He turned on the flashlight as he moved easily through the graveyard. He could have come during the day, but visiting Hannibal at night seemed more fitting somehow. Back in the old days, he mused, he could have found the grave in the dark without light, but it wasn't the old days anymore. He found it after a few moments and chuckled. Someone had left a box of cigars, and recently too, because they weren't damp from the rain of a few days ago. He sat down, took one out of the box, unwrapped it and stuck it between his teeth.
'Well, Hannibal," he said as he groped in his jacket pocket for a light. "She did it. She wrote that book she always said she'd write, and, get this; they made a movie out of it. Oh well, not a movie right from what really happened…apparently the Vietnam War is passé. No, these guys are on the lam from the Iraq War and these guys don't have anything near the finesse we had. You should see the guy who's playing me! Not half as good looking as I am even now. At least they didn't get that pet detective guy to play Murdock." He found the lighter at last and frowned. He used to be smoother and quicker than that. One easy move and it would have been out of his pocket. He lit the cigar and took a long drag.
"Anyway, the only part I like that changed was, get this, they got a woman chasing us instead of Lynch. If that had been the case back then, I think I'd have let myself get caught a lot more." He took another long drag of the cigar and then coughed for a bit. At least his handkerchief was easily accessible in his front pocket. "No, they don't make them like they used to. It's got to be all smart ass comments and explosions and women in skimpy …" he trailed off, suddenly uncertain as to how exactly the movie differed from his real life. "I mean, they aren't half as smooth as we are. I mean, as we used to be." He sat there and puffed some more, wondering if Hannibal would have been pleased or disappointed by the movie. Would he have been proud that the team's legend had outlived him or disappointed that they had to mangle everything in order to sell it?
"I guess I won't be finding out anytime soon," he thought as he struggled to his feet. Next time he'd bring something to leave on the grave. Maybe a nice bottle of Scotch. "Well, so long, Colonel." He gave a little salute and turned the flashlight on again. Which way was the car?
End