The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Doctor doctor, please

Don't you know I'm going fast

Doctor doctor, please

Don't you know I just can't last

She walked up to me and really stole my heart

And then she started to tear my body apart.

From Doctor Doctor by Iron Maiden

Chapter 20 Vengeance Is

Doc tries his best t' make me comfy but he keeps insistin' I gotta breathe as deeply as I can.

"It hurts bad," I gasp after one of 'em. I glance at Meg 'n' see a glint in her eye like she's real glad 'bout my pain. At least she can't gloat out loud with that fake apple in 'er mouth.

"Focus. Try to think past the pain." Doc obviously ain' been wounded b'fore 'r he wouldn' even say somethin' like that. I can see he's gettin' impatient. He checks the time on 'is wristwatch. "How many minutes do you think they've been gone?"

It gives me somethin' t' think 'bout. "I don' know," I whisper. "Not long . . . 'nough." Somethin' comes t' me, somethin' 'portant we gotta do. "We gotta . . . have a . . . story for . . . the cops."

Doc jumps at the chance t' get my mind off the pain o' breathin'. "What do you suggest?" He pauses, then adds, "But keep breathing while you think."

"Well . . . can't let 'em . . . know anyone . . . else was here . . . I know . . . She kidnapped me . . . " If it wouldn' hurt so bad, I'd have a good ol' belly laugh at the look on my shrink's face.

"We lie? But that's . . . " he stops 'n' I see him searchin' 'round for the right word.

Maybe I should help him out? Yeah . . . why not. "Unprofessional?" I smile weakly at his nod. Then I get serious. He's gotta know how much it means t' me. "Look . . . if we don' . . . my friends'll . . . get caught . . . they'll b'lieve 'er . . . "

"I agree, but I can't. The cops will know I'm lying."

I sigh 'n' immediately regret it. Gritting my teeth, I manage t' say, "Then let me . . . do the talkin'."

"What should I say?" He wants t' help the guys. I can see that.

"As li'l as possible . . . ya tell 'em I . . . have delusions . . . tell 'em I'm . . . paranoid . . . crazy . . . got problems . . . r'memberin' . . . "

"Okay." He accepts what I say like I'm the authority on knowin' how t' get outta situations like this. "As soon as they get here?"

"You'll know when . . . jus' let me do . . . my thing first . . . "

"Your thing?" He doesn' understan'. If I play this right, he might b'lieve my act himself.

"You'll see . . . " I catch his wrist in my hand 'n' turn it t' check the time on his watch. Swallowin', I mutter, "It's time . . . Make the call."

oooooo

"Okay, B. A. You can pull over anywhere around here." I have the phone in my hand even before he parks the van along the road. We're on the Pacific Coast Highway in the vicinity of the Santa Monica Pier. As the phone on the other end rings, I idly watch a young couple wade ankle-deep, hand in hand, in the surf.

"Hello?"

The voice is gravelly and impatient. It sounds like him but I have to be sure.

"Aldo? Aldo Stinozza?" I hope he hasn't changed addresses since the last time we worked together. Some of us who spent time in Nam don't have a good track record of staying in one place for long.

"This is Stinozza. Who is this?" I can sense him trying to remember where he heard my voice before. It's been a year since we worked together.

"Most people in the business know me as the Aquamaniac. You've been the on-set doctor for my last two movies." The director and everyone else knows me by an alias. Because I helped Aldo to get and remain sober after Nam, he knows exactly who I am. I helped him get the Aquamaniac gig, too.

In short, he owes me.

"John? My God, it's been . . . how long?" He sounds genuinely happy to hear my voice. "Glad to report I'm still sober. I've got you to thank for that."

"I was glad to help." I hesitate, not sure how to ask for his assistance.

"You called because you need me to do something." He makes it easier for me, sensing the urgency of the situation in my voice.

"Yeah." I rub my eyes. It's not natural for me to ask for assistance from anyone.

"And it requires someone who knows their way around a first aid kit?" He hasn't lost his sense of humor.

"A bit more than that. One of the guys got wounded . . . " I look back at Face and give him a look that makes him flinch. ". . . in a fight. It's not so bad we need a hospital emergency room but it will require a qualified doctor to take care of it."

"Got it. One of your team?"

"Yeah. Can you help us?"

He doesn't hesitate at all. "I'll take a look and see what I can do." He lives in an apartment on Colfax Avenue in North Hollywood. I write down the address he gives me.

All this time, B. A. has been listening to only my side of the conversation. When I hang up and sit back in my seat, he gives me a questioning frown and glances at the piece of paper in my hand.

"We ain' walkin' into a trap, are we?"

"No. No trap. He's a good friend." I think of our first meeting in Nam at Camp Evans. "He won't turn us in."

oooooo

As Doc 'n' me wait for the ambulance I try 'n' think through what I gotta do.

Soon as the cops r'lease Meg, she's gonna come after Face 'gain. We gotta make it so they give her plenty o' time t' cool off in jail.

A kidnappin' charge should do it. 'Specially if she's kidnapped a mentally ill vulnerable adult. 'N' I know how tt' play that, don' I?

So . . . I gotta balance myself b'tween reality 'n' the crazy side o' my paranoia. Slip t' one side 'n' they'll see through me . . . slip t' the other side 'n' Doc'll hafta prescribe heavy meds, a straight jacket 'n' a padded room for a while.

I hear sirens approachin' . . . very li'l time t' prepare what I'm gonna say . . .

I glance at Meg . . . she still thinks she's won. Her sudden quiet 'n' that victorious gleam in 'er eye tells me that.

Well, I'll show 'er. She's won nothin'.

Too bad. Vengeance is a bitch, lady. It turns two ways.