Title: BustedTitle: Busted! (1/1)

Author: JDillon 

Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: This is my version of Nick's arrest for cocaine possession.

Author's Notes: I had to make some assumptions about the operation of the
criminal justice system in this story (having no intimate knowledge of it
myself <g>). So some of this is guess work. I apologize if there's anything
I've gotten completely wrong.

Author's Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of a
character in this story to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
 
---+---

The bedroom was dark, the single illumination the reddish glow from the
clock radio. The only sound that could be heard was the muffled snores
coming from the sole occupant of the queen-sized bed. The figure in the
bed was adult-sized, but the cover was drawn up over the head so that it
was impossible to determine whether it was a man or woman who slept there.
The peaceful scene was suddenly disturbed by the insistent ringing of the
telephone. The person in the bed stirred, struggling to fight his way free
of the encumbering bed clothes. A hand groped for the phone.

"Hello."

"Dad. It, it's Nick."

"Nick? Wha-what time is it?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. After two I think."

Burton sat up in bed, and ran a hand through the thin patch of hair atop
his head. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Dad, I'm, I'm in trouble." Nick's voice broke on the last word. "I got
arrested tonight. I-"

"Arrested?" Burton's voice rose. "Arrested for what?"

"I was having a, a party at my apartment. The police... the police came.
They found... found drugs."

"Jesus, Nicholas!! Drugs?! My God!"

When Nick made no reply, Burton continued, "What, what kind of drugs?"

His son still remained silent, so Burton asked more insistently, "Nick,
what kind of drugs did they find?"

Finally Nick said in a low voice, "It was, it was cocaine, Dad. I'm, I'm
sorry."

Burton could barely believe his ears. Cocaine! Christ Almighty!
Cocaine. After a moment, he collected his thoughts enough to ask, "Where
are you?"

"The 12th Street station."

"Okay. Well, it's" (Burton glanced at the clock) "it's 2:30 now. Night
court will have ended at midnight. I won't be able to get you out of
there until morning. Understand that?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll get someone there first thing. Until then you don't say
anything to anybody. Understand that, Nicholas? Not a word. All right?"

"No, no, I haven't. I, I won't."

"Okay." Burton exhaled a heavy breath, and then asked with concern.
"Well... are you all right? They didn't rough you up, or anything, did
they?"

"No. I'm, I'm okay. I'm sorry, Dad."

"All right. Well... I'll, uhm, I'll see you tomorrow, Nicholas. Just...
just hang in there until then, son. 'Kay?"

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Burton hung up the phone with a heavy sigh. A grimace spread across his
face. He sat up a little straighter in bed, and then reached for the phone
again. As he began to dial he suddenly let out a loud "ttahh", and put
down the receiver abruptly. He had just realized that he had been trying
to call Nick's mother, Anne. Anne who had been dead for nineteen years.
He shook his head at himself in disbelief, and then his thoughts returned
to Nick's situation. Damn! Nick arrested for drugs. He couldn't
believe it. He had always suspected Nick might have experimented with
drugs when he was younger, but he couldn't believe he would still be
involved with the stuff now. My God! He shook his head again in obvious
consternation. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to think that Nick
could have been involved in something like this without his knowing about
it. Damn!

Burton got up, lit a cigarette, and paced around the room. As he paced,
he searched his memory for anything that might have been a clue to Nick's
drug use. But he came up empty. Shit! What a mess! This arrest could
ruin Nick! Ruin his entire future. What could he have been thinking?...
It was damn dumb, that's what it was. Damn dumb!

It was some time before Burton could force himself to go back to bed. He
only slept fitfully the rest of the night, his dreams filled with images of
Nick being led away in handcuffs. When the alarm rang at seven, he was
instantly awake. The events of the proceeding night came flooding back to
him. He got up, used the bathroom, and then went downstairs to his study
to find his personal address book. He located the number for Albert
Murray, and dialed.

"Al, this is Burton Fallin. Sorry to bother you at home, but I need your
help. My son Nick was arrested last night. They found drugs in his
apartment... Yeah, thanks. I appreciate that. Look, Al, I need the name
of a top-notch drug attorney. I know Michael Boyd has quite a reputation,
but I want the very best... He is? Good, good, so you'd recommend him
then?... Good... Thanks, that'd be great. Hold on while I get a pen."
Burton located a pen and pad of paper on the desk, and jotted down a
number. "Thanks, Al. I owe you one... Yeah, okay. Bye."

Burton hung up the phone, and sat down heavily in his desk chair. He
glanced around the room with a sigh, and then squinted to read the number
he had just taken down. Picking up the receiver, he dialed Michael Boyd's
home phone number. Reaching Mr. Boyd, he explained who he was, and the
situation with Nick. Boyd agreed to go down to see Nick as soon as
possible. Burton hung up the phone, lit a cigarette, and stared off into
the distance.

---+---

Criminal defense attorney Michael Boyd walked into the interview room at
the 12st Street police station. He was in his late thirties, medium
height with dark hair and eyes. Despite his sir name, he had the look of
someone with Mediterranean heritage. He was a handsome man, and was
dressed smartly: dark blue Armani suit, crisp, light blue shirt, and dark
blue tie. He took a seat at the table, and pulled his portfolio from his
briefcase. In just a few minutes, the door opened and a uniformed officer
escorted Nick Fallin into the room. Boyd recognized Fallin, although at
this moment, he bore little resemblance to the well-dressed corporate
attorney Boyd had been introduced to at one of those boring Bar Association
functions. That Nick Fallin had been overtly polite, but Boyd had not
missed the undertone of destain that Fallin had projected for people in
Boyd's line of work. Lawyers like him who defended both drug lords and the
addict sons and daughters of the wealthy, important families of Pittsburgh.
Well, the tables had turned. Nick Fallin was now one of those privileged
sons seeking Michael Boyd's help. Yes, the tables had definitely turned.

The Nick Fallin that stood before Michael Boyd now was in handcuffs, his
appearance disheveled, bags showing under his eyes. It looked as if he
hadn't slept, and Boyd figured that was probably the case. Fallin's curly
hair was in disarray, a couple stray locks sticking straight out from his
head. He was dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved gray, corduroy shirt, and
brown loafers. His expression was glum, as he glanced around the room, and
then focused his attention on Boyd. The officer walked him up to the table,
and Fallin took a seat.

"Mr. Fallin," Boyd began, "I think you'll remember me. Michael Boyd.
Your father's retained me as your defense attorney. If, that is... that's
acceptable to you?" His voice rose slightly on the question.

Nick nodded, but didn't speak.

"Okay. All right if I call you Nick?"

Nick nodded again.

"Okay, Nick. I've talked to the police. They're saying they found ten
grams of coke at your apartment. I can tell you from past experience that
the DA likes to come down pretty hard in these cases, especially on people
in your circumstances. They're likely to charge you as a 'supplier'.
You know what the penalty for that is?"

Nick shook his head 'no', his gaze averted.

"It's a felony. Minimum 3 - 5 years. Maximum 20 years." Nick looked up
at this announcement. "You get stuck with that you can kiss your law
license goodbye, regardless of the time you serve. You understand that?"

"Yes."

"Okay. It's a first offense, and I think we can plead it down to a
misdemeanor possession charge, but it's not going to be easy. You may have
to offer to cooperate with the DA, give up your dealer, that sort of thing.
But what I need right now is for you to tell me exactly what happened. All
right?"

Nick nodded. He sat up a little straighter, and rolled his head around in
a half circle to try to relieve the tension in his neck. He started to
bring his left hand up toward his head, but then realized his wrists were
still cuffed, and left his hands lying in his lap. He began slowly.

"I'm not sure of exactly what happened. The party had been going on for
quite a while, and I was in the, in the bedroom." He let out a sigh, and
awkwardly brought his head down to rub it on one upraised shoulder. "I
think the cops must have rung the doorbell. I don't know. I didn't hear
it. But somebody let them in. They must have seen the coke on the table.
The first I knew that something was wrong was when I heard raised voices.
Then suddenly the cops are there, rousting me and my girlfriend out of the
bedroom... They asked whose apartment it was, and I said it was mine. Then
they tell me I'm under arrest, and put me in handcuffs. It looked like
they were cuffing everybody else, as well, but they walked me out before I
could be sure what all was going on. That's pretty much it."

Boyd had been listening intently, and now said, "Did you supply the coke
for the party?"

Nick nodded, and answered quietly, "Yes."

"How many officers were there?"

Nick looked at him. "I'm not sure. At least five or six, I think."

"Hhem. Have the cops ever shown up at your door before?"

"No."

"Anybody in the building that you think might have known there were drugs
at the party, and turned you in? If the cops had just come to check out a
complaint about the noise there would have been two of them, max."

Nick looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know.
I'm not sure what the other people in the building really know about my
parties. But word gets around, you know?" He paused, and then added, "A
couple of my neighbors have asked me to keep the noise down a few times,
but that's all."

"Okay, well, it really doesn't matter at this point. Somebody called the
cops about the drugs. That seems to be a given. Now, is there anything
else you can think of that I should know right now?"

Nick shook his head.

"Okay. We ought to be able to get you in front of the judge for the bail
hearing in the next hour, or two. You won't have to say anything. I'll
do all the talking. Understand that?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'm going to call your father when I get out of here so he can meet
us in court, post your bail. Have you got any questions for me right now?"

Nick looked up with concern, "Yeah, can you find out if my girlfriend's
under arrest? Her name's Marlene Lanningham."

"All right. I'll find out if they're holding her." Boyd stood up, and
signaled through the glass to the officer that was standing outside.
"Well, I'll see you in a little while. Try not to worry, Nick. We're
going to get you out of this."

Nick stood up as the officer walked in the door. "Thanks," he said to
Boyd, as the officer took him by the arm, and turned him to walk out of the
room. As Nick reached the doorway, he shot a quick glance back over his
shoulder at Boyd, and then was gone.

Michael Boyd picked up his notebook, slid it in his briefcase, and then
walked out of the room.

---+---

The wood-veneered courtroom was filled with the murmur of quiet voices.
There were several people seated in the gallery. Most were family members
of those waiting to be brought before the judge. Burton Fallin, a look of
intense concern on his face, had a seat in the second row. As the court
officer called the next case, the courtroom quieted, and Michael Boyd took
his place at the defense counsel's table. An assistant D.A. by the name
of Herb Connelly stood at the prosecutor's table. A side door opened, and
Nick Fallin walked into the room, escorted by a bailiff. He was once
again in handcuffs, and was wearing the same clothes that Michael Boyd had
seen him in earlier that morning. But this time it looked like he'd at
least gotten a chance to run a comb through his hair. Nick took a quick
glance around the room, lowering his head in shame when he saw his father.
The bailiff brought him to stand next to Boyd.

The judge said, "Mr. Connelly, proceed."

"Your honor, Mr. Fallin has been charged with a serious crime. We're
recommending bail be set at $100,000."

The judge nodded. "Mr. Boyd?"

"Your honor, we feel that $100,000 is excessive. This is a first offense.
Mr. Fallin is an upstanding member of the community. He has substantial
ties here in the city, and is not a flight risk. We would ask that bail
not exceed $20,000.

The judge took a moment to consider, then said firmly. "Bail is set at
$40,000. See the bailiff."

Boyd turned, and said something to Nick in a low voice, as the bailiff
stepped up to escort Nick back out of the courtroom.

Boyd stepped away from the defense table, and walked back to confer with
Burton Fallin, as the court officer began to call the next case.

---+---

Burton Fallin and Michael Boyd were in the waiting room outside the lock-up
facility in the basement of the county courthouse. They had been there
since Burton had posted bail for Nick some 45 minutes ago. Burton checked
his watch for the third or fourth time, and was about to say something to
Boyd, when he saw Nick approaching through the glass door that led to
lock-up. He and Boyd both stood, as Nick, escorted by an officer, but
without handcuffs this time, walked through the door. Nick held a manila
envelope containing his personal effects in one hand. The officer stopped
just outside the doorway, and let Nick proceed from there on his own. Nick
lowered his gaze as he walked up to the two men.

Boyd was the first to speak. "Well, Nick, how ya doing?" He didn't wait
for Nick to reply before proceeding, "Go home. Get some rest. We'll talk
about all this on Monday. All right?"

Nick nodded dispiritedly.

Burton said, "Thank you, Mike. He'll see you on Monday." Burton took
Nick's arm. "Come on son. Let's get out of here." As they started to
walk, Burton dropped his hold on Nick. They headed out of the waiting room
and down the hallway toward the elevator. Burton pushed the 'up' button,
and they waited in silence for the elevator to arrive. When it came, they
walked inside, and Burton pushed the button for the ground floor. As the
doors closed, he said, "You all right?" Nick just nodded, still averting
his gaze from that of his father. When the elevator stopped, they made
their way out of the courthouse, without further conversation. Once on
the street, Burton led the way to his car. The weather was chilly, and
Burton noticed that Nick was without a coat. He found himself thinking
with weary sarcasm, "Guess the cops don't bother to ask if you'd like your
coat when they're placing you under arrest, do they, Nick?"

They reached the car, and Burton used the remote to deactivate the alarm.
Both men got in silently. There was no conversation on the drive to Nick's
apartment. Burton shot an aggrieved look at Nick from time to time, but
Nick was busy studying the floor boards, and pretended not to notice.

Burton parked the car in the lot outside Nick's building, and they headed
up to his apartment. As they exited the elevator, Nick dug his keys out
from among the contents of the manila envelope. Glancing at his father, he
unlocked the apartment door, and went in. Burton followed on his heels.
The place was a mess, both from the scattered remnants of the party and the
subsequent work of the police. Nick stared around for a moment. Burton
looked around in disgust, then said sharply, "Sit down, son." Nick walked
over to the couch, and sat down slowly, running his left hand down the back
of his head as he did so. He licked his lips, and started to say, "Dad",
but Burton had held his tongue as long as he could. Now he tore into Nick
before Nick could get out more than that single word.

"My God, Nicholas, what were you thinking?! Drugs? You're involved with
drugs? Do you know how stupid that is? My, God... How long has this
been going on? Huh?"

Nick didn't answer. He had bowed his head when Burton began the verbal
assault, and it stayed bowed now. His father began to stalk around the
room.

"And it's not bad enough you've got to be using the crap yourself. You've
got to supply it to your guests? Like some kind of damn party favor?! Do
you know what kind of trouble you can get in for that? Do you? This
lawyer Boyd says we'll be lucky if we can get the charges reduced to a
misdemeanor. Do you know that? Answer me, son!"

Nick did not look up as he answered, "I know."

Burton continued in exasperation, "What have you got to say for yourself,
huh? You could be flushing your whole career down the toilet. You know
that? And for what? For a, a damn 'high'. Christ! The papers will
be full of this tomorrow. Do you know that, Nicholas? They eat this
stuff up! 'Son of prominent attorney arrested for holding coke party.'
They'll drag us all through the mud!"

Nick, at last showing a little spirit, raised his head, and said, "Do you
want me to resign? I'll resign."

"No, Goddamnit! I don't want you to resign! I want you to have been
smarter than this, Nicholas. That's what I want. For you to have been
smarter than this!"

Burton paused as if finally running out of steam. Passing his hand over
the top of his head, he looked at Nick. Finally in a calmer tone, he said,
"You sure you're all right? Nobody hurt you, or laid a hand on you, or,
uhm, anything?"

Nick said with a touch of defiance, "Nobody touched me. I'm fine."

"Well, that's something at least." Burton let out a loud sigh. "I guess,
uh, I guess we'll start trying to sort this all out on Monday. Boyd is
supposed to be the best..." He looked around the room, as is searching
for something more to say. "Well... Try, try to get some rest, son. I'm
sure you didn't get much sleep in lock-up last night." He took another
long look at Nick, and then started to walk to the door. "I'll, I'll talk
to you later, Nicholas." Reaching the door, he took one last look back at
his son, and then quietly let himself out. After a moment, Nick got up,
and went over to lock the door. Then he walked back over to the couch, and
threw himself on it full length. He let out a heavy sigh, and laid one arm
over his eyes as he felt a black gloom descend upon him. He had really
done it this time. Really made a royal mess of things. He didn't blame
his dad for blowing up like he had. He knew he deserved that, and more.
Much, much more. God, what a fuck-up he was. A total fuck-up.

The End