Hands Across the Sea

By Brian Cook

What happens when real talk gets a little too real?

This character-driven saga puts the Office of the Sheriff, known as the Agency, in the crosshairs, as Hands Across the Sea delves behind the badge during the transition of their longtime sheriff, Garrison Cottrell, who abruptly retires and passes the torch to his unexpected, hand-p

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Cook - Author
• Release date: Feb 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781681029405

Brian Cook

This true story about the author’s grandsons (ages 6 and 4) motivated him to write this book. He is a graduate of the College of Engineering at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor.

Book preview

PART ONE

THE CHAIN

ONE

Leaders aren’t born, they’re made.

— Vince Lombardi, legendary coach

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, whether it’s on a bicycle, clasped around a neck, or within a professional organization. Let’s examine that premise under a microscope in regards to law enforcement.

The strength of any paramilitary department’s chain of command typically starts at the top and flows downward, but conversely, strength can also flow upward. The chain’s solidarity begins with the links—the leaders and subordinates—each vital and dependent upon each other in their own way.

Leaders can be identified among the subordinates and developed to add strength to the chain, but if executed ineffectively or prematurely, it could stress the rest of the links.

Change doesn’t happen overnight when it comes to transforming subordinates into leaders. It takes time and energy for new managers and supervisors to adjust in their roles and utilize the leadership principles learned, on a daily basis.

Leaders allow their staff to solve problems while employing their own brand of proficiency and work ethic, following the directions and cues from their leaders. If the subordinates are led blithely, this could lead to scrutiny and second-guessing of the leaders’ position or direction, thus contributing to further weakening of the chain.

On the Office of the Sheriff, better known as the Agency, the overall strength of their chain begins and ends with its leader, Sheriff Brendan Callaghan, the highest-ranking, elected law enforcement official in the County.

Within the Agency lies the Sheriff’s Executive Management staff comprised of the Three Wise Men: Undersheriff H. Maxwell Ulrich and Assistant Sheriffs Alphonse Geathers and Jericho Alexander.

Command positions, such as these, are often appointed from among the more experienced managers of the Agency or from outside law enforcement organizations.

Promoting personnel internally helps to maintain the integrity of the organization, especially when there’s a level of comfort already in place, as opposed to naming an unfamiliar individual from a foreign entity, who comes with a differing set of protocols, procedures, and training.

Also, a person tapped from the outside sends a resounding message to the rank and file that either they weren’t qualified or couldn’t be trusted.

Individuals accepting these job enhancements also take a personal career leap of faith: they must relinquish their civil service protection by ‘resigning,’ so to speak, from their County ranks when being appointed to these handpicked positions by the Sheriff.

The caveat: when the Sheriff leaves his post, their jobs and positions can possibly go with it.

These lofty ranks aren’t just positions of higher authority, but positions of trust to ensure orders handed down are followed. Managers provide the leadership and guidance to the supervisors to get the job done through others; supervisors get the job done through others.

This trickle-down philosophy is how the chain’s strength between the links remains tempered and united.

Leadership and management aren’t synonymous, but while every leader may not be a manager, every manager should be a leader. Leaders come and go, but it’s important the command leadership throughout the chain continues guiding future leaders to remain effective and progressive.

Promotion day! One of my favorite times! Phoebe Alexander beamed, admiring her son, Seth, clad in his Class ‘A’ uniform.

Phoebe let her mind drift off to a moment when her ‘Pistol,’ as she used to call him, put on his father’s, Lazarus, six-point police hat when he was barely five-years-old.

The oversized hat swallowed his tiny head when he struggled amusingly to keep it balanced by constantly pushing it up so he could see. Fast-forward to a grown-up Seth, on the cusp of moving up to the most important rank in law enforcement: sergeant.

As far back as she could remember, she’s always been involved in law enforcement.

Her father, Walter Dodd, retired as the top cop of Ventana Police Department. She’d watch her mother, Olivia, dote over her dad, her hero, as he rose through the ranks, but remembered the missed birthday parties, Thanksgivings in the morning because he had to go into work early, and the parties her parents held at the house.

She even remembered being awakened by one drunken captain who awoke a budding 12-year-old girl to ask where the bathroom was and the lascivious way he leered at her, the kind a man extends to a woman he wants to bed for the evening.

The bathroom’s to the right, silly, a woman giggled. Go on back to sleep, honey—he’s just ‘confused.’ ‘Thank God,’ Phoebe thought.

She remembered her mom slipping on party dresses and high heels to go to yet another department get-together, looking like Lana Turner. In her parents’ era, the perception to be seen at functions by the chief or sheriff with the family correlated to stability and reliability. What top cop would ever consider promoting someone to a leadership position, if an officer can’t be a leader at home?

She’d watched as her loyal and faithful mother fulfilled her role as a ‘cop’s wife’, supporting her husband as he toiled and sacrificed while being promoted higher and higher up the totem pole. She also heard the arguing and bickering when her dad kept promising, Next year, I’ll start slowing down! but next year never came.

Phoebe will also never forget that humid April day when she called home to check on her mom while her hero was out of town for another week-long Chiefs of Police conference.

Olivia only wanted Walter to call her when he arrived at his destination safely and when he was headed back. She preferred to envision it as just one long day and then he’d be home. After all, she’s a ‘cop’s wife’.

She was on lunch break and called her mom just to say, Hi. The phone rang, but, no answer. She figured her mom was enjoying what she called ‘me’ time. You couldn’t hold Olivia down even if she never learned to drive.

I’ve got a bus pass; I’m never stranded, her mother would declare.

Phoebe didn’t start to worry until the clock chimed eight bells and her calls still went unanswered.

Phoebe thought to herself, ‘This is Friends night, she never misses it.’

To this day, she won’t look at the reruns to avoid getting weepyeyed.

She got into her ‘Gerbil,’ the pet name for her little, brown Corolla, and raced frantically across town—breaking a few laws along the way. As she got closer to the house, her heart began sinking into despair. The Victorian that was always so full of life was now ominously devoid of any—it was completely dark.

She nervously tried turning the doorknob, but her hand was shaking uncontrollably to grip it. She took a deep breath and walked inside, when that ‘smell’ invaded her nose—an unforgettable odor with the strongest, most indescribable stench.

The type that stayed on her for weeks after she found her mother sprawled on the floor. Her body now just an empty vessel. No matter how much Phoebe scrubbed herself and washed her clothes, that ‘smell’ lingered. You can’t make water hot enough or soap strong enough to eradicate an odor of this ilk.

Mom? Mom! Seth yelled. C’mon, do I look all right or what?

Phoebe snapped back to reality and gave him the official family inspection. She’s completed this ritual so many times, she can perform it blindfolded—from her father to her husband, Captain Lazarus Alexander, but this was different, because her ‘Pistol’ continues in the footsteps of the family tradition.

Why’re your cuffs on your belt? Take them off! You’re not arresting anyone on the way to the ceremony, are you?

You never know.

Ha, ha, Mr. Funny Man. Okay… ready to go; step back and let me get a full view. I’m so proud of you, Sergeant Alexander. I want you to remember this day, do you hear me?! Enjoy every moment of it, but you’re not done yet. It’s in your genes to promote up and as long as your Uncle Jeri and your dad are around, you will.

Thanks, Mom. You know my dream was to be a police chief like Poppy, but sheriff’ll do. I wanna run the Agency someday, he remarked, glancing at his watch. Oh, oh… I gotta run and meet the Sheriff for ‘The Talk.’ I’ll see you there. Love you!

Seth hastily dashed out the front door and bumped into his sister, Monica.

Hey, slow down, ‘Sarge,’ Monica said. I’m sure the Coronation won’t start without its crowned prince.

Move outta way, Monkey… damn! You’re gonna make me late… make sure you don’t make Mom late!

Hey, Mom! You ready to go to the Coronation?

Monica, I know you hate these functions, but this is for your brother. We need to show our support for him as a family.

Hmph, like he needs my ‘support.’ He got plenty of it already from Uncle Jeri and Dad.

And just what’re you implying?

You know what I’m implying. He was bound to be promoted sooner or later. He’s a wee-bit old to still have his little hand held. If you haven’t notice, he’s a big boy now; they’re not doing him any favors.

Even if there’s the slightest hint of truth to what you’re saying, there’s nothing wrong with a little… um, ‘support.’ His destiny was determined the second he took his first breath. We give support each other in everything we do, period. So, if it means you have to paint on a smile for a few hours, then that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Do I make myself clear?!

Yeah… yeah! But don’t expect me to play ‘let’s pretend’, either. I remember how you used to prop us up in front of those stuffed shirts. Now, Seth’s literally caught up in this ‘family tradition’. You can spin it however you want. I call it the family charade. I watched out for him for years, but, he has to start doing things for himself!

As Monica griped, she saw her words weren’t making a dent, but, she knew it wouldn’t. In every sense, she’s her mother’s child. She may as well be arguing with the reflection in a mirror.

…All I’m saying is that’s the only way he’s gonna be prepared for what’s in store for him. Okay, I’m through! she concluded, feigning stepping down from her soapbox. Are you ready? I have to get back to work sometime today after the Corona… excuse me, the ‘Office of the Sheriff’s Promotional Ceremony’ is over.

I’ve been ready since he was born. Let’s go.

Richard gazed at himself in the mirror. He stared intensely like he could peer through himself. On the surface, he viewed a man on the fringe of promotion, but if he peeled a few layers off the onion, he was also confronted by a man whose path wasn’t law enforcement, though, it was inevitable.

You see, Richard’s an Ulrich, which in historical terms, meant there were few roads to tread, because law enforcement is the family business, the same way ketchup is in the Heinz family.

He’s fourth-generation law enforcement and, as the son of the Undersheriff, his path was a foregone conclusion.

He knew when he graduated from Brown University that even though he could’ve marketed himself to the highest bidder, all roads would lead back to the family business; it was practically in his DNA.

He completed a final once-over of himself, when he heard his cell phone ringing somewhere on his bed. He rummaged through the twisted sheets, and when he found it, looked at the caller ID.

Great, it would be him… Hey, Dad!

Four rings? Had to hunt for it again, huh?

Hello to you, too.

You ready yet? You don’t want to be the one late for the speech.

Getting there…, I’ve got time.

That’s not the point; you know what I always say…

I know, I know… if you’re five minutes early, you’re on time; if you’re on time, you’re late—I’m on it.

I know you are, you’re an Ulrich; I want you to be sharp today. This is the first step towards your legacy. You represent all Ulrich men who have ever worn a badge. They’re watching you and you’re making them proud today, including me. You may be my son, but even if you weren’t, you’d still deserve to be promoted. Go out there and be great.

Richard glanced at the phone again to see if it really was him on the other end. Was this really his father sounding, dare he say, fatherly?

Thanks, Dad.

I’ll see you later at the ceremony!

There’s been no love lost between them throughout the years. But when times got rough and he needed an ear to bend, he did what he’s always done.

Hey, Mom, Richard said on the phone. You on the road?

Of course, I’m here with your sisters, she replied. We’re all so proud of you.

Thanks, that means a lot! Get this? H. called and actually said something complimentary, told me how he and the ghosts of Ulrichs Past were proud of me. I had to do a double-take to make sure it was him!

You know I don’t like it when you refer to him like that! Why’re you so surprised? He’s always been proud of you, he just shows it differently.

I know…, and I apologize. It’s just… he’s so aloof. He’s like a…

Stop it! How many times have I told you, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you! Did you ever stop to think he took time out of his schedule to call you? Instead of trying to find gloom, why don’t you try enjoying it!

I know, it’s just…

We’ve had this same talk for years, and frankly, I’m tired of it! You better figure out how to make this right or it’ll implode you. You’re getting promoted today and it’s going to change you! You may not believe that, but, you will, and when you do, maybe you’ll see what it does to people like your father. If it were up to me, the generation of cops would’ve ended with him, but it didn’t! You’re a good man with a different kind of heart, but he’s endured a lot more so you wouldn’t have to.

I know, Mom… I know. It’s just frustrating…

The only one frustrated is you; he’s fine. Sometimes, that damn behavioral training of his comes in handy! Remember, this is your life. Being happy is your choice, but, so is suffering. We’ll see you there, we all love you. Be great!

I love you, too… thanks, Mom.

As their call ended, Debra heaved what she believed was a silent sigh, but it resonated like a windstorm gusting through a cracked open window.

The Ulrich twins, Dana and Diana, said, in concert, What’s wrong?

It’s your brother. He’s going on about your father again.

He hasn’t learned how to handle him yet? Dana smirked. For a smart guy, he sure can be dumb.

Don’t be so hard on him. It’s different for him than it is for you two, he’s the only boy. He wants… needs your father’s approval and that’s not how this works. He thought he’d get it by going to his alma mater, but he didn’t. Then, he felt he let him down by not pursuing a doctorate, but he didn’t. He hasn’t grasped this is his life and he can’t live it seeking his constant approval. It’s progressed to the point where Richard isn’t making Richard happy.

Um, that’s one way of looking at it, Diana replied, but, we’re still talking about Dad and Richie, right? That’s too much testosterone in one room! We used to always kid him that he’s just like Dad; he’d get so mad and chase us around, taking it all personal. Richie doesn’t know who Richie is yet. You should do like us—sit back and enjoy the show!

Richard’s carrying the weight of all Ulrich men on his shoulders and he put them there. Let me ask you two something…, did we put too much pressure on you to be great? No way! they exclaimed.

For us, it was easier, Dana explained. We’re smart, too…, but we’re prettier! We got away with way more than he did because we could wrap Daddy around our fingers.

We’re Ulrichs… we’re supposed to be great! Diana proclaimed, as they laughed.

Ha, ha… wait a minute… Debra wondered, Got away with what!?! Do I even want to… never mind.

TWO

Welcome to the club.

— Lieutenant Declan Fitzpatrick

"Sakes and begorrah…, what a glorious day for promotions! Lieutenant Declan Fitzpatrick exclaimed, gazing about the grounds surrounding the Agency’s Regional Operations Center. Especially when another brother’s getting made! Took your ass long enough!"

Shut up, Dec, Sergeant Michael Kendall retorted. It’s about time some of those dinosaurs finally hung it up. I didn’t want to take that lieutenants’ test again, once was enough for me! I’m glad that rumor of the list getting killed was unfounded.

You’re glad? I need some backup in those meetings! It’s hard being a Black man in there.

You’re a fool, Dec! It can’t be that bad!

Ha! Just you wait… don’t say I didn’t warn you. But, real talk… you might not have noticed while you were hobnobbing with the fine Vasconians, but have you seen the past org charts? Blacks haven’t promoted into Command slots for years. Shit, when I got made, that was the first time in three years anybody Black got made.

You can clown me about wine and cheese tastings all you want, but I know more than anybody how it is to work without backup! When I found out I was headed to Vasco, don’t think I didn’t hear all those snide comments that I was just a token transfer and I only got sent there to prove to the Vasconians the Agency had Blacks on staff. Can you imagine how hard it was deciding whether to work at an all-White division?

Aw, c’mon, Mike…, breathe; I’m just busting on ya. Woosha!!!

"Oh, I’m just getting started. Before I even worked a shift, I had to be presented to the high muckety-mucks at this council meeting. You should’ve seen them when my Black ass strolled in—the staring, the mumbling, trying to act like it was no big deal, when I could see it was on their faces.

Of all the whispers, the most annoying one came from this persnickety, little man. He must’ve thought I didn’t hear him, because he’d always walk up to me, smiling, and shake my hand. Ugh…, it felt like I was holding a dead fish. He had the nerve to whisper to the City Manager, Since when does the Agency let niggers work in our city?

"To her credit, she gave him the ‘stink eye’, but to hear something like that was unbelievable. It told me if I was going to survive here, I have to be better than everybody, everyday! I should’ve said every night, because they kept me on Dogwatch for two years!

"It wasn’t until a spanking-new sergeant rolled up and went straight to days that enough was enough. I gave the commander and captain an ultimatum: dayshift or transfer me back to D & R. I don’t know what they did, all I knew was a crime prevention slot on days suddenly opened up.

Just when I thought everything was leveling out, I was out in the field, when Dispatch called and asked for my twenty. When I told her, she started laughing. She said a ‘concerned citizen’ called to report a Black male, matching my description, was casing houses in her neighborhood, and she was home alone and scared. She told her I was passing out pamphlets. No matter how hard I work, people will always see a Black man first and a supervisor second.

Welcome to the club! Lieutenant Fitzpatrick laughed. I remember the calls I got from ‘our folk’ asking were you gonna be okay and if this was a set-up. Remember when we went through the Program and the glares we got from the good old boys and the brothers who told us they’d be waiting for us back in jail when we wash out? I also remember we made it, not because of those assholes, but despite them, and why…?

Because we’re built for struggle.

"Because we’re built for struggle. Law enforcement used to be for White guys only—no women, no minorities, definitely no gays. Say I’m wrong! But, the scales are tilting towards the middle and everybody’s getting a shot to take bites off an apple that was unheard of decades ago.

"We took ours and those haters didn’t, and that’s on them! Today’s your day; I can’t wait to ride with my old beat partner again.

Hey, that reminds me… did we ever take that suspect out of the trunk of the unmarked when he ran from us?"

Ha, ha, ha! Ooh, you always know how to make me laugh! Let me get my tail inside and get ready to hear the Sheriff’s expectations. Thanks again, Dec.

Before they parted, they engaged in their ‘private salute,’ a silent tribute to themselves: two low-fives followed by a respectful salute.

I can’t wait to do that in your first staff meeting, Lieutenant Fitzpatrick exclaimed. The Old Guards are already nervous knowing there’s another coal among the marshmallows, but when we bring in the soul clap, they’ll be shakin’ in their boots!

Yessir! But we’re built for struggle; we’ll be ready for it.

He jogged inside the ROC, as Agency employees began filing past Lieutenant Fitzpatrick, smiling and greeting him with the usual ‘Good afternoon, sir’ and ‘Hello, Lieutenant.’ Not too bad for a guy who didn’t know where his place would be on the Agency; but he sure found his way.

He never wanted to be in law enforcement, never even contemplated it, but it chose him anyway. Besides, a Black man with an Irish name with a badge and gun? Ironically, he fit right in.

He used to abhor his name and asked his father why he gave him such a dumb name. His father told him he gave him a name that would not only get him job applications, but also the interviews. Declan Fitzpatrick, fit just right.

He grew to embrace it and when people would first hear it, he’d laugh inside at their surprised looks when they tried putting the name to the face. Depending on his mood, he’d tell them he was Black Irish.

It worked wonders when he used to pick up women or sneer in a challenging tone, What’s the matter…, I can’t have Irish ancestors!?! The latter always made people uneasy, until he’d rescue them by chortling raucously.

As Lieutenant Fitzpatrick ambled toward the Assembly Hall, he was greeted by Deputy Lewis posted near the entrance door, extending special salutations to Command brass as they entered.

He was skipped for promotion due to a unanimous vote of no confidence during the Vetting Session. That tends to happen when you’re caught on video taking something that doesn’t belong to you. It matters not that Internal Affairs ruled it Sustained/Justified. It’s the Sheriff’s two-year penance that carries more weight and he’s still three months’ shy from his release date.

Deputy Lewis requested an open-door with the Sheriff to learn what he needed to do to become viably promotable. One would surmise that standing outside the hall, in full Class ‘A’s’, brownnosing Command staffers like a Wal-Mart greeter, was one of the to-do’s.

Good afternoon, Lieutenant, Deputy Lewis exclaimed.

Good afternoon, he replied. Question for you: since when do we wear that shade of blue for a tie?

Excuse me?

I didn’t stutter. The Agency color’s dark navy-blue and your tie’s more not. And what’s up with those pants?! They’re nowhere close to wool.

I thought I could get by with this just for today. I had to rush to get here on time.

Didn’t you just sit down with the Man to see what you needed to do to get made? Well, I guarantee you…, this ain’t it! Did anybody say something to you about it?

No.

Well, if you’re looking for ‘support’, you have to be sharper than that… than this. It’s no secret you got skipped, but, if you want to keep getting skipped, you’re doing a damn good job! You need to step your game up to change their opinions. That’s just my two cents; you can do what you want.

I understand, thanks…, I hope I can count on yours next time! We’ll see.

‘That dumb ass didn’t hear a word I said, but they’ll take care of him; they always do,’ he thought, as he stood in the back to see, but not to be seen.

Who the fuck does he think he is?! His opinion don’t mean… good afternoon, Commander!

Good afternoon, Deputy… Commander Laing droned, as she glanced at his nameplate, Lewis.

She was upbeat and cheery with him, but that’s par for the course when it comes to her. You wouldn’t expect a Black commander to look down her nose on her own people with regularity, yet be overly conciliatory to everyone else.

Lieutenant Fitzpatrick watched as she sashayed toward the ‘Reserved’ section for the Executive Management staff, when Captain John DeLuca, Jr. entered the hall.

‘That’s my dawg!’ he thought. Captain DeLuca—he’s truly a self-made man. The best part of their working relationship at Regional Transit is that they’re like siblings who can actually get along—sometimes.

His great-grandparents emigrated from Italy to live the American Dream and became restaurateurs specializing in old-world cuisine. He could’ve stayed within the fringes of ‘la famiglia tradizione’, but John-John wanted more. He longed to be a police officer.

Some parents would be ecstatic their child was fixated on a career goal at such a young age, but not the DeLucas. They wanted to keep him close from those outside for his own good, because they felt they knew what’s best for him.

You see, he had such a severe speech impediment you could almost picture his brain battling his tongue to finish a word, so it could get to the next one. Honestly, how could he be taken seriously as a cop stuttering like P-P-Porky P-P-Pig?

They sought treatments to help him, but those damn neighborhood kids, they can be oh, so cruel. He was ridiculed and tormented mercilessly, to the point, he learned how to take care of himself, and got pretty good at it.

Turn the other cheek? Not John-John, he fought back. Back down, cut and run? Not a chance; he’d come home decorated with badges of honor—black eyes, fat lips, bloody noses—so often that his dad got used to it and his mom insisting on parent conferences.

He’d always tell her, N-n-n-n-no, that wo-wo-wo-won’t st-ststop them!

This only reinforced his resolve that the good guys are supposed to win and the bad guys aren’t.

During his senior year in high school, he excelled in the classroom with a 4.20 GPA.

‘Damn, I heard people like you existed,’ Lieutenant Fitzpatrick told him during one of their talks.

He excelled so well, he was voted Class Valedictorian, but the distinction came at a price: he’d have to deliver the Commencement speech at graduation.

Unbeknownst to him, a conspiracy was afoot—the senior class was cajoled by his tormentors to stuff the ballot box, so he’d have to give that speech. This was to be their final salvo; those damn neighborhood kids can be oh, so cruel.

He’d craft his speech, but kept shortening it—the message was marred by his stuttering. He told his therapist he was considering relinquishing the honor, to avoid the public humiliation. His therapist challenged him with four words that spoke volumes: ‘So, the bullies win.’

John-John cried more over those damn words than when he got bullied. He composed himself and made up his mind: he was giving that fucking speech and to hell with anyone who wanted some sick entertainment! Turn the other cheek? Not John-John.

On graduation day, the football stadium seats was filled with family and friends amongst the graduating seniors and the faculty on the field, adorned in all their pomp and circumstance. JohnJohn sat nervously, reciting his speech in his head, awaiting his moment. Speech after speech was delivered, and his time was rapidly approaching.

The principal congratulated him as the Class Valedictorian to the roar of the stadium and asked him to approach the podium to deliver his speech—the time had come. He trudged toward the stage, like he were taking a ‘death walk’ to the gas chamber, as he heard snickers along the way.

He stood at the podium, with all eyes on him, and thought, ‘Geez…, look at all these people.’

He sighed and began reciting, but, as he spoke, he realized something baffling, borderline odd. He wasn’t stuttering, not… one… stammer.

In fact, his spoken words were dynamic, confident, and captivating. His family listened, bewildered; the senior class sat in shock; his therapist smiled wide. The longer he heard himself, the more he didn’t want to stop.

When he finished, the stadium erupted in applause and cheers. He walked off the stage taller as his classmates beamed and slapped him on the back for knocking it out of the stadium. He smiled and thanked them as they stared at him confused. His stutter had returned like a wayward son.

‘Hello, old friend,’ he thought.

The diplomas were handed out, the tassels were turned, and the graduation concluded with an inexplicable bang. John-John, his family, and his therapist met at the DeLuca’s restaurant to celebrate.

Needless to say, the hot topic wasn’t the ceremony, but what the hell happened up there. Even the best treatment in the world couldn’t have predicted this outcome.

The therapist surmised John-John seemed overly at ease speaking during a pressure situation like a speech in a filled stadium, but during casual conversations, he’s more inclined to stutter.

He further expounded that most people’s biggest fears aren’t spiders, snakes, or rats, but rather, public speaking… except for John-John. It seems the sensory inputs in his brain bypass that perception. ‘I’m j-j-just wired d-d-differently,’ he often said.

The Assembly Hall continued to swell and the moment of truth was counting down, as Lieutenant Fitzpatrick smirked to himself, empathizing for what the promotees were going through behind closed doors.

‘I know the Man’s giving them the business,’ he chuckled to himself.

When the ROC doesn’t second as a party zone, its primary function is to be the central hub to manage local and regional critical incidents and emergencies. It’s the quintessential operations center that’s second-to-none.

The ROC’s pulse is The Pit where County and State department heads convene under the Incident Command System’s umbrella during times of crises: Command, Operations, Planning, Logistics, Intelligence, and Finance.

But, nothing unfolds without the go ahead from Sheriff Brendan Callaghan, who also wears the hat as the state’s Region II Coordinator for Emergency Management. Sheriff Callaghan is the ROC; he yields to no department.

Within the bowels of the ROC lies the Situational Control Room. If The Pit’s the pulse, the SIT/Con’s the heartbeat. Many ‘Cone of Silence’ meetings have occurred behind these walnut doors.

Today, he’s conducting another meeting with the future supervisors and managers of the Agency. Decisions have been made at this glass table, but none more important than the fiat he’ll impart to the next shepherds of the herd.

Good afternoon, I’m glad everyone could fit this… little event… into their schedules, the Sheriff said. "Some of you might be getting promoted because you filled in the right amount of bubbles on your Scan-Trons, for your assessment center performance, the outstanding work you’ve done over the years or a combination of all three… and for that, I congratulate you.

"It doesn’t matter if you came out number 1 or number 31; if I’m promoting you, you’re expected be an example to your people and lead them, train them, and do the job I picked you to do.

I want you to take care of them at every turn. Our people are asked to perform horrific duties every day. If you don’t take care of your people, I’ll hold you accountable. I expect you to develop and prepare them to be the leaders of tomorrow. How do you do that? You supervise by walking around, catch them doing something right, ask the tough questions. For example, soon-to-be Sergeant Harris? Yes… yes, sir? Deputy Harris stammered.

Put some bass in your voice, man! Check your nameplate, it’s either coming off or you found a new way of wearing it.

Thank you, sir, he stammered, as he fumbled clumsily to reattach it.

That’s what I’m talking about. Did any of you notice it and not say anything? If you don’t step up to correct the little things, how will you react when the big things come along? That could mean the difference between a little embarrassment now or a major investigation later. Are we clear?

Yes, sir! the promotees replied.

I’ll see everyone inside; sit with your families and enjoy your moment. I need future Captain McClellan and Commander Powell to stay behind.

As the room emptied out, you couldn’t help but heed some of the subtle dynamics that occurred… if you paid attention.

Deputy Alexander and his uncle, Assistant Sheriff Alexander, grinned and exchanged a heartier-than-average handshake, and while the Sheriff pontificated, they playfully shared monster faces.

Deputy Ulrich and his father, Undersheriff Ulrich, treated each other like strangers. When he tried to catch his father’s eye, Undersheriff Ulrich looked stone-faced while listening to the Sheriff.

Poor Deputy Harris wasn’t blessed with any blue blood; he’s just a working stiff who believes it isn’t who you know, but what you know. He’s a rare breed: a true believer. When he shook hands with his sweaty palm, he didn’t see some of them drying their hand when he walked away. Poor Deputy Harris. He probably still believes in Santa Claus, too.

When Sergeant Kendall sauntered into the room, the Command staff greeted him with big smiles, pats on the back, and firm handshakes. Everybody loves Money Mike, but achieving at Vasco, against all odds, only boosted the admiration.

When Lieutenant McClellan strolled in, he and the Sheriff flashed a quick wink and a quicker elbow-bump. Rumors have swirled for years about their Friday-night socials over Jameson’s and cigars, and this brief interaction did nothing to dissuade them.

As Captain Powell strutted in, he wore his usual shit-eating grin, like he had it better than everyone else, cracking wise about why everybody was wearing the same clothes. Everybody laughed, but then, everybody always laughed whether he made a joke or was the joke.

The parking-lot talks say he overcompensates for a lack of Agency time in grade with levity to control the room. It was also apparent that when pleasantries were exchanged, there was a cloud of tension between he and Lieutenant McClellan.

I can’t help but notice there’s some animosity between you two, the Sheriff began, but, don’t show it in a room filled with subordinates.

What do you mean, sir? Lieutenant McClellan replied. There’s nothing going on…

Hold on a second…, don’t bullshit a bullshitter! I saw it immediately when you came in and I can still read it on Captain Powell’s face. Whatever it is, fix it, because you’re gonna be working together in the same division. Now, I’m going inside, so you two can put a period on this. I’ll expect that when you two walk inside that you’ve kissed and made up. So, get it worked out, but don’t take too long; there’s people in there waiting for the show to start.

He rose from his chair and before he walked out of the room, he gestured with his hand, like he were starting a race and exclaimed, And… go!

What’s up? I thought we were all good, Lieutenant McClellan remarked.

I don’t know how you figured that! You almost single-handedly caused a mini-riot and I had to hear about it from the brass! I had to make the call to move you out! When I told you that you were getting transferred, you had nothing to say, hell…, you pretty much shrugged it off… and you thought we were good?!

Tsk… are you still on that? Can we get past this already? I told you when I got to the hospital I didn’t want to be there, so it wasn’t a total surprise. I know I could’ve gone about getting transferred another way, but I didn’t and it happened. Let’s not start picking at old wounds, okay? I was wrong… there, I said it… I apologize! The Man said we’re working together and I’m ready to start fresh. Are you?

As he stuck out his hand like an olive branch, Captain Powell stared at him, and asked, Do you know how the handshake got started?

What? Um… no.

It started as a way to show the other person you didn’t pose a threat…

Well, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree, but, they’re still waiting for us, and if we aren’t gonna kiss and make up…

I wasn’t finished. But, you’re being upfront with me now, and that counts for something in my book. Consider the slate clean.

He extended his own olive branch and as they shook hands, it looked more like a arm-wrestling contest as their knuckles turned white in their grips.

Well, I’m glad that’s behind us, Captain Powell said. I do believe there’s something called a promotional ceremony calling our names. Let’s go make our appearance, Captain.

Right behind you, Commander.

As the newly-formed BFFs walked toward the hall, Lieutenant McClellan thought about how the Sheriff told him weeks ago he was getting made before it became official and he could handpick his boss—he chose Captain Powell. The Sheriff laughed and asked why him, he said Powell knew less than nothing and he could finally run a division without his incessant nitpicking. The slate was now clean.

The promotees walked into the hall like debutantes being introduced to society, as the crowd began buzzing when the Sheriff emerged, seizing the spotlight.

He really should be accompanied by his own theme music the way everyone perks up when he enters a room, hoping to be special enough to shake his hand as if he were a legendary rocker like McCartney or Jagger.

As he worked the room, it’s ‘outstanding’ if he acknowledges you during his rounds and a ‘needs improvement’ rating if he merely gives you a simple head-nod or, worse yet, the walk-by, like you’re nothing but furniture.

Hi, Sheriff! Deputy Lewis exclaimed. Thanks again for our talk; I really took what you said to heart.

Hey, how’re you doing? Let me ask you something…, what’s wrong with your tie, man?

Um… I… I was rushing to get here since I just got off work this morning and I’m going straight in after the ceremony and… um…

Is that your reason or excuse for not having the correct color tie? And what’s going on with those pants? You do get a uniform allowance to, I don’t know, say…, buy a uniform, don’t you?

Suddenly, the crowd’s energy was short-circuited as he began dressing him down and the electricity changed dramatically.

As the Sheriff felt eyes all around him, he leaned in close to him and growled, You wanted to know what you needed to do to get promoted? This wasn’t it.

He walked away to restore the energy that was briefly disrupted. Deputy Lewis lowered his head and plodded out of the hall—his 15 minutes of fame turning into 15 minutes of shame.

Who was that? Phoebe murmured.

Him? Nobody important, Seth replied.

THREE

…some animals are more equal than others.

— Dara Flynn, Esquire

With the promotional ceremony about to commence, a very different gathering was occurring in another part of the County, at the law offices of Rosenberg and Flynn, Attorneys at Law.

Ms Dara Flynn, Esquire is scheduled to meet with the Presidents of the Law Enforcement Employees’ Union and the Black Law Enforcement Professionals Union for a final perusal of the ‘Notice of Intent to Sue’ Complaint against the Agency.

The nexus of the complaint alleges the sergeants’ promotional examination process wasn’t conducted fair and equitably, thus creating unfair practices.

Good afternoon, Deputies, Ms. Flynn greeted, as she entered the law office’s Great Room.

Good afternoon, LEEU President Deputy Danny Boyle and BLEPU President Keith Miller replied, as they stood up from their chairs.

Please, gentlemen…, sit down; let’s get to it. I’ve made copies of the complaint to review. Keep in mind this is only a draft, so if you see anything questionable as we go—now’s the time to speak up. I took the allegations of both unions and packaged them into one doc to focus on the specific points in question.

It looks good, so far, Deputy Boyle said, as he read. I like how you phrased that some deputies didn’t get some of the test questions that others apparently did.

I also like that it mentions there was more emphasis on patrol rather than jail questions, Deputy Miller noted. To me, that made for an unbalanced test and favored patrol deputies to score higher than detention deputies.

"I’ve done several of these types of complaints for other departments and I know the pat language to include. Frankly, I know a few lawyers, let me rephrase that… a few no-good lawyers, who wouldn’t have touched this case, but this is winnable. It has so many arguable points that the Agency has no choice but to address them.

Like this one… the ‘invitation-only’ mock oral interviews. Why were some invited and others left out? This would be a non-issue if everybody had equal footing to perform well; at least, that’s how it should be, but when certain people get a helping hand, that’s dirty pool.

That’s our stance, Deputy Miller agreed. The BLEPU originally wanted to claim that the testing process had racial undertones, but we sold them on pursuing the complaint in this direction. Me and Danny agreed consolidating our efforts was the best recourse; that way, it’d be taken seriously.

That’s the only way we would’ve reached agreement, Deputy Boyle said. Otherwise, the complaint would’ve had no traction.

Of course it would’ve. Between the strength of the BLEPU and outside-group support, like the EEOC and the NAACP, we would’ve made sure it got enough traction, and I haven’t even mentioned going to the media…

You know full well, this complaint didn’t need any ‘race card’ distractions. The crux was to address the manner in which the test was administered, challenge the final rankings, and how it was determined…, that’s it. The last thing we needed was to create some kind of media circus with a bunch of protesters marching around with picket signs.

That’s your opinion… and where exactly did you end up on the list?

Deputies, this is getting us nowhere. The main point is…

Excuse me, Deputy Boyle replied, I’ll answer that. I came out number 9, but it doesn’t matter, I represent the interests of all the membership, not just the few. The LEEU is just as, if not, stronger and far-reaching as the BLEPU. I represent the entire Agency personnel, while you’re limited to only select personnel.

Oh, it’s like that?! Let me give you a brief history lesson. The BLEPU had to come together because of the growing concern the LEEU wasn’t looking out for the best interests of all the Agency personnel, but rather, only particular personnel. As President, it’s my responsibility to make sure as many eligible Black personnel take the test, including me. Based on a five-year review of the organizational chart, only one person of color’s been promoted to a Command position, until today, and none of us were extended any special invites to any mock oral."

Okay, that’s enough! Have either of you ever read Animal Farm?

No, is that a kids’ book? Deputy Miller replied.

No…, it’s not a ‘kids’ book’, Deputy Boyle said. What does that have to do with this?

"Since you’re into history lessons, take notes. George Orwell wrote about a growing conflict between the farm animals and the farmers. I won’t bore you with the whole story, but the animals decided to revolt and take over the farm because they were fed up with being mistreated.

"Once their coup was complete, the animals posted their own set of rules, like, to live together in a democratic environment, respect each other, never to kill another animal, never act like humans.

"Eventually, the pigs started feeling more superior to the other animals and began acting like humans—sleeping in beds, drinking alcohol—in short, they reverted back to the same form of corrupt leadership they fought to overthrow, only worse. But this time, the pigs were the oppressors.

That large set of rules they drew up, suddenly became one simple rule, a phrase that reminds me of you two: ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.’ No one union has more importance than the other, particularly in this matter. So, consider that, then let me know if I should scrap this and move on, because, regardless, you’re still paying me by the hour.

They nodded their heads after listening to her lesson, and signed their names on the dotted lines.

The complaint’s fine, Deputy Miller said. Danny, you’re right, this is bigger than any one union and we need to work together.

No worries. I’m sorry you had to referee our squabble, Ms. Flynn.

Oh, please, I’m a lawyer, remember? I’ve heard a lot worse in court, and here I thought today was going to be boring!

I’m glad we were able to make it entertaining for you, Deputy Boyle laughed. Thanks for all your help.

Don’t thank me yet. It’s going to get a lot rougher once the complaint gets handed off. Do you want it served on your days off? How about when we’re on vacation! Deputy Miller chuckled.

Just make sure the memberships maintain solidarity, she reiterated. Once we pull the pin off this grenade, we can’t put it back in. If you need me, give me a call. You’ll know when it’s served…, one way or another.

Thanks, Ms. Flynn. We’ll be in touch, Deputy Boyle said, as he and Deputy Miller stood up to leave.

They headed toward the elevator and as they waited, Deputy Boyle said, Keith, where did you come out on the list?

11.

Nice. Maybe we’ll get made together.

You never know…

I would like to welcome everybody to our Regional Operations Center as we swear at… or should I say, swear in our newest leaders, Sheriff Callaghan said, as the audience laughed. Today, we’ll be promoting three sergeants, two lieutenants, one captain, and one commander. I’m partial to these appointments, because they’ll be my first as Sheriff.

"As I gaze out onto the promotees who’ve reached this stage of their careers, I’m reminded of a quote by Vince Lombardi, whose name is synonymous with greatness, ‘Leaders aren’t born, they’re made. They’re made just like anything else, through hard work, and that’s the price we pay to achieve that goal, or any goal.’

"I demand of my people to develop employees to be the next generation of leaders and then, you know what? I’ll demand those leaders to develop their employees to continue the cycle.

The Agency’s a greatness factory; our mission’s to be the best law enforcement organization in the nation and our business is cultivating leaders. Anyone can be a follower, not everyone can be a leader. They’ll be challenged to not settle for the low-hanging fruit. That’s too easy, I want them to push themselves and their people, never settle, to strive and achieve goals far greater than they ever envisioned…

A choice? Monica whispered. Who made yours? Mommy or Daddy?

Shut up, Monkey! Deputy Alexander muttered.

Shhhh! Phoebe groaned. Honestly, it’s like you’re still little kids!

…Deputy Seth Alexander…

The Sheriff’s calling you, Phoebe whispered. Go!

If you’re not ready to be promoted, we can always reschedule it, the Sheriff joked.

Oh, no, I’m ready, he said, walking briskly toward the front of the hall.

He grinned when he noticed his friend, Vikki, waving and smiling in the back. Phoebe, being the cop’s wife that she is, observed the change in his expression, and rose slightly from her seat, to track his wide eyes, but in a standing-room only hall, that proved to be impossible.

…The people you see before you are my A-Team, and they’ll do an outstanding job for the Agency, the Sheriff continued. "The functions of each rank varies with the title, but not in their significance. The role of the sergeant is, by far, the most important job in law enforcement and if you look around at the sleeves of some of them in the room, you’ll see they have the most recognizable insignias. Whenever there’s an incident, it’s easy to determine who’s in charge by their three stripes. They have to be a good communicator, teacher, sometimes even a pain in the ass, but, at the end of the day, their role’s simply to get the job done.

"The role of the lieutenant can be summed up as they’re not, technically, cops anymore; they now ride a desk for a living. It also means I no longer have to pay them overtime; they can work as long as they want, seven days a week.

As middle managers, they run the divisions to make sure that the job’s getting done, effectively and efficiently. They wear a small gold bar on their collars. The bar might be little, but the responsibility it comes with is huge.

The roles of captain and commander is a partnership to ensure the work’s being completed within their divisions and if it isn’t, there’ll be hell to pay…

As the audience chuckled, the rank and file sat emotionless, knowing there was a level of validity to his humor.

…They’re a part of my Executive Management staff and contribute to the decision-making process—my brain-trust—and I know they’ll be outstanding in their new positions, particularly future Captain McClellan. I think the world of this man and it’s a privilege to have his leadership and insight in the inner circle.

Captain Powell tried to conceal his dismay of the Sheriff’s remark, but inside, he screamed, ‘Arggggh!’ as the capillaries in his face constricted, turning him beet-red. Lieutenant McClellan, on the other hand, stood with his chest pushed out arrogantly, as the Sheriff gushed glowingly about him.

Mom, seriously!?! I’d literally rather watch paint dry, Monica sneered.

Phoebe shot a glare at her with a ‘This is the last time I’m telling you…’ look.

All right, but, when this is over…, I’m gone.

You guys ready to make it official? the Sheriff asked.

Yes, sir! the promotees chanted.

"I’ll now administer the Oath of Office. An oath’s a double-edged sword: it’s a statement for the present and a promise for the future. They earned their way up here, but I’ll expect them to abide by their promise to uphold their titles by serving the Agency and the county heading into the future.

"Gentlemen, raise your right hand and repeat