by Dave Daren
The afternoon traffic had thinned out by the time I joined the fray, and I debated whether I should drive to see my mother or head back to my apartment to finish my work. It was a hard choice, but my own home won out after I thought I spotted one of Osvaldo’s goons behind me. My mother would have to make do with a phone call for the moment.
“Mi hijo,” my mother answered almost immediately. “How was court today?”
“It was good,” I told her as some of the tension in my shoulders released. “How are you? Are you resting?”
“Yes, mi hijo,” the Cuban woman said with a sigh. “The nurse is here. She brought me those adult coloring books.”
“That sounds relaxing,” I said as I fought a smile.
“Grown adults should not be playing with colored pencils unless it’s their job,” my ama huffed.
“Consider this your job for now,” I told her. “It’s your goal to relax.”
“Alright, alright,” she grumbled. “Mi hijo, I’m going to go take a nap. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sleep well, mama,” I said before she hung up.
I made a mental note to look into different types of adult coloring books as I turned down my street. I didn’t see the familiar shiny black car of Osvaldo’s men alongside the curb, and I was grateful for the small reprieve as I parked and climbed out of my car.
The climb to my apartment was quick as I took the steps two at a time, and I was breathing hard when I stepped into the small hallway of my home. I tossed my briefcase onto my couch, pulled up my favorite crime drama on Netflix, and then stretched as I took another deep breath in. I changed into some workout shorts and an AC/DC t-shirt, my go-to clothes for research days, stuffed my wallet into my pocket, and slid on some flip-flops.
There was a market down the street that I’d meant to visit for the last few days, and I still needed creamer. I walked fast to avoid being in the sun any longer than absolutely necessary and then headed straight to the refrigerated section of the small market. I picked up the caramel macchiato creamer, grabbed a new bag of Fritos and a few other snacks, and made my way to the counter. The woman who rang me up barely even glanced in my direction as she tossed everything in a plastic bag and waited for me to type in the PIN for my bank card.
As soon as I was back home, I brewed a strong pot of coffee, plopped down on the couch with my Fritos next to me, and hit play on Netflix. I balanced my laptop on my criss-crossed legs as I brought up the great and powerful Google, then lost myself in the world of Miami’s elite.
A quick search for Anthony Evans showed that he was the son of one of the more prominent families in Miami. It wasn’t his first brush with the law, and a previous arrest for streaking at the mall had received a good deal of coverage for a few days. I found another report of an arrest for driving without a license, though that story was quickly buried. His smirk graced the covers of a few news articles about teen socialites, and I recognized his school as the same one that Camillo attended.
His family was a staple in Miami, and their business was successful enough that they could give freely to whichever charity or politician caught their fancy. Their company was in distribution, just like my employer, though it was hard to find anything concrete about what they bought and sold.
I was a few links deep in the company’s website when I finally found the family’s link to the judge. One of the charities supported by the company and the family was teaching the kids at the Everson Juvenile Detention Center to make blankets and trinkets. The Evans family then distributed them at a high markup. Their website promised that a portion of the profits went to help the young delinquents learn a new skill so that they could become more productive members of society.
I wasn’t clear on how blanket making skills could make a teenager more productive, and nothing on the site indicated how that worked. But at least I had a connection and a possible explanation for the fifty hours sentence. Now that I knew what to look for, I turned my attention to the leads that Eloa had provided me the night before. They were promising, and I began to take more of my messy notes with lines and circles that reminded me of a conspiracy theorist’s chaotic board.
The smell of coffee brought me out of my research, and I grinned as I remembered I’d brewed an entire pot. I had started to get tired, but the strong liquid was exactly what I needed, especially once I’d added a generous amount of caramel macchiato creamer.
I had just eased down onto the couch and set my mug on the coffee table in front of me when a text came in from Eloa. I debated whether I should ignore it since I’d built up momentum, but I was already on a break, and a few more moments wouldn’t hurt.
She asked if we could meet for dinner in an hour at a steakhouse near the edge of the city. She promised that there would be no drinks, and I smiled at the adamant reassurance that she wouldn’t have anything with alcohol.
I ran a hand through my hair as I debated whether I wanted to go or not. I had made some headway with the leads, though I needed to reorganize my notes, and I still hadn’t found enough to prove without a doubt that the judge had received money from the Everson Juvenile Detention Center through the super PACs.
With a sigh, I picked up my phone and texted her that I could be there, but that I’d need two hours. I needed to shower, change, and shave before I could start the long drive out to the restaurant. I didn’t have to wait long for her response as she quickly agreed to the change of time and said she looked forward to dinner.
I set my phone aside and then looked around me. I needed to put away the Fritos, finish my coffee, and organize my notes before I could get ready. I wanted to continue with my research, but two heads would be better than one, and I was sure that the Brazillian bombshell would have new information about the Everson Juvenile Detention Center.
The terrible facility would be taken down, and I would get Camilo out of there.
Chapter 15
“Yo, where you headed?” the young goon outside of my apartment asked as I walked into the evening air.
He leaned against the hood of his black car with a bottle of water in one hand and a book in the other as he stared over at me. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, and there was a pack of cigarettes behind him on the hood of the car.
“Dinner,” I responded while I unlocked the door to my car.
I’d showered and changed into dark wash jeans, a light-blue button-up, and my black suit jacket. It had taken me half an hour to pick the outfit since I didn’t know what I was going to do about Eloa, but I eventually decided on business casual.
“Where at?” he asked as he tossed his book through the open driver’s side window of his car and into the passenger seat.
“A steakhouse,” I said with a glance back at the young man. “I’m going to meet Eloa.”
“That hot reporter?” he questioned with a smirk.
“Yes,” I huffed. “Are you going to be joining us?”
“Nah,” he chuckled. “I’ve got some stuff to do. Have fun.”
“You, too,” I said before I slid into my car and cranked the engine.
My shoulders released a little tension, and my smile spread a few inches as I realized that I wouldn’t have an escort. I was sure that the brilliant reporter would notice that a black car followed me everywhere if it kept turning up wherever I was, and I didn’t feel like explaining who my boss was just yet.
Icy tendrils of air pushed the heat back as I pulled out into traffic. It was the tail-end of rush hour so I made it to the highway in record time, and soon I was speeding down the road on my way to the steakhouse with my favorite rock station as a soundtrack to my drive.
The sun had begun to sink behind the tall pine trees that lined the road to my left. Golden light poured between the branches to glisten on the asphalt and make it look like there were diamonds scattered across the black surface. The sky above was painted in the pale purples and dusty rose of a perfect Miami sunset while the sky ahead of me was a pale blue with fluffy w
hite clouds that drifted into new shapes as I watched.
I took the exit to the restaurant and followed my GPS to the end of a small road. The restaurant was situated on a tributary that flowed slowly past the building, and a wraparound porch provided those waiting for a seat with a perfect view. Floor-to-ceiling windows let those inside the restaurant enjoy the beautiful wetlands that came right up to the cabin-like building.
There weren’t many parking spots left since the dinner rush was in full swing, but I managed to find a place as another car pulled out. I parked and climbed out into the last rays of daylight. I could already smell the garlic, butter, and fresh-baked rolls as I walked toward the double-door entryway, and I was still some distance away from the door. My stomach rumbled, and I felt myself start to trot across the lot.
“Good evening,” the host said with a bright smile as I walked in.
He was in his early twenties with dark-brown hair and hazel eyes. His uniform was a black button-up and slacks, and an earpiece in his left ear that he used to talk to the wait staff. He had an iPad in his hands as he looked at me, and his fingers hovered over the screen as he waited for my name.
“Good evening,” I said with a grin as I stopped at his podium. “I’m meeting Eloa Kimura.”
“Okay,” he said as he nodded and picked up his iPad. “Here she is. She’ll be by the porch. Give me just a moment, and I’ll find someone to take you to her.”
“Sure,” I responded as I stepped off to the side while he talked to someone in his earpiece.
Behind the host’s podium, the restaurant opened up into one vast room that glittered in the natural light that poured in through the wall of windows.. Long bulbous lanterns hung over each of the circular tables as well, and as the sun set, their softer light started to fill the room. Pristine white linen tablecloths added to the bright atmosphere, and I tried not to read too much into the fact that most of the tables were occupied by couples.
“Hello,” a young waitress said a few seconds after I had moved away from the podium. “I’m here to take you to your table.”
The woman had long brown hair that she’d pulled into a ponytail that swung behind her. It was long enough that it brushed against the small of her back, and drew my attention down to the swell of her butt. She weaved through the tables toward the wall of windows where Eloa sat like a goddess on a throne.
The Brazilian bombshell was bathed in the string lights from the porch. She was dressed in a black off-the-shoulder dress that hugged her ample curves, tan platform shoes that wrapped around her muscular calves, and long earrings that accentuated her swan-like neck. She practically glowed when she turned her honey-brown eyes toward me, and I took a deep breath while I wiped my suddenly sweaty hands on my pants.
“Rob,” Eloa grinned as she looked up at me and straightened the hem of her dress, an act which drew my attention to her golden thighs. “You look nice.”
“So do you,” I said with a smile as I took the chair opposite of her.
“What can I get for you to drink?” the waitress asked us once I’d taken my seat.
“I’ll take a water with lemon,” Eloa said with a bright smile.
“And for you, sir?” the young woman asked as she turned to me.
“Oh,” I looked down at the menu in front of me as my mind went blank. “I’ll take a water with lemon. Thank you.”
“Have you eaten here before?” she asked with a small smile as her attention swiveled back toward the beautiful reporter
“I have,” the Brazillian bombshell replied.
“Perfect,” our server responded. “What would you like?”
“The filet mignon,” the beautiful woman across from me said. “Medium. The mashed potatoes do look good. And the steamed broccoli.”
“And for you, sir?” the preppy waitress asked.
“What do you suggest?” I asked as I frowned at the menu and tried to pick which of the delicious options I wanted.
“I think the Delmonico is the best,” the waitress responded. “With the mashed potatoes.”
“Then I’ll take that,” I said, relieved that I didn’t have to make a choice since everything looked fantastic.. “Medium-rare. And I’ll take the… salad with Italian dressing.”
“Great,” our waitress said while she bobbed her head. “I’ll have that out for you as soon as possible.”
The young woman gathered our menus, spun on her heels, and rushed off to put in our order. Her ponytail swung behind her as she dodged around the other wait staff, and soon she had disappeared into the kitchen.
“So how are things going?” Eloa asked as I turned my attention back to her.
She had her hands clasped on the table in front of her, and there was a slight blush on her cheeks. She seemed nervous as she looked at me, and as I glanced around at the other couples, I suspected that she had meant our dinner to be more date than work.
I still hadn’t decided what I would do regarding the kiss, or my attraction to her, but it would have to wait until after I’d freed Camilo from the awful juvie center and taken down the corrupt Judge Travis Williams.
“My research has been good,” I said as I took a deep breath in and prepared to launch into what I’d found. “I went through some of your leads. The facility has been funding political parties for years through various Super PACs. We should include that when we take them to court. We’ll have to prove that they use the donations as bribes, and that they haven’t been using their funds to actually take care of the kids in their care.”
“Oh,” she said with a small sigh as she tucked her hair behind one ear and looked down. “I meant personally… but I guess we can get right to it.”
She turned in her chair so that she could easily reach into her messenger bag. She flipped open the flap of the bag and then tugged out a file. The movement pulled on her dress, and my mouth went dry as my eyes ran over the curve of her breasts.
“Your drinks,” the waitress said as she popped back by with two glasses of water.
“Thanks,” I said with a bright smile at the woman and her perfect timing.
“Not a problem,” the server replied. “Your dinner should be out in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” Eloa grinned before she took a sip of her drink and set it down. “Here’s the new information I’ve gained on the Everson Juvenile Detention Center’s finances.”
The gorgeous reporter handed me the file, and I started to look through the new data. There were the usual expenditures for things like food, maintenance, and utility bills. The numbers seemed to be right on the surface, but I was sure that a little digging would reveal that some of the companies were not on the up and up.
Some of the information I already had, like the large donations the facility made to the Super PACs and the sale of products to the Evans family. I was happy that it all confirmed the research I’d done on my own. I would need to review the new data once I was back home, though I still wanted to talk to Eloa about it and get her opinion.
“Your dinner,” the waitress said as she came by with the large serving tray that I’d seen earlier.
“Thanks,” I said with a grin as she set my plate down in front of me. “Wow, that looks delicious.”
The steak had a beautiful sear, and a dollop of herbed butter dripped down onto the plate to mix with the swirl of creamy mashed potatoes. The romaine lettuce was crisp, and the rolls that the server set in the middle of the table were a perfect, fluffy golden brown.
“I hope you like it,” the young waitress grinned. “Here’s your filet. It looks amazing.”
“It does,” Eloa grinned as she watched her plate’s descent onto the table. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course,” the young woman said with a bob of her head that sent her ponytail swinging behind her. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes. Unless there’s something else you need?”
“I think I’m okay,” I replied while I looked over the delicious meal in front of me.
> “I’m good, too,” the reporter across from me said with one of her thousand kilowatt smiles.
“Great,” the server said before she spun around again to go check on one of her other tables.
“So, some of the financials will go to prove what we’ve already discovered when we take the case to the DA,” I said while I cut into my steak.
It was a perfect medium-rare with just the right amount of red, and as I sliced into it, the juices pooled underneath it.
“Good,” the Brazilian bombshell replied and then took a bite of her steamed broccoli.
She chewed slowly like she was processing what she wanted to say, and once she’d washed the vegetables down with her water, she pursed her lips together.
“We still need to show that Everson isn’t treating the teens right,” she continued. “I was thinking that their financials would prove that they weren’t spending enough on food or clothing, but it all seems pretty legit.”
“Did you get a chance to look into any of the companies that they buy from?” I asked before I stuffed my first bite of steak into my mouth.
It practically melted on my tongue as the juices and butter mixed together with the hearty meat, and I had to suppress a groan.
“Not all of them,” Eloa responded with a shy smile. “I’d hoped we could do that together.”
“We can set up another meeting tomorrow morning if you have time,” I told her. “Do you have another copy of this file?”
“Of course,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes. “What kind of reporter would I be if I didn’t have backups? But tomorrow morning I have work. What about tomorrow afternoon? Or even tonight?”
“I have a court hearing tomorrow at ten a.m.,” I said.
“Right,” the reporter said with a nod, and I couldn’t help but notice the slight pout of her lips before she took a bite of her filet mignon. “What about the day after? We can meet for dinner at your place while we get everything in order for the DA and for my story.”
