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

a glance toward the wiry guard that I was very sure would love to use his club.

“Yeah, yeah,” the teen grumbled. “How long until you can get me out of here?”

“The appeals process takes a little bit of time,” I explained.

“Like days, weeks, or months?” Camilo questioned, his brown eyes narrowed, and his scowl resembled his father’s for a moment.

“Hopefully, weeks,” I said. “I’ve already filed for the appeal. It needs to be reviewed, and then if they don’t think that there’s enough evidence to have you released immediately, then I can request another hearing.”

“Yeah, because that worked so well the first time,” the teen said with a roll of his eyes.

“I admit your trial did not go as planned,” I told him. “But if the first appeal is denied, I will request a different judge.”

“And that’ll take a few weeks?” my young client asked, and I saw that spark of hope light up again. “Could it be done in one week?”

“An appeal is very rarely approved or denied in a week,” I responded. “And if we have to have another hearing, it’ll take a few months.”

“Months?” he muttered to himself.

The momentary hope died away to be replaced by the dull, lifeless appearance that he’d had before. He shifted on the hard metal metal bench but couldn’t get comfortable, so with a huff, he gave up and just leaned forward a little.

“That is the worst case scenario,” I said as I set my pen down. “With all of the information I have, we should be able to have the first appeal approved.”

“But that’s still at least a few weeks, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said with an apologetic smile.

“So, we have to wait like a month just to find out if it’s approved or not?” the young man said as he reviewed everything. “And then if it’s denied, you’ll have to have another hearing and just hope we can get a better judge?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Though I am working on a few alternative solutions to get you out as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” the teen said.

He glanced over at the guard and then to the other teens that were still scattered around the other tables. A few new people had come in while we talked while others had departed. One of the kids who’d come in to talk to his attorney looked like he could play football professionally with his wide muscular frame, and I hoped that he wasn’t one of Camilo’s cell mates.

“I promise that I will have you out of here,” I told my melancholy client as he turned his attention back to me.

“Why don’t you just pay someone off?” he whispered.

“What?” I asked as I leaned forward.

“It wouldn’t be the first time it happened here,” the teen said with a shrug.

“Really?” I glanced at the other teens and wondered how many of them would pay their way out.

“Sure,” Camilo answered.

He sat back while he splayed his hands out on the shiny metal tabletop.

“Do you have any specifics?” I questioned. “Like how much they paid. And to who?”

The teen refused to make eye contact with me as he shrugged. Instead he looked around the room at the light fixtures, the other tables, and the families that had come to visit their sons.

“If you can give me more information, then I can try to use it to get you out of here,” I pressed when my client continued to avoid my question.

“I already told you a lot,” the dark-haired youth grumbled. “And why should I trust you with more? You said that I’d just have community service, and yet, here I am.”

He gestured to the large square room and then to his dark-blue jumpsuit with bold white letters that said ‘Everson Juvenile Correctional Center’.

I sighed because he was right. I’d promised it would be a fine and community service, but he’d been sent to juvie instead. And to one of the worst facilities in the area, if my research was right..

“I’ll get you out of here,” I told my client again. “One way or another. You won’t serve the three years.”

I could tell the teen was done with our conversation as his eyes hardened when he finally looked back toward me. The nervous boy who’d told me about the terrible conditions had disappeared, and the old Fuentes fire burned for a moment. He sat up straight, his shoulders back, and though he didn’t have that same cockinesss, he seemed a little bit more like the boy I’d first met.

“Your time’s up,” the wiry guard interrupted as he strolled over with his right hand on the club and his left in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I promised Camilo as we both stood.

“Sure,” the dark-haired teen shrugged one shoulder.

His other was immobilized by the grip of the guard, and I shot the man a warning glance as he squeezed my client’s shoulder. The guard glared at me, but when I met his gaze with my own steady look, I saw his fingers loosen slightly.

“Call me if you need anything,” I told the Fuentes heir as he was tugged away.

“Give my regards to my father,” the teen called when he was almost through the door, and for a moment I saw a flash of worry as he glanced at the guard.

I nodded my head without breaking eye contact and only looked away when he had disappeared from view. I sighed as I put the pad of paper and pen back into my briefcase and then buttoned up my suit jacket.

“Did you have a good visit?” the guard at the door asked as I strolled out of the meeting room.

He had a smirk on his face and a malicious twinkle in his eyes as he walked over to open the door