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

I debated whether I should bring them some of the arroz con pollo as I climbed the stairs. But they were there as a reminder that my life was in danger, and I just couldn’t bring myself to give them some of my mother’s homemade food.

Maybe I’d gotten too comfortable with my watchers, because I barely reacted when I started to put the key in my lock and the door swung inwards. I peered inside, but the hallway was still dark and the blinds were closed. I couldn’t feel anyone inside, but then, someone like Alvaro could make himself invisible when necessary as I’d already learned.

I don’t know exactly how long I stood outside my door, but I finally mustered enough courage to step across the threshold. I managed to walk all the way to the kitchen without keeling over, and I calmly placed my briefcase on the counter.

I took one deep breath, then glanced around again as I moved toward the light switch. Not that I needed it by then, because I’d spotted the unmistakable form that sat on my couch. The giant of a man had one leg crossed over the other, and even in the dim light that managed to filter through the blinds, I could see that Fuentes’ second had a switchblade that he flicked it open and closed.

“I heard you saw Camilo,” Alvaro’s deep, soft voice murmured as I turned on the light.

“Yes, I did,” I said as I retreated to the kitchen.

I opened a cabinet, pulled out a clean glass, and then moved to the sink to fill it. I needed the time to get my racing heart under control, and it helped to have at least a small obstacle between me and the scary figure that had taken over my living room. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch, though he did drape one arm over the back while he continued to open and shut his switchblade.

“How is he?” the tall goon asked.

He tilted his head to the side as he watched me down my glass of water, and I could feel those dark eyes peer into my soul while I tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t get me killed.

“About as good as can be expected for that place,” I said.

“Oh?” the dark-eyed man said with that small smirk that always seemed to be on his face.

“Yeah,” I replied.

I could feel his stare boring into me, and I debated how much I should tell him. I needed him to understand that I was working on Camilo’s case, but I also needed him to see that Camilo wouldn’t be coming home tomorrow.

“The place is a mess,” I continued. “The guards are a little too eager to grab their batons.”

“Has he been injured?” Alvaro asked.

His entire body tensed, and he’d paused his routine with the switchblade as he pondered what injuries Camilo might have. He watched me with an intensity that made my palms sweat, and I suddenly had no doubt that the knife would find its mark even from across the room.

“No,” I answered with a quick shake of my head. “But I wouldn’t doubt that others have been beaten.”

The giant relaxed a fraction and resumed flicking his knife open and shut in lazy movements that didn’t waste energy. I leaned against the counter as casually as I could muster and let the cool surface cool my sweaty palms.

“He said the mattresses are thin,” I continued. “And that the food is old, possibly out of date. There’s a petition to have the place shut down. And that reporter I talked to is trying to expose the conditions.”

Alvaro just nodded as if he’d known all of this before I’d said anything.

“He did mention that a few other kids have paid their way out,” I added. “It's definitely something worth looking into. I have another meeting with the reporter tomorrow. She’s gathering information tonight on Everson’s financials. We’re looking into their spending, political ties, basically, anything that will prove that they’re corrupt.”

A painful silence filled the room, so I held my glass under the faucet again and took another long drink. My mouth had suddenly gone dry again, and I didn’t think I could finish my report without another sip. It also bought me time to work out how I would explain my plan to Alvaro and make him understand that I would get Camilo out.

“I’ve already submitted the appeal,” I said once I’d finished my water. “It’s pretty strong, but that can take weeks or even months, and I don’t want Camilo in there one second longer than he has to be.”

Alvaro bobbed his head in agreement but added nothing to the one-sided conversation.

“So I’m hoping that Eloa, that’s the reporter, can publish her story about the conditions at the place,” I explained. “And I’m working on some research into the judge as well. He’s sent a lot of teens to Everson’s for maximum sentences, so I think he’s on their payroll. I just need to get the proof so we can overturn his ruling.”

That was it, I’d told him everything I knew, and I hoped that it was enough for him to spare my life a little longer.

He watched me for several long heartbeats that seemed to last for an eternity, but finally he nodded, and air rushed into my lungs as he flicked his switchblade closed then stuffed it into his pocket. He stood, and without another word, he left me alone.

The apartment seemed too small even after he left, like the walls had somehow moved closer together, and I had to take several deep breaths in before my heart slowed to a more normal rhythm. I had no idea what his nod meant, but at least he hadn’t killed me. It hadn’t felt like a nod of approval, either, so