The Cartel Lawyer Dave Daren (best motivational books for students .txt) 📖

that the Everson Juvenile Detention Center isn’t taking care of the kids. But I’ve been sending people there for years, and they always turn out better for it.”

Except those kids who died after joining gangs, I thought to myself as I remembered the mother’s story about her young son being killed in the crossfire after he’d joined a gang in the facility. I couldn’t help but wonder how many other young men emerged with a chip on their shoulders and fewer opportunities because of their stint in juvie.

“And that client of yours is as bad as it comes,” the fat magistrate said as he continued his justification rant. “You know who his father is. I suspect you work for the damned family. You need to get yourself straight, young man, before you wander down a path that’ll get you killed. Some time in Everson might be enough to get that boy on the up and up, but some people are just born bad. It’s not their fault, not really, their family brings ‘em down.”

“Camilo stole a car,” I said as I parked in front of my apartment building. “And it was returned without a scratch on it. Even the owner wasn’t upset enough that he would give the kid a three year stint.”

I’d listened to him long enough, but he hadn’t even talked to Camilo, and he’d barely looked at his, or his friend’s, case files before he sent them away to spend most of their teen years in a juvenile detention center. I took a deep breath in while I climbed out of my car and headed into the building, I needed to keep myself calm if I was going to convince the judge to meet with Osvaldo, and yelling at him about Camilo would not help with that.

“It’s called a deterrent,” the judge huffed. “I wouldn’t expect some fly by the seat of his pants smart aleck like you to understand. But I have that boy’s best interests at heart. He’s going to end up in prison, or worse, at the bottom of the bay, if he keeps following in his father’s footsteps. Three years at Everson Juvenile Detention Center, and he’ll realize he needs to walk away from the life of crime his family leads.”

I stood in the lobby of my building as I debated whether I should take the elevator or the stairs. The elevator would probably disconnect the call, but the climb to my apartment would leave me panting. I sighed and chose the stairs. I would just have to take them slow, and thankfully no one was in the stairwell to hear my side of the conversation.

“Now, like I said,” Travis Williams continued while I climbed the few flights of stairs and kept my breathing as even as possible. “I’ve reviewed your appeal, but I have no intention of changing my verdict. You can try to go to a different judge, but I’m a respected man around the courthouse, and no one is going to take your side of this sentencing. Camilo Fuentes should be sent to jail before he can become a monster like his father. That boy--”

“I wasn’t actually calling about Camilo,” I interrupted as I emerged from the stairwell into the hallway of my floor.

There was no one in the hallway since most of my neighbors worked early in the morning, and those who didn’t would be in their apartments. There was one nosy old woman that I knew who sometimes watched from her peephole, but she didn’t open the door when I passed so I suspected she was watching one of her soap operas.

I unlocked my door and stepped into the darkened entryway of my apartment. There were a few rays of light shining in through my closed blinds, but for the most part my home was still dark. I flipped on a light and glanced around with my usual apprehension since I’d found Alvaro waiting on my couch, but the giant second in command hadn’t made another appearance.

“Well, what in the hell do you want a meeting for if you’re not trying to get that little delinquent out?” the judge snapped after he’d taken a few more gulps of his drink. “And why would you submit an appeal if you don’t want him to be released?”

“Oh, I do want Camilo released,” I answered.

I kicked my shoes as far away from me as possible. I would need to clean them since I’d worn them without socks, but for the moment they would be fine as long as they were nowhere near me. I set the now empty coffee mug in my sink and then turned to fill a glass with the cool, filtered water I kept in my fridge.

“You just said that’s not why you were calling to set up a meeting,” the fat magistrate huffed. “Why don’t you get your damned story straight.”

“I want to meet to discuss the facility,” I replied before I downed the delicious water.

“Now what did I just say?” the old man grumbled. “I told you that the Everson Juvenile Detention Center takes care of its inmates. So don’t you come at me with those baseless accusations that they’re mistreating the little scumbags.”

I ran a hand over my face as I prepared myself. I was about to accuse the judge of accepting bribes to send the boys to the facility, which could ruin my career if it got out, but I knew what I had to do for my client, and for my employer.

“There are substantiated stories regarding how the center is really run,” I said. “But that isn’t the reason I’m calling, either.”

“Well, what else could you possibly want to talk about?” he snapped, and I thought I heard a note of apprehension in his voice.

“I thought we could meet and talk about the kickbacks you’ve been receiving for sending the boys there,” I