Page 99 of Reno

There were no security cameras, no mirrors, and no pieces of furniture, other than the table, chairs and a phone. I picked up the phone, turned it over, and unplugged the cord. “Can I speak freely in here?”

“This room’s secure,” he responded. “It’s an attorney-client room. Won’t get either of us in trouble. Nobody can hear us, I promise you.”

I sat down. “Sorry about shooting you the other night.”

He chuckled. “Not that big of a deal. Scared the fuck out of me at first, but I understand your reasoning.”

“That guy was a fucking animal,” I said. “Couldn’t take the chance of him getting to Carma. Not again.”

“He’s where he belongs,” Watson said. “Prick probably would have escaped from prison anyway. Seems they all do.”

“Who’s that?”

“Upper echelon of the cartel,” he said. “They pay tens of millions to the right people, and you’d be surprised who looks the other way.”

I let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I need some help.”

“With?”

“Carma’s father is in here. He was picked up by Immigration, ICE, whoever. I need to get him out of here, and I need to know what I need to do to do it.”

“He’s an illegal immigrant?”

“Yep.”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“You just told me the cartel can buy their way out of prison,” I argued. “I want to buy his way out. What’ll it cost me to get him out of here? Name it.”

“It’s not a money issue.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s an issue with paperwork,” he said. “He needs documentation of residency. A Social Security card, photo ID, birth certificate, passport, something.”

“Alright. I need to get that shit. Tell me where to go.”

“It’s not that easy. Forgeries are easily spotted with most of that stuff. Real documents are nearly impossible to obtain. I’m sure there’s someone somewhere who might do it, but I have no idea where that person might be, or even if they’re in this country. I’ve heard of people making US passports in Japan, but not here.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I can do.”

“That’s not going to cut it, Brother,” I said. “I need to get him out of here. No bullshit, no excuses, just results. Fuck up some paperwork and let him out. That shit happens all the time. Murderer gets let out because they got him mixed up with a guy on a DUI warrant. Let the guy out and claim you had a brain fart.”

“I wish it was that easy. It’s not.”

“It can’t be that difficult,” I said. “Sure didn’t have any problems getting him in here. Just reverse the process and get him out.”

“Like I said, it’s not that easy.” His gaze fell to the table for a moment. He looked up. “What’s his name?”

“Oscar Arturo Valdez Rosarita.”

He nodded. “I’ll see to it that he has everything he needs. That he’s comfortable.”

I pounded my fist down onto the table. “He doesn’t need a fucking cup of coffee and a warm blanket, detective. He needs to be with his fucking family. You motherfuckers took him from the god forsaken grocery store. He went to get a pound of fucking coffee and you pricks arrested him. I need him out of here. Do you understand me!?”

I realized that I was standing, and that he was, too.