James Hyatt
If I could change one thing about Hillcroft, it would be the rule dictating that all senior operators were obligated to train and coach recruits if necessary. I was the perpetual substitute instructor, ’cause Danny knew I had zero patience for teaching punks, so he only called me in when better instructors were unavailable.
Like today.
This year’s recruits were fast approaching their final selection, and we’d see how many made it. It was a small class of only six left. Last year, we’d had more of them.
On the flipside, I was getting plenty of training myself. Patience was something a parent needed to have, right? We also had to speak clearly, be diplomatic, and know what nurturing was all about.
I was working on it.
I scratched my eyebrow and flipped to the next picture on the big screen.
“This one is ruled suicide by gunshot wound to the head,” I said, eyeing the animated example. “You have one minute to profile the victim and determine if it was, in fact, suicide—or foul play.”
Leaning back against the edge of the desk, I looked out over the six recruits to make sure they weren’t cheating. The ability to profile and read a situation was fundamental to a future in the field, especially when they needed to make snap decisions and lives were at stake.
Some recruits always wanted to take shortcuts. They made guesses based on how they believed we’d fuck with them. For instance, it probably wasn’t suicide, because why would we give them the answer? Or maybe itwassuicide for that reason, because the other option was too obvious? But enough examples had made shit clear. The right answer would sometimes be listed above the photo. And sometimes not. The recruits were forced to examine the evidence.
I checked my watch, guessing Kiera would be done with her interview soon. I wanted to catch her before she went home.
When Doc had asked me the other day if she might be interested in taking over for Nurse Tina when she retired, I’d called Kiera immediately. Fuck, the prospect of having her in the same building? Sign me up. Granted, she would go on maternity leave soon, and we would need to send her to further training too, but Tina wasn’t retiring just yet. We had time.
Kiera would be perfect for bossing around operators in the med bay. Aside from the education and experience she already had, she’d take a couple courses in long-term recovery and rehabilitation, and then she’d be good to go.
“All right, one minute’s up,” I announced.
One of them protested. “It’s really not, sir. It’s been like forty-five seconds.”
“Yeah, well, life’s not fair,” I said.
Good parenting.
Fuck.
I scratched the side of my head and scrambled for a better response. “But you know, your folks probably still love you. Gold star. Uh, moving on.” I ignored his weird look and nodded at the tall guy in the back. “You. What’s the verdict?”
He shifted in his seat. “Um, I think it’s suicide. He has a notepad on the table, like he’s written a note to loved ones. I don’t see any luggage in the hotel room, so maybe he wasn’t planning on using anything else.”
“Next.” I pointed to the blonde up front.
“I think it’s murder,” she replied. “There aretwohamburgers on the table, so the victim wasn’t eating alone. The murderer must’ve left.”
I rubbed my elbow absently, glancing back at the screen, and wondered how the fuck these kids were gonna survive out here.
I sighed and faced forward again, and I folded my arms over my chest. “You get a participation trophy for being right that it’s murder, but it has nothing to do with the second hamburger. Note that the first burger has a bite taken out of it, and the other one is still wrapped. The victim ordered two burgers.” I jerked my thumb at the screen behind me. “Nothing kills your appetite like existential pain, depression, chronic suffering, or defeat. While some people are more methodical or nostalgic than others—and will eat something before committing suicide—the odds of that man in the graphic taking one bite of his burger and then suck-starting his gun…? He was murdered.” I glanced at the clock above the door and decided I was done. They could leave five minutes early. “All right, go play. Good job or whatever. You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.”
They all gave me strange looks this time.
Maybe they saw through my bullshit.
“That’s why we’re here, sir,” one of the guys explained slowly. “I left the Marines to become a private contractor.”
I nodded with a dip of my chin and turned off the screen. “A Marine telling me he’s a Marine. What a novelty. Go seize the day, kiddo.”
Some of the others, mainly those who were former Army and Navy, cracked up.
One by one, they filed out of the classroom, and I was ready to get the hell out of here too.
