by Dave Daren
“Of course,” I muttered while I tried to cut into the exit lane for the docks.
“I’ll let Mr. Cruz know you’re on the way,” the man on the other end said before he disconnected the line.
I slid the phone back into its holder on the dash and then focused on cutting through the traffic. The container port wasn’t an area I was familiar with, though I did know that a few hipster restaurants and bars in renovated warehouses had cropped up there. Despite that, it was still a rough and tumble area, and it wasn’t uncommon for the police to pull bodies from the surrounding waters.
At a red light, I checked the address Garcia had sent me and quickly pulled up my map app. As I’d suspected, Fuentes Shipping wasn’t in the hipster area or the section near the recently renovated and updated section of the port. Fuentes Shipping was near the old port, where much of the work was still done by men with perpetual scowls.
The scent of fish hung in the air as I turned down the street that led toward the old wooden docks. There were a few of the smaller fishing boats along the water lanes, but where the street ended, the shipping companies took over. These were the shippers that weren’t quite big enough to have a place at the primary container port, but they still did enough business to require deep waters for large ships. In fact, several massive cargo ships filled with multi-colored containers were anchored along the docks, and cranes loaded and unloaded the cargo with surprising speed.
I kept an eye out for Fuentes Shipping while I drove past the chain-link fences that kept the civilian populations out of the work areas. The warehouses brimmed with workers in dirty shirts, and men with impressive basso voices yelled directions to the crane operators.
Fuentes Shipping was the last shipyard, and the largest, with an imposing chain-link fence that featured barbed wire around the top and warning signs to inform passersby that the fence was electrified. The hum of the live metal vibrated through my bones as I rolled my window down and pulled up to the squat, red brick gatehouse.
“This is private property,” a gruff, dark-haired man with a shaggy beard said when I stopped next to his window.
“I have a meeting with Alvaro Cruz,” I informed him and watched as his eyes swept over me suspiciously.
“What’s your name?” the rough security guard asked as he grabbed an old office phone.
“Roberto Torres,” I answered. “I’m a lawyer. I helped Diego Perez.”
“You’re the guy that helped Diego?” the dark-haired man’s eyes widened, and his bushy eyebrows climbed his forehead as he gave me another once over. “You’re a little young to be as good as he says.”
“Thank you,” I said and tried to hide how pleased I was that Diego had apparently bragged about me to so many people.
“Let me just call down to make sure,” the guard said as he dialed the number to the main office. “Yeah, I got a Roberto Torres... Sure... Yeah... Alright. I’ll let him know.”
The burly, hairy man hung up the phone and then popped his head back out of the window with a grin that revealed he had a few missing teeth.
“Mr. Cruz is waiting for you in his office,” he announced. “You’ll drive through the gates and head straight to the docks. It’s the last building down there on the left. You can park anywhere. His office is up on the second floor. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” I said with a nod as I repeated the instructions again in my head so I wouldn’t forget them. “Have a great day.”
“You, too,” he replied as he waved his hand at me.
He shut his plexiglass window and turned his attention back to the soccer game that played on his small TV. For a moment, I thought he’d forgotten to let me in, but after a few seconds of staring at the gate, it started to roll slowly out of the way.
I waited until the gate was wide enough for the Civic to pass through, and then I drove forward, even though the gate was still creaking open. I did a quick scan of the area and saw that there were three warehouses to the left, a field of shipping containers stacked three high in tidy rows to the right, and straight ahead were four cargo ships that were anchored next to well-maintained docks.
I found a parking spot in front of the last building, and glanced over at the two assigned spaces. One was for the president of the company, Osvaldo Fuentes, and the other was for the Vice President, Alvaro Cruz. A black Mercedes-Benz S class was parked in the vice-president’s spot. The sleek, high-class car seemed out of place in the grime of the shipyard, and I wondered what exactly the Fuentes company was shipping. I started to doubt the wisdom of my impulsive decision, but then I thought about the costs again, and I quickly banished my doubts.
The inside of the warehouse was busy when I walked through the front door. There was a hallway that led into the back of the building with clearly marked bathrooms, and the wall to the left opened up to reveal a wide open space with workers shouting orders as they moved crates out of the metal container that was parked just outside the warehouse. To the right was a typical industrial staircase that climbed up to a second floor, and I could just make out a couple of office doors along a hallway near the top.
I climbed the metal stairs, and I tried to ignore the way they bounced a bit under each step. The last one even whined when I put my weight on it, and I looked down just to make sure it wasn’t rusted through. But it looked like it was brand new, so maybe it had been recently replaced by someone who hadn’t done such a good job.
When I was on safer ground, I studied the hallway where I found myself. It was perfectly ordinary, with gray walls, linoleum floors, and a row of office doors along one side and a railing that overlooked the warehouse below on the other side.
Alvaro Cruz’s office was easy enough to find. It was the first door to my left, and his name and title had been engraved on the frosted glass window. I took a deep, steadying breath, reminded myself why I was there, and then knocked on the wood frame.
“Come in,” a soft, deep voice called.
I opened the door and stepped into an office that could only be described as a gray square. It featured black and gray squares of carpet, gray metal filing cabinets that lined the side walls, and a large gray desk. The only color came from a small plant on the windowsill, and the view out of the three large windows that overlooked the docks. The blinds on the windows had been pulled up so that the single occupant could look out when he wasn’t at his desk with its neatly arranged computer, files, and phone.
I’m not sure what I expected Alvaro Cruz to look like, maybe something like Diego Perez or the security guard, but the giant that stood with his hands clasped behind his back was much more intimidating. The top of his head almost touched the ceiling, and if he’d been any taller he wouldn’t have been able to see out of the window. He had wavy black hair that reached his shoulders, though half of it was pulled up into a bun. Even with his back to me, I could tell the guy had a thick layer of muscle underneath his sharp black suit.
“Mr. Torres, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the giant said as he turned toward me with a small smirk on his lips.
His eyes were such a dark shade of brown that they were almost black, and I could see the tattoos on his neck that peeked over the edge of his collar.
“And it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I replied as my mother’s politeness training kicked in.
“Diego raved about how you were able to get his charges dropped,” Cruz replied. “Impressive.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cruz,” I said as I pushed aside the image of the company vice-president working as a hitman in his spare time.
“Please, call me Alvaro,” he said as he gestured to one of the metal and black leather chairs for guests and then sat in his high back leather office chair.
“Alvaro,” I repeated as I sat down and put my briefcase on the floor next to me. “I understand you have some side work that you’d like me to do for you?”
“We would actually like to offer you a full-time position as our lawyer,” the dark-eyed man said.
D
espite the pleasantly soft tone, there was something in the voice that sounded more like a threat than an offer. The small smirk he still wore didn’t help, either, and I was pondering the fastest escape route when I finally realized what he’d said.
“Your lawyer?” I asked. “Don’t you already have one?”
I glanced around the office again. There were ledgers on a bookshelf in one corner, and stacks of paper waiting to be filed. There was even a whiteboard next to the door with the names of various ships and their current locations. It all looked like it had been there for years, so surely they already had their own in-house counsel.
“Here’s our offer,” the vice-president responded as he handed me a piece of paper and ignored my question.
I glanced over the sheet of paper, which was mostly cut and paste boilerplate interspersed with enough typos to make me think that someone had put the offer together not long before my arrival. The offer was for three-hundred-thousand dollars a year, and stipulated that Fuentes Shipping would be my sole client for the duration of my service. There wasn’t an end date on the contract, and I had the feeling that if I signed with them that I would be with them until I retired or was retired. Or ran off to Mexico like I imagined the previous attorney had.
Every terrible crime drama flashed through my mind as I read over the contract and tried to ignore the looming figure across the desk from me. Shipyards were always notorious homes for crime lords, drugs, and sex trafficking, and just about every other crime known to man. And for every legitimate shipping company, there were a dozen small-time operations that were fronts for the cartels.
I looked up for a moment, and my gaze landed on the ships moored on the docks below. It was an impressive operation and not just some fly-by-night company that would vanish at the first sign of trouble. But why offer me so much money? I stared at the contract again as I tried to make sense of the situation.
“This is a very generous offer,” I said after the third time I had read the figure.
It was definitely enough for any medical bills that my mom might have during her treatment, but I was still hesitant to accept it. I knew nothing about the company, and I’d honestly thought I was just picking up some extra cash on the side by coming here. Besides, what kind of legal career could I build if I worked for a shipping company? It’s not like I would become a partner, even if they did pay me like one.
“We want our employees to be taken care of,” Alvaro replied as he clasped his massive hands on the desk in front of him.
I could hear the men below as they shouted more instructions and then a large crash that was followed by a string of curse words that echoed off of the cement floor and walls.
“Excuse me,” the large man said as he stood in one fluid movement, walked around his desk, opened the door, and stepped across the walkway to the railing.
I twisted in my seat to watch the giant man as he grabbed the railing and then looked down toward his men. The shouts died down like someone had turned off a faucet, and the silence that took its place was so loud that my ears rang with the lack of noise.
“Sorry, sir,” someone shouted up, and I could almost hear the fear in his voice as Alvaro glared down.
“What broke?” the vice-president’s soft voice asked in what I was sure was a warning.
“Just the crate, sir,” another man answered. “Th-the cushion inside kept everything safe.”
“We’ll be more careful,” the first man added.
The dark-haired man bobbed his head once, which sent his wavy locks over his shoulders, and then he turned his attention back to me without having said more than two words to his employees. He still wore a smirk, but there was a sharp edge to it that made my heart race and my palms sweat like he had just threatened to rip my head off.
“I apologize for the interruption,” Alvaro sighed as he walked back around his desk.
He’d left the door open, and I once again considered leaving and not looking back. But that three-hundred-thousand kept me in my seat.
“It’s fine,” I said with a smile while I reminded myself that the large man had done nothing to deserve my apprehension.
“Where were we?” the tall, toned man asked as he sat in his chair.
“I wanted to know why your offer is so… generous,” I answered.
“Ah, yes,” the dark-eyed man said, and his smirk turned into a small smile that revealed dimples. “Most people wouldn’t be so worried about being paid too much.”
“I’m just… cautious,” I replied.
His smile grew for a moment, and then he motioned to the warehouse behind me and then to the shipyard behind him.
“We’re a small company in the shipping game, but we move some high-priced objects through here,” he said. “It allows us to take care of our employees, and we like to do that so we don’t have to keep hiring people. All our crews are specially trained to handle delicate items, which is why people trust us with them. Now, I could spend all that effort to train them, and pay them the usual crap that you find down here, and they’d walk away after a year or two, and I’d have to train some other guy. That puts me out of a lot of money, so I’d rather hang on to the ones I have.”
“But don’t you already have a lawyer?” I asked.
I needed answers before I could accept the offer, even though the salary would ensure that mom could stay in her own home. I wanted to be sure I knew what I was really getting into before I walked away from both the Public Defender’s Office and the Hancock, Garcia, and Smith offer.
“We have had some trouble with our reputation,” Cruz sighed.
“Your reputation?” I asked as I pictured the mysterious president of Fuentes Shipping as some stereotypical cartel leader.
“Yes,” Alvaro answered. “We’ve been told we’re a ‘brand risk’.”
He put air quotes around the words ‘brand risk’, and his almost black eyes flashed with an irritation that I was glad wasn’t directed at me.
“I understand,” I said as I nodded my head, though I was almost positive that not all of their imports were strictly legal. “But I’m sure that there are more established lawyers that you can hire.”
“It’s a hassle,” the vice president sat back in his chair as he crossed one leg over the table. “And I value Diego’s opinion. He said you were able to have his case tossed with almost no effort.”
“It was open and shut,” I responded. “I was told I’d be doing corporate work for your company?”
I glanced toward the filing cabinets, and then the poorly typed contract that I had been handed. If all of their business offers were in the same state, I would be able to help them at least seem a little more professional in that respect, and that might help with their questionable reputation.
“Yes,” the tall man said as he followed my gaze to the filing cabinets.
I had to admit, the man in front of me was exactly what I would expect a criminal enforcer to look like. And though he’d said I’d do corporate work rather than criminal, I would still need to look into the company before I could seriously entertain the offer. The proposal from Hancock, Garcia, and Smith was only ten percent more than I made at the Public Defender’s Office, but it was a prestigious law firm that I knew I could trust, and if I stuck with them, I could someday make the same amount that the company was offering. Someday.
My mother was sick now, though, and the out of pocket expenses would pile up quickly. She’d blow through what little savings she had left after paying for my law school, and then she’d have to find another way to cover the costs.
“I think I could help your company,” I said after a few agonizing moments of silence. “However, I would need to think about your offer before I can formally accept.”
“That’s reasonable,” Alvaro nodded his head once. “Though I’m sure you’d like to get out of the Public Defender’s Office and make some real money.”
“I would like to move on,” I answered. “But in an effort to be transparent, I
should let you know that I’ve recently received another offer of employment from Hancock, Garcia, and Smith.”
“Ah,” the dark-haired man said in that soft tone that still held a hint of a threat to it. “I appreciate you letting me know.”
He ran a hand over the top of his hair and then down the scruff that dotted his angular jaw, and I wondered if the prestigious law firm would be given a reason to withdraw their proposal.
“Of course,” I responded.
“I’m confident that you’ll make the right decision,” Cruz replied with a small nod.
I glanced back down at the rough contract that I held in my hand. It was more generous than I could expect from any other company despite the typos. And while there wouldn’t be anyone to help train me in corporate law, I still had my old textbooks and figured I could pick up the rest as I needed it.
“What kind of corporate work would you need help with?” I asked.
“It will vary,” the dark-eyed man replied with a smile that revealed dimples that did nothing to take away from his intimidating appearance. “Mostly paperwork. More than likely some import hoops.”
He gestured to the filing cabinets that lined the walls, and then made a rasping sound that might have been a laugh.
“You’ll need to review our current business deals to ensure that they’re written well,” he added when he finished laughing. “Make sure everything is… what’s that word? Kosher?”
“Of course,” I said.
We stared at each other for a moment, and then the cell phone on his desk started to chime. He flipped the device over, frowned, and then turned it back onto its face as he looked back up at me.
“I have other appointments that I need to get to,” Cruz announced. “Did you have any other questions that I can answer to help with your decision?”
“I think it seems fairly straightforward,” I answered, though I was sure it was anything but.
I didn’t have too much paperwork to address when I got back to the office, so I could research Fuentes Shipping for most of the afternoon, and hopefully, I would find out if their brand risk had more to do with their rough around the edges workers rather than potentially illegal imports.
