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.