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

He used the circular handcuff ring on the top of the table to keep himself braced. He slowly pulled his eyes away from his reflection in the two-way mirror behind the policeman when we entered, and eased himself forward until the chair was balanced on all four legs.

“Oh, hey, dad,” the boy said with a smirk. “Took you long enough.”

“Shut it,” the frustrated father growled.

“Hello,” I greeted the policeman as he stood. “I’m Rob Torres, Mr. Fuentes’ attorney.”

“Hello,” the man responded as his eyes darted between all of us and then settled on me as the least threatening adult. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to talk to my son in private,” my employer answered. “Get out.”

“Would you mind letting me speak to my client?” I asked quickly when the officer started to frown. “Without the cameras or listening devices. Though I’m sure you knew that.”

The man’s fear melted away after Osvaldo snapped at him, and his shoulders were tense with anger as he focused his attention on me. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t risk losing the case before we’d even made it before a judge by not letting me speak to my client.

“Sure,” the officer finally said through gritted teeth.

He gave Alvaro and the boss a wide berth as he left the room with his hands in his pockets, but his head was held high.

I shut the door behind him and then turned my eyes toward the camera in the top corner of the room as I waited for the little red dot to blink out. When the video device was turned off, I gave Osvaldo a small nod and watched as the burly man stomped over and threw himself into the recently vacated chair across the table from his son.

“So,” I started as I focused on Camilo. “What happened?”

“I went for a stroll in the Everglades,” the teenage boy answered with a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t get smart,” Osvaldo snapped.

“Can’t help it,” the young man shrugged.

“Get your feet off the table,” his father said as he slapped his son’s shoes. “Answer Rob’s question.”

“Rob?” the dark-haired youth laughed. “That’s perfect.”

Alvaro let out the smallest sigh from behind me before he moved to become one with the shadows near the door. He had his hands in his pockets, and he leaned against one of the walls. He looked deceptively relaxed, but if anyone burst in he was in the perfect position to strike with his long limbs.

“Don’t be a smartass,” my new employer said as he tapped his fingers on the metal table.

His rolex glinted in the fluorescent lighting of the police station, but it was the only thing about him that still looked perfect, I realized. His suit had a few wrinkles, and purple bags had started to form under his eyes from the lack of sleep.

“Another thing I inherited from you,” the teen retorted as he pulled his feet down and sat up straight.

“What brings us here in the middle of the night?” I asked before the two could continue their back and forth.

“It was just a bit of fun,” Camilo shrugged.

“Okay,” I said with a reassuring smile.

It was always a pain to pry information from a teenager, especially when they were in trouble with the law, and I braced myself for a long struggle as I tried to figure out what my client’s son had done. I ran a hand through my hair as I looked around for a chair that wasn’t there.

“You’re just gonna have to stand,” the teen sneered when he saw me glance around.

“Then let’s make this quick,” I countered. “What kind of fun were you having when you got picked up?”

“I was at work, obviously,” the dark-haired young man said with a gesture to his button-up and slacks.

“Where is that?” I asked as I fought back a yawn.

I fished my phone out of my pocket and then pulled up my favorite note taking app. It was a lifesaver when I didn’t have pen or paper available, especially when I was so exhausted.

“Cocina Cubana de Miami,” Osvaldo answered for his son.

“Okay,” I wrote down the name of the familiar restaurant.

It was a staple of Miami’s higher end restaurants, so I rarely went on my public defender salary, but a few of the prosecutors I met with outside of work had insisted we eat there once. It was delicious, almost as good as my mother’s food, though it was a little more sophisticated than what she made. It had a price tag to match that sophistication, and that was after I’d ordered the least expensive item on the menu.

“I’m a busboy,” the younger Cuban man said with a shrug. “Dad here thinks it’ll build character.”

The teen rolled his eyes as if his father was ridiculous.

“That makes sense,” I nodded. “So how did you end up here?”

“Well,” Camilo grinned at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “My buddy found a really nice car. A Lamborghini Aventador. Bright red. Brand new.”

“He found it?” I asked as I lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Technically, someone gave him the keys,” the dark-haired teen responded.

“A valet, then,” I muttered while I took note. “At the restaurant?”

“Yeah,”the teen said with a twinge of irritation that I hadn’t taken the bait and asked why someone would’ve given his friends the keys to such an expensive car.

“Where’s this friend now?” Osvaldo questioned.

His scowl was terrifying, even in the safety of the police station, and the poor lighting cast shadows on his scar to make him look twice as threatening as he leaned forward in his seat.

“Shit, do I look like a fortune teller?” the teen retorted, and I was surprised that his father didn’t lunge across the table at him.

“Was he brought