CRACK! "Come on, come on. Go baby, go!" Murdock erupted upwards from the couch with a triumphant fist held high. "Yahoo! It's outta here!"
Hannibal and Face looked on from the kitchenette, the latter of the two anxiously gripping a granite countertop. "Aw, wouldya look at that, Hannibal?"
"Cute, isn't it?" Hannibal grinned over an unlit cigar as he side-stepped BA and his armful of snacks.
Face sent a protective glance around the pristine beach house. He had "gently persuaded" the landlord that he was indeed a distant cousin sent for by the owners to housesit while they were away for a European holiday. "Hardly! He's going to spill soda all over. And don't even THINK about lighting that cigar in here!"
Hannibal only chuckled mischievously as he struck a match. Face muttered unintelligible responses as he moved away from the gathering smoke and simultaneously towards the commotion.
BA shoved himself down on the sofa."Move over, sucka. And gimme that remote." He rudely snatched the remote from Murdock's hand and changed the channel. "Awright, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout."
"Aw, c'mon, BA. I was watching that. Itsa playoffs."
"And this is Monday night football, foo'." BA growled menacingly at the pilot who pouted in turn.
"Hannibal," Murdock appealed to their leader who merely shrugged disinterestedly. The shoulders of the leather jacket sagged with surrender. He rose without another word and sulkily made his way to the bedroom upstairs.
"Nice, BA," Face admonished with his hands on his hips, purposely placing his body between BA and the television. "You've managed to upset Murdock. Guess who gets to pick up the pieces - again?" Face threw his hands up in frustration realizing that he was being unceremoniously ignored. Trudging up the stairs, he paused outside of the bedroom door hearing the muffled sounds of a ballgame streaming through. Face knocked softly. Getting no response, he entered.
Murdock was sprawled prone on the bed, chin cradled loosely in his hand. His black Converse hightops danced in a tight rhythm in the air, the only hint of his agitation. Darkened eyes remained focused on the game, never acknowledging his friend.
'What is this? Ignore Face day,' Face thought to himself as he sat down on the bed next to Murdock. Hesitating for a moment, he finally placed a well-manicured hand on one of the pilot's broad shoulders. "You know BA didn't mean anything by it, buddy. He's just really serious about his football."
Brown eyes flickered, but remained glued to the screen. "Come on. What's so important about a baseball game anyway?"
"Itsa playoffs," Murdock muttered.
"I know, but is it worth getting all down about? Huh," Face prompted.
Murdock rolled onto his back, his lengthy frame stretching across the whole bed. He clicked the TV off. "It's over anyways."
The reserved quiet was unnerving. Face turned his scrutinizing stare on his friend, searching him for any indication of what was beneath the surface. He may have been the master of concealment, but Murdock could also play hide and seek with his psyche. "What aren't you saying, Murdock?"
In one graceful motion, Murdock suddenly jumped up from the bed. "Wanna go for a walk? It's a nice night. Let'sgoforawalk." The words running together and the abrupt change of subject were definitely a bad sign. Before Face could express his concern or offer a protest, Murdock was out the sliding glass doors and bounding down the steps that led to the beach.
The conman grudgingly followed, hugging himself as he noticed an uncharacteristic chill in the air for LA. "Murdock," he hissed. It was so dark that he could barely make out the tiger's head on the back of the leather jacket, nearly colliding with his friend in the process.
"Right here, muchacho." Murdock grinned at Face before he began to amble off again, hands deep in the pockets of his khakis.
"Obviously." Face trotted to keep up with Murdock's long strides through the uneven sand. The pair continued in silence until they reached the pier.
"Hey, Facey. Race ya to the end." His voice trailed off behind him as he was already running towards the end of the pier. Growing increasingly worried at Murdock's pendulum-like mood swings, he felt compelled to follow him out onto the pier.
When he finally caught up to Murdock, his breaths were coming in fast, short gasps. Murdock didn't even appear the slightest bit winded, seating himself on the wooden planks and dangling his feet over the edge. At least the moonlight provided more illumination out here. Face settled himself in next to Murdock, still catching his breath.
Murdock eyes scanned the dark horizon as he absent-mindedly picked up tiny pebbles off the pier and threw them into the ocean. Eyes locking onto something in the distance, he slowly began to speak. "You ever wanted to be something - someone - else when you were a kid?"
The question had seemingly come out of left field. Face badly attempted to hide his momentary surprise. "Well, yeah. What little boy didn't want to be a fireman, or - or -" Face stumbled over his words, unsure of where this line of conversation was leading. It didn't sound like one of Murdock's usual flights of fancy.
"I know I sure did." The statement came out somewhere between wistful and a scoff.
"But you became a pilot. Isn't that what you always wanted to do," Face questioned, still puzzled.
"Yeah, of course." Murdock bowed his head almost shamefully. "Well, not intially, I guess."
Face was taken aback at this newfound information. He had never imagined that Murdock had any aspirations beyond the sky. He was admittedly treading dangerous ground, but the words that left his mouth could not be stopped anymore than the waves that crashed against the shore. "So what did you want to be?"
Murdock's voice was soft, nearly a whisper. "I wanted to play ball. In the big leagues. More than anything in the world."
"What - what happened," Face stammered. "Why didn't you?"
A heavy sigh escaped from deep within. There was such a long pause that Face thought he might never receive a response, instead the queries would be lost on the wind as if they were never uttered. There was a visible, internal struggle as every ounce of pain long since buried came slowly bubbling up to the surface, reflected into the liquid brown pools. "Life. Life happened."
The Pandora's box was open. The lid had been sealed tight for so many years, but now the words frenetically tumbled out. "Mama got sick and died. Times got hard. Real hard. Gran and Gramps needed help, but they insisted I stay in school and keep playing ball on the team so's I could get a scholarship somewhere. Then the drought came. They didn't think I knew - didn't hear - how much trouble we were in. I took all kindsa work, but it still wasn't enough. We'd'a lost the farm and all if I didn't do what I did."
Murdock threw a sidelong glance to Face, gauging his reaction. For his part, he kept his face and his tone neutral. "Go on."
"I fudged some paperwork and went all in. I sold my soul and everythin' that went 'long with it to the Company. The recruiter - if you can call him that - was real slick-like. Said they'd teach me how to fly in exchange for a few missions." Murdock chuckled humorlessly. "Guess I wasn't the only one that lied. But I did learn a new skill that I absotively posilutely loved, did some work for 'em and got rewarded for my work with the Thunderbirds.
But then they found out 'bout my little indiscretion and figured that the boys overseas could use my services. When Gran and Gramps found out what I did and why, boy were they madder than a kicked over hornet's nest. Read me the riot act but good via the postal service. And they gave me one hellacious guilt trip. Sent me a letter reminding me about all those times mama spent with me playing ball and how happy she was watching me at my first tee-ball game. Told me how proud she was and how she wanted me to be the first one in the family to go to college on the 'count that I was so smart. Don't know how she knew if I was college material or not before my fifth birthday, but turns out I didn't do any of that. Boy did I feel like one big disappointment after that letter. But the next package that came had something really special. Apparently Gran and Gramps had held onto somethin' my mama wanted me to have for quite awhile. They sent it to me over in 'Nam to remind me of who I was, I guess."
Murdock tugged on the brim of his baseball cap. "The only piece of my mom I have left."
Face's mouth hung slack in a small 'o' shape. The implications of the preceding revelations left him utterly dumbfounded. He had never given any thought to the significance of his friend's wardrobe save for his leather jacket. He had just summed it up as one of Murdock's many quirks, never realizing it had a deeper, more personal reason. "Gee, Murdock. I don't know what to say. I had no idea."
Murdock merely nodded. The pair sat soundlessly for awhile, listening to the waves lap the shore. Finally, Murdock spoke up. "Do you believe you can miss something you never had?"
Face thought of his own past, and his yearning for the family he never had as a child. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"I was good. Real good, Faceman. I would've made one helluva pitcher if I woulda stuck with it. I miss it." Murdock's expression reflected the sorrow he felt.
Face put a comforting arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "Well, the timing couldn't be more ironic," Face said under his breath. "I know this isn't the same, but it might cheer you up a little. Hannibal's accepting a case that happens to involve baseball."
"Yeah, and I already know who gets to be on the inside."
"Don't do bitter. It doesn't become you. Besides, you know I'm more of a football guy. BA was going to be our best hope, but I think I can convince Hannibal otherwise," Face offered.
The smile started at his mouth and bloomed in his eyes. "Really?" Like a deflated balloon, his face fell again. "The season's almost over, though."
"Yeah, we have to work fast," Face admitted. "But we've got a contact that can get one of us - you - in, no problem."
The glint of excitement in Murdock's eyes was a welcome break from the preceding emotional confession. "Let's do it!"
"Hannibal, this is perfect! I had no idea Murdock used to play ball." Face's voice raised an octave with his excitement.
"I gotta admit, it does give us a certain advantage. What position did you say he played again?" Hannibal chewed thoughtfully on the stub of his cigar. His eyes narrowed with concentration.
"Pitcher."
"Perfect. Let's get him in here and I'll go over the case."
Face ran off to find Murdock and returned a few minutes later with the sleepy pilot in tow. He plopped down on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. "What's up, Colonel?"
Hannibal took a seat opposite Murdock. "Face here tells me you play ball?" Murdock bobbed his head in assent. "Okay. Our contacts are Lou Nealy, the assistant manager, and Paul Campanella, one of the players. They suspect a gambling ring running through the minor league system. And with their team in the playoffs, they're afraid the series'll be thrown."
Murdock leaned in, becoming more intrigued. "So what's my job?"
"You are going to be the pitcher that's been called up from double A. I want you to work with Lou and Paul to get the lowdown and find out who's behind this and exactly how far it reaches. Face here is going to be your interpreter."
"Interpreter," Murdock asked tentatively. He didn't think he was going to like the answer.
"Yeah, seeing as how you're deaf."
"Aww, Hannibal." Murdock stopped short of complaining. There were no negotiations when the Colonel was on the Jazz.
"Sure. It'll make a great cover. People will talk around you because they'll think you can't hear. Plus, it gets Face on the inside, too. Something this big, I don't want any of my men on the inside solo." Hannibal waved a glove-clad finger for emphasis.
"What are you and BA going to be doing?"
"Surveillance mostly, and backup if necessary. Now, tomorrow we spend brushing up on your skills. And the day after, we go in."
"And he winds up for the pitch," Murdock said doing an eerily accurate impersonation of Phil Rizutto. "He shakes off the first pitch." Murdock shook his head. "He-"
"Just throw the ball, Foo'." BA growled from behind the makeshift homeplate.
Murdock kicked his left leg high up in the air, knee parallel to his head, as he finished his windup. The ball left his hand in one fluid motion, rolling off his fingertips and sailing right over the heart of the plate. A large SMACK! was heard as the leather of the ball hit the worn leather of the glove. BA took his hand out of the glove and shook it, a pained expression on his face.
"Whattya make that at, BA," Hannibal called from the impromptu first base line.
BA's eyes widened at the reading on the radar gun. "I don't believe it, man. 88 mph."
"88? Man, I'm outta shape," Murdock commented.
"88," Face mouthed incredulously to Hannibal who looked vaguely impressed.
"Keep throwin', Cap'n." Hannibal walked over to where Face was standing. "You know, Lieutenant, this looks like this is going to be a piece of cake."
Face rolled his eyes. "Thanks. You just jinxed us, Hannibal. Murdock's going to be pretty convincing, isn't he?"
"So far, so good. How's his bat?" Face shrugged in response. "Let's find out. Hey, Murdock," he yelled. "Grab a bat and let's see what you can do with that stick."
Murdock dropped the baseball on the pitching rubber and threw his glove at Face as he ran past. He picked up a wooden Louiville slugger and gave it a few trial swings before stepping up to the plate. Meanwhile, BA had taken the mound.
The first pitch BA threw was high. The second pitch was close, but off just a hair. Murdock held up. "Good eye, Cap'n." The third pitch was right down the center. Murdock swung and connected solidly. The ball soared and fell just short of the tree line.
Hannibal's eyes never left the ball. "How far did we say those trees were, Face?"
"About 450 feet." Face's mouth was open in disbelief.
Hannibal smiled devilishly around his unlit cigar. "Well, I'll be damned. That's a home run ball in any park."
