A/N: Thanks for the reviews, favorites and follows on the first chapter. Your support means a lot!
Marty sat in Jeannine Anderson's small, cluttered office within the vast Public Defender's Office that took up the entire 19th floor of the downtown county courthouse. Jeannine had supervised him since he'd been hired and had proved herself a true mentor, guiding him as he learned the ropes.
He'd just caught her up on his conversation with Nikolai Petrov, which had elicited what Marty had affectionately termed her "grumpy face." Her frown and pursed lips contrasted with her colorful, floral-patterned dress and added a few more wrinkles that the bangs in her grey, bobbed hair couldn't hide. He blew out a long breath, prompting her to ask, "Oh, Marty, why do you have to be such a magnet for trouble? What am I going to do with you?"
"Martin, why do you have to be such a magnet for trouble?" his mother chided. "They want to send you to Juvenile Hall, or maybe even to actual prison for grand theft auto!"
Fourteen-year-old Marty couldn't help but roll his blue eyes at his mother's melodramatic tirade, responding, "Grand theft auto? Really, Mom?"
She sighed and shook her head before she continued, saying, "What am I going to do with you? And really, I don't know what I'll do without you, sweetie... My god, I can't bear to think of you locked up with hardened criminals. I've told you over and over that that Ray Martindale is a terrible influence. When are you going to understand that? You have so much potential, if only you'd apply yourself and stay away from troublemakers like Ray."
He reacted instantly to his mom's disparaging words about his friend, his eyes scrunched into a glare, his voice deadly serious as he told her, "Mom, you don't know anything about Ray. He looks out for me. He's a great friend, my best friend."
Marty and his mother were squared off in a small, windowless conference room at the Van Nuys Public Defender's Office, ironically only a few miles away from winding Coldwater Canyon, where the cops had pulled him and Ray over during their joyride in the stolen Camaro, interrupting their foray to Hollywood to see how all the stars lived. The hills of the Santa Monica Mountains had been a constant in their lives, always visible in the distance unless the smog grew really heavy, yet they'd represented something seemingly untouchable from their rough Valley streets, a place where the wealthy lived lives free from the struggles he and Ray had experienced.
The police had released him into his mother's custody pending a hearing before a juvenile court magistrate and had assigned him a public defender, with whom they were waiting to meet. His mother continued to carry on about his poor judgment, and he found himself debating whether or not to get up and run out the door to escape her anxiety and frustration, and to avoid facing the consequences of his actions.
Before he could decide to flee, a tall, thin man wearing a disheveled suit entered carrying a few files. His wavy grey-flecked brown hair was nearly as long as Marty's had become. He used a cane, his left leg looking weaker than his right. But the thing that stood out most was his tie. He wore the most hideous tie Marty had ever seen: a full-on tie-dye of bright turquoise and purple spirals.
"Good morning," he said with a warm smile and curious eyes that sat behind rounded tortoiseshell glasses. "I'm Joseph Bradley, your attorney. But you can call me Joe."
"Petrov just put you in a tough spot. You realize that, right?" Jeannine stated more than asked as she pulled Marty from his thoughts.
"Yeah?" he replied in more of a question than a statement as he unconsciously reached up to ruffle his unruly hair into place. "Is there any way I can get a do-over on today?"
The older attorney barely reacted to his request, shooting Marty a chagrined look but giving him a moment to think. Even if he could turn back time and cancel that meeting with Nikolai, he'd never make that choice. Yes, he had sworn to uphold clear ethical requirements around attorney-client privilege and the guidelines about where those requirements ended. But he couldn't possibly - he wouldn't - stand by and just hope he'd been wrong about Nikolai's implied threat. What he could or should do about it remained to be determined.
"Was it your interpretation that he threatened a witness?"
With Nikolai's exact words still reverberating in his head, Marty nodded, saying, "Yeah. Yes. But when I confronted him about it, he backed all the way down."
"Tell me what you're supposed to do in a situation like this," Jeannine challenged.
Her ability to force him to think for himself was one of the qualities that made her a great mentor, but it was difficult to focus on the legal minutiae when he had the power - the responsibility - to keep a woman from being killed. He replied, "I know I can't tell anyone how I know a witness might be in danger. And I know I don't have to intervene. But how can I not? I'm pretty sure she's in danger, and if something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself."
"I get how you feel, Marty," she replied evenly. "But I want you to think through all the options here. The California Bar is quite clear about disclosing any privileged information. Tell me what it says about information like this."
Marty found himself unconsciously mirroring Jeannine's calm demeanor and he tried to adopt her analytical approach to the problem he faced. Countless details from law school classes and Bar Exam study sessions ran through his mind as he tried to find the answer to her question. It certainly hadn't come up on the job so far. He closed his eyes and recited, "A member of the Bar may, but is not required to, reveal confidential information to the extent that the member reasonably believes the disclosure is necessary to prevent a criminal act that the member reasonably believes is likely to result in death of, or substantial bodily harm to, an individual."
"Very good," Jeannine praised. "So how do you think this situation fits into that rule?"
It was a good question and an important one. Marty took a moment to think before he responded. "I'd say that I'm not ethically required to do anything at all. And that the threat wasn't specific as to result in death or bodily harm. He could be planning to buy her off or just verbally threaten her."
She nodded and prompted, "You keep referring to a 'her.' How do you know it's this particular witness?"
"I mentioned that I'd read the witness statements and that one looked problematic. He asked if it was 'the blonde woman.' I just told him I couldn't tell him anything at all about the witnesses, but he seemed to think this woman had gotten a good look at him and could definitely identify him."
"OK, let's talk opportunity here. Do you think your client has the wherewithal to make good on a threat, whether it be of bodily harm or anything else?"
"Maybe. According to the sentencing statements from his last arrest, his father is a soldier with the Ivankov crime syndicate."
"If he's in with the Russians, why would he be using a PD?"
"It wasn't spelled out, but it sounded like Daddy is still trying to work his way up in their network. Maybe he hasn't risen far enough in the ranks to merit a fancy defense attorney for his son. Maybe since Nikolai's attempt at kidnapping and extortion failed so epically, he's afraid to even ask? But yeah, it would seem like even if it's only good old dad doing the threatening, he could probably make it happen."
"OK, and would he know how to find this witness?"
"Yeah, unfortunately I think so. When Nikolai and his partner tried to kidnap the jewelry store owner, they triggered a silent alarm. The witness works at the store and was closing up after hours. She watched the whole thing unfold from inside the store and called 9-1-1. The only problem is that they spotted her when their intended victim fought back and tried to run back into the store. They'd have probably killed her if the cops hadn't gotten there so quickly."
"You know, another thing the Bar says is that, if it's reasonable to do so, you should make a good faith effort to persuade your client not to commit the act. You said you started to tell him that he shouldn't threaten witnesses?"
"Yeah, but he cut me off, insisted on changing the subject. I don't know that I'd consider it an effort to talk him out of it. But I also don't know if that's even doable."
"So where does that leave things? What do you want to do?"
"Good question." As he sat listening to the muffled noise from the sea of cubicles outside Jeannine's office, Marty pondered his options. He found himself wishing he could consult a man who'd worked for this very department long before he'd arrived, a wise man who'd influenced the course of his life more than just about anyone else.
As the man who called himself Joe closed the conference room door, shutting out the noise from the office beyond, Marty eyed him suspiciously as his mother sprang up to shake his hand. He didn't look too professional, what with the scraggly hair and crazy tie. Marty sighed, convinced more than ever he would end up in prison. His mother looked back at him with her eyes wide and gestured for him to stand and greet the man who had come to help them, so he did.
They took their seats at the table and his mother rambled on about how grateful she was for Bradley's – Joe's – help. She explained how misunderstood Marty was, how much potential he had, and how the whole Camaro debacle was merely one huge mistake. Joe listened patiently but spent most of the time observing Marty. At first Marty stared back with his arms crossed and jaw set, but he soon found it easier to look away, willing his body to transport him somewhere - anywhere - else.
During a pause in his mom's ramblings, Joe interjected, "Thank you Roberta, for sharing this information with me. Do you mind if I ask Marty some questions about what happened?"
"Not at all," she replied.
Marty glared up at Bradley and sullenly waited for him to begin cross-examining him, waited for his true identity as a criminal to become obvious. Once this do-gooder understood his real character, the man's friendly demeanor would no doubt change.
"Marty, do you have any questions for me before we get into some of the details about your case?"
Marty's eyebrows rose at the unexpected question. A smart remark about the man's attire perched on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to refrain from sharing it, if only to avoid an even more agitated mother. Instead he gave a one-word "Nope," popping the "p".
Joe nodded calmly, then opened his file and asked him to recount the circumstances surrounding the car theft. It was slow going since Marty refused to elaborate on anything, preferring to keep his answers as short as possible. Surprisingly, Joe never lost patience or spoke in a remotely judgmental way. His apparent ease with helping someone like him threw Marty off-balance. He'd expected the resigned apathy he'd seen with the cops, not this openness, this kindness.
After they'd worked their way through most of the events in question, Marty couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "Why do you do this?" Joe tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in question, and Marty elaborated, saying, "Why do you defend criminals for a living?"
"Is that how you see yourself? As a criminal?" he replied.
Marty shrugged his shoulders. "It's the truth, isn't it?"
Joe smiled sadly and set down his pen. He leaned back in his chair and told him, "I wouldn't say that exactly. As to why I do what I do, I'll have you know that public defenders are the rebels of the legal profession. You see, everyone deserves an attorney, Marty. Lots of people get arrested because the cops make a mistake, or worse, because the cops just don't care about getting things right. I bet you even know some of those people. We public defenders fight to make sure those people's rights are respected, even when the whole system seems out to do them in."
Joe wasn't wrong about bad cops doing bad things. Marty had seen Ray and their friends harassed - and worse - even when they didn't deserve it. But he wasn't about to open up about those experiences.
He remained silent as Joe continued, telling him, "And you know what? Even those people who do break the law still deserve to have their rights respected... Plus, people make mistakes. They usually deserve second chances. Take you for example." Marty took in a sharp breath and braced himself for how Joe would judge him. "You did a bone-headed thing, for sure. Really stupid. But that doesn't mean you are bone-headed or stupid. You just made a mistake. Don't you think you deserve a second chance?"
Marty's thoughts spun. What could he possibly say in reply? The idea of going to jail made him sick to his stomach, but eventually it would happen one way or another, no matter what this particular hippy attorney did for him. He shrugged.
Joe nodded like he understood everything Marty was thinking. He asked, "Do you want to go to Juvenile Hall?"
"No."
"What do you imagine will happen if you get off this time, if you don't have to go there?"
"What do you mean?" asked Marty, brows knitted together, unable to follow where Joe was trying to lead the conversation.
"I mean, what does your future entail? Where do you see yourself in three or four years, when you're done with school?"
"I don't know," Marty hedged.
"Well then I'm going to give you an assignment. Before we meet again, I want you to have a better answer to that question. It can be a positive answer or a negative one. It just has to be honest. Will you do that for me?"
This annoying man had gotten under his skin by accepting Marty as a person worth fighting for, and even more by the way his questions hit so close to his own doubts and insecurities. Still, he didn't have a good reason to decline the request so he simply nodded in reply, with no real idea about the answer he might eventually provide.
Marty shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, saying, "Honestly, Jeannine, I have no idea what I want to do. I know I need to do something, I just have to. I'll never forgive myself if something happens to this woman… I also know that whatever I do, it's supposed to be the minimal possible disclosure, right? Just enough to prevent the criminal act?"
"That's right. You could talk to someone at LAPD. You could call in an anonymous tip. You could even warn the witness herself, although you need to be wary of engaging in what would be considered an inappropriate personal relationship with her."
The possibilities overwhelmed him. Despite his increasing experience and mastery of the process, this job had slowly grown harder, not easier. It hadn't turned out like he'd expected. He stood, shook his long hair out of his face, and walked over to the window, looking out past Olvera Street, the historical heart of the city, past the bustling activity and Art Deco beauty of Union Station, to the jail complex beyond and its towers' ugly slitted windows. He imagined Nikolai there conspiring with his father's cronies. He turned and said, "I have to think it through. Thanks a lot Jeannine. I really appreciate your input."
"Anytime, Marty. Come by anytime if you want to talk more," she told him with a sympathetic look on her face.
"I will." He found himself in an incredibly delicate and difficult position, his morning's trouble-free surf long forgotten.
A/N: Thanks to Bluenet13 for the idea to incorporate flashbacks into this story.
By the way, the flashback to Deeks, Roberta and Joe's scene was first written for this story, but was first published in my one-shot "Deciding on Destiny," for wikiDeeks' never-ending attempts to encourage the showrunners to write a "Deeks, M." episode. Thanks to Lindy AKA Sweet Lu for her edits and suggestions on that one-shot.
Also, I was never able to confer with an attorney about my premise, so the information presented in this chapter about Marty's obligations to his client and to the witness is based on what I learned via the Google machine. Apologies for any inaccuracies with my artistic license.