“Independent process.”
“You’re chief.”
“Exactly.”
Harlan looked frustrated.
“I spent eighteen years here.”
“I know.”
“I saved people.”
“I know.”
“I trained half the officers on nights.”
“I know.”
“You think one bad morning wipes that out?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
Marcus continued.
“I think one bad morning exposed something that had been happening for years.”
Harlan looked away.
“So you already decided.”
“I’ve read the record.”
“That record doesn't show everything.”
“Then tell me what’s missing.”
Harlan stepped closer.
“I was trying to maintain control.”
“Of what?”
“The lobby.”
“Was it out of control?”
“You were refusing orders.”
“Which lawful order?”
Harlan’s frustration returned.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into courtroom language.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“I’m turning authority into something that requires explanation.”
“You don’t understand what it’s like when people challenge you all day.”
Marcus almost laughed.
“I’m a police chief.”
Harlan stopped.
Marcus continued.
“Everybody challenges me all day.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“You have rank.”
Marcus looked directly at him.
“And civilians don't.”
Silence.
Harlan’s eyes moved toward the floor.
Marcus waited.
Finally the former sergeant said:
“I thought you were nobody.”
There it was.
No euphemism.
No policy language.
Marcus did not react immediately.
Harlan continued.
“Not literally.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were some guy.”
“Some guy.”
“Who came in acting entitled.”
Marcus nodded.
“And when you learned I was chief?”
“I knew I’d screwed up.”
Marcus’s voice softened.
“Not when you slapped me?”
Harlan looked at him.
“No.”
Marcus let the answer sit there.
Harlan’s face changed.
Perhaps for the first time, he heard it too.
Marcus said:
“That’s the entire problem.”
Harlan swallowed.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve had eleven weeks to think about it.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
The former sergeant sighed.
“I treated your title like proof that you deserved respect.”
Marcus nodded.
“And before you knew the title?”
“I thought respect was something you needed to earn from me.”
“Yes.”
Harlan rubbed both hands over his face.
“I don't know when I started thinking like that.”
Marcus did not rescue him from the discomfort.
After a while, Harlan said:
“You hate me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Hate would make this simpler.”
Harlan laughed once.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve read your commendations.”
“I know what you’ve done well.”
“I also know what you did wrong.”