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

my apartment to finish my work. It was a hard choice, but my own home won out after I thought I spotted one of Osvaldo’s goons behind me. My mother would have to make do with a phone call for the moment.

“Mi hijo,” my mother answered almost immediately. “How was court today?”

“It was good,” I told her as some of the tension in my shoulders released. “How are you? Are you resting?”

“Yes, mi hijo,” the Cuban woman said with a sigh. “The nurse is here. She brought me those adult coloring books.”

“That sounds relaxing,” I said as I fought a smile.

“Grown adults should not be playing with colored pencils unless it’s their job,” my ama huffed.

“Consider this your job for now,” I told her. “It’s your goal to relax.”

“Alright, alright,” she grumbled. “Mi hijo, I’m going to go take a nap. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sleep well, mama,” I said before she hung up.

I made a mental note to look into different types of adult coloring books as I turned down my street. I didn’t see the familiar shiny black car of Osvaldo’s men alongside the curb, and I was grateful for the small reprieve as I parked and climbed out of my car.

The climb to my apartment was quick as I took the steps two at a time, and I was breathing hard when I stepped into the small hallway of my home. I tossed my briefcase onto my couch, pulled up my favorite crime drama on Netflix, and then stretched as I took another deep breath in. I changed into some workout shorts and an AC/DC t-shirt, my go-to clothes for research days, stuffed my wallet into my pocket, and slid on some flip-flops.

There was a market down the street that I’d meant to visit for the last few days, and I still needed creamer. I walked fast to avoid being in the sun any longer than absolutely necessary and then headed straight to the refrigerated section of the small market. I picked up the caramel macchiato creamer, grabbed a new bag of Fritos and a few other snacks, and made my way to the counter. The woman who rang me up barely even glanced in my direction as she tossed everything in a plastic bag and waited for me to type in the PIN for my bank card.

As soon as I was back home, I brewed a strong pot of coffee, plopped down on the couch with my Fritos next to me, and hit play on Netflix. I balanced my laptop on my criss-crossed legs as I brought up the great and powerful Google, then lost myself in the world of Miami’s elite.

A quick search for Anthony Evans showed that he was the son of one of the more prominent families in Miami. It wasn’t his first brush with the law, and a previous arrest for streaking at the mall had received a good deal of coverage for a few days. I found another report of an arrest for driving without a license, though that story was quickly buried. His smirk graced the covers of a few news articles about teen socialites, and I recognized his school as the same one that Camillo attended.

His family was a staple in Miami, and their business was successful enough that they could give freely to whichever charity or politician caught their fancy. Their company was in distribution, just like my employer, though it was hard to find anything concrete about what they bought and sold.

I was a few links deep in the company’s website when I finally found the family’s link to the judge. One of the charities supported by the company and the family was teaching the kids at the Everson Juvenile Detention Center to make blankets and trinkets. The Evans family then distributed them at a high markup. Their website promised that a portion of the profits went to help the young delinquents learn a new skill so that they could become more productive members of society.

I wasn’t clear on how blanket making skills could make a teenager more productive, and nothing on the site indicated how that worked. But at least I had a connection and a possible explanation for the fifty hours sentence. Now that I knew what to look for, I turned my attention to the leads that Eloa had provided me the night before. They were promising, and I began to take more of my messy notes with lines and circles that reminded me of a conspiracy theorist’s chaotic board.

The smell of coffee brought me out of my research, and I grinned as I remembered I’d brewed an entire pot. I had started to get tired, but the strong liquid was exactly what I needed, especially once I’d added a generous amount of caramel macchiato creamer.

I had just eased down onto the couch and set my mug on the coffee table in front of me when a text came in from Eloa. I debated whether I should ignore it since I’d built up momentum, but I was already on a break, and a few more moments wouldn’t hurt.

She asked if we could meet for dinner in an hour at a steakhouse near the edge of the city. She promised that there would be no drinks, and I smiled at the adamant reassurance that she wouldn’t have anything with alcohol.

I ran a hand through my hair as I debated whether I wanted to go or not. I had made some headway with the leads, though I needed to reorganize my notes, and I still hadn’t found enough to prove without a doubt that the judge had received money from the Everson Juvenile Detention Center through the super PACs.

With a sigh, I picked up my phone and texted her that I could be there, but that I’d need two hours. I needed to shower, change,