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

a snort. “If you can call it that. It’s tiny. And the glass is frosted so we can’t actually see out. But it lets in a little bit of light, I guess.”

“And the room has a toilet and sink?” I continued.

“They’re fucking disgusting,” the young man snapped and then tensed as he shot a look over to the guard.

The uniformed man had narrowed his eyes at my client’s momentary spark of defiance again, and his hand had gone back to the club at his side. When he was sure that the teen wasn’t about to yell or jump across the table, he shook his head, and his hand reluctantly left the weapon.

“They don’t clean them?” I asked as I brought Camilo’s attention back to me.

“One of the guys said they clean them once a week, if we’re lucky,” the dark-haired teen answered. “But apparently, they don’t trust us with cleaners.”

“Right,” I said as I jotted the information down. It might help Eloa’s story, and I was sure that I could use the unclean bathrooms in my appeal.

“And one of the guys takes the most noxious smelling dumps,” Camilo added.

His face twisted in disgust as he remembered the smell, and he held back a gag at the memory.

“What about the recreation areas?” I asked. “I think I saw a basketball court outside.”

“We get like twenty minutes,” the teen huffed. “And the balls are barely inflated so we can’t play a real game.”

“Okay,” I mumbled.

My pen didn’t want to write so I shook it out and then banged it on the table. The noise echoed along the walls, and I glanced up to give everyone an apologetic smile.

“Keep the noise down,” the wiry guard warned before he checked his watch. “You have thirteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” I replied with a wave that only received an eye roll.

“You shouldn’t draw attention to yourself,” Camilo whispered, his eyes were wide with panic, and his hands were curled into fists on the table.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “How are the guards treating you?”

“They’re fucking brutes,” the dark-haired teen snarled. “That jackass over there likes to knock us in the back or shove us into walls. But it’s never hard enough for them to leave bruises. Some of the older guys say that if you get out of line they’ll throw you in solitary for months and won’t let anyone visit. Not even lawyers.”

“Have they hurt you?” I asked, and every muscle in my body tensed as I fought the urge to scream at the guard.

It wouldn ‘t do any good, and it would definitely bring unwanted attention to my client. He needed to keep a low profile, so I had to keep my mouth shut, at least until I could have him released.

“No,” Camilo shook his head, and I forced myself out of my dark thoughts. “But I haven’t been here long.”

“Right,” I nodded my head. “Have you been to school in the last two days? Or do they offer some form of classes so you can stay caught up?”

“Ha,” the teen snorted. “They just leave us in our rooms all day. We get to go out for our meals and for the twenty minutes of fresh air.”

He perked up a little bit as he complained, though it was still much more subdued than he had been before, and he didn’t use his hands at all while he spoke.

“What’s the food like?” I asked.

My pen had finally started to work again, and I began to write down a few questions I wanted answered. I didn’t know much about juvie center regulations, but I did know that they should have no more than two people in a cell, and it was customary for the teens to continue with their lessons in some way.

“Canned garbage,” Camilo grumbled. “It’s all this disgusting gray goo. And the rolls they give us are as hard as rocks. I think the one they gave me last night had mold.”

“You’re sure?” I questioned as I looked up from my notepad.

“I mean it was white fuzz on bread, so yeah,” the dark-haired teen said with a roll of his eyes.

“Was any of the other food out of date?” I continued.

“Who the fuck knows?” the young man lifted one shoulder.

The movement made him wince, and I lifted an eyebrow at him as I waited for an explanation. He gave me another shrug, though this time he managed to hide the pain in his shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” I asked when my client didn’t explain.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Just slept wrong. Those stupid thin mattresses are terrible. It feels like I’m on a torture device.”

“No one hit you?” I confirmed.

If my client was attacked, then I would have everything I needed for my appeal, though I would have to face his father’s wrath. Osvaldo would have me killed slowly if his son was beaten or hurt during his stay at Everson Juvenile Detention Center.

“I told you they hadn’t,” Camilo grumbled.

“You said the guards hadn’t,” I countered. “That doesn’t mean that the other boys hadn’t tried anything.”

“The beds just fucking suck,” the teen insisted as he shifted in his seat.

“Alright,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed him. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Not really,” the young man muttered.

I checked my phone and saw that I had about eight minutes left before the guard took Camilo back to his cell. We still had a lot to talk about, though, and I wanted to cover as much ground as I could. I wanted to make sure I had enough to give to Eloa so she had something to work with at our next meeting, as well as bolstering my appeal.

“If anyone hits you, you let me know right away,” I told my client with