The Cartel Lawyer

by Dave Daren

  “Yeah,” Camilo said with a nod of his head. “But they already let him go because his parents were here.”

  He gave his father a significant look that was meant to make him feel bad, but the older man was completely unphased.

  “Unlike that boy, what’s his name… Jimmy?” the scarred man grumbled. “You need a lawyer because those damned cops will use you to try to get to me.”

  “Who was driving the car?” I asked as I continued my interview.

  “Me, obviously,” the teen rolled his eyes at me. “Like I’d trust that fucking idiot behind the wheel of a Lamborgini.”

  “And was the car damaged?” I asked as I made a few more notes to my phone.

  “I’m not a fucking dumbass,” the young man snapped in a mirror of his father’s own rage. “I know how to drive.”

  “How old are you?” I questioned while I ignored his increasingly foul language.

  “Fourteen,” my employer’s son preened a little. “And I got that baby up to one-eighty on the highway before that buzzkill came after us.”

  “You did not try to outrun him,” my employer said, and I hoped for his son’s sake that he hadn’t.

  “Obviously not,” Camilo rolled his eyes. “I remember the rules. Never run from the cops. Don’t resist arrest… blah, blah, blah.”

  “And don’t give them a reason to arrest you,” Osvaldo hissed with a glance to the camera to make sure that the red light was still out.

  “If that cop hadn’t caught us we would’ve brought it back in perfect condition,” the teen defended.

  “Alright,” I said as I brought the attention back to me. “Have you been convicted of anything in the past?”

  “Nothing big,” the teen shrugged. “But it always works out.”

  “Because I cover for you,” the scarred father snapped. “If you’re going to be running the business, then you need to learn to keep your nose clean.”

  “I know,” the teen drew out the last word as he rolled his eyes.

  I shuddered to think of the young troublemaker in front of me as the head of the family business, especially with their ties to the cartel, though that would require him to stay out of prison.

  “So mostly community service and fines?” I asked as I brought myself back to the moment.

  “Yes,” Osvaldo answered. “I’ve paid all the fines for him. And Alvaro has made sure that he gets to court on time.”

  I glanced toward the tall man in the corner of the room to see his almost black eyes stared straight ahead like a soldier at attention even with his relaxed pose.

  “Okay,” I nodded as I looked back at the young teen. “You haven’t spoken to the police, right?”

  “Do I look like a fucking idiot?” the young Fuentes huffed.

  “Of course not,” I replied.

  “Yes, you do,” his father said at the same time. “But he won’t talk to the cops. He did at least learn that lesson.”

  The scarred man spoke to me, but his eyes were on his son, like he couldn’t decide whether to reach across the table and slap him for the inconvenience, or if he just wanted to sigh and shake his head.

  “Good,” I said as I finished with my notes. “Let’s get you out of here. I’ll go talk to the officer in charge.”

  “We’ll wait here,” my employer said, and I wondered if I should leave the snarky teen alone with his father.

  “Right,” I said with a nod of my head.

  I wouldn’t be able to stop the beefy Cuban man if he did decide to discipline his son, but the less time I gave them alone, the better. Though, I was fairly certain that the cartel man knew better than to do anything in the police department.

  No one said anything else as I left. Father and son stared at each other like they wanted to see who would blink first, and Alvaro just watched with a placid face. Since they were distracted, I went in search of someone who could help me have Camilo released into his father’s custody.

  The redheaded policewoman was still behind her desk with her eyes glued to the book in front of her and a cup of steaming coffee in one of her hands. She tore her attention away from the page when I strolled up to the desk, and she immediately checked for Osvaldo and Alvaro. When she realized they weren’t with me, her shoulders relaxed, and she managed to smile at me.

  “Hello,” I said with a bright smile. “I’d like to have my client released into his father’s company.”

  “No way,” the young officer from the interrogation room said.

  He walked out of the break room with a jelly donut and a mug of coffee, like every cop in every bad cop show that had ever been made. He took a swig of the sweet-smelling drink and then grimaced as the scalding liquid ran down his throat.

  “His charges are minor,” I said. “There were no damages to the vehicle.”

  “That kid’s been in a lot of trouble,” the policeman muttered while he searched for some place to set his jelly donut.

  He couldn’t find a napkin so he just set it on a stack of papers, and I had to fight back the urge to sigh at the new jelly stain that was left on the official documents.

  “He’s in good standing with the courts,” I replied. “He’s a minor and should be released into his father’s custody.”

  “He stole a very expensive car,” the young cop countered.

  “And he will gladly appear for his court date,” I said. “He’s not a flight risk. And the charges are not enough to keep him here.”

  “He’s right, John,” the redheaded police woman said as she stood from her chair.

  The printer in the corner of the room whined as it came to life, and the forms that needed to be signed were spat out just as the older woman shuffled over to gather them.

  “Have Mr. Fuentes sign these,” she told me. “You’ll need to call in the morning to find out when his case will be in court.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I took the paperwork and gave her a bright smile.

  “Sure, sure,” she muttered with a wave of her hand.

  She eased back into her chair, took a long swig of her cooled coffee, and then frowned at the bitter liquid as she set the mug down a little further away than it had been.

  “Linda,” the younger policeman said in disbelief. “You can’t be serious! You know who he is.”

  “He’s a young man who made a mistake,” I said with a lifted eyebrow.

  “He’s the son of a crime lord,” the frustrated officer growled.

  “That’s slander,” I warned.

  “Not if it’s true,” the cop retorted.

  “John,” the redheaded woman scolded. “I apologize. John’s a bit young. Doesn’t know when to hold his tongue. Please have Mr. Fuentes sign those papers, and you’ll be free to go.”

  The older female officer glared at the younger man until he clamped his mouth in a tight grimace. His face was a deep scarlet with the rage that he bit back, and the eyes that looked me over could have scorched the skin from my bones.

  “Thank you,” I said as I nodded to the older woman. “I’ll have these back in a moment.”

  I left before the younger cop could say anything else, though I felt the man’s eyes drilling into my back. It was almost a relief to open the door to the room and move out of his line of sight, and even more of a relief to find all three men exactly how I left them.

  “Did you get the paperwork?” Osvaldo asked as soon as I opened the door.

  “Yes,” I replied. “You just need to sign it, and Camilo will be free to go.”

  “Good,” my employer said as he pulled a pen out of a jacket pocket.

  I handed him the release forms and waited as he scribbled his signature across the back page. He flipped through the other pages, signed a few more times, and then handed the papers back to me.

  “Perfect,” I said and then gave the forms another once over to make sure nothing had been missed.

  “Let’s go,” the scarred man ordered.

  He stood and then stalked out of the room with
Alvaro right behind him.

  “I’m gonna be exhausted at school tomorrow,” Camilo muttered as he followed after his father.

  The three men blew past the front desk and Linda, but she didn’t seem upset that they hadn’t stopped. She did give me a smile when I handed her the signed papers and even offered me a sympathetic look when the door banged against the wall again.

  “Can I get a copy of those?” I asked.

  “Sure thing,” the redhead answered as she took the forms from me.

  She shuffled over to the printer, pressed a few buttons, and then slipped the copied papers into a manila folder for me.

  “Thank you,” I said with a smile. “I hope you have a wonderful night.”

  “You’re welcome,” she responded and then eased back into her chair as she opened her book.

  Camilo was in the backseat of Osvaldo’s black SUV when I exited the police station. He had his phone out, and he looked bored as he glanced over at his father.

  Osvaldo stood next to the open back door while he talked to Alvaro. The taller man nodded his head a few times, and then he turned his attention to me as I joined them.

  “Alvaro will drive you back home,” my employer said as he gestured to the other black SUV in the parking lot.

  The silent driver from the ruckus at my apartment leaned against the hood of the vehicle with a cigarette in his mouth and a bored expression on his face.

  “Right,” I said. “Thanks.”

  The scarred man slid into the back seat of the SUV and rolled down his window as Alvaro shut the door behind him. He pinned me with a scowl that made a shiver of fear run down my spine despite the warmth of the Florida night.

  “I expect you to fix this,” he warned.

  “Yes, sir,” I said with a confident smile.

  I’d handled much tougher cases, and even with Camilo’s snarky attitude, I was sure I could have the younger Fuentes sent to a diversion program. A little community service and a fine, and the young teen would be free and clear, though I didn’t think he would learn much of a lesson from the experience. At least, not any lessons the court would approve.

  “Make sure you don’t disappoint me,” Osvaldo said with a pointed glare.

  “I won’t,” I promised.

  Osvaldo’s stare had set my heart thudding in my chest, and as the SUV pulled away I felt a wave of panic about Camilo’s case. It was a simple matter, one that came up frequently in Miami courts. But the younger cop had me worried that he wasn’t the only one who would be interested in getting to Osvaldo through Camilo. There were more than a few prosecutors, judges, heck, even bailiffs, who would probably be happy to punish Osvaldo, either for being a cartel kingpin or simply a successful Cuban businessman. I tried to remember which judges were currently working juvenile court, but it had been a while since I’d worked that section. First thing I had to do, then, was check out the judges.

  “Shall we?” Alvaro asked in his soft, deep voice.

  “Sure,” I said with a nod of my head while I followed him to my ride home.

  As we merged onto the highway, I looked out into the swampy shadows of the Everglades. Despite my earlier worries, I hadn’t been fed to an alligator.

  Though if I didn’t fix Camilo’s legal issues, then my next midnight trip would not end nearly as well.

  Chapter 7

  “I’ll pick you up in the morning,” Alvaro told me as he dropped me in front of my apartment building.

  “I can drive,” I responded with a glance into the back seat as I opened the passenger side door.

  As the giant of a man sat right behind me, his head almost brushed the roof of the black SUV, and he barely had enough room for his legs despite the large interior. He watched me with his dark, almost black eyes, and my mouth went dry under his steady scrutiny.

  “If you want,” the man said with a one shoulder shrug after what seemed like forever. “Meet me at the docks by ten.”

  “I’ll need time to review Camilo’s other offenses,” I hedged.

  It was almost two a.m., and all I wanted to do was collapse into bed until late afternoon.

  “He and his file will be waiting,” the soft-voiced man said.

  “Right,” I said with a nod. “I’ll see you at ten, then.”

  I climbed out of the car, and the soupy Florida air washed over me. I had the sudden urge to take a long, hot shower to wash the humidity off. It clung to me as I strolled into the front door of my apartment building, though I didn’t relax until I heard the SUV speed away.

  The elevator was empty, and despite my distaste for being closed in the metal box for even a few seconds, I was too tired to climb the stairs. So I stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor. The door slid shut, and I closed my eyes as the cube jolted and then began to move upwards.

  I burst through the elevator doors as soon as they were open wide enough for me to fit, and then hurried down the hallway toward my apartment. The inside was still dark, but I didn’t bother to turn on a light as I stumbled toward the bed. The comforter was still thrown back, and it beckoned me closer as exhaustion washed over me. I managed to strip down to my boxers again and set an alarm for eight a.m. before I collapsed into the waiting sheets.

  Too soon my alarm blared next to my head, and I blinked into the early morning light as I tried to remember why I needed to be awake. The memories of the night before rushed over me, and I snagged my phone to turn off the irritating alarm as I forced myself to wake up.

  I had enough time to wash the night off of me before my coffee was ready. The smell of roasted java drifted into the bathroom like a siren’s call, and as soon as I had shaved, I made a beeline for the caffeinated liquid. I poured myself a mug, and then added the last of my favorite amaretto creamer.

  As soon as I had finished my coffee I slipped into a pale-blue button up and my favorite charcoal-gray suit. The fabric was nicer than anything I would have bought for myself, but my mother had found it on sale, and she’d given it to me as a present when I graduated from law school.

  Once I brushed my teeth I drove straight to the docks and to the meeting I had with the vice president of Fuentes Shipping. The tall man’s Mercedes Benz S-Class sat in his marked parking spot when I pulled into the place that was quickly becoming mine.

  The warehouse was quieter than it had been on my previous visits. There were only a few men in the main room as I trudged up the stairs, and I watched as they wandered between the crates and scanned them before they made some notes and moved onto the next.

  Alvaro’s door was propped open when I reached the second floor of the warehouse. The giant of a man sat behind his desk, his attention focused on his computer and a small crease in between his eyebrows as he worked. Even distracted, the man gave the impression that he could break me like a twig, especially when his dark eyes snapped over to me when I stepped into the doorway.

  “Good morning,” I said with a wave and a tired smile.

  “Good morning,” the soft-voiced man nodded. “There’s donuts.”

  He glanced toward a pastry box on the edge of the desk, and as I strolled over, I could smell the sugary sweet pastries.

  “Thanks,” I said as I perused the selection.

  I picked a blueberry cake donut and tried to ignore the rumble of my stomach as I brought it to my lips.

  “Sure,” Alvaro shrugged and his wavy hair brushed across his shoulders. “Sit.”

  The thin black leather cushion of his guest chair wheezed when I sat down to eat my meager breakfast, and I fought the urge to tell him it wasn’t me. Alvaro hadn’t noticed, though, or more likely, he was used to the sound.

  The big man was focused on his computer again, so I turned my attention to the sugary concoction in my hand. The donut melted on my tongue, and I was so hungry that I finished it in three bites. I glanced toward the box again, then decided I would wait until I could find something healthier.

  “Do you have Camilo’s file?” I asked with a look arou
nd at the neatly stacked folders and papers.

  “Right here,” the company vice president said as he picked up an envelope from the top of one of the stacks.

  “Thanks,” I responded.

  I scooted back in the seat and then pulled the papers out of the envelope. The first page had Camilo’s mugshot, he’d smirked as he looked at the camera, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the teen. He had a few charges but nothing too concerning. The car theft would be his first serious crime, and his age would be a factor in the sentencing.

  “Jipato,” Osvaldo said as he strolled into the office. “Working already?”

  He flashed a smile that showed his three golden teeth, and then turned his attention to his second in command.

  “The ship is running late,” the tall man responded to an unasked question. “I’ve been tracking it. It’ll be in port by tonight.”

  “Good,” my employer nodded his head in approval. “Any reason for the delay?”

  “Storm,” Alvaro said with a frown. “Had to secure the cargo.”

  “As long as they didn’t lose any,” the company president muttered with a scowl.

  I tried not to jump to conclusions about the cargo, since the less I knew about their shadier dealings, the better, and I had enough to worry about with Camilo’s case and my last case for the Public Defender’s Office.

  “The captain knows who he’s in business with,” the soft voice of the vice president interrupted my train of thought.

  “Of course,” Osvaldo huffed. “Rob, how’s my son’s case going?”

  The full attention of my employer’s scowl got me off guard, but I recovered quickly and turned so I could better look at him.

  “I just finished reviewing his file,” I informed him. “His other charges aren’t bad enough that we would need to worry about jail time. The judge will probably sentence both boys to diversion. Camilo may need to pay a bigger fine and have a few more hours of community service since he was the driver.”

  “Good,” the scarred man grunted. “It’ll do him good to work hard.”

  I nodded my head in agreement, though I was pretty sure the teen was unlikely to take his punishment too seriously.