The Millennial Box, Julie Steimle [classic books for 12 year olds .txt] 📗

coughed again, blinking at the shaking table, still sitting in a slouch. Inside his mouth tasted awful. "Lung cancer sure doesn't--cough--seem funny."

The frown on the agent's face deepened. "This is all a game to you, isn't it? Playing with human lives...."

Jeff sat up. "What is this about? I was having a nice peaceful week for once until you spoiled it with your smoke. What do you mean by 'playing games with lives'?"

Inspecting the newly forming glare on Jeff's face, especially the confusion in the boy's deep eyes, Agent Sicamore muttered, "You spent all this week in Pennington."

It was not a question, nor was it a statement exactly. It was a puzzle that was said out loud so it could be understood better. Scenarios were clearing going through the FBI agent's brain, trying to solve the conundrum he would not share with Jeff. Jeff looked at the agent cockeyed and rolled his eyes again like any teenager. "Yeah..." He then shook his head. "What do you think I've been doing?"

Sharply, Agent Sicamore snarled. "You have ruined a very serious investigation of mine, and you ask me that?"

Jeff smirked a little and almost innocently blinked at Sicamore. "So what is this then? Is this a catch-me-before-any-more-milk-is-spilt--or is this just harassment?"

Sicamore's glare deepened, creasing his eyes into hollows that were already apparent, probably from exhaustion.  "You would just love to shut us off permanently, wouldn't you?"

Jeff's smirk vanished. Now understanding what that implied, standing up sharply and clenching his cuffed hands, Jeff flushed violently. "Now that's going a bit far. I have done nothing to you to let you accuse me of...of...of...." He paled--well, paler than his already white skin could go anyway. Jeff was turning a sallow shade of green after his angry shade of red. The words stuck in his dry, nicotine-stung throat. "I haven't done anything!"

He flung up his cuffed together hands in exasperation, standing up and separating himself from the table and Sicamore.

 Sicamore remained unconvinced.

But then, Jeff had threatened the man and his parents a few weeks ago--as Agent Sicamore was also of 'Martian' blood. It was his precious secret which the FBI agent didn't want the rest of the Bureau to find out about. Not yet, anyway. And because of that, it was Jeff's trump card against the man.

Frowning, Jeff tried to fold his arms--though the cuffs prevented him. He stood against the wall as far away from Agent Sicamore as possible.

"Sit," Agent Sicamore said, blowing out another cloud of smoke.

Jeff glared at him. Trouble with the government wasn't a new thing to him. He had been in prison before. Just not on this planet. Yet somehow this was worse. It was worse than getting beaten in the Arrassian prison I.S.I.C. by the People's Military because he knew what they stood for and why they had arrested and beaten him. That abuse had felt honorable, like a hero's brand. But this...

He could feel the hate from Agent James Sicamore, understanding the nonverbal accusation that had been made. Clearly the FBI had no proof--yet Jeff understood very well that he was the prime suspect for something awful. Something that very much smelled like murder. Of course he had no clue what had happened because he was truly and completely, honestly innocent. It would have been an entirely different thing if he were guilty of something such as purposely opposing a corrupt regime. But he wasn't. And that realization pounded into his mind, giving him a headache worse than Mr. Sicamore's cigarette smoke.

After three hours in the room with Agent Sicamore, Agent Simms took Jeff from the interrogation room. Jeff was hacking and coughing and gasping for air when he was let out of the room and escorted back to the tank. He glowered when they shoved him inside. But once he was in the human cage, he turned around and drew a deep breath, clenching his teeth and fists, still coughing.

He punched the metal bars.

The drunks jumped, startled from the noise. The guilty men in suits scooted farther from where Jeff was standing, and the men with tattoos clenched and unclenched their fists, getting ready to fight in self-defense if necessary. Jeff ignored them and barked out for the police to hear, "You still didn't tell me what I'm in here for!"

Jeff was let out that afternoon. Whatever charges had been made, if there were any at all, were dropped. No one ever did say what he was taken in for. He was only told that the FBI would be keeping a closer eye on him from then on. Jeff rolled his eyes at that, muttering, "What's new?" 

When they police took him to the front of the station to set him free, Jeff saw that his Uncle Orren--accompanied by Zormna and her lawyer, Mr. Earnheart--was there at the front desk, bellowing up a storm for his release. His 'uncle's demands to know the price of bail as well as the charges made against his 'nephew' was like music. Apparently no one had come to the house. The FBI were still only after him.

A frazzled-looking police captain kept referring to the FBI, calling it 'their operation', and claiming no legal liability for what was going on.

Zormna's high-pitched banshee-like shrieks echoed in the halls also. Her protests on his behalf practically melted his heart. A year ago, that never would have happened. Her green eyes glanced over his way expectantly as if she felt him approaching. Her worried expression eased considerably when her gaze rested on him. She sprinted from his uncle's side to him at once.

"Are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?" she said, grabbing a hold of Jeff's shirt sleeves, lifting at the cuffs and feeling him over to check for blood, bruises, or any other prime evidence of police brutality. She seemed almost eager for it. His heart beat a little faster. Her concern was kind of cute. Normally Zormna was aloof about him.

Jeff rolled his eyes and shook his head to show it was no big deal. "I might have lung cancer now, but otherwise I'm fine."

She peered at him for a second, not comprehending his remark, but she did not have time to answer. Uncle Orren strode over and grabbed Jeff's arm in a firm grip. "What have you done? Do you know why they took you here?"

Shaking his head, exchanging glances with his 'uncle', Jeff said, "They didn't tell me a thing, and personally, I don't want to stay here another minute. Can we go?"

His uncle nodded and pulled Jeff forward towards the doors.

Jeff lifted his cuffed wrists at once and said, "Can I go without these, please?"

Almost laughing, but catching himself, Uncle Orren turned his gaze on the police officer who had brought Jeff, waving his hands over the handcuffs for their removal. The cop nodded and sighed, taking out his keys.

 Zormna took one glance down that hall from Jeff and narrowed her eyes at the figures standing there that were staring back at them, as if she knew they had been watching the entire time. She saw Agent Simms waiting with Agent Hayworth at a door where Agent Sicamore emerged. She pulled back and scowled at them both, clenching her teeth but saying nothing.

Jeff tugged on Zormna's arm, urging her towards the doors of the precinct once the handcuffs were off his wrists. He hissed in her ear, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

After that he did not say a word, except to loudly complain about Agent Sicamore's smoking problem, as they went down the steps of the Pennington Police Department then out into the cold parking lot where his uncle's car was parked. Jeff kept up the act, griping all the way home until they stepped out of the car. Mr. Earnheart, Zormna's lawyer, had followed them to their house at the edge of town, talking with Zormna the entire time. He was mostly giving her legal advice while nodding towards Jeff and his uncle. When he climbed out of his nice car, he continued to ask her:  "Are you sure you don't want to press charges? This can be put under police harassment."

Zormna shook her head, halting on the front stoop of Jeff's home. "Not this time. Perhaps the next time, if it happens again."

Mr. Earnheart nodded. Yet he peered at Jeff with a distrusting air, which he hid poorly. "Well, you take care of yourself. Call me if you need me, and think about what I said."

Her lawyer turned and walked down the steps back to his car, peeking back and shaking his head.

Once Zormna stepped inside the house and closed the door, Uncle Orren walked right into the kitchen and filled a glass of water. He came back out and handed it to Jeff. Jeff took it gratefully, gulping it down. Zormna sat on the arm of the couch, folding her arms across her chest, watching him with pursed lips. Jeff finished off the tall glass and gasped again for air, falling into the couch, feeling too exhausted to talk. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed his sleeve.

"Scrapes, I'm never going to get rid of that smell." He groaned, pulling off his jacket.

Uncle Orren took back the glass, cradling it in his hands while waiting. "What did he say?"

Zormna looked at Jeff who was still sitting, disgusted at the reek that stuck to him and his hair.

Jeff looked up. "Sicamore? Nothing. That's the problem." He stood up. "He did, however, nearly accuse me of..." Jeff shuddered. "...of...of..." He shook out his jacket and closed his eyes. "He thought I was some sort of..." Jeff shook his head. "Something must have happened. Someone on their side must have gotten hurt, because that is the first time I have ever been nearly accused of...murder."

"Murder?" Zormna blinked as if to bat that idea out of her face. "But...you're kidding, right?"

Uncle Orren screwed up his mouth and nodded to himself. "Well, you did threaten his family two weeks ago."

Jeff shook his head once more. "Not with killing anybody, just removal. There's a difference."

His elder smiled painfully. "They are more likely to think the worst of a threat, Jafarr."

Zormna kept silent, watching and thinking. Wondering.

"They probably are just letting you know that you are still in a precarious position, regardless of your implied connections," Uncle Orren said.

Jeff shook his head again. "No." He paused, pursing his lips. "No, this doesn't feel like that. It feels like something already happened. The way Agent Simms growled at me.... The way Agent Sicamore actually fumed inside like he was on fire. Something is up."

Zormna blinked again. "What do you mean, something is up? They're up to something, or did something happen?"

He looked at her. She seemed to follow what he was saying. He placed his jacket on the couch. "I think something happened. Something extremely wrong."

Uncle Orren blinked this time. He caught himself from laughing in surprise and placed the empty glass down on the end table. "What do you mean?"

Jeff shrugged. "I think we need to call M," he said plainly. "I also think we need to get me a new cell phone. I think the feds tampered with it when they took it away from me." He lifted his small black phone from out of his pocket and handed it to his pretended uncle.

Uncle Orren nodded. "Call M. Use my phone." He paused. "Actually, call his pager. I think they are watching for suspicious activity, and it would be better if he called us."

Jeff nodded. He turned to look at Zormna.

"Ready to stay over for an all-nighter?" he asked with a faint smirk.

Zormna shook her head. "Not this time. The McLennas will probably be in a hissy fit if I do not come home tonight. Ever since my birthday they have just been vicious."

Jeff nodded, as if to himself, and tried to erase his face from any expression of concern. The birthday party had been a ploy to convince them that Zormna wasn't a threat--as they had changed the date. But