"Goren told me I could indict a clock today."
Ron Carver was sitting in a large, straight-backed chair with his hands folded in his lap.
"It was quite flattering," Carver continued.
He was in Jack McCoy's office; and McCoy was sitting in the chair behind his desk, and had his feet propped on its surface.
"Yeah," he said. "Well, Mike Logan once told me I could indict a ham sandwich."
Carver drew himself up; that was a challenge! "Well, I bet I could indict that pin you're wearing!"
McCoy looked down at the American flag pin that was fastened to his lapel, then looked back at Carver. "I could indict your glasses!"
"I could indict your tie!" Carver shot back.
"I could indict those books!" McCoy retorted, pointing to a stack of books on his desk.
"I could indict your phone!"
"That pen! I could indict that pen!"
"Yeah? Well, I could indict your scotch!"
McCoy's jaw dropped, and he glared at the other man. This time Carver had gone too far! "I could indict you," he snarled.
Carver narrowed his eyes. "I could indict you!"
"Oh, for God's sake. You two are ridiculous."
Both men paused and turned. Ben Stone was leaning against the doorframe. He had heard their voices all the way down the hallway and decided to see what was going on; he had witnessed most of the change.
"Maybe you ought to think about indicting some real criminals."
With those words, Stone walked out of the room, leaving his two colleagues speechless.
After a moment, McCoy said, "I say we indict him."