A shriek cut through the air. Spengler spun around and saw the ghost of the fat Scoleri bearing down upon

him, fast. He couldn't reach his weapon in time to save

himself.

Stantz leapt to his feet and opened fire. The fat ghost chortled with glee as he easily dodged the blast.

He headed down for Spengler once again.

Stantz gritted his teeth and let go with a second stream. This time the spiraling rays smashed into the fat ghost, effectively trapping him in a pulsating, levitating

cage.

Spengler made sure there were two rectangular traps placed on the floor in front of what had once been the judge's bench.

He pulled the foot springs back some five feet.

Stantz and Venkman held the screaming ghosts trapped in their steady stream of rays.

"Okay," Spengler said, coaching them. "You're do­ ing fine. Watch your streams. Easy, now. Venky, bring him left. Stantz, pull them down."

The two Ghostbusters nodded and slowly maneu­ vered their captive, screeching spirits down toward the

rectangular traps.

Spengler watched their progress, sweating. "Okay.

Trapping ... trapping ... now!"

Spengler stomped down hard on two foot-control pedals at the end of the pair of cables. The rectangular traps' top doors opened and a bright light streamed up

from within.

Stantz and Venkman guided the two ghosts into the

white-hot light.

"Cease fire!" Spengler yelped. "Now!"

An exhausted Stantz and Venkman lowered their

weapons.

The two traps surged into full-tilt power, emitting an inverted triangle of ethereal light up toward the

floating spirits. Gradually the ghosts dissippated, and then suddenly zipped into the two traps.

The traps snapped shut and an LED light on the outside of each trap flashed brilliantly.

Venkman staggered up to his trap. He smiled at Spengler. "Ocupado."

The three Ghostbusters faced each other, ex­ hausted. They exchanged smiles. They hadn't felt this good in years.

The judge slowly stuck his head up from behind the jury box. Louis peeked up as well. The judge looked around in total shock.

Louis and the exhausted Ghostbusters walked to the back of the courtroom and flung open the door.

Outside, dozens of reporters and spectators waited to greet them with a rousing cheer.

Spengler glanced to his left. The prosecutor was hiding beneath a plastic chair, shivering her well-edu­ cated butt off. "Brilliant summation." He smiled.

Flashbulbs went off in the three men's faces.

Reporters surged forward.

Venkman faced his two comrades and uttered, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Case closed, boys. We're back in business."

The halls of the courthouse echoed with the cheers and applause of a devoted crowd.

"True heroes are those who

die for causes they cannot

quite take seriously."

— MURRAY KEMPTON

"This is going to cost you,

you know. Our fees are

ridiculously high."

— DR. PETER VENKMAN

13

The refurbished firehouse that once housed the original Ghostbusters business was under siege by a small army of workmen. The old "No Ghosts" logo, now dilapidated by years of disuse, came crashing to the ground with a resounding

thud.

The workmen fought back sneezes as a cloud of dust wafted into the air.

A group of men struggled with a pulley as a new logo was hoisted into place over the main entrance of the building. It looked exactly like the old logo, but now the trapped ghost in the red circle held up two fingers.

Venkman strolled up to the firehouse and gazed at the Ghostbusters' shiny new symbol. Nice, he thought. Very, very nice.

Inside the firehouse's reception area, Janine Mel­nitz, a veteran New Yorker and the Ghostbusters' first (and only) receptionist/aide, hastily set up her desk. She spread out family photos. A Garfield doll. Bound editions of Cosmopolitan. She hardly noticed Louis as he wad-

dled out with a handful of forms. Louis certainly noticed Janine. Why was it he had never seen how pretty she was? Oh, yeah, now he remembered. The last time he had been in the firehouse, he had been possessed by a

demon.

Louis tiptoed up to Janine's desk, clearing his throat. He sounded like Shirley Temple with a hairball. "Uh, Janine? I'm filling out W-2 forms for the payroll and I need your Social Security number."

Janine carefully positioned her Garfield doll. "It's

129-45-8986."

Louis produced a small pad from his shirt pocket and jotted down the number. "Oh," he said, wheezing. "That's a good one. Mine is 322-36-7366."

Janine gazed up at Louis. You know, she thought, Louis was kind of cute in a Wild Kingdom sort of way. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "Three threes and three sixes." "Uh-huh," Louis acknowledged. "That's very strong in numerology," she continued, running a hand through her mousy brown hair. "It means you're a person with a great appetite for life arid a deeply passionate nature."

Louis blinked, embarrassed. He almost fogged his glasses. "You can tell all that from my Social Security

number?"

The sparrowlike Janine leaned forward and smiled. "Oh, yes. Numbers are very revealing. If I knew your phone number, I could tell you a lot more."

Louis swallowed hard. "My phone number?"

Venkman chose that moment to march into the room. Both Louis and Janine snapped to immediately.

"Louis, how are we doing on that bank loan?"

Venkman asked.

Louis cleared his throat. "Oh, I called the bank this morning ... but they hung up on me."

"Try another bank." Venkman shrugged. "Do I have to do everything around here?"

Venkman looked up as Stantz, Spengler, and Win­ ston walked sheepishly downstairs wearing the Ghost- busters' uniforms Venkman had commissioned for their new incarnation. The uniforms were designed in a weirded-out, military style in Day-Glo colors, dripping with medals, and topped by ridiculous berets. Venkman took note of the trio's embarrassed faces and tried to bluff his way through it.

"Incredible!" he oozed. "This is a very good look!"

Winston heaved a heavy sigh. "We look like the Bronxville High School Marching Band."

Venkman sidled up to the trio. "Will you just trust me on this? It's all part of the new plan—higher visibil­ ity, lower overhead, deeper market penetration, bigger profits. Just wait until we open the boutique."

Stantz blinked. "What boutique?"

Venkman took him by the arm and pointed to the sky outside the firehouse. "The Ghostbusters Gift Bou­ tique," he said enthusiastically. "It's a natural. I've been working on it all day."

He whipped a small piece of paper from his pants pocket and began reading. "You'll love it. Ghostbuster T-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, visors, beach towels, mugs, calendars, stationery, balloons, stickers, Frisbees, paper­ weights, souvenirs, tote bags, party supplies, motor oil, toys, video games."

Spengler frowned. "Our primary concern should be the continued integrity of the biosphere. It's a re­sponsibility shared by all conscious beings."

Venkman stared at Spengler. "Isn't that what I just said?"

Stantz turned to Venkman. "Look, Venkman, we don't have time for this. We've got customers waiting—