The Mystery Science of Emergency Phantom
Law, Part 4
(with thanks to Andrew Weber for a great riff)
"I haven't seen such a line-up of
mooks since the inauguration," said a bewildered Lenny Brisco.
"You're all under indictment! I'm convening the grand jury
right here!" shouted Jack McCoy, flailing through the doors
as if on ice.
"Ah, you must be the local constabulary," said Qui-Gon
happily, "We are in dire need of your investigatory skills,
and I defer to your authority."
"Oh, hey, nice to see you got your wings, Mr. Earnhardt,"
said Lennie in awe.
"Why do those men mousse with asphalt?" Servo asked
Greene, who was now choosing between hiring a shark attorney or
being forced to shower at Riker's.
"Thank goodness you're here!" exclaimed Crow, "Someone
shot Servo!"
"Actually," stated Greene, glancing at Servo's restored
hovering abilities with pride, "The most we have to worry
about now is rust."
"Attempted murder! You're all gonna get the needle!"
yammered McCoy, as the mother alien burst from his chest.
"So at best," pondered Brisco, "We gotta bad case
of vandalism?"
"I don't believe this," muttered Crow, "They didn't
try to kill him with Sherman-Williams, ya know."
"The table lamp speaks the truth, Detective Brisco,"
said Qui, "We are dealing with powerful and gruesome forces
here."
"Hey, no problem. I find dismembered heiresses in the dumpster
about once a week," said Brisco, validating Carter's parking
stub.
"Your alibis are *dreck*! I've got evidence!" screamed
McCoy like the Aflac duck, and then moulted.
"Detective," confided Qui, "May I be allowed to
remark that your employer seems mired in a regrettable psychic
episode?"
"Nah," replied Brisco, "Just hand him a writ of
collateral estoppel. That'll slow him down."
"Sumpin comin," said Jar Jar uneasily, "Sumpin
bein' nasty on its way here."
"Oh, look," said Brisco, "The tide's in. Wanna
read a little tarot for me?"
McCoy continued reciting violations of various ordinances and
assorted misdemeanors until splitting himself by meiotic fission,
and an entire barge of Talmudic scholars nodded off in boredom.
But Jar Jar's ominous warning caused the assembly to huddle together
and plan tactics for ridding the galaxy of its despicable canker.
"Heck, I'd worship Zool if it'd help," offered Brisco.
"Can I build up an immunity to strudel first?" asked
Servo as the food carts wheeled by.
"So, we are all in one accord?" asked Qui-Gon.
"Not me. I drive a Porsche," said Romano. "Well,
I've probably got a bypass on a toaster waiting for me, so good
luck catching the Wormhole Express back to Nazareth. Thanks for
dropping by, Your Eminence."
"We will forever be mindful of your hospitality, Dr. Romano,"
said Qui gravely, wondering if he was witnessing the devolution
of a species.
"And take Jackie Chan with you," concluded Romano, continuing
down one of the many littered and blood-spattered hallways of
which the entire hospital was constructed.
"Oh, hey guys. I finally found out what a Daktari Stool was,"
said Mike, emerging from the basement and punching out on his
time card. "Servo! You look wonderful."
"Feel great, Mike," preened Servo, "And the ICU
staff granted me asylum."
"I sense a powerful disturbance..........." murmured
Qui, paling.
"I'll get the mop," said Mike.
"Well, in my official investigatory capacity," stated
Brisco, "I'd say your mope's down in the basement."
"I believe your valet is correct, Mr. McCoy," said Qui,
as he eyed the descending staircase warily, and McCoy's limbs
became sentient and wrenched themselves from their sockets.
"Master!" exclaimed an approaching Obi-Wan, "Here
are the smoking entrails of the beast!"
"My Walkman!" howled Carol Hathaway.
"Exsqueeze me," said Jar Jar, "Monster heeza be
comin' up the shaft........."
"'Shaft'?" asked Dr. Benton, fully recovered from his
bout of mumbling, "Yes, what *would* 'Shaft' do?"
"I must confess," said Qui-Gon, his gaze riveted upon
the ascending elevator lights, "I have not felt such exhiliration
since young Anakin's pod race."
"Padres? Great team," said Brisco, "I won five
long on 'em last year."
"I'd convict Mother Teresa on less!" screeched McCoy,
taking flight and causing Dr. Greene to feel incredibly lucky,
even as an army of malpractice lawyers ran him aground in the
med's closet.
"I can only hope we are sufficiently armored to meet the
demon and vanquish his presence," pondered Qui.
"It's called a Smith and Wesson .357, Your Worship,"
said Brisco, "A fabled artifact of my people, passed down
to us from the ancient Bronx."
And the moment had arrived, when all speculation and preparation
must finally cease, when the horror would appear enfleshed, summoned
up like a shriveled and unidentifiable treasure long buried way
back in the freezer, to be either conquered by gallant and knowing
warriors, or subsumed in the misguided yearning for a safe and
queasy surrender we have come to expect from prime-time network
television.
Slowly the elevator doors opened, and our collective heroes shuddered
and gasped as one.
"Oh my God!" yelled McCoy, suddenly sober, "It's......it's..............!"
To be continued...........