Free Resolve by J.J. Hensley Page A

department, while sharing his vision of producing the state’s best legal scholars and topnotch law students. He cited numerous studies he had conducted and books he had written. At one point, without any prompting, he actually got up and handed the panel autographed copies of his latest book—about the Social Threat Theory. This prompted another twenty-minute speech in which he condescended to his audience, while elaborating on a theory that any second-year Criminology undergraduate student would have grasped immediately.
    Jacob couldn’t help but laugh when he recalled the rest of the story as it was told to him. According to Jacob, one of the members of the selection committee, who happened to have been a rather serious-looking former Secret Service agent named Brent, waited for the lecturer to lose steam, and then asked the interviewee one question. He inquired if the renowned professor was familiar with the Proximity Pummeling Theory. The professor cocked his head so far that his glasses slipped down his nose. After a moment’s thought, he replied that he had not heard of it. Brent then stood up, leaned forward, his hands tightly seizing the oak table in front of him, and told the prospective employee that if he didn’t get his ass out of that room and back down I-79 he was going to become an ideal case study on the topic.
    As the enraged academic piloted a silver BMW through unapologetic Pennsylvania hills, I pulled onto the campus in my used Jeep Wrangler. I took my turn with the committee and was amazed that my down-to-earth disposition struck a chord with them. I think the job offer was cemented when the man I would come to know as Brent Lancaster looked slyly at his fellow committee members, and asked me if I had heard of the Proximity Pummeling Theory. I responded by telling him that I was once bitten on the neck by a coked-up auto mechanic during an arrest. I had been trying to cuff the guy when I unexpectedly found myself wrestling with him in a tiny closet inside a moldy apartment. That’s when he decided to go Pac-Man on me. I explained to Brent that I had practical experience in testing the theory in a controlled environment, and that I found the theory to be useful if applied properly.
    Jacob put on his suit jacket and started for the door. “Don’t worry about Silo. I’ll have a word with him before you head over there. Today’s Friday, and he’s usually tied up in the afternoons. I’ll speak to him this weekend, and then you should make an appointment to see him on Monday.”
    I agreed and Jacob secured his locker before heading out the door.
    The steam in the locker room had vanished and a rush of uncomfortably cool air from the hallway had rushed past Jacob on his way out. I realized that as naked as I felt now, Monday would probably be worse.
    After I showered and dressed, I headed back to my office and tried to get some work done. I had a stack of essays to read from my Introduction to Criminology class. I feigned interest and picked up a stapled grouping of white sheets. This course, and the Victimology class, kept me more than busy since I typically required students to submit research papers and essays rather than simply giving them multiple choice exams. I gave up after my fifth attempt at reading some freshman’s essay on the disparities between the prison sentences of white collar criminals and typical street offenders.
    The fact that some CEO can steal a quarter of a million dollars and get a few months in a minimum security facility, while a guy who takes two hundred bucks from a convenience store register gets several years in the state pen, is inexcusable. But regardless of the topic, I couldn’t focus on the words and I soon lost interest.
    Kaitlyn was going to be home this afternoon, so I decided to call it an early day. She had managed to set up a pretty successful private practice near our home in Wexford, and she met with patients in a modest office that was only five minutes