I was an avid writer in College. I made up at least 50 different characters. I'll post one and see how it goes over. Input of any kind is welcome. I also used real Attorneys and Judges in my stories. This particular story is more serious and dark.

Setting: Dallas, Texas.
Date: November-December, 1973.
Genre: Legal/Psychological Thriller.

Title: Murder At The Hotel Rose.

The small jet knifed through the cold Texas air. In seat D17 sat a very troubled man.

“Bill? It’s Hugh. My kid did something………… bad. I need your help. I’ll pay you whatever you want. Just get to Dallas now.”

The man stirred restlessly. The flight attendant approached him.

“Mr. Magnussen, we’ll be landing in 20 minutes. Please put your tray table up.”

Her cheeriness annoyed him. “It’s 1 in the morning,” He thought to himself. “How can she be cheery?”

William Rourke Magnussen was indeed restless. His insomnia had been growing worse. His 32-year-old face still seemed young, but his eyes, his eyes seemed dead. He was, by trade, a Defense Attorney. A fixer if you will. He catered to wealthy families; D.U.I.’s, assaults, the occasional rape. He was a fixer. He rarely went to Trial. He made his living behind the scenes. Bribes, favors, shady deals. He likened his life to that of a Film Noir.
Simply put, he made things go away.

As the plane began its descent, William’s mind raced. “What happened at the Hotel?” He asked himself. He nervously puffed on a cigarette, his chunky diamond rings glistening. Only 3 hours earlier he had been asleep within his elegant Houston manor. He turned his attention to the window. The glistening Dallas skyline shot forth from the soil like so many Christmas Trees and light poles. He buckled his clunky, outdated seatbelt and settled back in his chair.

The plane landed with a loud thud and taxied to the terminal. William grabbed his suitcase and tipped the young pilot a crisp new $100 bill. He walked briskly down the airport terminal until suddenly something caught his eye. A well-dressed young man was holding a sign bearing his surname. “What luck, a driver.” He said to himself quietly. As he moved closer he tried to hand the young man his suitcase. The young man reached into his overcoat pocket and produced a badge that read “Dallas Police Department.” The man was a Detective.

“What is this?” Magnussen asked bluntly.

“Brandon Marsh, Homicide, I’m here to give you this.”

He handed William a rather thick folder.

“This is the case file and statements. Welcome to Dallas.” The young man said tartly and walked away. Magnussen sighed and decided to rent a car to get to the Hotel Rose, which according to the case file, was the site of 9 murder killing spree.

“Detective Marsh, what happened at the Hotel?” Magnussen asked.

The policeman turned slowly. “Ask you client.” He said with a biting tone.

Magnussen stood motionless. “Well,” He said aloud. “time to get to work.”

---

Nice suspense. I like what I see. I look forward to seeing more.

---

Some background.

Name: William Rourke Magnussen.
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Race: White, but he sports a tan.
Character Type: Defense Attorney
Height: 5’11
Hair: Brown, worn modishly long and swept back at the sides.
Eyes. Greenish Blue.
Clothing: Suits, either two or three piece. Wears a wide variety of colors. Wears flashy jewelry, i.e., rings, watches and cufflinks.
Bio: A handsome, elegant, but ambitious Defense Attorney. Spent the first 4 years of his career as a Prosecutor in Amarillo. Studied under famed Texas Defense Attorney Gerald Lenoir. Extremely well read. Talks down to people. Known to make even the most serious of charges disappear. Chain-smokes, has minor problems with drinking and gambling. Speaks with an educated but Texan accent.

---

William moved swiftly down the labyrinth like corridors of the airport. He was searching desperately for a newspaper. His attempts to gain any information about a killing spree had proved fruitless. All he knew was the son of Billionaire Oil baron Hugh Arand had done something very bad. He rented a new Porsche roadster and weaved his way through sprawling downtown Dallas and it’s surrounding areas. He tried to reason why the hell he was in Dallas at such an ungodly hour. Whatever it was it involved 9 dead bodies. Perhaps the Oil Baron’s son was a witness of some sort or, worse, an accomplice. As he darted down the empty boulevards it slowly began to rain. William swore loudly. He pulled over to the side of the road to check his map.

“Now where in the Hell is the Hotel Rose? The map says………. Smith and 77th. Guess I’ll try that next.”

He restarted the car and suddenly, a chill overcame him. It was not brought on by the weather. It came from something else. For a brief moment, William considered going back to the airport and putting Dallas in an airplane window. He decided to proceed. He pulled back on to the street. He followed the badly positioned street signs. As he turned he thought back to his days as a young prosecutor. He thought back to nights that weren’t filled with terror.

---

After 11 minutes of curse filled searching, William Magnussen pulled into the parking lot of the magnificent Hotel Rose. He counted 25 different police cars, and one very familiar looking jet-black 1965 Lincoln Town car.
“That can’t be who I think it is.” William asked himself “Can it?”

The new Hotel shot 22 stories into the air. It was a bold statement. The lobby, crawling with local cops and State Troopers, was decorated like a 16th Century French ballroom. Chandeliers and candelabras abounded. Clad in a cashmere overcoat, Magnussen seemed right at home in the extravagant Hotel lobby. A uniformed Dallas policeman approached him.

“Let me see some credentials.” The cop asked forcefully.

William reached into one of his jacket pockets and produced his badge. The cop examined it and eyed him suspiciously.

“What are you doing here, Counselor?” asked the irritated officer.

“Hugh Arand says his son is involved. I’m here as his attorney.” Magnussen replied, trying to match the policeman’s rough tone.

The cop glared nastily. “Your client is in room 1422, 14th floor. Show your I.D. to the Guard at the door.” He turned to leave, but Magnussen grabbed his arm quickly.

“Officer” Magnussen asked politely, “What the hell happened here?”

The cop simply shook his head and walked away.

“Great.” Magnussen said.

He made his way to an elevator, under close scrutiny from the bevy of Policeman present. Though he was a Defense Attorney, Magnussen had always been a fan of the boys in blue. One of his first clients as a Defense Attorney was a San Antonio Sheriff’s Deputy accused of brutality. Magnussen had won an acquittal in an ugly, drawn out trial. He later learned that same policeman was in fact a horribly abusive man. It bothered Magnussen still. He had shown such potential. He had once been a man of great dreams. He would forge a brilliant law career then it would be off to Austin as Texas Attorney General. Then, who knew? But his yellow brick road had seen unexpected bumps. Several failed marriages, numerous gambling debts. In his heart of hearts, he detested defending people he thought of as scum. But, as he soon learned, it paid. Well. By 1969 his reputation as a fixer was secure. His client retainer list was a running joke, politicians, mobsters, businessmen, doctors and fellow lawyers. As long as you had money, William Magnussen would represent you.

As the elevator moved slowly to the 14th floor, Magnussen adjusted his black and red paisley tie in the relfection of the golden elevator doors. He smoothed over some wrinkled spots on his light brown suit. He had the aura of a professional golfer, from his cashmere overcoat, to the chunky gold and diamond rings that he always wore and finally to the freshly polished buckles on his black loafers. He scanned his surroundings. His gaze finally drifted to his class ring from Law School. “Vanderbilt University, Class of 1964”

He sighed sadly, reminded of what he once was. The elevator chimed signaled his arrival on the 14th floor. The golden doors opened. Magnussen crossed himself. For once in his life, he was afraid of what awaited him.

Colors and shapes bombarded him. Stripes, splotch, puddle. Red, brown, yellow. William had to stop himself from falling.

“Oh my God…” He whispered.

He moved slowly around the open area around the elevator. He smelled and saw blood and vomit. He saw policeman sitting in shock on the floor, their faces devoid of color. He walked as if half dead. He couldn’t take his eyes of off the floor. He crashed into something.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Magnussen began, before recognizing who he had bumped into. It was Texas Ranger Captain J.J. Flank. “Captain, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Magnussen. What are you doing here?” Flank asked.

“Hugh Arand seems to think his son is in trouble. So, here I am.” Magnussen explained.

Flank paused and adjusted the famous Texas Ranger star badge that he pinned to the front of his Cowboy Hat. He continued talking in his slow drawl. “Trouble ain’t the half of it. Gene Arand has been arrested for the 9 murders.”

Magnussen paused. "Shit." he finally said.

---

Very good. I like your style. I'll definitely be following this.

---

Thanks. Not everything I write is as dark as poor William Magnussen. He lives in a Film Noir.

Tell me if it's to depressing. I know some characters I can add in and make it better.

---

No, depressing is good.

*listens to Suicide Is Painless again*

Okay......

Anyway. I'm still trying to decide if this one is going to go to Trial or not.

Hmmmmmmm...........

---

Well, it depends if you can write a trial well or not.

If you can't, then Willian should make it 'dissappear'.

I'm pretty good at writing Trials. A perk of being a prosecutor.

---

William stood motionless. Then as if on cue, by virtue of his experience, his mind snapped to what he did best. Fix.

His voice dropped suddenly. “Captain, take me to room 1422, please.”

Captain Flank sighed. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” Magnussen replied.

“Do you have a strong stomach?” Flank asked, not the least bit jokingly.

“Yes.” Magnussen replied unevenly, giving the Ranger a sideways glance.

“Good.” Said the veteran lawman.

Flank turned and began walking towards room 1422. He tried to move the subject to a more pleasant time. “Last time I saw you was when?”
“Thanksgiving, 1970.” Magnussen replied graciously “I was defending that business executive in Austin who liked to beat up hookers.”

“That’s right.” Flank laughed. “How is Mr. Maher?”

Magnussen rolled his eyes. “I heard some pimp is gunning for him.”

“Talk about Equal Justice.” Flank muttered.

Magnussen grinned as he strode down the wide hallway. He tried to escape the horror of his surroundings. An avid music lover, he began whistling the theme song from the popular TV legal drama Perry Mason. He stopped abruptly when something caught his eye. Two bloody handprints on the door of room 1425. Again, Magnussen’s gut told him to run far away from the Hotel Rose.

“Ok. We’ve entered horror movie territory.” Magnussen joked, but with little humor.

The two continued down the hallway. Splashes of blood adorned the light beige walls. As the two approached room 1422, Captain Flank placed his right hand on his gold handled Colt .45 and stopped in front of the door. Four uniformed Texas State Troopers stood guard at the oddly pristine door. Flank began to speak.

“Who’s in there?” Flank asked.

“The D.A. and someone from the A.G.’s office.” Replied one of the Troopers.

Magnussen blinked once. “The District Attorney? You mean Henry Wade?”

The Trooper nodded. Henry Wade was a legend. The 59-year-old was a superb Trial Prosecutor. He had got a conviction against Jack Ruby in 1964. He could claim victories against some of the South’s best Defense Attorneys. He craved the spotlight like a moth.
Magnussen was on less than good terms with D.A. Wade, probably because Magnussen had twice bested Wade in Court.

“Who’s the guy from the A.G.’s office?” Magnussen asked, hoping it wasn’t Attorney General John Hill himself.

The Trooper glared at the debonair Defense Attorney. “Some kid, he can’t be past 30.”

Magnussen sighed in relief. “I’m Mr. Arand’s attorney, please let me in.” Magnussen was doing his best to sound authoritative. He was greeted with skeptical stairs from the four Troopers.

“Let him in.” Captain Flank commanded. The four Troopers moved away from the door. Flank turned to Magnussen. “Well, this is where I get off the train. Good luck.” Flank finished with a sympathetic pat on the Magnussen’s back.

Magnussen paused. He then quickly opened the door.

“William Magnussen, Counselor at Law. Everyone shut up!” He blurted out.

Henry Wade was not amused. “Oh, cram it, William.”

Magnussen quickly looked over the scene. Gene Arand was covered in blood, handcuffed to a dresser drawer. To his left stood the bulldog looking Wade. Standing by the balcony window was a stylish young man that Magnussen guessed couldn’t be older then 25. The young man had flaming red hair, slightly longer than William’s. He was stunningly handsome, clad in a three piece suit and a wool overcoat.

“Who are you?” Magnussen asked.

The young man smirked. “Ron Waller, Assistant Attorney General.” He answered.

Magnussen continued surveying the scene. Blood, a knife and what appeared to be a tire iron. Like a chess player, he began formulating potential moves.

“I’d like to talk to my client.” Magnussen announced.

“Your client?” Wade asked skeptically. “How’s that?”

Magnussen smiled. “His father hired me. Seeing as Gene Arand is only 17, thus being a minor, his father is allowed to retain legal counsel on his son’s behalf. Or am I wrong?”

Ron Waller laughed. “He’s right. Mr. Wade, let’s go.” Waller seemed to be improbably calm. Henry Wade seemed less so.

“All right, we’ll leave the socialite to his client.” Wade said spitefully. As Wade glared disrespectfully at William Magnussen, the rain began to pick up. Thunder and lightning was approaching the lavish Hotel. Wade and Waller left somewhat peacefully. Wade slammed the door. Magnussen turned his attention to his client, who remained handcuffed. William had no idea how to begin. He sat down on the bed.

“My name is William R. Magnussen and I practice the Law. Your father hired me. Um, can I get you anything?” He asked, trying his best to sound polite.

“Typical.” Spat the teenager.

“Excuse me?” Inquired Magnussen.

Gene Arand glared at him. “It’s typical, I kill 9 people, and my dad still doesn’t come to see me? Isn’t that just great?”

Magnussen’s mouth dropped open. “What in God’s name did you do?” His client had just confessed to mass murder, not a good start. Magnussen’s mind fell into a free fall. How can a 17 year old do something like this? How? Despite the terror of his current situation, he began to laugh.

“You’re telling me,” Magnssen began, as he fought through slight chuckles. “that you ,a 17 year old, committed the worst case of mass murder in Dallas history? You’re joking, right?” He didn’t think the kid he was looking at was capable, the blood not withstanding.

“Yes.” Said the teenager, who had a sort of California-ish look to him. He seemed totally oblivious to him circumstances. “I killed them. What’s so hard to believe about that?”

Magnussen remained shocked. He only had one question.

“The question is why.” Magnussen asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

“I got angry. My dad had been ducking my calls and letters.” Replied the teen.

Magnussen was speechless. “You got mad? What the hell is that?”

Gene Arand was totally aloof. “I figured I had to do something to get my father’s attention.”

William Magnussen rocketed to his feet. “Where in the hell am I?” He asked himself. His client just admitted to him murdering 9 people because he was angry with his dad. He had no defense. Again, he thought of ways to fix.

“Ok, here is what you’re going to do. You’re not going to talk to anyone who isn’t now in this room. Second, you will tell the police you are having thoughts of suicide.”

“Why?” Arand sneered.

Magnussen sighed. “Because if you say that then the police will send you to a Psychiatrist. Once there, you will act as crazy as you want. Say all that crazy stuff I’m sure is floating in your head.”

---

I do love this newest bit. We get to see just how William 'fixes' things. But why do I see Arand not co-operating... Hm...

“Can I ask you a question?” Arand said.

“Sure.” Replied Magnussen, not sure if he should even stay in the room.

“Why did dear old dad hire a walking suit ad like you?” Arand inquired snootily.

“This walking ad happens to be very good at what he does.” Magnussen fired back. “Now, did you use the knife and tire iron?”

“Yes.” Arand said, almost smiling.

“Okay. Did you know any of the people you killed?” Magnussen asked rapidly.

“No.” said Arand.

Magnussen bit his lip, again he could think of no defense for his client. He decided he had enough for one night. He dug deep for an excuse to leave the room.

“Well, I think we’re off to a goo- I mean decent start. I’m going to let the Police take you in tonight, for the reasons I mentioned before. Just call me if anything goes wrong. Good night.” Magnussen said slowly, his drawl showing. He quickly rose from the bed and exited the room, leaving the 17-year-old sociopath behind him. Henry Wade was waiting for him.

“So,” Wade snickered. “Did he tell you everything?”

Magnussen fired a withering look at the Dallas County District Attorney. “Yes, he did. He told me all about it. Did he say the same to you?”

Assistant Attorney General Ron Waller leaped into the conversation. “Yes, he sang like a bird. He confessed to everything. Just give up now, Mr. Magnussen.”

“Now where is the fun in that? We at least have to have some over the top Trial. That’s how Texas Justice works. Right, Mr. Wade?” Magnussen asked mockingly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a case to prepare for. I’ll see y’all at Trial.”

Magnussen turned and walked towards the elevators. Though well meaning, he knew he had just stepped through the gates of Hell.

He rode the slow moving elevator back down to the main lobby and tracked down the manager.

“I’d like a room, please.” Magnussen said, showing his typical dull politeness. The manager stared in disbelief.

“Is this a joke?” Asked the Hotel manager.

“No. I am a Defense Attorney here on business. I’ll be here for a while. I would like a room.” Magnussen said through semi clenched teeth. “I’ll pay cash.”

At the mention of the word cash, the manager happily pulled Magnussen to the front desk. They went through the normal pattern of checking in. Magnussen demanded a room somewhere on the top floor, with a balcony. After making the arrangements, Magnussen took out his leather-bound checkbook. He wrote out a check for $900. He began listing his demands.

“I would like 4 bottles of chilled red wine sent to my room. I would also like 6 packs of Salem cigarettes. I need you to make sure my room phone can call long distance. I also require the number of a very good suit maker. And make sure there is a Bible in my room.”

“A Bible?” The manager asked incredulously.

“Yes. Catholics come in all shapes and sizes you know.” Magnussen explained.

“Of course, sir. Your room is on the 20th floor. Enjoy your stay at the Hotel Rose.” The manager beamed as he handed William his room key.

Magnussen nodded and stared at the date written on his key’s paper tag. November 19th, 1973. It would be a date he would never forget. He returned to his rented Porsche, grabbed his small suitcase and made his way to his 20th floor suite. He was growing fond of the elevator, even it’s jazzy music. He moved lethargically down the 20th floor hallways. He was relieved to finally be in a part of the Hotel that wasn’t covered in blood. He finally came across his room, room 2117. By now the rain was pounding in frenzy. He opened wide the door and, for once, felt a small bit of peace. He threw his suitcase on the floor and collapsed on his bed. He ran his fingers through the longish brown hair that occasionally tumbled into his eyes. He lit a cigarette. He could think of only one thing to say.

“This could only happen to me.” Lamented William Rourke Magnussen.

As Magnussen faded into sleep, a private plane was roaring toward Dallas. Hugh Arand, the 4th richest man in Texas, was on his way.

---

Suspensful.

I kinda see what's going to happen.

Arand (Younger Arand) will get arrested, then Hugh will object to his improsenment, or something =P

You've met the Defense, now, meet the Prosecution.

John Luke Hill was a gentle soul. Standing 6’1 with soft blue eyes and wavy dark brown hair, the 49-year-old Hill looked like a lawyer, just not like the Attorney General of Texas. He often wore a gaze of friendliness. He warmed the room. He spoke pleasantly; even to the criminals he sometimes prosecuted. As he moved down the corridors of the Dallas County District Attorney’s office he smiled and shook hands with total strangers. He took a rose from a vase and handed it to a young female A.D.A. He wasn’t a sleaze, he was genuinely nice. He wished everyone well. He whistled the popular song “What A Wonderful World” as he walked. He had been recently elected to replace the deceased Crawford Martin and, unlike most Texan politicians, Hill actually cared about all the people who voted for him. He maintained an open door policy, literally. Random strangers could drop in and talk with the A.G.

John Hill truly hated why he had been summoned to Dallas. Some poor misguided, probably mistreated teenager had snapped and killed 9 innocent people. What a shame, he told his assistants. He arrived at the door of Dallas County District Attorney Henry Wade. He knocked twice.

“Come in.” Barked Wade, who did in fact look like a bulldog.

Hill opened the door. “Hello, Henry.”

Wade rose to greet Texas’s top lawyer. “Mr. Attorney General, nice to see you. I can probably guess why you’re here.”

The prosecutors settled into two soft leather chairs in the window corner of Wade’s large office.

“You always were quick, Henry.” Hill replied with a smile. “It’s about Gene Arand.”

Wade smirked. Already he was giddy over the case. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control. His confession is legit. I’m ready to go to Trial tomorrow!” Wade bellowed.

Hill bit the left side of his cheek. “About that, I’ll be prosecuting this case, Henry.”

Wade did a double take. “You’ll be doing what? Excuse me?”

Hill was his typical polite self. “Now, Henry, you’re the best D.A. in Texas, I won’t argue that. But, I feel that I should be handling this case. I have the right to take on prosecutorial duty of any case. I’ve got the feeling that a lot of ugly stuff is going to come up. This must be handled in a sensitive manner.”

The 59-year-old Wade was shocked. He tried to counter.

“This is a Dallas County Homicide and the Dallas County District Attorney’s Office is in control.” He snorted.

Hill sighed, seeming somewhat sad. “I’m sorry, Henry, but it’s my case now. I welcome your input.”

The Attorney General removed a blue piece of paper folded in thirds from his briefcase and handed it to Wade. “This is my notification of replacement. The Court Of Criminal Appeals has already authorized it. I figured I should deliver this in person. I’ll gladly let you second chair.” Hill said, trying to broker peace.

Wade stared icily at John Hill. “No thanks, I’ve got other cases.” he said.

Hill sighed. “I’m sorry, Henry. I hope I never have to do this again. I’m staying at the Regent Hotel. Feel free to call at any time.”

With that, John Hill and Henry Wade awkwardly shook hands. Hill left rather quickly. One of his Assistant A.G.’s, Jack Brohamer, was waiting for him.

“How’d it go?” The young Brohamer asked.

Hill rolled his eyes. “Fine, I suppose. Who is representing Gene Arand?”

Brohamer flipped open a file he was holding and scanned over it. “William Magnussen”.

“Huh.” Hill said. “That’s odd. I figured the Arand clan would get a more experienced Trial attorney for this one.”

“You’d think so.” Brohamer agreed.

“Let’s set up a meeting. See if we can’t work something out.” Hill instructed.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Attorney General.” Brohamer said.

John Hill rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I hope to God I’m in the right on this one.”

---

Brohamer shrugged. “Mr. Hill, you’re the AG, you’re always right.”

Hill rolled his eyes. “Well, that does help. Come on, let’s go.”

Later, at the Regent Hotel, John Hill went over the case with Jack Brohamer and another young Assistant AG, Jim Voller. Hill had personally hired the young men right out of their respective Law Schools, Jim Voller from UCLA and Jack Brohamer from Harvard. Voller was a high striving 25-year-old surfer who always had one eye on his boss’s chair; Brohamer was a preppy 28-year-old horse rider who fancied himself a future Congressman. Each was talented but lacked Trial experience. Hill tabbed the two men because he knew they would function well in a hectic atmosphere.

While Voller and Brohamer scurried around the spacious hotel suite, John Hill sat quietly reading a book. He was a rare Prosecutor, one who was at peace with himself and the world around him.

“Everybody sit.” Hill announced.

The two frantic Prosecutors quickly dove for chairs. John Hill sighed in mock angst. Hill decided to try and break the case down to its most basic elements.

“Ok. What do we have?” Hill asked, sounding like a college professor.

“9 dead bodies and a defendant from one of the most powerful families in Texas.” Voller announced while reading from a packet.

Jack Brohamer chimed in. “The family money allows for numerous obstacles. Defendant is represented William Magnussen, that fixer from Houston. He’s good, but he’s an odd choice to go to Trial with.”

“And why is that?” Hill asked again.

Brohamer removed his suit jacket. As he began to speak, the dark and cloudy Dallas sky again bombarded its citizenry with rain. Jack cleared his throat.

“William R. Magnussen, graduated 10th in his class from Vanderbilt University Law School in 1964. Worked as a Prosecutor in Amarillo until 1968, he then went to work for Gerald Lenoir in Houston. As we all know, he does his best work outside of the Courtroom. His last Trial was 3 months ago. He won.”

John Hill poured a glass of water. “And what of the defendant himself?”

Jim Voller took center stage. “Gene Arand, age 17. Arrested last night on 9 counts of murder. Shows no previous signs of mental instability. But, according to the tabloids, the Arand family is less than functional.”

John Hill tried to make sense of a very odd case. “Ron Waller took his confession, and young Mr. Arand mentioned on 6 different occasions trying to get his father’s attention. Ron believes the boy is simply not all there. I agree. I don’t think this is death penalty worthy, any objections?”

Both Voller and Brohamer shook their heads no. Voller seemed troubled. John Hill quickly noticed.

“What are you thinking, Jim?” Hill inquired.

Jim scratched the back of his head. “I assume we are going to Trial, right?”

“Yes. Unless Arand is deemed unfit to stand trial. If that happens, we just stick him in Forest Green for 30 years.” Hill reasoned.

Jack sighed. “A lot of people think Justice would be sticking Arand in the electric chair. We might catch some serious heat over this. Henry Wade would have a field day. He’d start throwing the L word around. I just don’t want to…” Brohamer trailed off, electing not to finish his sentence.

John Hill gazed at his young assistants. “We can’t go paws up because we don’t like being called names in the press. You two know that.”

The Assistant AG’s nodded.

“What now?” Asked Voller.

John Hill mulled his options.

“Jim, I want you to go talk to the psychiatrist that examined Arand. Jack, I want you to dig up everything you can about The Arand family. I’ll go talk to Magnussen.” Hill announced.

The two young men accepted their marching orders and left quickly, grabbing their overcoats as they left.

---

Earlier that day, at the Hotel Rose....

The orange Texas sun rose slowly. The rays poked through the curtains and into Magnussen’s still shut eyes. He had fallen asleep fully clothed, had it not been for his room’s overly powerful air-conditioning he might have been sweat stuck in them. He peeled of his clothes and stumbled in the shower. He emerged 30 minutes later slightly refreshed. He threw on a bathrobe and proceeded to read the complimentary copy of the Dallas Morning News left at his door. The headline said it all “9 DEAD IN HOTEL MASSACRE”. William was happy to see his name mentioned no less than 7 times.

“That’ll be good for business.” He joked to himself.

As he read, the phone rang; he was informed that a package was waiting for him. He opened his suitcase and pulled out the “travel clothes” he always brought with him. A finely tailored dark blue two-piece suit, a white shirt, a red tie and a pair of custom made square-toed black dress shoes. He slipped into his fancy clothes and made his way to the Hotel lobby. He again entered the same elevator he had ridden at least 4 times the terrifying night before. As the elevator doors opened he moved happily through the magnificent lobby. Again, William Magnussen was custom made for this Hotel. He ambled to the front desk. He was far friendlier.

“Howdy.” Magnussen greeted the young bellboy. “I was told there was a package for me. Room 2117.”

The bellboy handed him a rather large box. “Sent from a Mr. Russell Adams, Esquire. It’s from Houston.”

“Oh,” William began, “that’s my law partner. It’s probably a few changes of clothes. Thank you.” He handed the bellboy a $50 tip.

William put the box on his left shoulder and was about to begin his journey back to his room when he heard a very familiar voice.

“Hello, William.”

William turned. The indefatigable Oilman stood 6’5. Decked out in a western styled suit, a cowboy hat and boots, Hugh Arand was indeed larger than life.

“Hello, Hugh” William responded. “How are you?”

The older Arand simply stared. “That’s a real dumb question right now, ain’t it?”

William shrugged his shoulders. He suggested that the inevitable conversation would be better over breakfast and champagne. Hugh Arand agreed.

“Just follow me to my room, I have to drop this off.” William explained, still sounding oddly cheery. Hugh Arand sighed.

As the two rode the slow elevator a fairly awkward conversation broke out. William spoke first.

“Of all the Defense Attorneys in Texas, you called me. Why?” William asked.

Hugh Arand removed his cowboy hat and began to spin it on his right hand. “Your reputation precedes you, William. You are the best damage control attorney I know.”

William rolled his eyes. He hated it when his work was referred to as “damage control”; he saw it as very disrespectful. He decided to ask one more question.

“I’m fairly sure this is going to Trial, do you still want me?” William inquired. A part of him hoped for a yes. A yes meant a chance to be involved in a high-profile murder Trial.

“Yes.” Replied Hugh Arand simply.

William grinned. Hallelujah, he thought to himself.

After dropping the hefty box in his room, the two men proceeded to the restaurant located on the 5th floor of the Hotel. Both were delighted to find a buffet.

“Hot damn!” Hugh Arand exulted, “They’ve got steaks! Looks like this place ain’t that bad.”

William couldn’t help but laugh. It was a laugh mixed with black humor. The two men piled food on their plates and choose a seat overlooking downtown Dallas. Arand began scarfing down food. The refined Magnussen blushed with embarrassment. He figured talking might slow down his breakfast companion.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush.” Magnussen began. “There is a good chance that none of this will end well. Behind your oil guise, you’re still the same corporate lawyer I’ve always known. I’m going to start asking questions, is that ok?”

Hugh Arand nodded.

Magnussen launched head first. "The question is why? Why would anyone do something so evil?"

Hugh Arand's eyes shot up. "I don't know." He said quickly. "I hired you to make it go away, not ask me about it."

William smirked. "Fair enough." He said. "Your son mentioned several times that you don't pay him much attention. Is this true?"

Hugh Arand scowled. "Does it matter?"

Magnussen fired back. "Yes. Please answer my question."

"I'm a very busy man, he's a teenager. We run in two different worlds." Hugh Arand replied.

William Magnussen took a sip of his water. He knew Hugh Arand was lying.

---

Last edited by FdrlPrsctrTails on Wed Feb 20, 2008 12:51 am, edited 1 time in total.

Even if it's just for the story, I love you Tails ;_;

Thanks.

Here are the bios for the Prosecution-

Name: John Luke Hill
Age: 49
Gender: Male
Race: White.
Character Type: Attorney General For The State of Texas
Height: 6’1
Hair: Brown, wavy.
Eyes. Green.
Clothing: Suits, either two or three piece. Neutral colors, greens, brown beiges. Wears only a watch, wedding ring and class ring.
Bio: The calm, courteous, unshakable Attorney General. A Graduate of The University of Texas School of Law in 1947, he began his career a personal injury attorney in Houston, became famous for his Courtroom skill. A gifted public speaker, he early served as Texas Secretary of State. Known for his down to earth style in the Courtroom. Elected Attorney General in 1972. Despite calm nature, is amazing Prosecutor. Speaks with a very slow Texan accent.

Name: Jack Wilson Brohamer
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: White
Character Type: Assistant Attorney General
Height: 5’10
Hair: Black, straight
Eyes: Blue
Clothing: Black or dark blue two-piece suits. Always wears a red tie. Slightly obsessed with his Harvard Law School Class ring.
Bio: A star coming out of Harvard Law, joined Texas AG’s office at John Hill’s request. Graduated from Harvard Law in 1970. Like Trial work and criminal law in general, but would like to have more power. Proud of his Ivy League pedigree. Fancies himself a future Congressman. An avid horse rider. His northern accent sticks out in Texas.

Name: James Lawrence Voller:
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race: White, but tan.
Character Type: Assistant Attorney General
Height: 5’9
Hair: Dirty Blonde, long but well styled.
Clothing: Two-piece suits, many colors. Wears his UCLA Law School Class Ring, constantly fiddles with it. Wears bright, but not tacky, ties.
Bio: Another of John Hill’s out of state imports, this time from sunny California. Grew up in Monterey, California. Graduated from UCLA Law in 1972. Surfed constantly. A star swimmer in high school and college, he remains in peak physical shape. Often winks at people. Despite his pretty boy nature, desperately wants the rawest power. Has one eye on John Hill’s chair and title.

---

“I’m sorry, but I need more than that.” Magnussen said.

Hugh Arand lowered his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because it is relevant to my Defense. Now, I ask again, do you pay your son much attention?” Magnussen inquired again, forcefully.

Hugh Arand grimaced, he didn’t like his dirty laundry aired in public. “All right, here’s the deal. My son is sensitive and highly-strung. He doesn’t really think about anyone else. He seems to think that all his problems are all my fault.”

Magnussen studied the displeased Oil Baron. “Is there truth in this?” He asked.

Hugh Arand scoffed. “No, of course not.”

Magnussen put on a face of mild doubt. “I advise you not to lie to me. Especially since I’m the one going to Court for your only son.”

Hugh Arand smiled weakly. “So the speech you gave me, the one about keeping my family out of the Trial, was a bunch of crap?”

Magnussen grinned. “You’re damn right it is.”

Hugh Arand was not amused. The 55-year-old former corporate lawyer turned Billionaire was not used to people who did not bend to his every whim. He frowned at the elegant Defense Attorney. “What is our Defense?” He asked.

“Temporary Insanity.” Magnussen said, not looking up from his plate.

Arand’s left eye twitched. “I must have misheard you, please run that by me again. Because I think I just heard you say that we’re going to call the future President and CEO of Texana Oil insane.”

William put his fork down. “Your son killed 9 people, the police found him covered in the victims blood. It’s the only thing I can argue. Has your son ever showed any violent tendencies?”

“No.” Said Arand gruffly.

“Has he ever seriously hurt another person?” Magnussen asked, trying to put a profile together.

“He’s gotten into a few fights, but they were normal, so to speak.” Arand replied.

As Magnussen was about to ask another question, a waiter delivered a note to him. William quickly read over it. It requested he and Mr. Arand come, at once, to Gene Arand’s holding cell in the basement of the Dallas County Courthouse.

Magnussen ran his fingers through his hair. “Well,” he said. “We’re about to find out how bad things really are.”

The two men sighed, almost in time, and slowly made their way to Arand’s waiting limousine. They would have to continue the chat at the jail.

The Dallas County Courthouse resembled not a House of Law, but a monstrously large 4 story mid 1700’s Gothic Mansion. Pointed angles, Turkish corners, spires, even a large, Roman Numerated clock face adorned the western side of the ghoulish structure. It was formed of dark colored bricks and stain glass. To the Judges, Prosecutors and Defense Attorneys who labored within the haunting edifice, it was known as The Castle East. Most Courthouses are built up; but the Dallas County Courthouse was built wide with Courtrooms composing the 1st through 2nd floors. The 3rd belonged to the D.A.’s Office and the 4th was the realm of the Judges.

It’s “caretaker” was Chief Criminal Judge Griffin C. Dryden. A 30-year veteran of the Bench, he alone had seen things beyond comprehension. As he sat in his top floor office he decided against trying the case himself. He would let the open docket system choose the Judge.

((Behold, the real life Dallas County Courthouse))

---

That. Is the most amazing Courthouse. I have ever seen.

Awesome story so far, I really like your style. I'll make sure to keep a close eye on this one.

---

((Courthouse wise, The large box structure on top is Chief Judge Don Metcalfe's Office. So cool.))

Time for a new character!

As the Prosecution and Defense hurried to Gene Arand’s basement holding cell, a shortish man in his late thirties was walking the 4th floor. As he walked, his wavy light brown hair, that was charitably called fluffy, bounced slightly. Judge Tom Alazarro was not fond of his newly assigned task. He would preside over all the arraignment of Hotel Rose Murderer. He didn’t even know who the Attorneys were.

As he strode he took off his suit jacket, cursing the Courthouse’s powerful heating system. He was a vain man, fond of his own appearance. Unlike most Dallas Judges, he was tart and humorless. He spent long amounts of time on his hair and clothing, always making sure he was the best dressed in the Courtroom. He searched through the vest of his three piece suit and eventually pulled out a small mirror. He stopped in middle of the hallway to make sure his hair was still set properly. He would freely admit being a slave to fashion. Outside the Courtroom he was a walking magazine ad. Brightly colored leisure suits, bell bottoms, and at least 5 gold chains. He loved his nickname, “Style”

Unlike every other Judge in Dallas County, Tom had never been a prosecutor. He had graduated near the back of his Law School class at the University of Minnesota in 1962, from there he moved to Dallas and began a highly successful career as a 1st Amendment specialist. He had chosen Dallas for it’s size and social scene and the sun. He hated cold weather.

He cut a blade like figure. Barely standing 5’10 and weighing only 160 pounds, mainly due to a strenuous jogging routine, he would let nothing ruin his figure. Amid all the shallowness and vanity, Judge Alazarro did in fact have a fairly good legal mind. He would put it to good use. He unlocked his office door, tossed his jacket on his coat rack and immediately began devouring the over 250 Pre-Trial motions that were piled high on his desk.

---

This is.... creative. You don't exactly see many fan fictions/fictions like these on the internet. I sat down yesterday night and read the whole thing, you can say that... I'm hooked. Amazing since I'm not the type of person to sit down and read long, long things. (Only a few books were exceptions).

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I've never really thought of my stuff as being creative.

People always like my characters, be they real or fake (John Hill really was Texas AG).

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I fricking love your story. <3 You have a love of crime in Texas, don't you? XDDD


I love the courthouse xD Its awesomely epic inside, though it looks insanely out of place there near all the new modern buildings in the west end.

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Texas has the best crimes in the WORLD! Whether it be circumstances, method of murder or the defendant/victim. It can't be beat.

But NYC is a close second.

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I don't think its as interesting as it used to be, now its all just a bunch of folks shooting each other over drugs or gang related issues. No interesting scandals really, or crimes so outrageous its beyond fascinating.


And to something you said in an older thread, are you really planning to come down here and practice? xD

---

As William Magnussen and Hugh Arand descended down the spiral staircase that lead to the basement of the Dallas County Courthouse, each looked uncomfortable in the dreary underground setting. It was evident that both men were out of their respective element. Each made an effort not to touch anything. They followed a winding hallway to a room with the gray numbers 229. William sighed and knocked on the door. A Texas State Trooper opened the door. William and Hugh entered tentatively.

“Hi, pops!” Gene Arand said, smiling. He was seated at a small table; his legs were shackled to his chair.

“Oh, for chrissake…” Magnussen bewailed as he rolled his eyes.

Hugh Arand eyed his incarcerated son and tried to form a sentence. “Gene, wh-“ Magnussen cut him off.

“Have you been to the psychiatrist yet, Gene?” William asked curtly.

“Yes. I told him everything. Just like you said.” Gene Arand said.

Hugh Arand went livid. “You told him to confess to some shrink. What in the Hell!”

William rubbed his forehead. “There is no question, in my mind, that your son suffers from problems of some sort. If I can bring that out as early as possible then maybe we can avoid a Trial.”

Hugh Arand was still angry. “You should have told me! I’m not paying you to gift-wrap my only son to the Prosecution.”

Magnussen fired back. “Please, Hugh, remind me why I’m being paid.”

“Because you’re a miracle worker.” Hugh Arand replied.

“No, I’m not.” William said indignantly. “I’m a janitor, I clean up messes. The smaller the mess, the easier it is for me. This mess, it isn’t exactly small.”

Hugh Arand was about to speak, but Magnussen wasn’t done.

“You called me at 2 in the morning, you tell me your kid did something. I come up to Dallas all the way up here from Houston only to find out that your son turned the nicest Hotel in town into a fucking slaughterhouse. THAT ISN’T A SMALL MESS!!!” Magnussen screamed.

Hugh Arand looked chagrined. Gene Arand started laughing.

“Isn’t this great, dad? Your hired gun seems to be having second thoughts.” The teenager joked

Hugh Arand roared back. “Shut up, Gene!”

Before the argument could go any further, someone knocked on the door.

“What?!” yelled both Magnussen and Hugh Arand.

The door opened, Jack Brohamer and Jim Voller entered. Both were trying to mask smiles.

“Did we interrupt something?” Voller asked teasingly.

Magnussen was not amused. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Voller smirked. “Jim Voller, Assistant Attorney General.” He introduced himself, showing his badge.

Hugh Arand turned his attention to Jack Brohamer. “Who the Hell are you?”

Jack smiled politely. “Jack Brohamer, Assistant Attorney General.” He replied, also showing his badge.

Magnussen suddenly got a very bad feeling. He began to think to himself. There is no way that two kids who appear fresh out of Law School are the only prosecutors. Why was Henry Wade doing this?

“Where is Mr. Wade?” Magnussen asked.

Before either Assistant AG could reply, another voice chimed in.

“Mr. Wade is sittin’ this one out. I’m ridin' lead.” Replied Texas Attorney General John Hill.

William’s face turned ghostly white. “Mr. Attorney General, what are you doing here?”

Hill smiled. “I’m the lead Prosecutor.”

---

Oooooo~ William is not liking this set-up XD

---

William tried to form sentences, but his mouth betrayed him. Both Arands look worried. John Luke Hill was a legend acorss Texas Courtrooms. His Trial record as AG was a superb 35-2. The two losses being to young Houstonian Dick DeGuerin. Hill set his briefcase down and began to speak.

"Now, I would like this conversation to remain civil. We're all Attorneys, there is no reason we all can't act like it." Hill said pleasantly.

William remained stunned.

"Mr. Attorney General," Magnussen began, showing respect for the Title, "What are you doing here?"

John Hill cracked his knuckles. "I've taken over prosecutorial duties. As is my right. I want this case held to the highest and utmost professional standards. I didn't exactly think Mr. Wade was up for that."

Magnussen chuckled. He decided to try and change venues. "Is there a jury room or a conference room where we could have this conversation?"

Jack Brohamer nodded. "Yes. We reserved one. Follow me."

---