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

into my mouth they were chewy rather than crunchy. But they still had that salt and corn taste to them so it wasn’t completely disappointing, even if the texture made me cringe all the way to my soul.

After I managed to swallow the bite I had in my mouth, I tossed the bag next to my laptop and snatched up my cell phone instead. I logged into the delivery app and started to search through what they had to offer. After a short internal debate, I decided on a chimichanga, queso, and chips from my favorite Mexican restaurant.

The app informed me that the food would be there in twenty minutes, which wasn’t enough time to really delve into more research, but I could call my mother and check in with her. I muted the TV and then stood so I could pace while I talked to my mama.

“Mi hijo,” the Cuban matriarch said in a sleepy voice. “Is everything okay? How did court go today?”

“It could’ve been better,” I told her, and a shiver ran up my spine as I remembered the scowl on Osvaldo’s face. “But I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will,” she replied.

She grunted, and I heard the creak of her mattress as she climbed out of bed. Her shuffling footsteps filled the silence that followed a large yawn. She had worked a short shift earlier in the day, against heavy protests from myself and her best friend, and I knew she had to be exhausted.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” I said as I swallowed the queasiness that surfaced when I thought about her upcoming treatments.

“No, no,” the Cuban mama protested. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Food is on its way,” I responded.

“Not more of that fast food,” she scolded, and the last traces of sleepiness fell away from her voice as she focused on my health instead of her own. “Mi hijo, that is not good for you. They put too much salt and fat. You’ll have a heart attack like your Tio.”

“He was in his forties when that happened,” I reminded her while I continued to pace my tiny studio apartment. “And I work out.”

“How many meals have you eaten out this week?” she asked, and I could almost picture her hands on her hips as she glared toward my apartment.

“I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow,” I promised.

If I didn’t have Camilo released soon, though, it wouldn’t matter if I had fresh food in the fridge or not. I’d be dinner myself for some alligator or massive python in the Everglades.

“I can go for you,” my mother said as she brought me out of my dark thoughts.

“I can shop for my own food,” I said.

“Yes, but you’ll get all the wrong things,” she huffed. “All you’ll have is that sweet creamer and protein bars.”

“I don’t have a lot of time to cook,” I reminded her.

“Fine,” the Cuban mama countered, and I realized that I’d walked right into her trap. “Then I’ll cook you some meals and bring them over for your freezer.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but if she didn’t prep my food for the next few weeks, then she’d just clean her house from top to bottom as she worried about her treatments and money.

“Alright,” I sighed. “But don’t make too much, please. I plan to come visit you on the weekends.”

“Okay,” my mother conceded with barely contained excitement. “I’ll just make some arroz con pollo. Maybe some plantains.”

“That sounds fantastic,” I responded.

“Of course it does,” she preened.

The doorbell rang, and I paused mid-step to stare at the door as I wondered if Osvaldo had changed his mind and sent Alvaro. When the chime echoed through the room again I remembered that I had food on the way, and shook myself out of my momentary panic.

“My dinner is here,” I said as I walked toward my door.

“Okay, mi hijo,” my mother said. “I’ll talk to you later. Make sure you get some sleep.”

“You too,” I replied before I ended the call and stuffed my cell phone into the pocket of my workout shorts.

The delivery man had AirPods in his ears which he didn’t even bother to remove as he handed me the food. He bobbed his head the entire time and then went on his way without a word while the smell of tortilla chips and chimichanga filled the air around me.

I trotted over to the couch with a smile on my face as I thought about stuffing myself with the delicious Tex-Mex. My stomach growled as I sat down on the old leather couch and ripped open the tightly tied plastic bag to pull out the styrofoam containers that held my dinner. The chips were freshly fried, the salsa had perfect chunks of tomatoes, onion, and jalapenos, and my chimichanga was still crispy. It was enough to make a grown man swoon, especially one that hadn’t eaten a real meal for most of the day.

I slurped and moaned with each perfect bite of seasoned beef, cool sour cream, and tart onion. Too soon, I’d devoured everything down to the last bit of cilantro. I leaned back on my couch with my hand over my stomach as I watched the last few minutes of the episode that was on, and then cleaned up the containers, plastic bags, and the stale bag of Fritos.

I tossed everything into the trash, and even though the bin was almost empty, I still crushed the styrofoam boxes to make sure it would last a few more days. Though if I kept up my current schedule, it would probably be at least another week before I needed to make a run to the trash chute.

The rest of my apartment was spotless, the laundry was done, and I’d dusted when I’d come home the day before. Cleaning