40.
Jamal
Time slowly ground away, hours and minutes, like a pencil in a sharpener being slowly reduced to wood shavings. Augustus and I didn’t dare speak until we heard a click in the lock, and both of us sat up, human speed, as the door swung open with a squeal to herald the arrival of … someone.
“Get up against the wall,” a guard said, holding a baton in his hands. “Once you’re in position, we’ll come cuff you.”
Augustus moved to follow his command. “Where are we going?”
The guard looked like he was going to spit out a nasty reply but instead said, with only a little irritation, “Your lawyer’s here to see you.”
We shared a look as we both put our hands, palm down, against the wall. They cuffed us, not gently, chained our legs, and then led us out of the dim, grey cell into a more brightly lit hall.
It was almost blinding at first. Three guards were around me, one at each shoulder and another at my back, baton thumping into his hand inches from my spine, like a thinly veiled warning. Augustus was a few paces behind as we were escorted through concrete halls and into a brightly lit room where someone waited.
“Miranda,” I breathed as we came in.
Miranda Estevez rose as I entered, her long brown hair with its highlights gleaming in the dim light. Miranda was a cool lady, and she didn’t give much away. “Remove those chains, please, so I can consult with my clients.”
“We didn’t chain their mouths shut,” the lead guard quipped, but after a leaden glare from Miranda, he nodded and they started to unlock us. “They’re due for an injection of suppressant in the next hour.”
“The US Attorney is coming in to talk with us in the next few minutes anyway,” Miranda said. “I’m sure we’ll be done before the hour is up.”
The lead guard looked like he wanted to say something to that, but whatever it was, he must have buried it because he and the others left without a word. Once the door clicked shut and the lock turned, we were alone with Miranda.
“Well, this isn’t where Reed sent you,” Miranda said dryly, eyes evincing not a glint of amusement at our current predicament.
“Yeah, yeah,” Augustus said. “We wrapped that up this morning.”
“And ended up in jail in DC by night. Well done.” She slow-clapped a couple times for mocking effect.
“We obviously weren’t aiming to,” I said. “We got framed.”
That made her raise an eyebrow. “So says every criminal.”
“You think we’re criminals?” Augustus asked, and the heat was rising in his tone.
“No,” Miranda said. “But it doesn’t matter what I think. I’m your lawyer, I’m in your corner no matter what.”
“Does Reed know we’re here?” I asked, mouth a little dry from hours without a drink.
“Of course,” Miranda said, like, duh. “J.J. and Abby called him first. He was the one who flew me to get here.” She ran a hand through her hair, which did look just a little windblown. “He’s outside, waiting. And you should know—he’s not happy.”
“Well, we’re sitting in jail, so …” Augustus said. “You can let him know I’m not exactly jumping up and down and singing show tunes all up in this place.”
“That’s good,” Miranda said coolly, “because I’m pretty sure that you’d hit those high notes like a bird on a window.”
Augustus got an offended look but someone rapped on the door, and he shut his mouth. Miranda called out for them to enter, and a few seconds later, a glasses-wearing, disheveled, middle-aged white dude popped in the door. His hair was dark, but thin at the top and heavily combed over. He came over to the table as Miranda scooted her chair around to sit on the side to Augustus’s right, and this new guy, who introduced himself quietly as “Martin Browning,” sat down pensively across from us.
We all sat in silence for a few seconds while Martin Browning appeared to gather his thoughts. I was no lawyer, but wasn’t it usual for detectives to interview you before a US Attorney came in?
“We seem to have arrested you gentlemen in error,” Browning said, clearing his throat. “Based on anonymous tips. But, uh …” He reddened a little. “We, uh … don’t have any evidence that you guys were actually involved … at all … in this crime. In fact, just the opposite appears to be, uh … showing up in the evidence.” He smiled, rather weakly.
“That’s interesting,” Augustus said flatly, and thrust his chained hands out. “Because here I am, chained up like a criminal, jabbed in the damned neck by a needle, my powers suppressed—and for no damn reason?”
I was surprised how quickly my brother moved from relieved to belligerent. I was still sitting here trying to turn over in my head how they’d lost all that evidence. I had a theory, of course, but the pleasant rush of relief at the prospect of getting the hell out of here clouded all clear thought about how it might have gone down.
“Sorry about that,” and Browning motioned toward the window. The door clicked open, and a couple of the guards came in. They looked about as surly as I might have expected, faces down, just doing their jobs, as they unlocked us. “We have to follow what evidence we have, you understand.”
“I—” Augustus started to say.
“My clients understand, of course,” Miranda said, rising, “but I hope you’ll have them processed for release immediately?”
“Of course,” Browning said, nodding furiously as he rose with her. “We are sorry about the … misunderstanding, and we want to make sure we get your clients out of here ASAP, especially given the, uhm, profile of … them.” And here Browning nodded at us once, didn’t even bother to shake our hands—which was probably quite smart given how much Augustus was seething—and bolted for the door, the guards hanging around.
“Come on,” one of them said—the same guy who’d been kind of a douche to us on the way here. “Let’s get you cashiered out.”
“I’ll wait for you guys outside,” Miranda said as we started to follow the guards out of the room.
“Along with Reed, I’m sure,” Augustus said tightly. He sounded like he was wound so tightly he might just blow up.
“I’m sure,” Miranda said coolly, and we were off, back into the labyrinth of the jail—and hopefully on our way to getting the hell out of here.