Rabbit posted: It was a cold day in a cold land, and the small swirl of leaves through the door of the Bothell jailhouse carried with it a hefty gust of January air. Deputy Joe shivered momentarily, and gathered his coat more closely around him before turning back to the angry citizen standing at the counter. The gust, moderately pleased, continued several yards further into the building's recesses. "Ayih!" cried a harsh voice from the first cell. "Vhat ar do yu no have heat in zis place?" Unfazed (except by a certain, much more than vaguely horrifying smell which seemed to emanate together with the voice, and which had immediately brought the overmatched airgust to its untimely, final reward), Deputy Joe shouted back, "So, you're awake back there? Hold on, and I'll be back in a minute!" Joe Popov had seen much in his many days and nights with the Bothell Police Department. Although the current resident of Cell A was certainly the smelliest, and perhaps the least height/weight proportionate drunk whom he had brought in from the streets to "sleep it off" out of the cold, he certainly wasn't the first. Little did he know, as he again brought his attention to the complainant, how this tattered alcoholic with the ugly hat would visit and inspire his dreams for the rest of his years.... "Okay, ma'am, what you do is to fill in all the questions up here, name, address, etc, and then explain down below the nature of your harrassment claim. When you've finished...." Once again, the tableau of Justice in action was rended by a bellow, and attending wave of putrid air. "Ey! Jailer! Oy, Carramba!" "Excuse me, Ms. Ari, I'll be back in just a moment." Joe smiled, he hoped sincerely. "I suppose I could skip explaining the form," he considered. A little smile... "or she could explain it to me. How many does this make? This month, or counting last year too?" The deputy pondered, momentarily, the feasibility of filing a harrasment charge against the citizen who took so much of his time he could be doing other paperwork, but quickly moved it out of his consciousness. Always polite, that was Deputy Joe Popov. Fighting off a sudden wave of nausea, Joe took in the scene in Cell A. "My word," he thought. "How did we move him?" A short and fat figure lay sleepily on the built-in bench bed, squinting curiously out at the jailer. "What can I do for you, Mr?" "Ai! Muchacho! I am glad yu come!" croaked the obese one. "I no can stand up from zis, o caramba, ting here...." El Dupree considered the deputy carefully. There was something, what?, pleasant about him. It would be a shame....ah, yes, El Dupree had broken out of much stronger jails than this - but why bother? It was a warm bed, if a bit hard. Maybe some food? There would always be time.... Deputy Joe unlocked the door, and stepped inside. "Glad to see you're okay!" he offered cheerfully. "Must have been quite a bender!" Oh, yes, thought El Dupree, thinking back....the tavern,....the woman..... the tequila....and then, Devil Fingers! He smiled. "Yah, man, it was good... Muy good!" Pulling himself up along the deputy's arm, he inquired, hopefully "So, vhat you got to eat?" "Well, Mister, our cook is out for the weekend, but if you like, I can send over to the cafe. Will ranch eggs do it for you?" The rotund one released the deputy's arm. "For a start," he thought. "And zen....vell, ve shel see." Raising his eyes, he caught a glimpse, past the deputy, of another person approaching the cell. Joe, noticing Dupree's glance, took a step back and also turned to look, only releasing a small sigh as he recognized the woman who had single- handedly filed harrasment charges against half of Bothell, and a not- inconsiderable part of the rest of the nation. "Yes ma'am?" he inquired. "Officer Popov! If you think that I have all day to stand around, waiting for you to finish taking meal orders from common criminals, you are very wrong! My work at the Pink Carnation Dharma Center is _very_ important, and my legions of lawyers and armadas of assistants have advised me that I would be able to file criminal charges against you, for keeping me from saving the world from abusive characters like that one, there!" pointing with righteous indignation at the sombrero-shaded visage of El Dupree. Having completed this rather lengthy sentence, the good citizen drew a long breath of the cell's air, and proceeded to turn a quite novel shade of green. Joe started forward compassionately, but quicker than any flash, and quite surprisingly for one of his girth, Dupree raced past him, and slapped a (nothing) special, #108 vinyl headsack on the outraged but breathless Ari. Turning back to Joe Popov, he uttered the words which the ex-Deputy would later ponder long after he had left Bothell to wander, ever wander the high and empty passes of Tibet: "Free Ernst!" And the stones of the jailhouse were enlightened.