The Cartel Lawyer: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  The food brought me back to thoughts about my mother. She had promised to get some rest once I left, and she’d been tired enough that she’d let me finish all the dishes. That had been odd enough, but then she hadn’t let me tuck her safely into bed. I had a sneaking suspicion that she was afraid I’d see how sick she really was, but she’d refused to retire until she’d seen me safely out the door.

  When I reached my apartment, I parked and then gathered all of the dinners in one tall stack that I could almost manage as I strolled into the building. I almost lost a few as I opened the front door, so I shook off my hatred of the elevator and took it up.

  Once I was safely inside my apartment, I stuffed all of the tupperware containers into the freezer, stripped, and then collapsed into the bed as exhaustion washed over me. I hadn’t even checked to see if Osvaldo had a man outside as my only thoughts had been about sleep, and I barely remembered to set an alarm for my meeting with Eloa before I drifted into restless dreams.

  It felt like someone had put sand in my eyes when I woke up to turn off my alarm. I’d tossed and turned all night as my dreams switched between increasingly terrifying ways for Alvaro to kill me, and the gruesome things that might happen to Camilo while he was at the Everson Juvenile Detention Center.

  I climbed out of bed, splashed cold water on my face, and then cleaned off my glasses before I peered at my reflection in the mirror. The bags under my eyes weren’t too bad, and my five o’clock shadow wasn’t so unruly that I needed to shave. I wet my hands, ran them through my hair to tame some of the frizz, and then shook the waves out so they weren’t plastered to the side of my head.

  It took me longer than usual to tug on my jeans and a button-up, but soon I was ready for my meeting with Eloa. The coffee shop was close enough that I could walk, but it felt like a good idea to have the car nearby in case Osvaldo called or Eloa gave me something that I could follow up on.

  There was no obvious goon lurking outside of my building when I came out, but I scanned the other buildings as I walked to the car. There were the usual dog walkers and people on their phones, but no one who looked like a cartel killer. With a sigh, I slipped into the car and turned the key. The engine turned over without issue, the AC pushed out icy-cold air, and soon I was on my way.

  There were more cars in the parking lot than there had been the day before, so I wasn’t the only one having trouble waking up. I lucked out, though, as a Ford parked beneath the overhang of the neighboring building pulled out of a spot just as I turned into the lot. I slipped in before anyone else could grab it and gave my faithful Honda an affectionate pat on the dashboard before I climbed from the car.

  I grabbed my briefcase and headed inside, and once again, the smell of coffee washed over me as soon as I opened the door to the shop. I teetered over to the line as I tried, and failed, to hold back a yawn. I almost hit myself in the head with my briefcase when I brought my hand up to cover my mouth, but managed to stop myself just in time.

  “Hey!” the blue-haired barista greeted when I made it to the front of the line. “Two days in a row. Do you want another cold brew?”

  “I want the most caffeinated beverage you have,” I told her with a sleepy grin.

  “The cold brew is pretty strong,” she told me. “We steep it for twenty hours. But I can add a few extra shots for good measure.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Can I get one of the bacon, egg, and cheese burritos, too?”

  “Sure,” the young woman bobbed her head as she rang it up.

  I paid and then stood off to the side while I waited for my order. Most people seemed to be getting their orders to go, so I didn’t have to worry about finding a seat, though there were too many people around for me to feel comfortable with leaving my briefcase alone.

  The coffee and burrito were ready in only a couple of minutes, and as the other barista handed me the plate, the blue-haired young woman tossed a couple of packs of sriracha on the plate with a wink.

  “You always forget to ask for those,” she teased before she took the next person’s order.

  “Thanks,” I laughed.

  I found a table near the back of the store with a clear line of sight to the door, and then I sat down to devour my breakfast before my meeting. The sriracha, eggs, bacon, and cheese were a perfect combination, and it only took a few bites for me to finish the burrito.

  “Mr. Torres?” a beautiful young woman asked as she came up to my table.

  She had perfectly golden skin, honey-brown eyes, and light-brown hair with copper highlights that she had pulled up into a long ponytail. She wore a white blouse tucked into a blue, flowy high-waisted skirt that accentuated her full, round butt. She had a bright smile that put me at ease, and I could see why people would open up to her.

  “Yes,” I said with a smile. “Eloa?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  She had a messenger bag that bounced around her hips, and her free hand held a paper cup with her name on it.

  “Please,” I said as I gestured for her to take a seat.

  “Great,” she set her coffee down and then pulled off her bag before she joined me. “How are you?”

  “Pretty good,” I answered. “You?”

  “Great,” she said with a little bob of her head that made her ponytail swish behind her head.

  She took a sip of her coffee as she studied me. She still had a smile, but there was no doubt that she was a journalist as she looked me over like she could see the story of my life written on my face.

  “Did you bring your information?” I asked to break the growing silence.

  “Hmm?” she tilted her head as she thought about my question. “Oh! Yes, of course. But, may I ask what your interest in the Everson Juvenile Detention Center is?”

  “I have a client that was just sentenced there,” I told her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered while she pulled her laptop out of her bag. “That place is absolutely terrible.”

  “I found a few things,” I hedged.

  “They’re pretty good at hiding how awful they are,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Not many people pay much attention to juvie centers. And the people who’ve complained are all family members. I’ve been trying to learn more about them, but on the outside it looks like it’s completely fine.”

  “So you’ve been there?” I asked after I took a long swig of my cold brew.

  “Just to the gates,” she grumbled. “They won’t let me inside since I’m not family or a lawyer.”

  She flashed a megawatt smile at me that made my heart skip a beat.

  “I might be able to help you put a case together,” I said as I leaned forward. “But I’ll need something from you as well.”

  “The information I’ve gathered so far,” she replied as she booted up her computer.

  “Yes,” I said with a nod. “I need anything you have on their financials. Their funding, their spending habits, everything.”

  She looked up from her computer screen, I could see the gears turn as she processed what I said, and then her face lit up with a bright smile.

  “I think I know some people that can help us with that,” she said while her ponytail swished behind her.

  The noise of the coffee shop had died down since most of the morning rush had begun to thin out, and only a few people occupied the other tables. There was a young woman with long, straight black hair that glanced over at us more than normal, and I thought that she took a picture of me at one point.

  I shook my head and told myself that my conversation with Osvaldo had made me paranoid, though when the woman shifted and pulled her hair to the side, I saw a tattoo that looked familiar. It was one that I’d seen on Alvaro and the goons that had watched my apartment, and my stomach clenched as I realized that I was still under surveillance.

  “Is everything okay?” Eloa asked as she looked around.

  She paused as she noticed the tattooed woman, but when the long-haired goon
winked and smirked at her, she waved and turned back to me.

  “Yeah,” I said with a small shrug. “I thought I saw an ex.”

  “Ooh,” the journalist said with an understanding nod. “That’s always so terrifying. Especially when you’re with someone better looking.”

  She grinned and rolled her eyes at herself like she’d exaggerated, but I was fairly sure that the bombshell across the table from me was more beautiful than any of my exes, and I’d dated some gorgeous women.

  “Definitely,” I responded after a few heartbeats. “Though this is a business meeting and not a date.”

  “Why can’t it be both?” Eloa teased and then chuckled when my eyebrows shot up my forehead.

  “That is true,” I said as I regained my composure, though I was sure that I still had a blush on my face. “But my priority is still my client.”

  “Oh, right,” she said as she shut her laptop and leaned forward. “What was your client charged with?”

  “A minor crime,” I answered before I took another sip.

  “And he was sent to Everson?” she asked with a shake of her head. “That’s awful. I hope he won’t be there long. I’ve talked to several of the families as well as some of the kids that served time there, and they all say that it’s the worst.”

  “I plan to have him out soon,” I responded.

  I glanced over to the dark-haired woman as I spoke. If she could hear us, I hoped she reported back to Osvaldo that I was trying to get Camilo released.

  “Good,” the woman across from me said with a solemn nod of her head before she took a sip of her coffee. “Is that why you’re trying to get more information?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Anything I can learn about the facility will help to strengthen my appeal.”

  “This is going to be a wonderful partnership,” Eloa declared as she clapped her hands together. “We’ll get your client out and then take that awful place down for good.”

  “You seem really eager to shut the center down,” I observed. “Do you have a connection with it?”

  If she did, then she might be on a personal vendetta, and I would need to take all of her information with a grain of salt. Especially if she wanted revenge for something that might have happened to a loved one.

  “Well,” she hedged. “I mean, like I’m totally interested in taking down any place that’s hurting people. But, if I can break a huge story like a popular juvenile center terrorizing the kids that are sent there, then I might be able to move from the weather report to a desk.”

  “Ah,” I said with a nod.

  Ambition with a mixture of justice was a deadly combination, and one that would help me as long as she didn’t force the information we found to fit the story she wanted to tell.

  “I know it’s not the noblest of reasons,” Eloa muttered with a blush before she took a sip of her coffee. “And I do care about the kids.”

  “Just because you have goals doesn’t mean that you don’t want to see justice done,” I said.

  “Exactly!” the young journalist exclaimed. “So we’re going to work together on this?”

  “I would like that,” I replied.

  “Good,” she declared. “So what do you know so far?”

  “Nothing definite,” I replied. “Everyone’s been very careful not to leave too obvious a trail.”

  “Yes, I ran into that as well,” she agreed. “It’s hard to find any real evidence beyond the stories from the survivors. But for every horror story I can find, the company counters with some other kid who insists the place is perfectly safe. I’d say there was some sort of brainwashing going on, though I think it’s more likely that the company is paying them.”

  “Charming,” I muttered.

  “I did some deep background searches on the company officials,” she said. “You know, to look for links.”

  “And what did you find?” I asked casually.

  But not casually enough, apparently. Eloa watched me for a moment, and then another smile flickered across her face.

  “Now, what kind of reporter would I be if I just gave you everything I had without getting anything in return?” she asked.

  “I’ve already told you that I haven’t found much,” I replied.

  “You also said you filed an appeal, so you found enough,” she pointed out.

  She was definitely sharp, and I wondered how she could still be working the weather desk.

  “Why don’t we set another meeting?” I said. “We can share what we’ve found.”

  “I’ll need time to pull my files together,” she replied. “And confirm some of my information.”

  “Sure,” I nodded. “Do you think you can have something for me by tomorrow?”

  “That’s pretty soon,” she said as she slipped her laptop back into her bag. “But I might have something by dinner time.”

  “Do you like burgers?” I asked with a glance down at her curvy, muscular body.

  “Of course,” she responded. “I know a great place. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Great,” I said. “I have a good idea for a story. And if I’m right, it’ll be big enough for you to land that news anchor desk and get my client out of Everson’s.”

  “Perfect,” Eloa nodded as she stood. “I’m so glad you contacted me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She gave me another thousand gigawatt smile before she spun around and almost skipped out of the coffee shop. Her skirt bounced on her well-formed butt, and I had to shake my head to bring myself out of my sudden daydreams.

  I needed to do some more research on the judge, his financials, and the political connections that he’d made. If he really was corrupt, then there would be a paper trail of some kind to show the payouts that he received. He had probably received several of them over the years, and while I could’ve asked Eloa to look into his financials as well, I wasn’t quite ready to share his name or my suspicions about the size of his retirement account.

  First, though, I needed to go see my client and the Everson Juvenile Detention Center for myself. He’d been there almost two days already, and he was due for a visit from his lawyer, so I hoped that they wouldn’t turn me away when I showed up without an appointment.

  The last of my cold brew was mostly the sweet cold foam that topped the caffeinated beverage, and I shook my head at the unexpected sugar rush. I stood, tossed the empty cup into the nearby trash, and then shrugged on my suit jacket before I grabbed my briefcase.

  “Where are you going?” the black-haired woman asked as I passed her table.

  She leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, and had a smirk on her black painted lips.

  “Everson’s,” I replied.

  “About time,” she said. “Who was the broad?”

  “A journalist for the Miami Herald,” I said with a sigh as I ran my free hand through my hair. “She’s trying to shut down the facility Camilo is in. Her information can help me have him released.”

  “Not sure the boss’ll like you talking to a reporter,” she told me as she lifted one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

  “He will if it’ll get his son out faster,” I responded. “See you around.”

  I nodded to her and then waved to the blue-haired barista as I walked out to my car. I had a job to do, and Osvaldo’s constant threats were a stress I didn’t need, though they did add a bit of urgency to my work.

  The car hadn’t gotten too hot yet thanks to the shade from the building, but I still turned the AC all the way up as I set my GPS to the center’s address. It was about thirty minutes outside of the city center, close enough that it wouldn’t raise suspicion if a judge sentenced someone there, but far enough that they probably wouldn’t have many visitors.

  Traffic was light once I merged onto the highway, and it felt like barely any time at all had passed before the tall metal chain link fence came into view. I followed the fence line along the road until I reached the main entrance. There was a large wooden sign reminiscent of
National Park signs that identified the place as the Everson Detention Center. It looked almost pleasant, except for the shiny barbed wire. As I pulled up to the guardhouse I saw a smaller sign that advised me to avoid touching the fence since it was electrified.

  It reminded me of the fence at Fuentes Shipping, though the uniformed guard was less welcoming. He was a dark-skinned man with short-cropped hair and a scowl that would make Osvaldo proud in its intensity.

  “This is a private facility,” the guard snapped when I rolled down my window.

  “I’m here to see my client,” I said with a smile as I pulled out my wallet for my ID.

  “Name?” the man asked as he snatched my driver’s license.

  “His name is Camilo Fuentes,” I responded. “Mine, as you can see, is Roberto Torres.”

  “Mmhmm,” the guard grumbled. “I have to call down.”

  “Of course,” I said with a nod.

  The man picked up the phone to call down to the main facility while I looked around the outside of the center. There was a basketball court to the left with another fence around it, and a few benches for those who wanted to watch. The main building was a single level, but there was a four-story structure behind it that had to be the sleeping quarters. There was a parking lot out front with a few cars, enough to account for the other guards and administrators but not many visitors.

  “Alright,” the uniformed man huffed as he passed the driver’s license back to me. “You have twenty minutes. Follow the signs to the meeting room.”

  “Sure, thanks,” I said with a smile that I didn’t feel.

  I pulled through the gate and parked close to the front doors. I was greeted by another guard as I walked up the steps who looked even less friendly than the man at the gate. He carried a metal detector wand in his hand, and I gave him a puzzled expression.

  “Have to make sure you don’t have a weapon,” the guard huffed.