"This is my evidence; the mysterious GLOVE!"

I wanted to make the presentation as dramatic as possible, so I tried to point my finger and show the evidence at the same time. I ended up throwing the glove at the judge.

I sat down immediately and covered my face.

"If the defense does not want to be charged with assault, they will explain their case now." His face was getting red.

I cleared my throat and stood up; my knees were shaking slightly.

"P-please recall the defendant's testimony. Toucan reacts violently to loud noises, and I'm sure we're all aware that a gun was fired at the scene of the crime?"

"I believe that is more than obvious." The judge said, looking at the ceiling.

"Guns make loud noises, don't they? I believe if so little noise as a washing machine can make this dog go off, no doubt a gunshot would have the same, if not more of an effect. So this brings us to the most important topic." I slammed my desk once again. "Why was this glove ripped? Because it was being worn by the killer when he shot the victim!"

Ian's eyes were open wide and his arms shot sideways; he let out a loud yelp, but it was barely heard over the din of the audience. It's cool to have this kind of effect on people.

"The dog would have attacked whoever shot the gun! And it seems that whoever was wearing this glove was the unfortunate soul on the other end of this dog's teeth!"

"Order! Order! I will have ORDEEEEEER!"

The rapid slamming of the gavel was lost in the chaos. Okay people, that's enough, it's not THAT awesome.

Miraculously, the audience quieted down after a few minutes, everyone looked strained.

"B-but!" Ian was shaking his fist on the table, his face was a mess; you couldn't tell if it was a frown or a smile. "W-what does that prove? The glove could have been the defendant's! The dog could have attacked its own master!"

"That's impossible; may I remind the court that my client's fingerprints are on the murder weapon? People of the court, if you happen to be wearing a glove, do you honestly think you'd put your fingerprints on a murder weapon?" I smiled; this was perhaps the first time fingerprints on a murder weapon proved that person innocent.

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Ian began to laugh… more hysterically than ever before. He held his hand over his face and laughed for over a minute. Is this going to become a regular thing with him?

When all had quieted down, Ian crossed his arms. "Gordon Truth, is it?"

"Yes it is." I nodded. Now was the time to get serious.

"We finally meet again." He looked me in the eyes for the first time in ten years.

"Yes we do." I grinned.

"You're as ridiculous and foolish as ever."

"You're as pompous and oblivious as ever, Ian."

He shrugged. "I'm guessing you're going to accuse my witness for the murder of Mr. Slotts now?"

I nodded again. "That should be obvious."

"Once again, I must be the one to point out your 'obvious' mistakes. There are currently two things wrong with your theory. One, you have yet to prove any possible motive or connection between the victim and witness. And two, take another look at the glove. There is no DNA evidence on or inside, meaning that it was never worn by anyone with a hand." He grinned at my now smile-less face.

"Wait. Let me get this straight." The judge screwed his face up in concentration. "The defense is accusing the witness?"

"Yes it is your honor." I pointed to the prosecution. "And the defense demands the witness re-take the stand and testify about his relationship with the victim."

Ian stood up "OBJECTION! I can already tell you that my witness has no such connection!"

"Then let the witness come up and say it under oath!"

"That would only succeed in wasting the court's time!"

The gavel sounded once again. The judge stood up in his chair for the first time today.

"I would like the witness to testify not only about any possible connection to the victim, but I would like to hear his response to the whole glove thing as well. All in all, there are many unanswered questions I believe only the witness can clear up. Please, call the witness to the stand."

"G-gladly, your honor." Ian didn't look as glad as he implied.

"The court will take a ten minute recess while the witness is being called. Court is adjourned!"

---------------------------------

"Do you think I made the right call?" We were in the defense lounge, readying for the trial to come.

"Well, you did put on quite the show in there. You performed impressively for a newbie." Benjamin sipped on a soda. "To tell you the truth though, that glove had me thinking from the beginning. And I knew Ken's dog would come up sooner or later."

"I wish he's literally come up to me. I'm really starting to miss him."

"Of course you do, you can't leave your wrestling competition tied. There is perhaps no worse sin of man that keeping two competitors apart." He finished his soda and rested his head on the arm of the couch.

"Oh Ken, I've been meaning to ask you." I leaned over my chair and faced my client. "Do you happen to remember anything regarding Toucan during the murder?"

Ken shook his head. "I really can't remember anything about him. But, now that you mentioned it in court, I seem to think he did have some kind of reaction to the gunshot. I think that was when the leash slipped out of my hands." He closed his eyes. "Can we stop talking about him now? I'm getting depressed."

"Sir, the recess is over," the bailiff shot into the lounge. "You are requested in court."

"This is it," Benjamin held my shoulder, "the final testimony. I'll try to help as much as I can, but the rest is all up to you. Let's get out there!"

"Unstoppable Defenders of Justice?"

"You got it."

"Hey, is that a club of some kind? Y'all have matching jackets?" Ken joked as we began toward the courtroom.

---------------------------------

Everyone seemed nervous. The witness was sweating, already re-taking his place on the stand. The court watched as he was sworn-in yet again, and we all took our seats at the sound of the almighty gavel.

"Witness, the defense has accused you of the murder of Owen Slotts. How do you respond to this?"

Mortimer was silent; he then looked at me from the stand. "I don't think the defense is fully aware of who they're dealing with."

The judge smacked his gavel. "Then you deny the accusation? Of course, we'll have to hear your testimony. Do you know the extent of the defense's argument?"

"Sure," another eerie stare in my direction. "I'm quite aware."

His face… he looks like a whole different person.

"Then please begin your testimony."

Mr. Runway cleared his throat. "Seriously, this is some sort of joke. How does a torn glove with nothing on it prove I'm a murderer? You can't prove that some dog tore it apart, and even if that's true, you can't prove that it's mine. And why would I want to kill Mr. Slotts? I've never met the guy, and he probably didn't have a cent on him."

Benjamin tapped my shoulder. "You detecting fishiness?"

I nodded, "Fishiness detected alright."

"You claim that you do not know the victim, you seem to be quite sure that he 'didn't have a cent on him."

The witness flinched, he knew he slipped up. "Look, h-he was wearing this cheap, sick-looking white tux. It pretty much screams 'I have no money but I like to look like it.'"

"Well it appears your observation was wrong. Not only did Mr. Slotts win money against the defendant, but if we check the casino record presented earlier, he mysteriously won every single bet he placed a day earlier!"

Mortimer doubled back, flinging his hands above his head. "Ahh… w-what?"

"He was carrying at least $2,500 with him at the time, and he obviously had much more to his name!"

"No, no, no!" Mortimer slammed his left hand on the stand, making a dull thud echo across the courtroom. "You've got it all wrong! He was in the ditch! He owed money from here to halfway across the world! There wasn't a cent to his name!"

"Hold it!" Ian shouted suddenly. The court shifted attention to him. "Yes, I believe the witness is right. I-I researched Owen Slotts, and it appears that he, err, owes lots to ever major bank in town."

"Yeah, that's right!" The witness bit his thumb. "Everyone knows that!"

"Objection!" I pointed my finger at the witness. "Sorry Mortimer, but your devious prosecutor won't succeed in driving away your suspicion. I doubt anyone knows Owen's secret, except for maybe… someone he owes money to?"

"Hey, what exactly are you driving at?" the witness's eyes were darting everywhere.

"Actually, I believe when you first stepped up to give your testimony, we skipped a vital part of the witness initiation!"

"What?"

Ian held his chest again, sweat pouring down his face. "No, wait!"

"Whaaaaaaaat?" The judge yelled. "Who exactly are you accusing here? Are you saying my court is a sham?"

I sighed loudly, "No! Of course not! Your honor, you know what every witness has to tell the court before giving testimony. I believe our Mr. Runway skipped a vial part of his introduction!" I showed my best smug smile.

The crack of the gavel rag out. "Tell us Mr. Truth, what exactly did the witness skip in his initiation?"

Okay, this is easy. There are two things he could have skipped, his name, or his occupation. This is pretty obvious.

"I'll tell you what! The witness never told us his occupation!"

"He-he didn't?" The judge looked incredibly surprised. "Well, I can't believe we missed that! I doubt this really has anything to do with the situation at present, but still, we must obey the basic rules." He turned to the witness. "Mr. Mortimer Runway! You will tell the court your occupation!"

The entire court could feel the tension. The atmosphere felt instantly tight, ad the few moments of silence felt like an eternity. Suddenly, a scream rang out.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! MY NAAAAAAAAAAAME'S NOT MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORTIIIIIIIIIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!" His hair flew upward, his arms shot above his shoulders and he flailed like a thrown rag doll.

Pure silence. And this time, for all I knew, it really could have been an eternity. Everyone was blinking in astonishment. The witness was crumbled over the witness stand, breathing heavily. His head flew up, and he slowly scratched the back of his neck.

"Um. I'm a… a…. a paperboy?" He grinned sheepishly at the courtroom.

No one bought it.

"The witness will tell us his occupation, no matter how much he appears to… err, dislike it."

"I'm, I'm… I'm a… IAN!" he reached his arms toward the stunned prosecutor. "HELP ME!"

The judge broke the ice. "Mr. Vice. He's your witness. If he seems to have such a problem telling us his job, maybe you could do it for us."

At first, I thought Ian was going to freak out like Mr. Runway just did. But eventually, he pulled out a paper; arms twitching, and addressed the court.

"Mr. Mortimer Runway… is a member of the New York Mob."

The chaos of the ensuing riot was so entirely dense and explosive; the judge was forced to call another ten minute recess. This case had just taken another turn, but was it for the better, or for the worse?"