The Cartel Lawyer: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  My mind wandered back to Eloa’s soft lips as I climbed the steps to my apartment, the faint taste of rum and coke that still lingered, and the slightly saucy grin she’d given me before she shut the door in my face. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, and with her honey-brown eyes and golden skin she was sure to catch any man she wanted.

  The image of her round backside in her tight black shorts hung in my mind as I turned the key in my apartment door. I half-expected to see Alvaro on my couch again, but the apartment was thankfully empty, so I stripped down and headed straight for a very cold shower.

  Icy water washed over my head and down my body as I tried to force my mind to think of anyone or anything but Eloa. The gorgeous woman lingered long after I’d started to prune, and with a sigh, I shut off the water. I needed something else to clear my mind, something a good run often helped with, though I’d just taken a shower and the idea of taking a run right after that seemed counterproductive.

  I laid in bed with my eyes closed while I tried to get my mind to stop daydreaming about the feel of soft lips on mine, and the ample curves of the Brazillian bombshell. But it was a losing battle, and I finally gave up and traded my bed for my running shoes.

  The man across the street had started to doze off when I strolled up to his car with my hands in the pockets of my gym shorts. He jolted awake the second he heard the scuff of my shoes on the black asphalt.

  “Still up?” he asked with a sly grin.

  “Going for a run,” I huffed. “I’ll be back when I’m done.”

  “I’ll be here,” he shrugged.

  “Not going to join me?” I asked with a chuckle.

  “I’m not the one trying to get a woman off my mind,” the young man countered as he settled into his seat again and closed his eyes.

  I sighed as the goon slipped back into a light sleep. I just needed to clear my head so my usual two-and-a-half mile trail would be enough, and then I could finally get some rest.

  It was almost three in the morning as I jogged the nearly empty streets of Miami. The city was still asleep, and only a few other weary souls slogged out to their early morning shifts with coffee and dead looks in their eyes. They paid no attention to me as I ran past, and it wasn’t so hard to imagine that I’d wandered into some zombie apocalypse. I envied them for the sleep they must have enjoyed if only for a few hours as I left them behind in favor of the park near my apartment.

  The smell of dew and wet earth washed over me as my feet pounded along the packed dirt path. It mixed with the salty scent of the ocean to calm me in a way that the shower hadn’t accomplished, and by the time I left the slowly swaying trees behind, my mind had finally begun to clear.

  I was ready to fall back into bed as soon as I got home, and I barely remembered to set the alarm on my cell phone before my eyelids grew too heavy for me to hold them up.

  Only a few hours later the hateful alarm dragged me out of a pleasant dream filled with rum-soaked kisses and luscious curves. The memory of it slipped away before I’d even sat up, and I sighed as I ran my hand over my face. I would need another cold shower and a very strong cup of coffee before I was ready for court.

  I showered and dressed as fast as I could so that I would have enough time to swing through a drive-thru for some Cuban coffee before I headed to the courthouse. The case would be an easy one, and it was really just a formality for Luke’s dismissal. The teen just had to appear and confirm his account, and then the judge would have no choice but to admit that the cops had made a mistake when they questioned him without his parents or legal representation. Thankfully, we weren’t facing Judge Williams again.

  There was no goon outside when I emerged from my apartment. I’d be under surveillance soon enough when I met my client, though it was nice to have a break from the constant reminder from Osvaldo that he could make me disappear at any moment. Even if the last few men had been relatively pleasant, they were still there under orders, and I had no doubts that they would do whatever they were told if the boss called.

  I slid into the driver’s seat and cranked up the AC. Even though it was still early, the Miami heat was already heavy with sticky humidity. I tossed my briefcase into the passenger seat and then fished out my cell phone. I had about an hour-and-a-half before I was scheduled to appear, but I needed to make sure that my teenage client would actually be there.

  “Mr. Torres,” Luke said in a chipper voice that grated on my tired nerves. “I’m already up and dressed.”

  “Good,” I said around a yawn.

  “You sound like you just woke up,” the teen laughed, and I wondered how I’d been assigned the only teen who liked mornings.

  “Haven’t had coffee yet,” I responded as I merged into the beginnings of rush hour traffic. “You should head over to the courthouse. It’s always best to be early. I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. You can wait for me inside the doors if it’s too hot.”

  “Sure thing,” the young man responded. “See you soon.”

  I grunted into the receiver and then hung up before I shoved the device into its holder on my dash. Thankfully, I managed to get to my favorite drive-thru coffee shop before the line was out of the parking lot.

  It was a tiny building that reminded me more of a shed than an actual business, but they made some of the best Cuban coffee in Miami. The baristas worked fast enough that I never had to wait more than ten or fifteen minutes, even when the line spilled out of the parking lot and into the street.

  I made a game out of timing the baristas as a way to keep myself awake, and that morning it took them eight minutes to serve the five cars in front of me. When it was finally my turn, I ordered a Cuban coffee with a little extra sweetener and loads of cream, and one of their breakfast sandwiches with bacon, eggs, and cheese.

  The aluminum wrapped sandwich smelled like heaven as they handed it to me with a pile of extra napkins. I could feel the warmth through the foil, and my stomach growled as the smell of bacon, buttermilk biscuit, and cheese filled my car.

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile as the barista passed me the white styrofoam cup with my coffee.

  “Have a great day,” she replied with a bright grin before she hurried back to work on the next drink.

  The creamy, sweet coffee coated my tongue with the first sip, and the last remnants of exhaustion abated for the moment. I took another long swig before I pulled off into a parking spot to eat the sandwich. It was extra cheesy so I had to be careful not to drip any of the delicious contents onto my suit.

  I devoured my breakfast in a few bites and then cleaned up before I merged back into the congestion of cars that had already begun to fill the Miami streets. I sipped on the rest of my coffee while I inched toward the courthouse. The building wasn’t too far from the coffee joint, and I managed to find a lane that moved steadily if not exactly swiftly, so when I pulled into the courthouse parking garage, it was still pretty empty. I would be out long before the sun had a chance to turn the area into an oven, but I parked a little further away from the entrance anyways so my car would stay cooler for longer.

  My client waited for me just inside the front doors of the courthouse with his cell phone in one hand and the other in his pocket. He’d worn black slacks, a light-blue button-up, and even his mop of light-brown hair looked like he’d at least run some water through the unruly waves.

  “Luke,” I said with a bright smile as I strolled toward him.

  “Mr. Torres,” the teen responded as he exited out of his game and stuffed his cell phone in his pocket. “You seem more awake.”

  “The power of coffee and breakfast,” I said with a shrug. “Are you ready?”

  “Yep,” the young man gave me a nod. “We shouldn ‘t be here long, right?”

  “No,” I confirmed. “You’ll be able to get to school before lunch.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’ve got a test this afternoon, and the teacher doesn’t do make-ups.”

  “You’ll be back in plen
ty of time,” I reassured him.

  We made our way through security and headed toward the courtroom we’d been assigned. We weren’t the first case of the day, but the hallways were still nearly empty. I exchanged nods with the lawyers that I recognized, and I saw my client do the same with some of the defendants.

  The morning dragged by, and Luke finally gave up and pulled out his phone again. He pulled up Candy Crush on his phone, and I found myself watching him to pass the time. When my client’s name was finally called, he had just managed to level up again, and I was starting to think I should download the game myself.

  The judge was already at her bench when we walked in with the prosecutor, Sheila, right behind us. Sheila had on a royal-blue dress that hugged her curves, black high heels that showed off her calves, and had pinned her hair in a loose bun with a butterfly clip.

  “Good morning,” the prosecutor said quietly with a small smile.

  “Good morning,” I replied as I set my briefcase down and pulled out Luke’s case file. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” she said with a slight tilt of her head. “Ready for Friday.”

  “Well, I’ll try to make this fast,” I chuckled.

  “You’re always so sure of yourself,” the prosecutor said as she put her hand on her hip and stared at me with a smirk.

  “I usually have a solid case,” I replied, though my grin faded as I remembered the last time we had been in a courtroom together.

  “Yeah,” the woman said with a sigh, and I was sure she was remembering our last appearance together before a very different judge. “I am really sorry about that one. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

  She glanced toward the current judge on the bench, the Honorable Judge Belinda Brown. The prosecutor turned back to me and pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something else, but talking about a judge’s colleague in front of them was always risky, so she just sighed and gave me another apologetic look.

  “Shall we get this party started?” Judge Brown said as she set her own copy of Luke’s file down.

  “The prosecution is ready to proceed,” Sheila responded.

  “The defense is ready as well,” I replied.

  “Good,” the middle-aged magistrate said with a grin. “I understand that you wish to have the case dismissed, Mr. Torres?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said as I stood up straight. “The officers who arrested my client held him for hours without a phone call to his parents or his representation while they questioned him.”

  “I believe the officers offered the call, but your client refused,” Sheila countered.

  “If they did,” I said with a gesture to the file in front of me. “They didn’t note it in their files. And my client has informed me that the offer was never given to him.”

  “Is that true?” the judge asked with a lifted eyebrow as she turned to my client.

  Luke played his part perfectly, he stood with his hands in front of him with his eyes downcast until the judge addressed him, and when he looked up, he looked contrite.

  “It is, ma’am,” he answered.

  “Your honor,” Sheila said with a frown. “The officers know better than to question a minor without his parents or representation. Surely, if there wasn’t an adult there, then it was because the young man refused their help.”

  “And yet,” the magistrate said with a shake of her head. “They didn’t document it. Which means it’s his word against theirs. And while I’m inclined to believe the officers, there’s no way to prove that counsel was refused. I have no choice but to dismiss.”

  She banged her gavel, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Camilo’s sentence had been a fluke after all, and I hadn’t lost my touch. Now all I had to do was convince my new boss that I wasn’t completely incompetent. I packed up my briefcase while Luke relaxed his posture a little.

  “That was great,” the teen said with a smile.

  “It was an easy case,” I said as I gestured for him to walk ahead of me.

  “You got lucky,” Sheila added as she walked out with us. “But try to stay out of trouble. Rob can only get your case tossed so many times.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young man said to the prosecutor before she hurried off to her next case. “Am I good to go to class?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “Good luck on your test.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Torres,” Luke gave me a bright smile and then rushed off toward the lobby.

  I watched the teen with a twinge of regret. I knew he would be back in court at some point because as long as he continued to work for Osvaldo he was at risk for being arrested, but I hoped that he would manage to keep his head down and his nose out of trouble.

  The courthouse was starting to fill up as I made my way toward the lobby, and I found myself weaving between packs of lawyers, sobbing family members, and court security officers who looked bored with the whole thing. It suddenly occurred to me that I had a whole day with no real plans, and I stopped so abruptly that an older man walking behind me knocked into me. I started to help him, but he waved me aside and muttered a few curse words as he continued on his way.

  There was still plenty of research to perform, but I’d had enough digging through databases for the moment. So instead, I went to check the roster for the day.. I glanced over the posted list and smiled when I saw that Judge Williams would have cases all day. I could sit in on a few and confirm my suspicions that he really was sending too many kids to Everson’s.

  He was already on the bench when I snuck into the courtroom and slipped into one of the seats in the back. The current case involved a teen charged with vandalism. He’d tagged a stop sign and been caught by a cop with the can still in his hand. It was a first offense, nothing violent or costly, and he should’ve been given a slap on the wrist. Instead, Williams sentenced him to eight months in Everson’s.

  The next was nearly the same. It involved another sixteen year old boy who’d been arrested for spray painting, this time one of the bridges that was perpetually covered in graffiti. He received a full year because it was the second time he’d been caught at that particular bridge, and he was sent to Everson Juvenile Detention Center.

  I wanted to scream as the second teen was led away by the bailiff. I couldn’t believe the judge would sentence him to a juvie center for tagging a place that was literally covered in the work of every graffiti artist in the metro area. It should’ve been a fine and a bit of community service, but instead he would lose a year of his life in a place that seemed designed to crush the spirits of everyone sent there.

  I was convinced the judge was corrupt because there was no other explanation for why he would send them to juvie for so long. I was more determined than ever to prove it, and I would see the pudgy disgrace of a magistrate taken off the bench if it was the last thing I did.

  Before I could sneak out, another teen walked in with his hands in the pockets of his designer suit pants and a lawyer that I recognized from the website of Hancock, Garcia, and Smith. The lawyer had on a three-thousand dollar suit, and confidence wafted off of him as he strolled over to the defendant’s table and set down his spotless, black leather briefcase.

  “Mr. Anthony Evans?” Judge Williams asked as he looked up from his file.

  “Yes, your honor,” the teen answered with a cocky grin on his face.

  “It seems you stole a car and wrecked it?” the magistrate asked with a small frown.

  I tensed as I listened and waited for the pudgy man’s verdict. The judge had thrown the book at my client for when the car had been returned in perfect condition.

  “Fifty hours of community service and a five-thousand dollar fine,” Judge Williams said with a bang of his gavel before anyone could say anything else.

  My mouth almost fell open as I watched the judge stand to stretch. He was off to his lunch break, and I was almost positive that I saw the teen nod at him in approval. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and took down the young man’s name. He had to be
from one of the more powerful families if he received such a light slap on the wrist even though he totalled the car he’s stolen.

  I slipped out of the courtroom with everyone else, though my heart raced so fast I was surprised no one else could hear it. I wanted to scream at the injustice of it all as I watched the smarmy, unapologetic punk stroll along just ahead of me. The kid was already on his cell phone, and I could hear him laughing about the fifty hours of service he’d been handed.

  The noonday sun beat down on me as I stormed to the parking garage, and sweat dripped down my spine and into my eyes. By the time I reached the cool shade of the concrete parking structure I was panting from my dash from the courthouse steps.

  It took me a few times to get my key into the car door since my hands shook from my barely-contained rage, but after the third time I was able to yank the door open and slide inside. I tossed my briefcase into the passenger seat and cranked the engine.

  I sat in my spot for a moment as I told myself I needed to calm down. I couldn’t help my client by punching the judge in the face, and it was too hot for a run, so I would just have to distract myself instead. I could check in on my mother since she was supposed to be at home. She could always bring a smile to my face when I was mad, and she might even have some advice on what to do next.

  When I was feeling almost normal, I pulled out my cell phone and saw there was a text message. It was Eloa, who offered an apology for her bad behavior and then asked if we could meet again. I pondered the offer, and then decided she could wait a little longer. I didn’t want to see her while I was still so hot under the collar, and I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to do about the kiss.

  I took a steadying breath and then texted her that it was okay, that she shouldn’t worry about it, and that we could meet up after I’d had a chance to organize my files. I knew we’d need to talk about the kiss at some point, but I needed to keep my focus on the judge until I’d cleared Camilo.