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

she was having a bad dream, and her fingers were clenched into fists. She must have heard my approach, though, because her eyes snapped open to look at me.

“Mi hijo,” she whispered once she’d recognized me. “Did you just get here?”

“Just a little while ago,” I said as I eased down onto the edge of her mattress. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Of course,” she said with a soft smile as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. “How did court go today?”

“It went well,” I answered. “I hear you’re going to write down all of your recipes.”

“Ah,” my ama sighed. “I don’t know how well that will go. Though Laura said she would come over to help me recreate them.”

“I will gladly take all of the leftovers,” I laughed as I reached up to brush a wisp of loose hair behind her ear.

My phone interrupted us, and I almost ignored it, but Alvaro’s name popped up on the screen, and I gave my mother an apologetic look.

“I have to take this,” I told her as I stood.

“Of course, mi hijo,” my mother said with a dismissive wave. “I’m fine. You go take care of your work.”

“I should be right back,” I said before I stepped into the hallway and hit the green phone button to answer. “Hello?”

“The boss wants to see you,” Alvaro’s deep, soft voice said as soon as I picked up.

“When?” I asked with a glance into the bedroom to watch as my mother stood and shuffled toward her bathroom. She seemed fine, or as fine as someone with cancer could be, but I still kept an ear open just in case she fell again.

“Now,” the second in command responded. “The usual place.”

The line disconnected, and I sighed. My time with my mother was over, but I had a plan to lay out for Osvaldo.

I was prepared to prove that I was the best lawyer for him, and that I deserved to live another day.

Chapter 17

I stuffed my cell phone in my pocket and stared into my mother’s room as she shuffled out of the bathroom. She yawned and teetered backwards as if she would fall, but she righted herself before I could rush in to help her.

“Mi hijo,” my ama huffed when I came into her room to help. “Wipe that worried look off of your face. I’m fine.”

“Of course, mama,” I said with a patient smile.

“What was your phone call about?” she asked as she slipped on her house shoes.

“I need to go into work,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”

“Bah,” she said as she waved her hand in the air. “I’ll be fine. Tracy is here with me, and she’ll call you if anything goes wrong.”

“Alright,” I sighed. “I’ll be back in a few days, but I’ll call you every day.”

“Go, live your life,” the older Cuban woman grumbled as she shooed me away. “I’m not a frail old woman just yet.”

“Yes, mama,” I said with a smile as I pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “I love you.”

“Te amo, mi hijo,” my mother said as she pushed at my chest. “Now go to work.”

I held her for another moment, and I could feel how thin she had become. It was like she would break if I squeezed too hard, though there were still muscles underneath that gave me hope that she’d be able to pull through. I took a deep breath, blinked away the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks, and forced a big smile on as I let her go.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said as I waved goodbye.

The sun had begun its descent by the time I walked out into the late Miami afternoon. Rays of warm buttery light bounced off the tops of the cars on the street, and music blared from a shiny blue Cadillac that rolled slowly past as children dodged to one side or the other as their soccer game was put on hold.

The kids had placed cardboard pieces in the road to symbolize the goals, and a wave of nostalgia washed over me as I watched them realign the brown paper squares. They had to scatter again when they saw me begin to back out of the driveway, but they rushed back into the street the second I’d passed.

I glanced at them in the rearview mirror before I turned toward the highway. I would be at the docks in about half an hour if I didn’t get stuck behind an accident. I talked to myself as I weaved between the cars and went over my plan like I was about to present my final arguments before a judge. But, I told myself, Osvaldo might be my judge, jury, and executioner if he didn’t like what I had to say.

Most of the fishing boats were in the harbor when I turned down the road to the docks. The fishermen worked in the early hours of the morning or late in the night, but there were a few charter boats that were on their way back from their deep sea fishing adventures, the decks packed with happy tourists.

The shipping companies were busy as well as they unloaded the cargo ships that had come into port earlier in the day. The workers were like ants that rushed about as they unloaded the containers, and forklifts barreled around with massive wooden crates as they barely avoided the men on foot.

“Mr. Torres,” the burly gatehouse guard said with a bright smile as I pulled up. “Heard you were on the way. The boss is waiting for you in his office. Go on in.”

“Thanks,” I said with a wave of my hand as I drove through the gate.

I had to move at a snail’s pace to