Harris leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He nods along as if he has nothing to add.
“However …”
Harris sits upright and turns his head to frown at me.
“With so many men having taken early retirement and our force already being stretched so thin, I don’t see how we could give up the man-hours needed to fit this into anyone’s schedule.”
“What?” Harris demands as if I’ve gone mad.
I point to the report. I should have brought him a copy too. “Even with the funding they added back into our budget and the officers who agreed to come out of early retirement, we’re still setting records for shootings and fatalities. That’s got to take priority.”
“Exactly.” Harris says but not in the agreeable tone such a word would suggest. “If you want to get more funding back, we need to show the police department’s side of the story. We need them to see how not only does defunding put us in danger, but it has ultimately harmed them.”
“Them” being the innocent masses—the sheep we, as sheepdogs, are supposed to be protecting. Granted, there are some sheepdogs who need better training and some sheepdogs who go rabid, but with less funding, it makes it even harder for us to weed them out.
I shake my head. “I understand they had a reason to be angry, but now they’re just angry because they want to be angry.”
Harris holds a palm out as if to display something I’m missing. “Look who’s talking.”
While his words should have stopped me in my tracks, they felt more like a punch to the face, and I want to strike back. Even as the energy courses through my veins, I remember Jewel saying that anger is energy. Though it’s not rational, it makes me feel powerful.
Am I also angry because I choose to be angry? Do I have the ability to turn this feeling off? Do I want to turn this feeling off? If I do and I listen to logic instead, the logic might make me feel defeated instead of powerful. Then how would I do my job?
“Gentlemen,” the chief intercedes. “I appreciate hearing from both of you, and I’ll look over the report. Zellner, we previously discussed your running point on this project. Can I safely assume you don’t have the time for it anymore?”
Harris stands. “I’ll run point, Chief. And I’ll do it outside my normal hours.”
“I appreciate your offer, but hopefully that won’t be necessary. If the film can benefit our world and the people we serve, then we’ll make it a priority.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I scowl and give Harris a look out of the corner of my eye, but even while I’m scowling, I feel like a jerk for doing it. He just stood up for something he believed in and even offered to sacrifice of himself in the process. His sacrifice will benefit the community, Charlie, and even me. But resentment still wells from being called out.
I’m angry that I have an anger issue. I preferred only seeing my anger as a strength.
“If that’s all gentlemen, you’re dismissed.”
I storm out before I can be tempted to slam doors in people’s faces.
“Karson,” Harris calls me by my first name.
I stop and turn to face him in the hallway.
“What’s your deal, man?”
Whatismy deal? That I can’t just wallow in keeping the enemy the enemy? That I’m supposed to open up about my side and listen to theirs? Because how else do I get over this anger at injustice? This anger at Amber?
In the same way the public cried to defund the police out of rightful outrage, did I settle and concede my divorce too soon? Rather than work toward a solution that would prevent more pain, did I continue the vicious cycle?
I shake my head and look away. “I’m angry.”
“Ya think?”
I narrow my eyes at him. I’m not ready to let it go. So I quote Jewel from yesterday. But just the part I liked. “It makes me good at what I do.”
“An anger that stands up for others, yes.” He plants his hands on his hips. “When it’s about protecting yourself, like it was just now, no. It makes you a coward.”
His words knock the breath from my lungs. I’ve never been called a coward before. I’d prided myself on doing the right thing. On fighting for truth.
