by Ed Naha
The three Ghostbusters slid into their seats as the judge began. "I want to make one thing very clear before we go any further," he said severely.
"The law does not recognize the existence of ghosts, and I don't believe in them, either. So ... I don't want to hear a lot of malarkey about goblins and spooks and demons. We're going to stick to the facts in this case and save the ghost stories for the kiddies. Understood?"
"Understood, Your Honor," the prosecutor said with a grin.
"Uh-huh," Louis muttered.
Stantz leaned over toward Spengler. "Seems like a pretty open-minded guy, huh?"
Egon nodded, the hair on the back of his neck bristling. "His nickname is the Hammer."
Venkman spotted Dana in the visitors' gallery and slowly backed toward her, leaving Spengler and Stantz trapped with Louis. Louis nervously glanced up at Spengler. His voice was in high-whine mode. "I think you're making a big mistake here, fellas. I do mostly tax law, and some probate stuff occasionally. I got my law degree at night school."
"That's all right," Egon reassured him. "We got arrested at night."
Venkman and Dana exchanged looks. "I wish I
could stay," Dana whispered. "I feel personally responsible for you being here."
"You are personally responsible. If I can get conju gal rights, will you visit me at Sing Sing?"
"Please don't say that!" Dana blurted. "You won't go to prison."
Venkman puffed out his chest. "Don't worry about me. I'm like a cat."
"You mean you cough up hairballs all over the rug?" Venkman shot her a look. "I'm El Gato. I always land on my feet."
"Good luck," Dana said, giving Venkman a quick, unexpected kiss before dashing out of the courtroom.
"Thanks," Venkman said, savoring the kiss for a long moment. He walked back to the defense table. Across the aisle, the mayor's top aide, Jack Hardemeyer, was goading the pretty prosecutor on for the kill.
Venkman strained his ears to listen.
"How are you doing, hon?" Hardemeyer asked. "Just put these guys away fast and make sure they go away for a long, long time."
Venkman wasn't pleased.
"It shouldn't be hard with this list of charges," the prosecutor replied.
Venkman sighed. He should have finished that Dan ish last night. It might be a long time before he experi enced another one.
"Good." Hardemeyer smiled. "Very good. The mayor and future governor won't forget this."
Venkman scurried to his seat at the defense table. Hardemeyer made a major production of removing his well-groomed presence from the D.A.'s team and walk ing slowly past the defense table on his way out of the courtroom.
He looked down at Spengler, Stantz, and Venkman.
"Nice going, Venkman," he cooed. "Violating a judicial restraining order, willful destruction of public property, fraud, malicious mischief... smooth move. See you in a couple of years—at your first parole hearing."
Hardemeyer turned and marched out of the room. Louis watched the retreating figure, his face turning the color of damp chalk. "Gee, the whole city is against us. I think I'm going to be sick."
Spengler offered Louis a wastebasket as the prose cutor called her first witness.
The Con Ed supervisor took the stand.
Venkman sat at the table and began to doodle. He knew what was coming. He'd been railroaded before.
Venkman battled to keep from dozing off as the supervisor rattled off a list of crimes that he, Stantz, and Spengler had inflicted on the poor streets of New York.
He snapped to when he noticed a court employee carry some very familiar equipment into the room and place it on a nearby table.
The prosecutor was still hammering away at the Con Ed man. "Mr. Fianella," she said, "please look at Exhibits A through F on the table over there. Do you recognize that equipment?"
Spengler, Stantz, and Venkman exchanged uh-oh glances as the Con Ed man surveyed the table. There, spread out on its top, were the basic tools of the Ghostbusting trade. Three proton packs and particle throwers. A few unsprung ghost traps. The Giga and PKE meters.
The Con Ed man nodded vigorously. "That's the stuff the cops found in their rented van."
"Do you know what this equipment is for?" the prosecutor asked.
"I don't know." The burly man shrugged. "Catching ghosts, I guess."
The prosecutor whirled toward the judge. "May I remind the court that the defendants are under a judi cial restraining order that specifically forbids them from performing services as paranormal investigators and eliminators?"
The judge with the ice-blue ferretlike eyes nodded.
"Duly noted."
"Now," the prosecutor continued, "can you identify the substance in the jar on the table marked Exhibit F?"
She walked over to the exhibit table and picked up a large specimen jar. In it was housed the slime sample Stantz had removed from the swirling, churning tunnel
floor.
The Con Ed man screwed up his face in confusion. "Lady," he said, "I been working underground for Con Ed for twenty-seven years and I never saw anything like that in my life. We checked out that tunnel real early this morning and we didn't find nothing. If it was down there, they must have put it down there."
Venkman and Spengler shot a suspicious look at Stantz. Ray withered under their gaze. "Hey," he said defensively, "I didn't imagine it. There must have been ten thousand gallons of it down there."
Egon Spengler stroked his square jaw. "It may be ebbing and flowing from some tidal source," he con cluded.
Louis leaned toward the two men, nearly knocking
over his books. "Should I say that?"
Spengler patted Louis's hand. "I doubt that they'd
believe us."
Louis uttered a plaintive moan and slithered farther down in his chair. Why couldn't he have taken the dry- cleaning course instead of law? By now, he would have known what one-hour Martinizing really meant.
The Con Ed man was dismissed, and within minutes
Peter Venkman found himself on the stand, facing his own lawyer, the rattled, diminutive Louis. Louis had been babbling for about a minute, Venkman encouraging him with a helpful nod, a wink, or a hearty "Hear, hear." That gave Venkman the chance to think of what he would do when he was finally paroled. Not much, he concluded.
"S-so," Louis said, stammering. "Like you were just trying to help out your old friend because she was scared and you didn't really mean to do anything bad, and you really love the city and won't ever do anything like this again, right?"
Before a smiling, modest Venkman could reply, the prosecutor was on her feet. "Objection, Your Honor! He's leading the witness."
The judge glared at Venkman. "The witness is lead ing him. Sustained."
Louis blinked. "Ummm, okay. Let me rephrase that question."
Venkman smiled sweetly at Louis as the little man chirped, "Mr. Venkman, didn't you once coach a basket ball team for underprivileged children?"
"Yes, I did," Venkman said proudly. "We were city champs."
"Objection!" the prosecutor spat. "Irrelevant and immaterial."
The judge sighed. "Sustained." He focused on Louis. "Mr. Tully, do you have anything to ask this witness that actually may have some bearing on this case?"
Louis turned to Venkman. "Do I?" he asked.
Venkman flashed Louis a reassuring smirk. "No, I think you've helped them enough already."
Louis shrugged at the judge. "No, I guess not. "Your witness, Mrs. Prosecutress."
The prosecutor slowly rose out of her seat and
approached the witness stand. She was practically sali vating over the prospect of destroying Venkman's credibility. Venkman was prepared. He had seen this kind of woman before. Actually he'd dated many of them in
college.
"So," the prosecutor began. "Doctor Venkman, would you please explain to the court why it is that you and your codefendants took it upon yourselves to dig a big hole
in the middle of the street?"
Venkman considered this. "Seventy-seventh and First Avenue has so many holes already, we didn't think anyone would notice."
The citizens gathered in the visitor's gallery laughed. The judge raised his gavel and hammered for order. He glowered at Venkman. "Keep that up, mister, and I'll find you in contempt!"
Venkman offered a shy grin. "Sorry, Your Honor, but when somebody sets me up like that, I just can't resist." "I'll ask you again, Dr. Venkman," the prosecutor said, going in for the kill. "Why were you digging the hole? And please remember that you're under oath." Venkman tried (unsuccessfully) to emulate Egon's very concerned mode. "I had my fingers crossed when they swore me in, but I'm going to tell you the truth. There are things in this world that go way beyond human understanding, things that can't be explained and that most people don't want to know about, anyway. That's where we come in."
Venkman nodded toward Spengler and Stantz. "So what are you saying," the prosecutor asked, grinning like a barracuda. "That the world of the super natural is your special province?"
"No," Venkman explained. "I guess I'm just saying that weird shit happens and somebody has got to deal with it."
The gallery began to cheer. Venkman took a bow. The judge gaveled for order.
Two hours later a frowning Venkman sat at the defense table. Stantz and Spengler had been similarly browbeaten on the witness stand, although, in Venk man's humble opinion, they didn't please the crowd nearly as much as he had.
The trial was now nearing its end. The judge nod ded toward a trembling Louis to make his final summa tion.
"Does the counsel for the defense wish to make any final arguments?" he growled.
Louis slowly got to his feet, his knees knocking so hard that they sounded like Morse code. "Your Honor?" Louis squeaked, "may I approach the bench?"
"Yes, yes," the judge said impatiently.
Louis waddled over to the bench and gazed up ward.
"What is it?" the judge demanded.
Louis gulped. "Can I have some of your water?"
"Get on with it, Counselor!"
Louis backed away from the bench and wasn't quite sure who to speak to. "Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury ..."
"There's no jury here." The judge sighed.
"... of the audience," Louis corrected himself, staring at the gallery. "I don't think it's fair to call my clients frauds. Okay. The blackout was a big problem for everybody. I was stuck in an elevator for about three hours and I had to go to the bathroom the whole time, but I don't blame them, because once I turned into a big dog and they helped me. Thank you."
Louis rushed back to the defense table and scrambled into his seat. Stantz and Spengler, dazed, stared at their knees in disbelief. Venkman leaned over the table and patted Louis on the back. "Way to go. Concise and to the point"
Obviously the judge was still in shock. He gazed at Louis. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"
Louis was confused. "Did I forget something?" Louis began to plow through the hastily taken notes he had scrawled during the trial. The judge bared his teeth at the diminutive man. "That was unquestionably the worst presentation of a case I've ever heard in a court of law! I ought to cite you for contempt and have you disbarred. And as for your clients, Peter Venkman, Raymond Stantz, and Egon Spengler, on the charges of conspiracy, fraud, and the willful destruction of public property, I find you guilty on all counts. I order you to pay fines in the amount of $25,000 each, and I sentence you to eighteen months in the city correctional facility at Riker's Island!"
Stantz lifted his eyes. He caught a glimpse of the specimen jar, still perched on the exhibit table. The goop inside the jar began to glow and churn. He leaned toward Spengler. "Uh-oh. She's twitchin'."
The judge grew angrier and angrier with each word. The slime grew more and more animated as the judge's voice rose. "And on a more personal note," the judge intoned, "let me go on record as saying that there is no place in decent society for fakes, charlatans, and tricksters like you who prey on the gullibility of innocent people. You're beneath the contempt of this court! "And believe me, if my hands were not tied by the unalterable fetters of the law, a law that has become, in my view, far too permissive and inadequate in its stan dards of punishment..."
The entire jar of slime seemed to change its shape, growing into something resembling an oval.
"... I would invoke the tradition of our illustrious
forebears, reach back to a sterner, purer justice, and have you all burned at the stake!"
He slammed his gavel down on the bench. The gallery erupted into a chorus of boos and jeers. The judge was about to slam down his gavel again when he felt the floor beneath his massive desk begin to tremble.
The gallery lapsed into silence.
A low, rumbling noise grew in volume, echoing through the room.
The prosecutor glanced at the exhibit table. "What the..."
The slime began to pulse and swell in earnest, gradually forcing up the lid of the jar.
Stantz gaped at the jar.
The slime was moving quickly now, expanding at an incredible rate.
"Under the table, boys!" he yelled.
The three Ghostbusters dove under the table, yanking Louis under after them.
The rumbling increased to a deafening roar.
And that roar evolved into the psychic equivalent of a volcanic eruption of pure paranormal power.
"Wow," Stantz said, wide-eyed, as a hurricane-force wind from another dimension slammed into his face. "Isn't this something?"
12
A fierce, ethereal whirlwind whipped above the heads of Louis, Spengler, Stantz, and Venkman as the slime jar began to spout glowing, sparkling wads of goop up into the air.
A sizzling, undulating cloud of gooey vapor formed near the courthouse ceiling.
Aghast, the judge sat behind his desk, as two figures—one rotund, the other, emaciated—began to ma terialize high above. The judge recognized them imme diately.
"Oh, my God," he whispered. "The Scoleri broth ers!"
The ghostly Scoleri brothers, their fingers crackling electrical sparks, their hair sparking as well, glared down at the timid judge and emitted a loud eerie laugh. The two floating apparitions positioned themselves high above either side of the judge's massive desk and then, without warning, shrieked down into the desk, sending the large wooden frame sailing across the room in pieces.
The judge found himself sitting behind the smol dering ruins of his desk. The Scoleri brothers had de- materialized for the time being.
As the prosecutor stood stunned at her table, the spectators in court scrambled from their seats and ran for the back exit of the courtroom.
The judge, getting down on all fours, crawled to ward the defense table and quickly rolled underneath it. Sweating and shaking, he faced Spengler, Stantz, and Veckman. "You've got to do something!" he cried.
"Who are they?" Venkman asked.
"They're the Scoleri brothers. I tried them for murder. They were electrocuted up at Ossining in '48. Now ... they want to kill me!"
"Maybe they just want to appeal." Venkman shrugged.
"I don't think so." Louis moaned, watching the table slowly rise into the air above them.
From out of nowhere the Scoleri brothers materi alized and, hair and fingertips crackling, the long dead criminals lifted the defense table high into the air!
"This way," Spengler yelled, pointing to the rail of the jury box. The three Ghostbusters, the judge, and Louis darted across the room and dove behind the heavy oak wall of the jury box.
The Scoleri brothers roared and sent the defense table smashing into the wall above their heads.
"These boys aren't playing around," Venkman noted.
The Scoleri brothers, still hovering near the ceiling, noticed the prosecutor for the first time. Exchanging ghostly glances, they began to hover closer to her. The woman let out a bloodcurdling scream. The
Scoleris emitted a howling laugh and promptly disappeared. The prosecutor exhaled and slowly began to back
toward the courtoom's exit doors, twisting and turning nervously, scanning the air above her for any sign of the
angry apparitions.
She reached the door intact and, breathing a sigh of relief, reached for the door's handle.
She heard a crackling sound.
She smelled the aroma of ozone.
The woman's hair nearly straightened as suddenly the ghost of the skinny Scoleri brother sparked to life before her. The ghost emitted an unworldly screech as it blocked the door with its transparent body.
The prosecutor turned and ran toward the front of the courtroom, the skinny apparition following her. Before she could reach the jury box, she heard a strange rumbling noise. Pop! Blocking her path was the plumper
ghost brother.
The big ghost glided forward.
The prosecutor froze in her tracks.
Hidden behind the jury box's railing, the judge pleaded with Stantz, Spengler, and Venkman. "You've got
to stop them, please!"
Wide-eyed, Stantz blinked innocently at the judge. "I'm sorry, we can't. "You issued a judicial restraining order that prohibits us from ghostbusting. Violating such an order could expose us to serious criminal
penalties."
The judge blinked at honest, heartfelt Ray. A wom an's scream cut through the air.
The judge slowly peeked over the jury-box railing. All color drained from his face. The titanic ghost of the obese Scoleri thug was calmly dragging the screeching prosecutor by her feet toward the rear of the courtroom, laughing and drooling devilishly.
The upside-down woman squirmed in the grip of
the spirit, trying desperately to keep her dress from sliding up over her head.
The exit doors to the courtroom mysteriously burst open. The fat ghost carried the screaming prose cutor out of the room, and as the doors swung closed, it vanished into thin air.
Behind the jury-box railing, the judge slowly sank into a sitting pose. He was defeated. "All right. All right. I'm rescinding the order. Case dismissed."