Free Consequence by Eric Fair

foreign-language proficiency, security clearance, and experience in the Middle East. The CIA calls the next week to schedule an initial interview in Reston, Virginia.
    In June 2002, I graduate from the police academy and begin a probationary period as a police officer in Bethlehem. My first assignment is a prisoner transfer from a neighboring county. We meet another police officer in the parking lot of a strip mall and take custody of a man with an arrest warrant for felony assault. The man is tall, thin, and hard. I place my hand on the back of his arm. I drop my handcuffs. The felon reaches down and picks them up for me. I continue to struggle with the handcuffs. He says, “Relax, kid, I’m not going to hurt you.” My training officer gives me a poor performance review.
    As I work with various training officers, I learn that there are two distinct types. The first type works hard to get me involved in a variety of calls throughout the city. They take me to traffic accidents, domestic disputes, and medical calls. They are observers and teachers and mentors. One of these training officers demonstrates an incredible amount of compassion during our calls. When we arrive on scene, we find people who are often angry and upset. They cry, or yell, or scream. He is calm and professional. He offers reassuring words that quickly defuse impossible situations. He ministers to people in what are often their most terrible hours.
    But there is another kind of training officer, too. These training officers teach me things like how to avoid getting involved. They tell me it will be difficult to survive for an entire career unless I pace myself. They tell me I will learn to hate people. They show me where to hide from the public while on a shift. We park under bridges or in dark, secluded parking lots. One officer has a special place picked out in an old cemetery on the south side of Bethlehem. It overlooks the now dormant blast furnaces of the steel mill. From the graveyard I can see the steeple of First Presbyterian Church.
    There is a call to an old brownstone near the steel mill. Like many of the brownstones near the mill, it has been turned into an apartment building for low-income residents. One of the residents has failed to pay his rent, and the landlord is insisting we evict him. The landlord has all the proper paperwork from the court system. While not legally obligated to do so, he has allowed the resident back into the apartment to collect his belongings. The resident is drunk. Now he won’t leave.
    This is near the end of my probationary period. One of the compassionate training officers arrives to back me up, but he sends me in alone to see what I will do. I try to say all the right things and follow all the right procedures but the resident refuses to leave. Eventually the training officer comes in and takes over. He does a better job and convinces the man to be on his way. I escort him outside while the training officer fills out paperwork with the landlord. Outside, the evicted drunk wanders into the street. I order him onto the sidewalk. He wanders farther into the street, forcing cars to swerve and honk. When I approach, he says he’s going to the church where they’ll take care of him. I say, “I don’t care where the fuck you’re going, get off the fucking street.” He looks me over and calls me a rookie. I grab his arm. He fights back. I strike him with my extendable baton and drop my handcuffs again.
    3.1
    In Reston, Virginia, a woman stands up front and admires our attire. “Nice, I actually see some color today. We want people with color in their wardrobe.” Another man stands up front and asks why we think it’s important to conceal our identities. We raise our hands and give wrong answers. Finally, someone says, “Because what we do is illegal.”
    This is the right answer. Working for the CIA isn’t illegal, but working in a foreign country as a spy is.