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

well, I wasn’t quite ready to share his name or my suspicions about the size of his retirement account.

First, though, I needed to go see my client and the Everson Juvenile Detention Center for myself. He’d been there almost two days already, and he was due for a visit from his lawyer, so I hoped that they wouldn’t turn me away when I showed up without an appointment.

The last of my cold brew was mostly the sweet cold foam that topped the caffeinated beverage, and I shook my head at the unexpected sugar rush. I stood, tossed the empty cup into the nearby trash, and then shrugged on my suit jacket before I grabbed my briefcase.

“Where are you going?” the black-haired woman asked as I passed her table.

She leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, and had a smirk on her black painted lips.

“Everson’s,” I replied.

“About time,” she said. “Who was the broad?”

“A journalist for the Miami Herald,” I said with a sigh as I ran my free hand through my hair. “She’s trying to shut down the facility Camilo is in. Her information can help me have him released.”

“Not sure the boss’ll like you talking to a reporter,” she told me as she lifted one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

“He will if it’ll get his son out faster,” I responded. “See you around.”

I nodded to her and then waved to the blue-haired barista as I walked out to my car. I had a job to do, and Osvaldo’s constant threats were a stress I didn’t need, though they did add a bit of urgency to my work.

The car hadn’t gotten too hot yet thanks to the shade from the building, but I still turned the AC all the way up as I set my GPS to the center’s address. It was about thirty minutes outside of the city center, close enough that it wouldn’t raise suspicion if a judge sentenced someone there, but far enough that they probably wouldn’t have many visitors.

Traffic was light once I merged onto the highway, and it felt like barely any time at all had passed before the tall metal chain link fence came into view. I followed the fence line along the road until I reached the main entrance. There was a large wooden sign reminiscent of National Park signs that identified the place as the Everson Detention Center. It looked almost pleasant, except for the shiny barbed wire. As I pulled up to the guardhouse I saw a smaller sign that advised me to avoid touching the fence since it was electrified.

It reminded me of the fence at Fuentes Shipping, though the uniformed guard was less welcoming. He was a dark-skinned man with short-cropped hair and a scowl that would make Osvaldo proud in its intensity.

“This is a private facility,” the guard snapped when I rolled down my window.

“I’m here to see my client,” I said with a smile as I pulled out my wallet for my ID.

“Name?” the man asked as he snatched my driver’s license.

“His name is Camilo Fuentes,” I responded. “Mine, as you can see, is Roberto Torres.”

“Mmhmm,” the guard grumbled. “I have to call down.”

“Of course,” I said with a nod.

The man picked up the phone to call down to the main facility while I looked around the outside of the center. There was a basketball court to the left with another fence around it, and a few benches for those who wanted to watch. The main building was a single level, but there was a four-story structure behind it that had to be the sleeping quarters. There was a parking lot out front with a few cars, enough to account for the other guards and administrators but not many visitors.

“Alright,” the uniformed man huffed as he passed the driver’s license back to me. “You have twenty minutes. Follow the signs to the meeting room.”

“Sure, thanks,” I said with a smile that I didn’t feel.

I pulled through the gate and parked close to the front doors. I was greeted by another guard as I walked up the steps who looked even less friendly than the man at the gate. He carried a metal detector wand in his hand, and I gave him a puzzled expression.

“Have to make sure you don’t have a weapon,” the guard huffed.

“Of course,” I said as I held up my arms so that he could wave the stick over me.

“Your client will be out in a minute,” the man muttered. “Right through that door.”

“Thanks,” I said as I squeezed by the man.

The door he had pointed to was to the left, and it was propped open with a brick. It seemed a bit low tech for a detention facility, but I didn’t think he would appreciate my commentary.

When I walked inside, I was met by rows of long gray tables with attached metal benches, and I suddenly felt like I was back in school. It was exactly like my old high school cafeteria, right down to the glum faces of the few teens that were scattered around the large square room with their lawyers or family members.

I didn’t have to wait long for the guards to bring in Camilo, though when I saw him I almost didn’t recognize him. He barely looked like the same kid. He was pale, and it looked like he hadn’t slept for the entire two days that he’d been there. His shoulders were slumped in on themselves, and his face lacked his usual haughty smirk.

He didn’t even glance up when the guard pressed on his shoulder to sit, and the normally feisty teen plopped down on the bench without a word. When the guard didn’t step back right away, I gave him an angry glare, and after giving my client a scowl, the guard backed away to