The Cartel Lawyer by Dave Daren (ebook reader below 3000 TXT) 📕

off. “Mr. Fuentes has provided several signs to warn of the steep fall, and the poles and edges have yellow reflective paint. All of this is in accordance with OSHA regulations. In fact, the Fuentes Shipping company has gone above and beyond with this concrete grip tape and reflective stripe for night time use. You’ll also note the slippery when wet sign, the bell that warns employees when a container is being moved, and the raised concrete bumps by the steps to warn workers when they’re nearing the stairs.”

“Well,” the thin man sputtered. “That’s true, but--”

“But nothing,” I interrupted with a smile. “You have the information you need. Your inspection should be complete. We thank you for your time and your concern.”

Watkins glared at me, but the evidence was indisputable. Fuentes had met or exceeded every safety requirement in the area where the accident had happened. If Watkins was smart, he’d ask just how long all of the safety items had been there. After all, there wasn’t a scuff in the paint, and one of the signs didn’t have any dirt on it yet. But Watkins wasn’t quite that clever, which is probably why he’d agreed to do some snooping for the FBI while he was here instead of telling them to buzz off like most OSHA inspectors would do.

“I need pictures for my report,” he muttered as he patted his pockets again.

“Of course,” I said graciously. “Would you like to use my phone? Since you can’t seem to find yours?”

He scowled again, but he eventually pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos. I stood behind him while he worked and made sure that the photos he took were of the unloading area in question and nothing else.

“Well, that should do it,” I said as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“I’ll file my conclusions by the end of the day,” he sniffed.

“That would be satisfactory,” I replied.

I smiled, Fuentes grimaced, and Alvaro studied the sky. Watkins watched us all for another moment, and then he started to walk back toward his car without saying another word.

“Alvaro,” the company president said. “Why don’t you see Mr. Watkins back to his car? We wouldn’t want him to have an accident.”

“Yes, sir,” the giant man said with a smirk.

The small blue-eyed man had only made it a few steps away from us when Fuentes’ suggestion boomed across the area. The inspector stopped and turned around, but after one look at Alvaro’s face, he waved away the suggested escort and hurried to his Ford.

But Alvaro had an order from the boss, so he followed anyway. His long legs easily kept pace with the shorter man, and Watkins was practically running when he reached his car and jammed the key in the lock.

“Let’s go take care of the paperwork, jipato,” Osvaldo said with a pat on my shoulder that almost sent me into the pavement.

“Yes, sir,” I responded once I could breathe again.

We walked slowly back to the main warehouse, past a group of men who were taking a break. Most were drinking bottled water, and I also saw a bag of Cheese Puffs being passed around. I thought Osvaldo would yell at the men, but he held his hand out for the bag and took a couple of the puffed treats before offering some to me. The men all greeted him with respect, and he gave each of them a solemn nod as he continued on his way.

The office he led us to was in between Alvaro’s and the conference room. It had the same gray walls, thin black and gray carpet, and the massive windows that overlooked the docks and ships below. But that’s where the similarities ended. The desk was made of solid oak that had been carved with an intricate swirling pattern that suggested waves or maybe seashells. Instead of a leather office chair, there was a dark red leather wing chair with sweeping curves positioned behind the desk. There were also two guest chairs made of the same leather, but they were more ordinary-looking than Osvaldo’s throne.

“Sit, sit, jipato,” the president said as he eased down into his own chair.

“Yes, sir,” I said with a nod as I took the chair on the left.

“I have your contract here,” the Cuban man said while he pulled a file out from his desk drawer. “But we do need to clarify what your full-time start day will be. And what your retainer is.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I will need at least two weeks before I can start full-time with you. I have my resignation letter to the Public Defender’s Office typed, but I haven’t submitted it yet.”

“Of course,” Osvaldo nodded. “But I will expect you to be available, and to make us a priority, if we need you before that date.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“So two weeks from today,” the company president said as he took out a pen and jotted the date down on my paperwork. “Our last lawyer had a four-thousand dollar retainer.”

“That’s... very fair,” I responded.

The retainer was a bit higher than I had expected, and I had only planned to ask for three-thousand. But the extra thousand would help me as I branched out on my own. I would eventually need an office and a paralegal, though those could wait until I knew how much work the Fuentes Shipping Company would give me.

“Good,” the beefy man said as he brought me back from my thoughts about office spaces and interviews. “Then all this needs is your signature.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied while I took the papers and the pen he offered me.

I hesitated for a moment as I considered what I was about to do. I hadn’t seen anything that could tie them definitively to the cartel. In fact, everything I’d read seemed to be little more