The Cartel Lawyer by Dave Daren (popular books to read .TXT) 📗

Osvaldo was not a patient man, and he’d just made it very clear that I needed to speed up Camilo’s release, or I would take a vacation that I didn’t return from. I had a plan in place, my meeting with Eloa was set for the next morning, and the appeal was already filed. I might be able to boost my appeal’s place in line with a phone call, but I was just as likely to have it dropped to the bottom of the stack if I annoyed the appeals office.

There was nothing else that I could do from a legal standpoint before the meeting with Eloa. I needed to know what she had on the Everson Juvenile Detention Center, and then I would have a better idea of my next steps. If she had anything useful, then I could use that to strengthen my appeal and to add to my information about the judge’s corruption.

I took a few deep breaths as I tried to calm my racing heart. My hands were shaking and sweaty, so I wiped them on my jeans again. I glanced over at my client’s house, half-expecting the muscular man to be there watching me, but the door was shut, and my shoulders released a fraction of their tension.

My car had been in front of Michael’s house for too long and the interior felt like an oven even with the AC on, so I put it in drive and pulled out into the street. There were a few people starting to appear, and I knew the routines well enough to know that some would be people on their lunch break and others would just be returning home after a long shift. They talked on their porches and a few even pulled out their grills, and I could swear that they all watched my car go by with suspicious stares.

It was like the entire world watched me, and I knew that anyone on the street could work for Osvaldo. He hadn’t given up on me just yet, which was good, but if I wanted it to stay that way, I would have to get Camilo out of juvenile detention.

Besides, if Osvaldo really wanted to come after me, he would send Alvaro rather than someone on the street so everyone, including me, would get the message. For some reason, that wasn’t reassuring, and as I drove down the street, I kept an eye for any large shadows that suddenly detached themselves from a building.

But I realized I was just making myself paranoid, and for no good reason as long as I did my job. So I forced myself to focus on the moment and reminded myself that if I kept jumping at every little thing, my mother would realize that something was wrong. She had enough to worry about, and I would not add to that if I could help it.

By the time I pulled into my mother’s driveway, I was reasonably calm, and I managed to force my panic into the back of my mind. I took one long breath in, and then slowly let it out before I turned off the car.

The whole house smelled like arroz con pollo when I walked in, and my stomach growled as a reminder that I hadn’t had anything to eat since the caramel apple turnover. I followed the scent of food to the kitchen while I tried not to drool.

My ama stood at the counter with a knife in her hand. The bell peppers and onions she had already chopped were in a bowl near her cutting board, and she had moved onto the tomatoes. Her favorite pot was on the stove with its clear lid already in place, and I could see droplets of steam rolling down to the rice below.

Her old radio sang sweet love ballads to her in Spanish as she worked. She had her favorite blue velvet track pants on and an old t-shirt that hung off of her tiny frame. She’d pulled her thinning auburn hair up into a ponytail that swayed behind her as she bobbed her head along to the song.

“Hola, mama,” I said as I set my briefcase down on the counter.

“Mi hijo,” my mother said while she put her knife down on the cutting board.

The bags under her eyes were darker, and her green eyes had lost their bright shine. When she smiled at me, my heart thudded painfully, and I had to fight back the tears as I saw how exhausted she was.

“Mama, when’s the last time you rested?” I asked as I strolled over to her and wrapped my arms around her.

She seemed so frail, like she would blow away in a strong breeze, and I buried my head into her hair as I held her tight.

“Oh, I napped earlier,” my mother answered while she patted me on the back.

“Why don’t you go take another one while I finish up the rest of dinner?” I asked as I let her go, it was harder than I expected, but she had taken a step back, and I couldn’t hold her forever.

“And let you in my kitchen?” she asked as she stared up at me with her hands on her hips. “Not a chance, hijo.”

“My food wasn’t that bad,” I defended.

“No,” she said while she went back to chopping. “But you make a mess.”

She turned to look at me as I leaned against the counter next to her. She still had the knife in her hand as she pointed around the spotless kitchen.

“It was just a few dishes in the sink,” I said while I slid a little further away so that I wouldn’t be within the reach of her knife.

“You clean as you go,” she reminded me. “How many times have I told you this?”

“Have you seen Laura today?” I asked as a change