The Deal 
 
Author: JanetD
 
Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG (mild language)

Summary: Burton makes a deal to keep Nick out of jail.

Author's Notes: 1) This story was inspired by the episode “The Beginning”. If 
you haven’t seen this episode it could be considered a spoiler. 2) This story is 
a follow-on to my earlier piece “Busted!”, but stands completely on it’s own. 3) 
In writing this story, I had to decide whether or not to address the fact that 
Nick did not turn in his dealer when seeking to make a plea bargain with the 
D.A.. This is something I have never been able to understand myself. Since I 
couldn’t come up with a good way to explain it, I’ve just ignored it. 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed 
from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any 
resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is 
purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted 
in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.


December 2000

It was a chilly winter day in Pittsburgh. The temperature was in the low 
twenties, and there had been a brisk wind blowing all morning. Attorney Nick 
Fallin walked through the doors of Fallin & Associates, briefcase in hand, the 
collar of his overcoat turned up to help ward off the chill. His cheeks, nose, 
and ears were red from the cold. He headed to his office. A few people glanced 
his way as he passed, but he was no longer subject to the covert stares that had 
followed in the wake of his arrest for drug possession. That had been nearly six 
weeks ago now, but the horror of the thing was still fresh in his mind: the 
police busting into his apartment, dragging him and his guests out the door, the 
humiliation of his booking, and the oh-so-painful call to his father. God! That 
had been worse than spending the night in lock-up. He’d barely been able to 
force himself to make the call. But in the end he’d had no real choice. His 
father was the best one to help him out in that situation. The only thing that 
had lessened the agony of that phone call was the fact that he was still high 
from the coke he’d taken at the party. As he shook his head at his own folly, 
Nick found himself thinking cynically, “Think God for small favors.” As he’d 
expected, his father had taken charge--getting him a lawyer (Michael Boyd--the 
top drug attorney in the city), posting his bail, driving him home after he was 
released. His father had been extremely pissed, but his primary focus had been 
getting his son out of the mess he had gotten himself into. 

Nick walked into his office. He placed his briefcase on his desk, and then 
removed his gloves. Glancing out the window, he took off his topcoat, and hung 
it on his coat stand. As he took a seat behind his desk, he began to frown. His 
court date was set for January 20th. So far, Boyd had not been able to come to 
an agreement with the D.A. that would get Nick’s charges reduced. The D.A.’s 
office had recently adopted a new “get tough” policy for drug offenses, cracking 
down exceptionally hard on people hosting parties where the drugs flowed freely. 
Unfortunately, Nick fell into this category, and the D.A. didn’t seem inclined 
to cut him any slack. Nick was worried, but so far his lawyer was still telling 
him they’d get something worked out. The only good think about the whole 
situation, Nick thought, was that he seemed to be the only one unable to work 
out a deal. All the guests at his party that had been arrested had been able to 
plead to misdemeanors with no jail time. This included his girlfriend Marlene, 
and he was very grateful for that. She was a nice girl. He had hated to see her 
go through any of this, but at least she’d gotten off with only a year’s 
probation and 100 hours of community service. Still, she hadn’t felt too kindly 
to him after the arrest, and they weren’t seeing each other any more. Not that 
it had been any sort of serious thing, but they had dated for a couple months, 
and Nick regretted that it had ended the way it did. 

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Nick picked up the papers in front of him, and 
pulled his thoughts away from his legal problems. He had a lot of work to do.

---+---

Burton Fallin’s assistant Sheila opened his office door, and ushered in attorney 
Michael Boyd. Boyd was a man who carried himself with a confident air. Handsome, 
with dark features, he appeared to be in his late thirties. He was very well 
dressed. 

Burton walked around from behind his desk, and greeted Boyd with an outstretched 
hand.

“Good to see you, Mike,” Burton said. 

“You too, Burton,” Boyd replied, as he shook the older man’s hand.

“Have, have a seat,“ Burton said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk, as 
he returned to his own place behind it. “You wanted to see me?” he asked with 
interest.

Boyd nodded. “I did. Things are not looking good for Nick’s case. The D.A. is 
refusing to play ball. Right now, it looks like they’re going to stick with the 
charges for distribution of an illegal narcotic. They’ll be asking the judge for 
five years.”

“What!” The words practically exploded from Burton’s mouth. “You told me you’d 
be able to get the charges reduced to a misdemeanor with no jail time.”

“I know. And I thought I could. But the D.A.’s office seems to be determined to 
make an example out of Nick. Herb Connelly is not giving any ground at all. 
Frankly, he seems to be taking joy in prosecuting your son to the full extent of 
the law.”

Burton ran a hand over his head, and shot a worried look at Boyd. “What can we 
do?”

Boyd seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “It’s time to call in your 
markers. If you know anyone that has any influence with the D.A.’s office it’s 
time to put those connections to use. Otherwise, I think Nick is looking at an 
extended stint in prison.”

“God!” Burton said with feeling, the fingers of his left hand moving up to rest 
on his mustache. He looked at Boyd for a moment, before shaking his head 
resignedly. “Okay.... Thanks, Mike. I appreciate your being straight with me.”

Boyd nodded. He got up to leave, and Burton rose as well. He walked with Boyd to 
the door, and shook his hand again as he prepared to leave. “Thanks again, 
Mike,” Burton said sincerely.

---+---

Burton Fallin sat alone in a private sitting room at the Riverbrook Country 
Club. He glanced at his watch, and took another sip of his Scotch. Reaching for 
the pack of cigarettes on the table, he shook one free. Two discarded butts 
could already been seen in the ashtray in front of him. Lighting up, Burton drew 
in a deep drag of the soothing, nicotine-laced smoke. Just then the door opened, 
and Burton glanced up. State senator Nathan Caldwell walked in. He was a man of 
medium height who would have been considered slender in his youth. But now in 
his mid-fifties, he had acquired a few additional inches around the mid-section. 
His hair was pure white, cut short, and he was balding in front. Burton rose to 
his feet as Caldwell greeted him with a smile. “Burton,” he said 
enthusiastically, stepping forward, and shaking his hand. “Good to see you 
again. How long’s it been?”

“Well, I guess it’s been about two years, Nate. We worked on that project for 
downtown revitalization together. Remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Caldwell confirmed, with a nod of his head. “That’s right.”

“Have a seat,” Burton said, resuming his own place. “What can I get you to 
drink?”

“Whiskey, neat.”

Burton pressed a buzzer, and in a moment an attractive young woman walked in the 
door. “Yes, Mr. Fallin?” she said.

“Rebecca, the senator would like Whiskey, neat, and I’ll take another Scotch.”

“Certainly, sir. Is there anything else?”

Burton looked at Caldwell, “Nathan?”

“No, no, just the drink will be fine. Thanks.”

With a smile, Rebecca stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind her.
Burton took another sip of his Scotch, and the two men made small talk until the 
waitress returned. 

“Here you are,” she said, setting the two drinks down in front of the men. 

“Thank you, Rebecca,” Burton said.

“You’re welcome. Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?”

“No thank you. We’re, uhm, we’re good.”

“All right. Well, if you need anything else, gentlemen, just buzz.” With another 
fleeting smile, she left the two men alone.

Burton shifted in his over-stuffed chair, and Caldwell looked at him, as if 
waiting for him to speak first. In a moment Burton said, “Nate, you know that I 
have a son, Nicholas.”

“Yes,” Caldwell replied. “He’s an associate in your law firm, I believe.”

“That’s right.” Burton cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, 
or not, but my son...my son was arrested on a drug charge in November.”

A look of concern appeared on Caldwell’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that. That’s a 
shame, Burton, really. I imagine it must have come as quite a shock.”

“Yes, yes it did.” Burton glanced down at his drink, and then returned his gaze 
to Caldwell. “The thing is...the D.A. is charging him with distribution of a 
narcotic--a felony. Nick’s attorney has been trying to get it reduced to 
misdemeanor possession, but the D.A.’s office isn’t going for that. They seem to 
be trying to make some kind of example out of Nick.”

“Hmmm. That’s rough. I know how I’d feel if my son was in that position.”

“Yeah,” Burton said, sitting forward in his chair. “Look Nate, I know that the 
D.A. is a close friend of yours. I, uhm, I was hoping you could talk to him. 
Convince him to cut Nick some slack.”

Caldwell looked at Burton for a moment before replying, “I suppose I might be 
able to do that. John might be willing to listen to reason.”

“That would be great,” Burton said, a smile breaking out on his face. “I’d 
really appreciate it, Nate. Nick is a good kid, a little headstrong, but 
bright--very bright, and very talented. He doesn’t deserve to go to prison--to 
have his whole life ruined--for making a mistake like this.” 

Caldwell nodded his head in agreement. The look he directed at Burton turned 
speculative. Then he asked casually, “So how are things at Fallin & Associates?”

“Good, real good,” Burton replied, sitting back in his chair, and taking another 
puff from his cigarette.

“You know, sometimes I think I should have gone into private practice rather 
than public service. ‘Senator Caldwell’ sounds nice, but it doesn’t pay the 
bills.” He laughed, and Burton joined in. “I’ve been thinking lately that maybe 
I should have something to fall back on. You know, politics is never a sure 
thing. One day the voters may love you. The next day, BAM!, they turn against 
you, and you’re out on your ass...just like that. It’s a crap shoot, Burton.”

Burton nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ve been thinking that a partnership in a successful corporate practice, a 
practice like yours, might be something I’d want to consider down the line.” He 
paused. “What do you think, Burton?”

Burton hesitated, then nodded, as he replied. “I think, uh...I think a man like 
you could be a valuable asset in a firm like mine, Nate. A valuable asset.”

Now it was Caldwell’s turn to nod. “If I were to be offered such a partnership I 
would want to bring my Chief of Staff along--Mitchell Lichtman. He’s very 
bright--young and ambitious. He’s been my right-hand man for the last four 
years. He’s been extremely valuable to me, Burton, and I wouldn’t want to lose 
him.”

Burton put his hand to his chin. “Okay.... Well...we can always make room for 
another talented young attorney.”

“Good, good.” Caldwell fixed Burton with a meaningful stare as he added, “Then 
we understand each other?”

Burton glanced away, and then back at Caldwell. “Yeah. Yeah, we understand each 
other, Nate.”

---+---

Senator Caldwell and D.A. John Goldfarb sat finishing after-dinner drinks in the 
study of the Senator’s home. The two men and their wives had had a pleasant 
meal, discussing old times, and catching up with current happenings in their 
lives. After dinner, the men had adjourned to the study, while the women 
retreated to the living room. 

There was a pause in the two men’s conversation, and then the senator broke the 
silence, “John, I heard something very disturbing the other day.”

The D.A. looked up, interested. “What?”

“I heard that a bright young man, an asset to this community, is in danger of 
having his future destroyed by your office.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Nate?” Goldfarb asked.

“I’m talking about Nicholas Fallin. I understand that this is his first offense, 
that he wants to work out a plea bargain, but your folks won’t budge.”

Drawing out the single syllable, Goldfarb said, “Nate.”

“Listen to me, John. What’s the sense in locking up a productive solid citizen 
like Nick Fallin--a young man with his whole life ahead of him--while you let 
the no-account, drug-heads of this city go free with a slap on the hand. Is that 
justice?”

“He broke the law, Nate,” Goldfarb said firmly. “He was hosting a coke party in 
his apartment. Does that sound like a solid citizen to you?”

“Come on, John,” Caldwell wheedled. “Lots of worthy young people have gotten 
mixed up with drugs, you know that as well as I do. Not that I approve, of 
course. You know I don’t. And you also know that I’m the first to back the 
anti-drug bills that come before the Senate. But if you throw the book at Nick 
Fallin, that’s it for him. He’s done. You will have wrecked what could have been 
a very promising career for an otherwise upstanding young man. Do you really 
want to do that, John? What if it was one of your sons--Samuel or Larry? How 
would you feel then?”

The D.A. directed a long look at his friend, and then let out a heavy sigh. 
“Okay, okay. We’ll back off, let Fallin make a deal. But this better be the last 
we see of him, Nate. If there’s a next time, I’ll make Nicholas Fallin wish he’d 
never been born. Count on it.”

Caldwell nodded, stood, and reached for his friend’s glass. “Refill?” he asked.

---+---

Nick Fallin picked up his office phone on the first ring. “Yes?”

“Mr. Fallin, Michael Boyd is on the line for you.”

“Put him through.” Nick ran one hand down the back of his head, awaiting the 
sound of his lawyer’s voice with apprehension. The last time he’d talked to Boyd 
things were not looking good. He feared that Boyd might be calling to deliver 
more bad news. Although, he reassured himself, if that was the case it seemed 
likely he would have done it in person, not over the phone. 

Finally Boyd came on the line. “Nick,” he said heartily. “I’ve got great news. 
Connelly has agreed to accept your plea to misdemeanor drug possession. He’ll 
recommend three years probation, a $10,000 fine, and 1500 hours of community 
service.”

“1500 hours?” Nick said, dismayed. “That many?”

“Nick, Nick,” Boyd said with obvious exasperation, “believe me, this is a gift. 
Connelly was ready to lock you up and throw away the key. This is a great offer, 
and if I were you, I’d jump at it before he changes his mind.”

“Of course, of course,” Nick said with chagrin. “You’re right. I, I accept.”

“Good. We’ll get all the paperwork in order, and then I’ll call you. Okay?”

“Sure, yeah sure, and...thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Talk to you later, Nick.”

“Right.”

As Nick hung up the phone the full impact of what Boyd had said hit him. He 
wasn’t going to jail. He would have to do community service and three years 
probation, but he wasn’t going to jail! A wave of relief swept over him, and a 
broad smile broke out on his face. He stood up. He had to tell his dad the news.

Burton Fallin, reading glasses perched on his nose, was reviewing a 
freshly-prepared brief when a knock came at his office door. Barely before he 
could get out the words, “come in”, his son strode into the room. Burton noticed 
that there was a smile on Nick’s face (a rare occurrence, as he knew only too 
well), and he smiled unconsciously in return.

“Dad,” Nick said, somewhat breathless. “Dad, Boyd just called. The D.A. has 
agreed to reduce the charges to a misdemeanor. I’ll get probation and community 
service, but no jail time.”

Burton’s smile broadened, and he stood up. “That’s great, son! That’s great. 
What, what are the particulars?”

“Three years probation, 1500 hours of community service, and a $10,000 fine.”

Burton nodded slowly as he mulled this over. “Well, that’s not too bad. It could 
have been worse....” He looked at Nick again, and then said sincerely, “That’s 
wonderful, Nicholas. I’m really glad to hear it. Really glad, son.”

Nick nodded, and glanced around his father’s office, then back to Burton. After 
a moment he said, “Well...guess, guess I’d better get back to work.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later Nick.”

Nick nodded again, and headed for the door, glancing back once at his father as 
he walked out.

Burton stood a moment staring at the closed door. Then sat down heavily. “Well, 
it looks like it worked,” he found himself thinking. “Caldwell must have come 
through.... Thank God!” He leaned back in his chair, and ran one hand over the 
top of his head, as he contemplated the deal he had made with the senator. It 
had been a risk. Was still a risk, he corrected himself. If it came to light 
that he’d promised Caldwell a partnership in exchange for his exerting influence 
with the D.A..... But it had kept his son out of prison. It had kept Nick’s 
career from being flushed down the toilet. That was the important thing. That 
was all that really mattered. 

Burton swiveled his chair to the right, and sat gazing out the window for a few 
moments. No. No, he didn’t regret what he’d done. Not one bit. Not...one...bit.

The End