yeah," I replied, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "It really is quite the place, you know. Big manly guys everywhere, dancing and having a good time."
I said nothing more, hoping he'd get the point.
"Cadet Carnegie?" a voice said, and I looked up to see Lieutenant Jones, Lieutenant Hooks, and Captain Hightower.
"Yes?"
Lieutenant Jones spoke first.
"We saw what you were attempting to do last Monday in the cafeteria," he said. "You valiantly used your own status to try to get Captain Harris to reconsider. You are clearly a woman of integrity, and we salute you."
With that, all three of the instructors saluted me. I gawked at them.
"We really appreciate what you did," Lieutenant Hooks said in her soft voice. "We've known Captain Harris for years, and what he did today was very… unexpected, but needed. I'm sure that had something to do with the effect you've had on him."
Now it was Hightower's turn to speak. He took a step forward.
"Thanks," Hightower said, giving me a bow of the head and a shy, gap-toothed smile. I was shocked at the turn of events here; I had been so terrified that I was going to be pranked and teased for either my humiliating arrest or for being Harris's car lover, but instead, everyone was thanking me or apologizing to me. It was surreal.
Would Harris be back in his old office again? I had so many questions, most of which were answered when we returned to our squadron formation on the green. There was Thaddeus, leading us once again in his old captain uniform, with Proctor nowhere to be found. Our squadron had returned to twenty-four cadets, and I could feel more than just Harris watching me carefully. It was a very odd feeling. At least now I didn't have to feel guilty for looking at him right back. At Harris's first shrill yell of "move it, move it, move it!" I felt a flood of amazement at having had him so helpless and obedient less than two days before. It was something I'd definitely have to follow up on.
"Hey, everyone!" Stetson said, running by our table at dinner, "there's something big happening on the news. It's on the student lounge TV set. Something happened with Captain Tackleberry!"
Several of us stood up and took off toward the student lounge. It sounded like something bad had happened to him; I certainly hoped not. I could see most of the instructors were already standing by the television, including Captain Harris with his blue uniform shirt partly unbuttoned, his bare chest partly visible. It was the first time since Sunday night that I was able to stand near him, and I made sure that our hips were touching as we watched the news. I wanted to push him into a dark closet somewhere and reward him for his bravery today, but right now, there was important news to watch. Police Officer Shooting Update was the headline at the bottom of the screen. A news anchor finally appeared on the screen.
"Minutes ago, we learned that Captain Eugene Tackleberry of the Metropolitan Police Force has pled guilty to criminal negligence for the shooting of three bystanders during the execution of a search warrant. Penalties for this crime may include jail time, fines, community service, or probation. Tackleberry has already stated that he will be resigning from the police force and turning in his license to carry until a time that he, and I quote, 'can prove to his family and the public that [he] can handle a firearm responsibly.' Until today's hearing, Mr. Tackleberry has been defiant in refusing to even acknowledge his role in the shooting of the woman and her two children, who have since been treated and released from the hospital. When asked the reason for his change of heart, Mr. Tackleberry had this to say:"
Now a previously-recorded video of Tackleberry was playing on the screen, and it was clear that he'd been crying, because his eyes were puffy and red, and he kept wiping his nose.
"You know, I saw something today, something I never thought I'd see. I saw someone who I often considered to be my enemy stand up in front of everyone and just… fall on his own sword. And this was a person who'd never been held accountable for anything he said or did… ever."
"Are you referring to your former instructor, Commandant Thaddeus Harris, and his decision to resign as commandant of the Metropolitan Police Academy?" a reporter on the video asked him.
"Yeah," Tackleberry said, wiping away more tears. "I mean, if he can step up and be a man, then I most certainly can."
"Well, it's not quite the same thing, though, is it? Your offenses, Mr. Tackleberry, are criminal offenses. You could be sentenced to jail for this. Commandant Harris merely resigned from his position."
"Oh, you don't know what he's like," Tackleberry said, chuckling quietly between sniffles. "He's wanted that position for forever. I think it would have been easier for him to accept jail than give that position up."
The news anchor returned to the screen.
"More breaking news tonight related to this case. As you'll recall, an accounting firm hired by the Allen Firm discovered that nearly five million dollars had gone unaccounted for several weeks ago. To explain this discrepancy in the company's assets, robbery was initially suspected. John Tingler, a custodian at the Allen Firm, whose wife and children were shot by Officer Tackleberry during course of the investigation, had been the prime suspect until recent evidence emerged alleging that the head of the firm, Larry Allen, may, in fact, have had a role in the disappearance of his firm's funds. A grand jury indictment may soon be expected. More on this at ten."
Of course, they had to sucker everyone in for more views later in the evening. I rolled my eyes and turned away from the television, brushing against Harris's hip with my own. Suddenly my hand was grabbed and I looked down in the crowd of cadets and instructors to see that Harris was holding onto my hand. My eyes lifted from our hands and locked on his. He had quite the cocky smile on his face; what was that about?
Although we were surrounded by cadets, and with Jones, Hooks, and Hightower also walking past us out of the student lounge, Harris did not let go of my hand. It was quite the moment, getting to freely touch each other in front of everyone. I was reminded of the time that he'd plopped down right next to me on the police academy bus. The next five weeks certainly seemed quite promising in that regard.
The crowd dispersed, and now Harris was leading me out of the main academy building, out into the cool night.
"Where are we going?" I asked, letting him continue. We walked past the cul-de-sac in front of the main building, then out past the parking lot, in the direction of the police academy pool. "I need to properly reward you for your valiant act of bravery today in the gym."
"Oh, you'll see," he said, that cocky smile still remaining.
Once we arrived at the pool house, Harris let go of my hand and pulled out a large keyring, finding the correct key and inserting it in the door. He opened the door, leading me into the still-dark room with an outstretched hand. Interestingly enough, once we got inside, he didn't turn on the light.
"The pool house?" I asked, my eyes trying to adjust to the dark. "What are we doing here?"
Thaddeus pulled a match out of his pocket and lit it.
"Well, first I wanted to say you're welcome for Larry Allen's upcoming comeuppance," he said, his smile growing. Harris then took a candle out of his other pocket and used the lit match to light the wick.
"Secondly, I wanted to let you know what you missed last Saturday," he said. "Stay right here."
Harris took a halting step or two forward and lit a second candle with the candle in his hand. Within a minute or so, he'd lit a half-dozen candles, showing that he'd made a little love nest out of sandbags and some blankets. I gasped with appreciation; what a romantic, cozy little nook!
"God, you were brave today," I said. "You handled that perfectly today in the gym. You were worried for nothing. No hard-on, or anything."
"Not anymore," he muttered. He grabbed my hand, placing it over his trousers. Oh, wow.
"Now, what were you saying about rewarding me?" he said, pulling me back onto the sandbag bed. "I think I could be open to that."
I leaned down and kissed him, his body practically melting against the sandbags. I just had to say it; the words were about to burst out of my mouth, even as his lips moved against mine. He needed to hear it, to know it.
"I love you," I murmured, my lips moving to kiss his neck. Harris placed his hands on my shoulders and lifted me off him, blinking up at me with narrowed eyes.
"What did you say?"
"I said, I love you."
Now his expression was unreadable, like he was about to tell a joke. It seemed as if he was considering if what he wanted to say was appropriate.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, genuinely confused by his response to my confession of love. After such an awful day for him, I'd half expected him to cry tears of relief at this moment of truth, but instead he looked positively naughty.
"Are you saying I stole your heart?" he asked. Now I was blinking down at him, at the impish little smile on his lips. What a strange thing to ask.
"I guess. Why?"
"Stealing's a crime, ain't it?" He reached down, pulling something metallic from his belt clip and putting it in my hands. I looked down to see he'd given me a pair of handcuffs. My eyes went wide; was he suggesting what I thought he was suggesting?
"What about the reward I was offering?" I asked. "My arresting you is hardly a reward."
"Let me be the judge of that."
*This was from PA5
