A deep male voice, calling 'Ten-SHUN!', rang throughout the courtroom.

The American military personnel, followed quickly by their British and French counterparts, stood to attention as two American four-star Generals walked into the large room. They returned the multiple salutes and walked to the front of the courtroom before displacing several men out of their seats. .Before the courtroom door closed another figure - this one a tall teenage girl - slipped inside before taking a seat near the rear of the large room.

My eyes curiously studied the new arrival: who was this? Another author? Or someone else? Well, I'll just have to find out, won't I? I then turned my attention back to the senior officers.

"Ah...who are you guys?"

The man in the Air Force uniform snorted, but said nothing. The Army General fixed me with a hard glare.

"Forgotten us already?" his hard voice growled. "In case you've forgotten, I'm the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He-" A stubby finger pointed towards his partner - "is the Vice Chairman. As I recall, you promised to write a story about us!"

"Well, I didn't forget," I said lamely, recognizing them as characters from my story, 'The Return of Hochstetter.' "More like 'put on the back burner,'" I said lamely. "I'll get to it eventually. I promise."

"Riiight..." Army drawled laconically. "However, we've got a bone to pick with you."

"Two bones, in fact," Air Force said.

I blinked, unsure of what they were talking about. The whole courtroom watched with baited - and sometimes stinky - breath to see what would happen next. Even the Prosecutor seemed amused.

"And that is...?" I finally challenged.

"You failed to mention who won the fight."

For a long moment there was silence. Surprisingly, I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes in annoyance.

"Are you nuts?" my voice demanded, incredulous. "Here I am, on trial, accused of abusing fictional characters, and you want to know who won the boxing match? Are you deliberately trying to sink my case?"

"Some things are more important," deadpanned Army.

A frustrated sigh escaped my thin lips before the Judge's all-too-happy personality interrupted.

"Well, what fight? Who won?" he inquired, a goofy grin on his young face.

"Not you, too!" I said, exasperated, before I decided to get the inevitable explanation out of the way. "For your information, I rigged a fight between these two Generals in one of my stories. You know, just for fun..."

"A lot of fun that was," the guy in the Air Force blues muttered sourly.

"Fortunately, I had them settle their differences toward the end," I continued, ignoring the smart remark. "Unfortunately, they were in the middle of an arena filled with service personnel. So, they gave the crowd their money's worth: they incited a riot."

Impressed - if not awed - eyes swung in my direction from the courtroom crowd. Even the Prosecutor and his men gave me looks of grudging admiration for such a (fictional) feat. I blushed, embarrassed.

"So who the hell won?" the Judge wanted to know.

Instead of responding, I turned to the gallery. The look of curiosity I saw in the magistrate's eyes was mirrored in Allied ones; even the German visitors seemed impatient to learn the outcome. I shrugged my manly shoulders before giving the ultimate answer.

"Well, I didn't want to beat up on any one service, you know," I explained. "That was deliberate. Some of the authors on fan fiction dot net served in the Army and Navy, for instance. But...if you really want to know how it turned out...okay, I'll tell you. First, the audience Army members beat up the Air Force members..."

The Army General grinned smugly at his Air Force counterpart before I continued.

"...the Navy pounded the hell out of the Army..."

The grin was quickly replaced by a narrow frown as the story went on...

"...all of the Marines would have naturally beat the crap out of everyone..."

Now both Generals scrowled. I suppressed a knowing smile before winding up my imaginary tale.

"...the Air Force, by that time, would have recovered enough to call in for air support before pulverizing everyone in the arena..."

Air Force laughed, savoring the imminent victory.

"...which, in the final analysis, leaves only one clear victor: the United States Coast Guard. You know, no one ever invites those guys to the good parties anyway...so they win by default. And you just can't beat up on the Coast Guard; they don't get half the press for all the wonderful stuff they do, you know," I finished, grinning at the hangdog expressions of shock from the two Generals.

"So...what was the other bone you had to pick?" I asked, trying to hurry things along.

Surprisingly, both men laughed at the embarrassing moment. "Well, that's original," Army said, chuckling lightly before his eyes threw me a hard glare.

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again," he warned. I nodded before he changed the topic.

"Another question for you," the General said, turning businesslike. I sighed heavily.

What now?

I thought.

"Why didn't you give us names?" he demanded. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to be known as just 'Chairman?'" His hand produced a leather wallet which was then flipped open for my inspection.

"Here, look at my driver's license!" the officer demanded. Sure enough, the government issue document, save for a picture and address, lacked a distinct moniker.

"Sorry," I sheepishly apologized. "I really didn't think about that one. At the time, y'all were just bit players. On the other hand, I can fix that!"

I smiled deviously as I reached for the front of my pants. "Excuse me while I whip this out..." my deep voice rang out.

Most of the courtroom gallery gasped in scandalized shock. In the back row, two men - thankfully, none of the Heroes - screamed before fainting dead away.

With a flourish, I quickly produced my magic wand from a hidden pocket on my parachute pants. The fingers of my right hand lazily twirled the round wooden shaft left and right even my face gave off a look of utter disgust at the studio audience.

"Honestly!" I loudly exclaimed, "Have you never seen Sheriff Bart from the movie Blazing Saddles? You people are the biggest bunch of perverts..."

My complaints trailed off into nothingness as I aimed the smooth stick at a General target. At that moment I uttered a complex spell that was soon repeated for the Air Force version.

"Hey!" Army yelled, his voice now pleased, "I'm John Smith! Look!" With a grin, he held up the now-modified drivers license.

"And I'm Smith Johns!" Air Force shouted, also delighted with his documents.

"And I'm a fracking Dark Lord..." I muttered sarcastically. "Listen, while you're here, would you mind testifying? I've got a court case to win, you know..."

"Objection!" Prosecutor Hogan yelled. "The defendant just did a favor for the witnesses. Therefore, their testimony is prejudicial!"

"Overruled," the newly-minted John Smith said.

"Hey! That's my line!" Harry Stone interjected. "And on what grounds, sir?"

"We outrank him," Smith said smugly.

The Judge raised his eyebrows, then shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds fair to me," he decided. "Overruled."

The shocked look on the Prosecutor's face was priceless. "But, your Honor-" Hogan said, raising his voice.

"Always trust your car to the man who wears a star," Stone quipped, interrupting the obvious objection. "I'm willing to trust four stars. You may continue, Counselor," he said, looking at me. "But start winding it up. Some of us would like to go home soon."

"Yes, sir," I answered politely before turning my attention back to the Generals. "Sirs, a quick question," I posed. "Did I ever mistreat you, harm you, or force you to do anything you didn't want to do? Especially since you're original characters?"

Smith looked at Johns, then raised an eyebrow. "Nope," he finally stated. "The whole fight thing kinda cleared the air between us, actually."

"Made us look at the big picture," Johns confirmed.

"Cool!" I said. "Glad to see it helped. No further questions." At that, the Prosecutor waved me off; clearly, he thought the Generals had nothing further to offer. Either that or he was just itching to get to his guilty verdict.

I turned to the gallery again. This time, I picked out a different target.

"Excuse me," I said, locking my eyes on the teenage girl from earlier, "Forgive me for asking, but who are you? I'm guessing you're an author, but I don't think I've seen you before. What's your screen name, anyway?"

"I'm mmwaveprincess," her voice hesitantly replied. "Um...you wouldn't happen to know why I'm here, would you?" she asked. "I only just started writing Hogan's Heroes stories. Then, I got this summons in the mail..."

I blinked my eyes in surprise. "Wait a minute," I said, now confused, "you just started posting HH fan fiction? Just how many stories have you written?"

"Only one, so far," she disclosed in a small voice. The surrounding crowd of Heroes began to give her sympathetic looks.

"One?" I repeated, stunned. "You got called here for one story?" What'd she do? Kill everyone off? Nah; the Prosecutor and his band of merry marauders would have gotten to her before now. "Ok," my voice allowed. "I can see that. How many chapters?"

The girl smiled bravely, considering the circumstances. "Um...I just posted the first one last Sunday," she admitted after a moment's pause.

Dark murmurs started to emanate from the members of the gallery. As they did so, one of the nearby Newkirks leaned over and smilingly whispered something in the lady's ear. Whatever was said had an immediate effect: she laughed delightedly before her nervous tension slowly fell away.

For myself, I was shocked almost beyond words.

"You're kidding!" I finally blurted. "And these jokers…" I turned around to spear the head joker with a sharp look. Prosecutor Hogan merely shrugged it off.

"That's a new author!" my outraged voice yelled out. "You can't do that to new authors! It's uncalled for!" Like my words, the wave of discontent from the Allied personnel behind me crashed to no effect against the Colonel's seawall; he merely stared me down, a twisted grin on his lips.

"It's necessary," the Colonel growled. "If we start early enough, we can make the authors treat their characters with respect. Not like some people I know of," he said, his voice dangerously low even as his eyes pierced mine..

"Plus," Prosecution Kinch piped up, "it'd save us a lot of trouble in the long run. We can actually have real missions where we don't have to worry about dying needlessly." The other men from his barracks nodded in agreement with the statement even as I returned my disbelieving stare to the head Prosecutor.

"You, sir," I accused, "are a devious and distasteful piece of-"

"Hey!" Judge Stone quickly interrupted. "No obscenities in my courtroom!"

"Sorry, sir," I said nicely. "Move to motion, your Honor?"

"Go ahead," the magistrate replied.

"I make the motion that the Prosecutor and his team of men are lying, distasteful, and devious slimeballs."

"Objection, your Honor!" the offended man cried out, jumping to his feet amid a shower of English and French accented slurs hurled in my direction. "He's insulting us!"

Harry Stone glanced in my direction. For some reason, I could have sworn I saw a twinkle of humor in his prankster's eye. "Do you have any proof that the Prosecutor or his men are liars?" he questioned me.

I shook my head negatively. "No, your Honor," I answered before a cunning smile crossed my face. "I withdraw that particular word, sir."

"Good enough for me," the Judge declared, a small grin on his lips as his hand banged the wooden gavel. "Motion sustained; objection overruled."

"YOUR HONOR!" the Prosecutor screamed angrily.

"Personal opinion, Counselor," Stone smoothly stated, ignoring the outburst before he looked over towards me. "Your witness," he called out.

As before, I turned to the gallery. This time, I had a particular story in mind…

"And now," my voice said, "I'd like to call the Allied personnel from The Return of Hochstetter. If you could raise your hands..." My eyes quickly picked out five sets of hands in the back of the courtroom; the bodies attached to them stood up.

"Okay, then," I said. "Same question as before: did I ever mistreat or harm you? Make you do something against you will?"

ROH Hogan looked at his men briefly before answering the query. "Nope," he said cheerfully. "Actually, we should be thanking you, as a matter of fact. Writing in those hotel rooms for us was a nice touch."

Heads swiveled around to look at the standing men. They weren't the only ones that were curious. "What hotel rooms?" Judge Stone asked.

The Colonel shrugged. "The ones he created for me and my men," he said candidly even as he tilted his head in my direction. "He fixed it so my men and I could go to Hammelburg and have fun with the local ladies every once in a while. The women..." He stopped, then looked at me. "Female authors are reading this, right?" he asked.

"Yup," I confirmed.

"Then I'd better stop there," the Colonel said, a Cheshire-cat grin crossing his handsome face.

"Hang on," the Judge said slowly as comprehension dawned "That sounds like some kind of whorehouse." Jaws dropped across the courtroom as the other Hero copies in the gallery looked at the men from ROH enviously; low mutterings on the current topic soon spread across the courtroom.

"Not at all, your Honor," I said happily. "I merely wrote in a recurring scene where the guys could have a fun time in a secure environment with some high-class ladies. However," I said, swiftly changing subjects, "this should absolutely prove, once and for all, that I take care of my characters...with minor exceptions," I quickly added, feeling Prosecutor Hogan's icy stare on my back.

ROH Hogan held up a hand. "He's right," the officer added. "Before 80sarcades came along we'd have to scavenge condoms to deal with our love scenes. Now we have a condom machine on the wall of the tunnel; its one less thing for my men and I to worry about."

More grumbling drifted around the courtroom as I stood there, utterly stunned.

"I didn't write that!" I finally sputtered. And I know I didn't! "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Some stories have a way of writing themselves," that Hogan said mysteriously.

Uh, oh...

"Anyway," I blurted, trying to regain control of the conversation, "I-"

"And don't forget the wet bar or the hot tub," ROH LeBeau interjected, a wry grin on his ebullient face.

Oh, for crying out loud! You have to be kidding me!

"And the lady running the bar..." Newkirk said, a dreamy expression on his features. "...you can't forget about Monique!"

"Oui," the Frenchman confirmed, a similar look of love/lust in his eyes. "She's always there, morning, noon, or night…"

"…and we're lucky to have one like that!" the Englishman finished up the sentence. "Good thing she does massages, too..."

"And don't forget those poles in the tunnel!" Carter happily interjected with a smile. "You know, the ones those ladies dance on-"

"Hey, Hey, HEY!" I loudly yelled, momentarily bringing the sleazy conversation to a standstill. "May I remind you that women are reading this story? Ladies who will probably kill me for ruining Carter's innocence-"

"Afraid it's too late for that, mate," Newkirk said solemnly. "He gets it a lot more than we do now."

My unbelieving eyes stared at the RAF Corporal. "You're kidding," I said finally, dumbfounded.

"Nope," Carter answered; I quickly shifted my eyes back in his direction. To my great amazement - along with the rest of the gallery - two shapely members of the feminine gender, dressed in obviously expensive - yet formally tasteful -outfits, were now standing on either side of the American Sergeant. I blinked in total surprise.

Where in hell did the supermodels come from? And, more importantly: can I hire them for the Death Eater recruitment drive next month? Hmmm…

"Where…what the hell...?" my shocked voice whispered; this time, I was the one that was awed at the instantaneous appearance of the gorgeous women.. For his part, the enlisted man gave me a goofy, almost childish grin of joy.

"Well, it's like this…" he began.

I quickly held up a hand to stop him. "Just forget it," I loudly said. "I don't want to know."

My head then turned to the waiting Judge. "Your Honor," my voice quickly said, "the defense rests."

To my surprise, one of the numerous Newkirks in the room interrupted.

"Forget that," he bluntly stated as he rose to his feet. "I don't know else they've got, but I want more stories like that!" Most of the heads in the room, already jealous of the ROH men, nodded in solemn agreement even while the whispers of unfair discontent began to flow.

At that moment, Prosecutor Hogan stood up to rebut the airman. He faced-off the Corporal and gave him a look of total disgust; for his part, the enlisted man faced him down with a disparaging look of his own.

"That's not what we want," he called out, his voice strong and sure. "We want stories with less fear in them." His own men nodded; low mutters of their own escaped their lips while they darkly glared at their Allied counterparts.

The random Newkirk stood his ground. "Great stories are better," he said firmly. Besides," he added, pointing at me, "he hasn't hurt us anyway." He paused for a moment as his eyes swept the room.

"Probably the rest of these gents too are like that, I'd wager," he said, sweeping his hand around the room in a showman's flourish. "And I'd like a shot at some of those birds there, too," he added, pointing towards Carter before his eyes swung in my direction. "Can we put in a special order?" he cheekily asked, a sly grin on his face. "Always been partial to brunettes myself, but I'll take what I can get."

"You have to be kidding!" the Prosecutor, frustrated, yelled out even as he wildly gestured in my direction. "He'll cause you nothing but pain. Don't you understand that?"

"I can live with pain," one of the other Hogans dryly said, interrupting the temperamental tirade before it could go on any further. "Especially if she's blonde." Most of the onlookers laughed at that.

"Newkirk - that Newkirk," he went on, pointing to the standing RAF man, "is right. We need more great stories like that. Life at Stalag 13 is bad enough; we might as well have some fun." More murmurs of agreement flooded the room; his counterpart, meanwhile, gave him a hooded glare.

"Less fear will do for me," the Prosecutor nastily spat. At that, his men stood up. Seconds later the other Hogan - followed by the rest of the Allied personnel in the room - rose to their feet.

"You'd do better with the great stories, you know," that version of Hogan calmly said. "When's the last time you went on a date, anyway?," he slyly asked. "Or even rounded the bases? You do remember what baseball is, right?"

"I'm not going to be held hostage by someone who can kill you," the Prosecutor said loudly, ignoring the loaded question. His face, now hardened with anger, stared back at the grinning doppelganger of himself; another angry finger was stabbed towards me. "You're being blindsided," he accused. "All of you! By 80sarcades! The man is evil!"

"I don't see it that way," Hogan retorted coolly. "Great stories."

"Less fear," the Prosecutor said venomously. Some of his men repeated the words, albeit weakly.

"Great stories," Hogan repeated; this time, some of the surrounding Allied audience said the words right along with him. Not to be outdone, Prosecutor Hogan's men repeated their phrase at louder volume.

"Less fear!" they shouted.

"Great stories!" the other side cried back.

"Less fear!" the Prosecutor and his men yelled.

I raised an eyebrow as the verbal tennis match continued. With amusement, I noted here were now three sides to the case: the group that had it, the group that wanted it, and the group that was fast losing their case.

Meanwhile, Judge Stone vainly banged his gavel in an attempt to restore order. Failing at that, he turned to his court bailiffs.

"Bull," he said/ordered, "you want to get in there and break things up?"

The bald man looked at the raucous crowd for a moment. "There's a lot more of them than me, your Honor," he sheepishly admitted, refusing to move from his spot.

Judge Stone rolled his eyes in frustration before he turned to the second uniformed member. "Roz?" he yelled. "How about you?" The female bailiff merely raised an eyebrow before throwing a bemused glance towards her boss.

"Nope," she said firmly. "I quit."

By this time the assorted Boys of Barracks Two were almost at blows; each side had graduated to trading insults. Two of the Hogans - the one from ROH and another fellow counterpart - were practically chest butting each other. It was a testosterone powder keg just waiting to blow.

I'm not sure who yelled the phrase "Prosecutor Hogan sucks!" It might have been me. Then again, it might have been a innocent bystander from the crowd who was disgusted by the less-than-professional behavior of the original Allied litigants. Or, it might have been me. However the case, the Prosecutor's men finally broke loose from their spots. With a loud yell, they furiously charged at their counterparts.

What happened next was a slaughter. The Germans made themselves scarce as white and black fists flew in all directions. As I watched, one of the

Newkirks knocked out a blue-uniformed counterpart with a right cross. The limp body, still wearing a purple sprig of flowers, slumped to the floor in defeat even as a twisted smile crossed my face.

That'll teach you to steal my stories!

Satisfied, I turned towards the bench. To my surprise the two Generals were still in the courtroom; I eyed them, curious to know what they were up to now.

"I thought you two would have taken off," I casually said, ignoring the growing ruckus behind my back. John Smith looked up at me; for some reason, he had a coin in his hand.

"Not yet," he told me. "We were just about to flip for it."

"For what?" I said, confused.

"To see who calls in the cavalry." His fingers then tossed the quarter high into the air before deftly catching the disc and slapping it against the top of his left hand.

"I win!" he grinned smugly to his Air Force counterpart. The other man merely rolled his blue eyes even as Smith pulled a modern cell phone out of a pocket to place a call.

As a stream of Military Policemen streamed in, wooden batons and Tasers at the ready, I realized my evil work was done. I casually walked up to the bench and used my wand to levitate myself several feet above the floor. The Judge, to my surprise, cowered beneath his ample desk. At that moment, he suddenly stared up at my grinning face with impressively angry eyes.

"Motion to dismiss the charges, your Honor," I said formally, if not coldly. Stone shot a furious look at me.

"Like hell I will," he spat. "You've destroyed my courtroom and started a riot!" Trembling with rage, he pointed a shaking finger in my direction. "I'm remanding you-"

"Barry Manilow," I said simply, keying the second trigger word that I had earlier implanted in the other man's mind. The Judge's voice fell silent as his face turned blank with dullness; a slack hand gripped the gavel lightly before limply banging the wood against his bench.

"Case dismissed," his emotionless voice - almost drowned out by the loud noise in the courtroom - said dully. I smiled brightly before I lowered myself to the ground.

"Thank you, your Honor," I said politely. Without a second glance I left the courtroom.

What a waste of time!

I angrily thought as I made my way towards the elevator. Soon, however, I'll make them pay, I solemnly vowed. My army of zombie politicians will make this bunch of pathetic Muggles fear the name of the Dark Lord Arcades...

In my haste for revenge, I almost missed a telltale sound that vibrated through the dingy air. It was distinctive; a 'doink doink' sound. Suddenly, I remembered that I was in New York City.

Uh, oh...

At that moment, Lennie Briscoe and Rey Curtis - two of Law and Order's best detectives - came up behind me. Before I could react Detective Curtis had me up against a wall and in handcuffs.

"What the-" I sputtered angrily. "Hey, what's going on!" I demanded as my face was pressed up next to the peeling wall. "What's the charge?"

"Funny guy," Detective Briscoe wisecracked. "You're up for attempted murder. Guy by the name of William Riker. Ring any bells?"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" I yelled. "You're putting me under arrest for trying to kill off a fictional character? I just shoved him down a elevator shaft! And he deserved it anyway; the guy is just annoying! Why, I oughta-"

"He thinks he's Bugs Bunny, too," Detective Curtis interrupted amusedly. I groaned in frustration.

"Look, this is all a misunderstanding," my voice, now calm, said reasonably even as I silently struggled against the unyielding iron bracelets. "Really, if you'll just reach in my pocket and grab my wand I can explain everything-"

I suddenly realized that this wasn't the best thing to say to two officers of the law. Lennie grinned at his partner.

"That's solicitation, too," he dryly remarked. "Want to go for three, smart mouth?" In response, I rolled my eyes in silent annoyance. Detective

Briscoe hit the button for the elevator several times before looking at the floor indicator.

"Looks like it's out," he finally said. "We'd better take the stairs." As we headed for the stairwell, a tall man in British battledress stopped us. I eyed the stranger with a groan.

"What the hell are you staring at?" I snarled in my best nasal Duckman-style voice. Oddly, the man took no offense.

"Are you 80sarcades?" he asked in an elegant English accent. I rolled my eyes yet again.

"Well, let's see..," I mused out loud sarcastically. "I'm in handcuffs and this isn't a S&M parlor...so what do you think?"

"Good," the man said. A hand reached out and put a blue paper in my jacket pocket; I eyed it with distaste.

"What the hell is that?" I demanded to know.

"I'm suing you," the man calmly commented, his voice neutral. "For defaming my good name. Not to mention getting my fan fiction namesake put in prison..."

"Wait," I cried out, finally recognizing the man. "I know you! "You're Sgt. Moffitt! The real one, from the TV show The Rat Patrol!"

"At your service," the man acknowledged. Just then, another man walked up; this one I recognized instantly. "You're that wimpy lawyer type from The Simpsons," I accused even before he opened his mouth. "You know, the slippery little snake type-"

"I have here a writ of extradition for this man," the lawyer, ignoring me, sneered to the cops. He held up a legal-looking document. "You, sir, are to stand trial for the murder of Montgomery Burns!"

"Oh, please!" I blurted angrily. "That's a cartoon character! You can't go to jail for killing a cartoon character!"

"Sorry to rain on your parade, Counselor," Detective Briscoe told the lawyer. "But he's going to our hotel. You can talk about it to the D.A. if you like." Unfortunately, the shyster wasn't about to give up; he held up the legalese sheet again.

"This," he crowed dramatically, "is signed by the Governor of New York! I demand that you turn him over forthwith, or else!" Lennie merely chuckled at the blustered threat.

"Sorry. Forgot my reading glasses at home," the lead Detective told him. "You see anything, Rey?" The other Detective peered closely at the proffered paper.

"Looks like a scribble to me," he finally announced. "Sorry."

Just then, another person - a petite blonde woman - walked up to us. I sighed yet again. What now?

"Are you 80sarcades?" she asked. A low frustrated groan escaped my lips.

"Do I have to answer that, officers?" I moaned. "Really, this is getting tiresome…"

"I take it she's not a former girlfriend, then," Detective Briscoe joked.

At that moment, the blonde whipped out a small can from her oversized purse. Before anyone could react, she quickly slung the contents in my direction; a impressive volume of black paint splashed onto my yellow parachute pants and Don Johnson jacket. Fortunately, or unfortunately for me, the goop missed the Law & Order types beside me. Not that they were any less amused by the woman's actions.

"I represent the People for the Elimination of Tasteless Attire!" she shrieked, a wild look on her face. "Yellow parachute pants are murder on the eyes!"

A small crowd of men and women - supposedly innocent bystanders - leaped into action and surrounded their fellow comrade-with-paint-can. As they did so, they began to chant "Murder!" at the top of their lungs. I shrank back from their rhythmic chanting even as several bailiffs appeared in the hallway.

"Get them out of here!" Lenny yelled towards the nearest court officers. As the uniformed men and women broke up the crowd, I could feel Detective Curtis grab my left arm and drag me, all the while still dripping oily paint, away from the impromptu mob while Detective Briscoe quickly led the way.

"You people are fracking nuts!" I screamed toward the crowd. "And this is ridiculous!" my voice continued loudly, unable to hold back my anger any longer as I vainly struggled against my firm bonds. "I am the Dark Lord Arcades. Get these handcuffs off of me! NOW!" I demanded. "Or I swear, I'll get my revenge on you all! I'll transfigure you all into fur coats-"

Fortunately, Lenny quickly found a nearby service elevator that was working. Unfortunately, both detectives were forced to listen to my raging tirade all the way to the ground floor. The looks of amusement/annoyance I received from the natives while being escorted to the entrance failed to temper my ballooning anger at the whole situation.

"...you'll pay for this!" I loudly screamed as Detective Curtis firmly pushed me out the courthouse door. "You, and your doggggssss..."

Detective Briscoe, following behind, looked at the onlookers in the lobby; his shoulders gave a casual shrug even as his head cocked to one side, a wry grin on his lips.

"And they say New Yorkers are crazy..." he joked.

[fin/ende]

A/N: If anyone noticed…I adapted Miller Lite's old 'Great Taste/Less Filling' ad slogan for the courtroom pre-brawl. Couldn't resist:-) And I loved the original Law & Order episodes…especially those featuring Jerry Orbach, (Lennie Briscoe). Oddly, I used to watch reruns at 2 a.m. with my two oldest when they were babies…it always seemed to be on when they needed their nighttime feeding.

Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoyed the story!