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

than speculation based on his Cuban background, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for that. And, more importantly, once I signed the contract, I would have enough money to look after my mama. So I signed the page in front of me with a flourish and set the pen back on the desk.

“Perfect,” my new boss nodded as he slid the papers into a file that he put in his drawer.

He retrieved two other folders from his desk and then handed them across the desk to me.

“Here are your first two matters for Fuentes Shipping,” the scarred man said with his usual scowl. “They have court dates pending already. I expect you to represent them like they were me.”

“Yes, sir,” I said as I took the files.

“I’ll be checking in,” the muscular man said and then waved his hand to dismiss me. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Chapter 5

“See you later,” Alvaro said as he strolled past me on his way into the warehouse.

I had just pulled open my car door, and I had somehow missed the giant man’s approach. He moved like a shadow across the parking lot, and the pure black suit he wore only added to the effect. I noticed that he still wore half of his dark, wavy hair down and the other half up in a bun.

“Have a good day!” I managed to call out as I regained my composure.

He just held up a hand and gave a quick wave before he disappeared inside.

I slid into the driver’s seat, placed the two new case files on my passenger seat, and then cranked the engine. It sputtered a few times before it caught, but soon enough it settled into a steady purr, and the AC pushed back against the swampy heat of a Florida afternoon.

The drive to the Public Defender’s Office was quick since I managed to miss the bulk of traffic, and far too soon I was back in my tiny cubicle with its bare walls and uncomfortable office chair. As I fiddled with the seat position for the millionth time, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, and I looked around the small area where I’d spent the first few years of my career.

I let myself enjoy the view for a moment, and then I shook my head to bring myself out of the past. There was too much to do to reminisce just yet. I needed to turn in my resignation, check on Rick, and review the two cases that my new boss had given me. I decided to start with the two files that Osvaldo Fuentes had given me since I knew nothing about the cases, and then I’d work from there.

The first was relatively thin and belonged to a teenager. The young man had just begun his life of crime so his rap sheet was short and mostly consisted of curfew violations. His current charge was for possession of an illegal substance. He’d been found with a few grams of cocaine, and though it wasn’t enough to charge him with intent to sell, the prosecutor assigned to his case was known to go for the maximum sentence if there were drugs involved. He would fight me every step of the way, but I was sure I could get the kid community service and a fine since it was his first substance crime.

The second file was thicker than the first, and the client was an older man charged with assault as a result of a bar fight. He had a rap sheet that would put Diego Perez’s to shame, though he did have a few years on my earlier client. Unlike Diego, though, this client’s history was mostly assaults, and I knew I would have a hard time convincing any judge that my client had somehow mended his ways.

So I took my time with the second case as I read through each of the previous assault cases in his record and the time that he’d received for those. The man was nothing if not consistent, I soon realized. Most of his old charges were remarkably similar to his current case where he was accused of breaking the nose of a bar patron during a fight that had broken out over a football game.

I made a note to look into the other people who were charged, and if he was the only one that had been arrested. I could use that as leverage to have his case thrown out even with his previous record. There wasn’t a complaint from the bartender or the man whose nose he had broken, and that would be a big point in my favor if we made it to the courtroom.

Once I had a plan for my two newest cases I called my last client for the Public Defender’s Office.

“Yo’, law man!” Rick greeted me as he picked up.

“Mr. Smith,” I responded. “Just checking in. You’re staying out of trouble?”

“Fo’ sure,” the young thief replied, and I could almost picture him bobbing his head as he talked.

“Good,” I said. “Don’t forget that your court date is this Friday at 9:00 a.m.. You should be in clean, pressed slacks and a button-up.”

I’d learned early in my career that if I didn’t specify that the clothes should be clean, my clients would often show up in borrowed slacks and a button-up that was wrinkled as if it had been pulled directly from someone’s laundry hamper.

“Right, right, right,” my client said. “Fo’ sure. I’ll be there.”

“In a clean, pressed, button-up and slacks,” I reiterated.

“Yeah, yeah, I got you,” the junior criminal replied. “You need anything else?”

“No,” I said with a sigh as I heard his friends shout in the background.

“A’ight, tight, talk to you lata’,” Rick said before he hung up.

I shook my head and put the phone down, since the less I