This is slightly AU
WARNING: This is from before I learned how to stick to one POV, so there's a bit of a jumble in this. I tried to work out all the kinks, but sometimes I found that to correct the POV I'd have to sacrifice too much of the story as it is, so I decided against correcting. I hope you'll like it anyway.
Friday, 5th
Hannibal wished he could scratch under the moustache, the thing itched. There was something wrong with the glue. But he couldn't run the risk of scratching it off, because he was in disguise and had to stay in disguise. He was here to meet a potential client, Tamara Hurl. Hannibal did not believe this woman to be an MP-informer, since Tenny, a colleague from the studio, had more or less arranged the contact.
But one never knew, they'd been tricked before.
Completely in character, Hannibal let out a loud belch, causing a young couple to quicken their pace a bit as they passed by. He wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve, snorted and then groped for the brown paper-bag that contained a white bottle with some some liquid. It was supposed to be some kind of cheap alcohol but was indeed watered down apple juice.
Tamara Hurl was late, Hannibal noticed, checking the time on the big clock a couple of feet down the pier.
Hannibal took a good swallow from his bottle, allowing himself to get lost in thought. He thought back to the day Tenny – Tennyson, actually, and what a name to give to a child! – had told his good old buddy Johnny Smith about that woman he knew. A relative from his wife's side, or his ex-wife's or his other ex-wife's side, Hannibal forgot. Anyway, according to Tenny that woman was in serious trouble, like really serious trouble. He'd want to help her, but did not know how.
"There's somebody who might know how," Hannibal had thrown in, most casually.
"Yeah, who?"
"The A-Team, ever heard of them?" Hannibal had answered.
"Who probably hasn't?"
That had made Hannibal grin with pride for a moment. "True. But I've heard, that they have a contact, a Mr. Lee. He's got a laundry in Chinatown..."
And so, one week later, Tennyson Mitchell, little fish in the big pond of Hollywood, had entered a small laundry in Chinatown, asking an irritable old man about the A-Team. The outcome of a long story was, that Tenny should send Tamara herself to meet a certain Johnny Walker at the pier, fifth bench on the left of the big clock, at six on Friday.
It was now – Hannibal looked up after taking another good swallow of stale water – nineteen minutes past six. Hannibal decided to give her another minute, just to get an even number.
And then she appeared.
He regretted wearing his wino-disguise at once.
Couldn't he have chosen something a little less appalling? Tamara Hurl was a Something on Legs. He had wondered why Tenny was so keen on helping her when she was well in her fifties, and he not directly related to her. Now he knew: Tamara was like Marilyn Monroe in "Some Like It Hot". The scene, where Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon stare at her with their mouths open, as she's walking down the platform, her ukulele stashed under one arm, in this spectacular black dress. Or was it a coat? Hannibal wasn't sure.
Tamara passed by, but from her searching, nervous looks, Hannibal knew, it was her. He decided to wait for some more seconds. He wanted a closer look. Not that Tamara actually looked like Marilyn, even though she was blond. She was not even extraordinarily good-looking by normal standards, but the effect was the same. Tamara Hurl walked in a cloud of charms, even when distressed, as she was now.
Hannibal cleared his throat, it was time to make contact, however lousy he might look and smell. "I'm a mind-reader, you know that?" he asked, his speech a bit slurry to indicate drunkenness.
She turned around to look at him. Her eyes were bright green, he noticed – what a combination, good lord...
"No. And I'm waiting for someone." She nodded courteously and turned her back at Hannibal, looking up and down the pier.
"I know," Hannibal said. "And for a buck I can give you the name of the good-looking man you're waiting for." Hannibal did not snort, as he would've usually done. He didn't want to appear any more disgusting than necessary. So he went on without a snort, "He is good lookin', ain't he?"
Tamara turned again. "That's a lucky guess, man. But here, have the buck and move a few benches down, will you?" Tamara blindly handed him a ten-dollar-bill.
"That's ten bucks, lady," Hannibal blurted, staring at the bill.
"Who cares?" Tamara snapped impatiently, but then she bit her lower lip. "Sorry," she apologized sinerely.
Hannibal liked that. He liked that a lot. "Never mind. – Johnny Walker," he added after a second. He saw Tamara's eyes grow wide. – God, they were beautiful! – "That's the man you're waiting for. And as fate wants to have it, that's me, Mrs. Hurl." The slur was completely gone. He got up, stretched out his hand in greeting. She did not take it.
I hope Hannibal isn't too smitten in this one. I want to keep it in character as much as possible. And I promise you, the continuation is NOT a Hannibal-love-fest. There's some actual plot coming.
TBC