Prosecutorial Discretion

Prosecutorial Discretion

Prologue

Brandon sat in his jail cell staring out the bars at the prisoner in the cell across from him. Lil Todd Williams, Jr., a low-life street hood trying to make a move into the big league, now arrested on nine felony and numerous misdemeanor charges, more then Taylor J Boebert, the U.S. Congresswoman son.

He was also a tweeker, often dipping into his own supply, always a bad idea. Since his arrest, Lil Todd had been going thru withdrawals, detoxing. Irritable, chills, dehydration, and of course insomnia, soon to be followed by hyper-somnia. Soon he would be out cold, basically in a coma for a day or two.

How did he know that?

Because twelve hours ago Brandon had signed the search warrant authorizing the raid on Lil Todd's home, charges of possession with the intent to distribute. Brandon was the two-term Fern County District Attorney. He had a seat on the City Counsel, friends in the government, a judgeship was the guaranteed next step in his career.

Not any more. While Brandon did have a lot of connections, this was the big time, he needed Andrew, his personal lawyer and more importantly his fixer. Andrew, was a college friend, occasional lover, and the muscle behind Brandon's rise to the DA's office. With prosecutorial discretion comes favors from those you chose not to charge.

The trick was knowing how to ask. Andrew knew how to ask, applying just the right amount of necessary leverage, keeping Brandon's hands clean.

Quid pro quo, as long as the statute of limitations hadn't run out, that is.

Chapter 1

The raid had discovered four kilos of meth, and as a surprise, two kilos of cocaine; the "official" report however, reported only the four kilos of meth. Brandon owned one of the cops used in the raid, an Officer Alice Bradford. Her main job was to gather the evidence after the raids, collecting and inventorying the drugs, money, jewelry...

Most of the time she was left alone to do her job.

Two years ago, working as a prosecutor, Brandon had caught her stealing evidence, an envelope with over $10K from a drug raid. Officer Bradford was to keep the stolen cash as an initial payment, plus another $10K when the charges were dropped. With the money gone, the case would have to be dismissed.

Brandon had walked in on her stuffing the envelope down the back of her unbuckled pants. Awkward.

Rather than turn her in, Brandon concocted a new scheme, a new plan pretending the money had actually been stolen, Officer Bradford had been in on the plan from the beginning, she had come to Brandon when she was first approached. They would play along, a sting operation

Officer Bradford played her role perfectly. The payoff was caught on tape, the dealer forced to plead guilty, receiving an additional five years for attempting to bribe a police official, plus fifteen more for possession with intent to distribute.

Brandon was given full credit for the operation, and Officer Bradford moved to SWAT, with a promotion as well. She now had modified body armor, space for about one kilo of anything on each side; a stash spot for anything they didn't want to show up on the inventory.

Sure a bullet would go right thru, but the other officers protected her, keeping her to the rear, out of the line of fire.

Brandon had given one kilo delivered to his dealer, repayment for a favor. The other kilo he would share with Andrew. While Andrew never used, he gave away "tastes" to those Brandon needed favors. Cutting open the top of the kilo, Brandon poured about an ounce in a small plastic bag, the rest he stashed in Andrew's desk drawer.

Around 11 PM Brandon pulled up into his driveway, snorting a line before having to face Lexi; she had been drinking again, sending him text after text, accusing him of cheating on her. Rambling on and on, how she made him, how she can destroy him, the usual threats of leaving him. Just another Friday night.

As soon as he entered the front door Lexi slapped him with her right hand, stunning Brandon, allowing her time to use her left hand to scratch her nails into his cheek and neck.

Lexi ran down the hallway, throwing a picture frame she pulled off the wall, their wedding photo of course, hitting him in the face, cutting his forehead. Brandon felt a trickle of blood begin dripping down his nose. Head wounds, even minor cuts like this, can bleed a lot.

Lexi had made her way into the kitchen, throwing anything she could find, first pots and pans, then plates, glasses, anything in the kitchen sink. When she began throwing plates thru the windows like a Frisbee, shattering the glass on the way out, Brandon had turned around and walked back out the door.

After climbing back into his car, Brandon looked in the mirror he used to cut the lines of coke. There was quite a hand print on his left cheek, red to crimson in color, some areas darker with smears of his blood. The right side of his face had four deep scratches, each about six inches long, extending down his neck.

Using his ever present handkerchief, it took Brandon several minutes of pressure to finally get the bleeding from his forehead to stop, giving the hand-print time to become much clearer on his cheek. When his handkerchief was totally soaked, Brandon grabbed a couple of packs of tissues from the glove compartment.

"Hopefully it will fade before Tuesday." Brandon thought. He had a court hearing on a sexual assault charge, he may need to ask for a delay. Otherwise he would need a lot of makeup. He threw everything covered in blood into a plastic bag, tying it at the top, and then tossed it on the back seat floor.

After using the mirror to snort another line, Brandon backed out of the driveway, opting to go for a drive, heading towards Lake Aurora, a few miles up State Route 324. At this time of night there should be no one, city ordinances he had implemented for the neighbors. At a price of course.

There was a quiet spot he and Lexi had used on several occasions, the trees and bushes shielding them from view from the street, but providing a beautiful view of the lake. Everyone knew his car, a classically restored blue 1964 Buick Electra 225 with a white convertible top, and front bench seat, plenty of room for a couple to engage in a little fun.

The police also knew his car and would leave him alone.

As expected, the full moon reflecting off the lake did not evoke the usual romantic feelings; Lexi was not sitting next to him. Brandon parked parked at the lake, opening the top to allow the cool night breeze to help keep him awake. Snorting another two lines of cocaine, Brandon began playing air guitar to rock music blasting from his stereo.

He was passed out when the police showed up on a complaint from one of the neighbors; it was just after 2 AM and the music was still blasting. One officer woke him up, slapping his face, while pulling him out of the car and onto the ground. Yelling as he tried to stand up, barely making it to his knees, Brandon began arguing with them, telling them who he was and how he could have their badges if he wanted.

Then he puked all over their shoes and passed out again.

Chapter 2

Brandon woke up to cold water pouring over his head, a hose from a large sink in the jail's kitchen, two new officers were holding him up. They identified themselves as Officer Spinner and Officer Johnston. Brandon attempted to stand up, tried turning around when he realized his hands were cuffed behind his back.

"This is bullshit!" he yelled as he tried to use his shoulders to fight with the officers.

Grabbing his arm, Officer Spinner turned Brandon around and informed him he was under arrest, public intoxication, and the possession of a controlled substance. The preliminary test indicated the powder they found in a baggie on the passenger seat was cocaine.

After reading Brandon his rights, they led him to the showers, each officer holding one of his arms. They removed the cuffs, watching as he tried to undress, ensuring he didn't slip on the soap. Brandon sat down on the floor, letting the cold water clear his head. As the cold water cleared his head, he could be in a lot of trouble.

Putting on the typical orange jumpsuit, the officers led him down the dark hallway to his new home for the night, only one night he hoped. A nurse was there, with a chair, a needle and several empty vials They were going to take his blood. Not without a search warrant!

"Where is your warrant?" demanded Brandon.

"Right here." said Officer Spinner. "Signed by Judge Maggie Manni just five minutes ago. One of the officer's shoes you puked on belongs to her son. You two seem to have a history so when she heard what happened, well she was down here in her pajamas, signing almost blank search warrants, your home, car, office, even your gym locker. You're lucky she forgot about your anal cavity."

Brandon was pushed into the chair and the armrest was folded down. The nurse wrapped his arm wit the tubing and began tapping on his arm, waiting for the vein to pop up. He watched as five or six vials of blood were taken. He thought he had counted six empty vials on the tray, but now there were only five.

Ten minutes later and Brandon was led into his cell, the locking sound of the door familiar, but always from the other side. His cell was no bigger than a sheet of plywood; four foot wide and eight foot deep. A cot took up most of the left side, bolted to the wall of course, with a thin mattress and even thinner green blanket, leaving two feet between the end of the cot and the bars. The toilet was at the back, solid steel, cold, doubling as a chair with the lid down.

Sitting on the toilet, Brandon realized his life was about to become a series of flash-backs, every past decision judged and rejudged by anyone and everyone. All of his cases could now be put under review, every criminal charge challenged.

All because of a little cocaine habit.

Alleged cocaine habit. Innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. That is, or was, unless you had friends in the right places. Brandon had friends in the right places, and the wrong ones as well. He had made evidence disappear before, let his friends walk on a mere technicality. He owned each and everyone he needed to make the charges just "disappear."

Two years ago Brandon had come up with the legal gibberish of "factual allegations," a way of telling the public to basically go fuck themselves. Minor criminal complaints against friends, influential people were simply dismissed, claiming their allegations were pure speculation.

The term is in fact is pure meaningless legal bullshit!

Why? Because It is the courts, a judge and a jury of your peers, not the DA's office, who are finders of fact. Who cares if the public gets screwed, Brandon's real job was to protect his friends, use his influence to his benefit.

And their benefit as well, of course.

If cash, cocaine, and wild sex parties were the result of his prosecutorial discretion, who cared! His wife Lexi should be making arrangements for his bail in the morning, Andrew will make sure the charges are dropped once the cocaine disappears and the report blacked out. He has simply passed out in his car from being way over-worked, the "white power" would test as nothing more than powered sugar from a doughnut.

Brandon felt himself relaxing, soon his problems would all disappear, life would go back to normal. Maybe he would take a vacation, Mexico or the Virgin Isles. Satisfied that he could handle all the problems, Brandon laid down on the cot and passed out.

Chapter 3

The banging of a cell door woke Brandon up. It took him a minute to focus and realize he was in jail, his mind still cloudy from the cocaine binge. Andrew was standing outside his door, smiling at his appearance. Andrew Johnston was the top lawyer in the area, civil matters, not criminal, allowing him to provide advice while keeping up the appearance of a respectable distance, as he was both a close friend, and once in a while Brandon's lover.

Andrew grabbed a chair and sat down close to the bars, motioning Brandon to sit closer. "We have a couple of small problems with your arrest last night." said Andrew. "One of the officers is putting up a fight on dropping the public intoxication charges. Lt. Elderberry is working on him now."

"Speak a little quieter please," cautioned Brandon. "We have Lil Todd over there."

"Relax Miho!," said Andrew. "Lil Todd passed out an hour ago, one minute he was ranting about a boogie man coming after him, the next he dropped face down into the toilet. He will be out for at least a day."

Andrew walked over to Lil Todd's cell and yelled at him. "I have your supply, wake up and you can get as high as you want." Andrew banged on the cell bars. "A hot woman in your area wants to meet you." Lil Todd groaned, moving a bit under the blanket, exposing the top of his black hair. "See," said Andrew, "he is either out cold, or dead."

Andrew sat back down, keeping a yard back from the cell bars. "I had them cut the video, so we have a few hours in private before you make bail. I told them we didn't want any footage of you sitting in jail."

"Lexi is downstairs, but there is a back log in court and raising the bail will take a few more hours." said Andrew. "Look, Brandon, you need to get yourself under control, clean up for a while until things calm back down. Everyone is agreeing you have been so over-worked, so stressed out, you skipped lunch and dinner, gorging yourself on doughnuts and Red Bull. That and a bad reaction to an over-the-counter cold medicine caused you to crash."

Brandon felt himself relaxing, he knew he could trust Andrew to fix this. Andrew was as slick a lawyer as he was corrupt. He and Brandon had partied together often, chasing the higher end whores they arrested, "favors" in exchange for his discretion in not prosecuting them. Giving them free cocaine always provided any missing motivation.

"You know they executed several search warrants, right?" asked Andrew. "I had over an hour before they got to your house. I made sure anything incriminating was removed. I cleaned up all the broken dishes and put them in a cardboard box. Those boxes are sitting in my trunk.

I also put cardboard over the three broken windows. A couple of days ago you were mowing the lawn when you ran over some small rocks, The rocks broke the windows. I removed all the glass so you cant tell which way it was broken. That is in my trunk as well.

"They went thru your house, which was a total mess." Andrew continued. "Lexi had trashed a lot, but with suit cases out it looked like she was doing some spring cleaning, swapping out winter clothes for the summer. The search means they can take the blame for the mess. Maybe we can add it as a lawsuit."

"I gotta warn you, it originally looked like Lexi was leaving." said Andrew. "She had put a lot of her clothes in the suit cases, the winter clothes were piled on the floor. "I calmed her down, but you gotta clean up or the next time she will leave. We switched them around, putting her winter clothes back in the suitcases, piling the other clothes on the floor and in the laundry."

"As for your face, Lexi agreed to say it was a result of you two engaging in consensual sexual conduct, the passion just got a little carried away. The slap mark on your face is almost gone and the scratches on your face and neck were an accident of passion. She knows to keep her mouth shut when it matters, and right now she is not saying a word to anyone."

"The kilo of cocaine you left in my desk drawer, that is also safe in my trunk. They actually brought a drug dog thru my office across the street. It alerted on my desk, but they came up with nothing. With all the evidence testing I review, they chalked it up to residue from somewhere."

Andrew stared a Brandon for a minute before continuing, his eyes seemed to blaze with hatred for just a second. "I also took all the clothes that belonged to your sexual assault victims, the ones that were evidence and should have been destroyed. Did you really have Lexi dress up in their clothes and reenact the assaults?"

"I only did it to get an idea if the assault went down as described, to make sure the story was credible." countered Brandon. "Besides, Lexi said it was the best sex we had, she enjoyed it a lot more when we role played."

"No problem," replied Andrew. "We all have our kinky side. Remember out first foursome? Those two were wild, insisting we kiss before they would kiss each other. We had to hold back on that kiss or the girls would have left.

Brandon thought back on their first sexual encounter in college, their unspoken mutual attraction towards each other. Andrew was as good a lover as any woman he had slept with. In many ways, much better.

Chapter 4

Brandon met Lexi in their sophomore year at college at a frat party; he was pre-law, she was a business major. He had walked into the bathroom and found her half-passed out in the bath tub, her red skirt hiked up to her waist exposing a purple thong, her white shirt had just one button at the bottom still fastened, exposing a matching purple bra with her left breast fully on display, a gold bar piercing the nipple.

Lexi said she need help taking a shower and wanted to know if he would join her. Brandon had backed out quickly, forgetting how badly he needed to piss. He had grabbed two girls at random and pushed them into the bathroom, closing the door while he waited outside.

Ten minutes later the girls opened the door, helping Lexi as she stumbled out. "Thank you" was all she said to Brandon as she headed towards the door. Brandon caught up with her and said he would escort her back to her dorm, along with at least one of the women who helped her get dressed. Or both.

"OK.", agreed Lexi, keeping her head down, her face hidden behind her long black hair, barely able to look Brandon in the face.

The mid summer weather, along with a full moon, made the walk back to Lexi's dorm enjoyable, the fresh air and light breeze a welcome change from the pot smoke and spilt beer stench back at the party. It was almost 10 PM and still about 78.

Five minutes later Brandon and the two girls dropped Lexi off, leaving her in the care of her roommate Lonnie. "Not the first time she has been dropped off like this." was all her roommate would say.

As they walked back towards the street, Brandon realized they didn't know each other's names. "I don't think we've been properly introduced." he said." I'm Brandon Starling."

I'm Carissa Michelle and this is my friend Christina Anderson." said Carissa. "We just transferred in and were invited to the party by some hot guy named Andrew. He didn't show up and we were about to leave when you grabbed us."

Carissa was a beautiful, petite blond with shoulder length hair, five foot nothing, maybe 95 pounds. Button up pink jeans, the top two buttons undone, a hint of green showing. A matching pink halter top exposing her breasts in a lacy green bra, just covering her pink nipples. Her eyes deep pools of blue, hypnotic. Nice handfuls on the top and bottom

Christina was the total opposite, her skin was coffee with just a dash of cream, her eyes almost as dark. Her jet black hair was tightly braided, flowing around her head and down her back. She was wrapped in a deep blue sarong. Almost his height, just under six foot, muscular but still quite feminine. 36C+'s with no sign of sagging.

Regal was all Brandon could think of as he took in her beauty.

Let's take a walk to the lake, it is just a half mile or so and the weather is so beautiful." suggested Christina. "Agreed!" said Carissa. Brandon found each of his arms being wrapped around their waists as they took control leading him down the sidewalk.