He doesn't look like a crazy man.

Wait till you get to know me.

- Mrs. Baracus and Murdock, "Lease With an Option to Die"

Chapter 21: Mama Bear

"Mrs. B?"

Murdock shivered outside the door to the apartment, barely able to get his knuckles to rap upon the oak wood. The number 312 was emblazoned upon the door in raised gold. Now that he was inside the relative warmth of the hallway of the building itself, his fingers and toes throbbed and almost felt like they were on fire as the numbness began to wear off.

"Mrs. B?" he called out again, barely able to knock on her door with how much he was shivering. "It's me, Murdock." He was trying to keep things at a relatively low volume and not make a lot of noise. Although most of the neighbors would have remembered him and the rest of the A-Team from when they had helped prevent Philip Chadway from running them out of their building, they likely wouldn't like having their sleep disturbed at this time of night.

Inwardly, he hoped that Mrs. B didn't sleep as soundly as BA did. When the Sergeant slept, he was hard enough to wake up as it was, even without being in a chemically or physically induced slumber that was necessary to get him on a plane. If she did, then he stood no chance of being able to free the guys in time to stop Spencer or his assassin.

A moment later, he thought he heard something coming from the other side of the door. A moment later, the door opened a crack and he could see the weary face of Adele Baracus as she spotted her visitor. The Texan saw her tired eyes widen with recognition as she exclaimed, "Oh my word . . . Murdock!"

She shut the door slightly, and he could hear the scraping of something metal against the door. That's when he remembered that she had a draw chain installed on it for an added measure of security. In fact, he had practically been looking at the gold chain when she had opened the door a crack. He heard the soft chink of the chain as it fell loose, and then saw the door as it flung wide.

The moment the door was fully open, the pilot could see Adele Baracus standing before him, in a long, pink flannel nightgown with white lace around the neckline, which peeked out from beneath a soft pink bathrobe. Her hair had put into large rollers that stuck out from all over her head, which made it look like someone took those sticky lint rollers and ran it through her black hair.

The look on Mrs. B's face went from shock upon seeing the tall, lanky figure on her doorstep this late at night to one of grave concern when she noticed how wet he was, how much he was shivering, and the fact that his lips were practically blue. She also couldn't help but to notice the lack of her son and the other members of the A-Team with him.

"Get in here this instant, young man," she ordered, almost like a mother that was about to scold a teenage son for doing something seriously wrong even though Murdock was well within his 30s. She probably realized that came out a bit too harsh than she had intended. She quickly ushered him inside and closed the door, noticing just how wet his parka was and how coldness just seemed to radiate off of him. Her tone softened a bit, but was still firm as she asked, "What's going on? What happened? Where's my Scooter?"

Murdock let out a strong sneeze and sniffled a bit, before bringing the wet sleeve of his parka up to wipe his running nose. "It's a long story, Mrs. B," he started to explain, his Texan drawl somewhat thick as he hesitated. She wanted to know, but he knew that he was going to have to put this delicately considering how this involved the guy that was seeing her. He moved over to take a seat on one of the wooden kitchen tables, not even daring to sit down on her sofa with how wet his clothes were.

She turned and watched him, and cringed slightly when she heard him sneeze. Immediately, her nurturing instincts took over. As much as she wanted to listen to what he had to say, she knew that he was going to get horribly sick if he continued to sit around in those wet clothes. "If my Scooter is in trouble, I wanna hear about what's going on, but first . . ." Her voice trailed off as she made her way into her bedroom. A few moments later, she emerged through the doorway, carrying a couple of large white fluffy towels and a pink bathrobe with frills around the neck, sleeves, and bottom hem. She then ordered, "Get your wet clothes off and put these on. We have to warm you up before you get pneumonia."

He smiled slightly at Mrs. B's quick efficiency as he took the bathrobe and towels from her. He sniffled again as he made his way into the bathroom, and then let out a huge sneeze right after he had shut the door. As much as he had grown to enjoy the snow in Chicago, he was really starting to hate how cold it was . . . especially after escaping from that sub, and spending more than an hour in the elements before he managed to get to Mrs. B's apartment. As he mulled things over within his mind, he pulled off his wet clothes, realizing for the first time just how soaked all of his clothes were, not just his pants and the parka. It got down to his leather bomber jacket and t-shirt as well.

Once his clothes were removed, he folded them up and put on the bathrobe that Mrs. B had given him. He dutifully dried off and slipped on the robe that she gave him, and then grimaced as he caught his reflection in the mirror. Although it was big enough around his torso, it was a bit short and only went to just above his knees. Add that to the frills around the neckline, the sleeves, and at the bottom . . . not to mention the fact that it was pink, of all colors . . . and he looked pretty ridiculous. But, he never heard anyone actually dying of embarrassment and humiliation, as compared to hypothermia.

In a way, he was glad the rest of the guys weren't here right now to see him, otherwise they'd never let him live this down. It wasn't like he hadn't dressed up like a woman before, but that was usually in the line of duty. But, this was Mrs. B, who seemed to take a shine to his antics and accepted him for who he was. He took a breath and opened the door to the bathroom and then stepped out into the kitchen.

If Mrs. B was going to laugh at the lanky Texan's current situation, she gave no indication of doing so. Instead, the moment she saw him emerge, she walked out from the kitchen and brought over a bowl and a cup, both of which were steaming, and placed them on the dining table. "Now you sit yourself down. I made you a nice bowl of chicken soup and some hot tea. That should warm you up real quick," she directed before disappearing into the bathroom for a moment.

Murdock walked barefoot through the apartment and sat down on one of the dining room chairs. He couldn't help but to smile a bit as he watched her disappear into the bathroom, and then emerge a few moments later with is wet clothes, which she started to drape over the radiator that provided warmth within her apartment. With everything she was doing and fussing over him, it was very easy to see why BA loved and respected her so much. Although he barely remembered his mom, since she died when he was so young, Mrs. B was definitely every bit what a mother should be and then some.

After she finished draping his clothes over the long, white radiator, she walked back into the kitchen for a moment. She returned to the dining area, holding her own steaming cup of tea which she set down on the table as she sat down across from him. She noticed that he had just started to eat his soup, and his skin was already starting to turn a normal color again. "You feelin' any better, Murdock?" she asked, a great amount of concern very apparent within the tone of her voice.

He lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a sip before setting it down and nodded. His sniffles were gone, for the most part, and the hot chicken soup and tea were doing just the trick to warm him up after all that time he had spent out in the brutal cold and blizzard conditions. "Much better, Mrs. B," he smiled a bit. "Thanks."

She studied him with her dark, shrewd eyes for a moment, before deciding to broach the subject of what brought him here to her doorstep at this time of night. "Now that you're feeling better, I wanna hear what happened with my Scooter. Why don't you tell me all about it?" she suggested softly, but firmly, in a tone that indicated that she wouldn't accept anything other than the truth.

He paused for a moment and looked down into his bowl of soup, stirring the yellowish liquid a bit absent mindedly with his spoon as he debated in his mind just how much he should actually tell her. He knew that BA had told her that they were looking into Spencer to try and protect her, but she hadn't known they were going to break into the Museum. Mentally, he ran over the various options in his mind and each time came back to the same conclusion. If he had any chance of getting the guys out of jail before the little green elves showed up, he was going to need her help. And the only way to secure her help was to tell her the truth. Even with how she asked him, he knew that she was expecting that and wouldn't be satisfied if he held anything back.

"Okay," he started off by saying, sounding a bit awkward since he wasn't sure how she was going to react to the news. It was probably best to make it more like a conversation, where he broke it down into segments and perhaps asked some questions along the way. "You know how BA told you that we were gonna check on Spencer and see what he was up to?"

She nodded before taking a sip of her tea. "Yes, Scooter told me 'bout that when we were skating. I didn't think you boys would turn up with anything, but he just wanted to be sure," she admitted. She hadn't been too happy when BA had initially told her that they wanted to investigate Spencer, but she knew that they were suspicious of him and had just wanted to make sure that he wasn't doing anything that warranted their suspicions.

"Well . . ." Murdock hesitated. He wasn't sure how Mrs B was going to react to what he was about to tell her, even though it was necessary in order to reveal everything to her and how their suspicions were confirmed. He just hoped that she didn't kill the messenger, so to speak. "BA planted a few bugs in Spencer's office, and one in yours . . ."

"Scooter did what?!" she blasted in anger. She had never expected her son, of all things, to put devices within her office and Spencer's to listen in on their conversations. That angered her beyond belief since she thought that she could trust her son and his friends to check into things without having to resort to spying.

"Whoa . . . hold on, Mrs. B," the Texan countered with his warm drawl, hoping that maybe he could ease her anger at the A-Team. He hadn't expected her to react in that way, even though she had every right to. Even though BA had told her that they would be checking on Spencer, hearing that they had bugged both of their offices . . . including hers . . . would be enough to cross the line for anyone. "It was the only way that we could listen in on him without tippin' him off. If he knew that the offices were bugged, he'd shut up tighter than a clam and we wouldn't have been able to get anythin'."

Her dark eyes looked at the crazed man intensely, expectantly. She was still upset at that revelation of her office being bugged, but his logic was relatively sound. It was almost like those video cameras from the news. From what she had seen and heard, they turned off the little red light on the viewfinder so nobody knew when they were being taped. If they did know, they wouldn't be as open or forthcoming with their responses. "And, did you pick up anything?" she questioned, the anger having not yet left the tone of her voice.

Murdock took another bite of his soup, and then nodded grimly. He drew in a breath as he set the spoon back down into the bowl and then informed her, "Yeah . . . we did," he nodded, hoping that maybe what he'd tell her could re-direct that anger away from her son and the A-Team to where it rightfully belonged. "He used your phone to make a late night phone call and mentioned some kinda demonstration and the news of what'd happen would spread internationally. The call went to a shipping company he's been using. We did some checkin', and that company's got some strong ties to a guy named Scarlotti."

Mrs. B looked at the pilot curiously and simply asked, "Who's Scarlotti?" The anger that had been present in her voice before was gone, this time replaced by a great deal of patience and curiosity as she listened to what he had to say.

"He heads up a powerful Italian mafia. We tangled with him before when we had to rescue the daughter of a judge he kidnapped. The guy chased us all over Italy, and then onto a cruise ship that we managed to get on to head back to the States," he continued to explain before taking yet another bite of the soup before it got too cold. He stirred at the liquid a bit again before setting the spoon back down into the bowl. "That judge put away Scarlotti's brother, and still ain't happy 'bout that."

Mrs. Baracus took another sip of her tea, and continued to look at the wry figure of Murdock. In spite of his efforts, she still wasn't making the connection. So, Spencer made a phone call to his usual shipping company, and he used her phone to do it. So, that shipping company had some connections to an Italian mafia. He was planning on a demonstration. So, he did demonstrations all the time with his job in order to line up potential new exhibitors. So what? That didn't necessarily mean that anything bad was going on.

"Spencer does a lot of shipping, but that doesn't mean he's doing anything illegal," Mrs. B noted, still trying to defend the man who had been so nice to her and had given her so many gifts.

She was still defending him, much to Murdock's dismay. He hadn't expected her to continue to do that . . . although he was certain that her opinion of him would change once she heard the rest of what he had to say. "Mrs. B, I know you like the guy, but there's more to this you gotta hear," he urged, hoping that she could set her personal feelings aside and allow him a chance to continue. His warm, brown eyes locked with hers for a moment, his irises trembling slightly and practically pleading.

"There's more?" she questioned, somewhat surprised. She wasn't sure at this point what else he was going to tell her, but she was still willing to listen . . . especially after how he looked once he had showed up at her doorstep this late at night. She saw him nod in response, and then asked expectantly, "What else did you boys find?"

"Well, Mrs B . . ." he began, almost hesitating a bit. He picked up the white cup and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the tea before looking at the light brown liquid inside. As he did so, he noticed a slice of lemon floating within it. He marveled at her thoughtfulness, even with something as minor as a cup of tea. "We found altered shipping manifests, blueprints for a very sophisticated and powerful weapon, and we saw Spencer meet with and pay an assassin."

What he said was very succinct, but also quite an accusation. Mrs Baracus continued to look at Murdock as she lifted her cup and took another sip of her tea. Although the anger had faded in order to give him a chance to share what they had learned, she still intended to take everything he said with a grain of salt until he could convince her that Spencer was up to no good. Besides, Scooter called him a crazy fool or something like that. If he was crazy, then there was a chance that he was making all of this up.

But, there was something he had said . . . that they saw Spencer meet with an assassin and pay him. Just when had they done that? The most she knew, they had been with her or at their hotel room. And with the blizzard-like conditions out there, it'd hinder any chances they had to check out the city on their own. Trying to get around on foot during a Chicago blizzard was difficult enough, but trying to drive in one was down right treacherous. She couldn't help but to remember how the 1967 blizzard turned the iconic Lake Shore Drive into a parking lot of cars, buried in the 23 inches of snow that had fallen, unable to move as their drivers had long abandoned the vehicles to try and seek warmth in some of the high-rises along the lakefront.

"You saw Spencer pay an assassin?" she questioned, rather stunned. "When did you see that?"

"Accordin' to what the bug picked up, we found out that he planned a demonstration for tomorrow. We knew we had to get all the info, so we . . . uh . . . broke into the Museum tonight," he admitted, sounding a bit hesitant toward the end. It was almost as if he was concerned with how she was going to react to that revelation after her initial reaction with the fact that they had put a bug in her office.

"You boys broke into the Museum?" she parroted, totally stunned. She wasn't angry, at this point, but just shocked that Scooter and his friends would go to that kind of extreme measures in order to try and get the information that they wanted. She was about to ask why they didn't consider checking with her, to see if she could get the materials that they sought after, but as she thought about it she knew that they wouldn't want to put her in any danger. They were trying to protect her. Still, it was bad enough they were wanted by the military, and now they'd be wanted by the Chicago police as well . . .

"Sorry, Mrs. B, but it was the only way," Murdock tried to apologize, hoping that maybe he could get her to understand why they took such a risk. "What were we gonna do? Just walk up to Spencer's office in the morning, knock on the door, and ask 'im to show us the incriminating paperwork? We'd be laughed out of that Museum faster than you can sing Jingle Bells, and that still wouldn't've stopped the demonstration he had planned."

"What is this demonstration that you've been talking about?" Adele Baracus wondered. She had heard the Texan mention it several times already. It wasn't unusual for Spencer to be involved in demonstrations, but why was this one so significant? There had to be something more going on that he wasn't telling her.

"We think that Spencer's gonna show off a brand new weapon that Scarlotti's interested in. He wants this to make headlines, so he can get the news all the way over in Italy," the Captain began to explain. He wasn't sure how much Mrs. B was going to believe him at this point, but now that she asked about the demonstration, it was time that she heard the whole truth. "I saw the blueprints for it, and it puts most weapons on the streets today to shame. We think he's gonna use that assassin he paid to have the Mayor of Chicago killed at the Block 37 ice rink dedication tomorrow."

She didn't think his accusations could get any wilder than they were already. First it was with Spencer, then a shipping company with ties to the Italian mafia, then an assassin, and now some plan to test a weapon and kill the Mayor? Yet, throughout all of this, he was extremely sincere if not a bit intense with conviction . . . which meant that he believed every single word that he was telling her. Right now, though, it was just pretty much his word against Spencer's, unless . . .

"Got any proof?" she asked firmly. Her eyes bore into him, almost as if staring him down and expecting him to blink and turn away in a sign that he was making all of this up. Besides, she knew that the police wouldn't do anything unless there was some kind of evidence, no matter how far fetched this whole situation sounded.

"Sure do," Murdock responded, his drawl thick as he got up from the table and went over to the parka, which was draped over the radiator. Even in the short time that it had been on it, he could tell that it was starting to dry out. That was a good thing, since he'd have to go back out into that brutal weather if he had any hopes of rescuing the guys. And the sooner he could do that, the better . . .

He reached into the pocket and pulled out the red bandana and walked back over to the table. He sat down on the chair again, not feeling at all embarrassed for wearing the pink robe, or it being a bit short, due to how much Mrs. B was making him feel comfortable and not self-conscious. As opened up the bandana to reveal the camera inside, he gazed at her, unable to miss the expression on her face as she looked at what he held within his right hand . . .

The moment that Adele spotted the red bandana, her eyes widened with alarm. She recognized it immediately, and it shook her to the core. That had belonged to Albert, Scooter's father. It was the one thing that Scooter insisted on taking with him when he enlisted into the Army since it was small and he could keep it with him at all times, and would help to remind him of his father and of home. It was almost like a good luck charm, in a way, and he never went anywhere without it. For him to not have it with him now, and it was in Murdock's possession, that definitely meant that something was wrong . . .

As she continued to look at the bandana, something else stood out at her that caused her heart to flutter. The unmistakable crimson of blood had stained the fabric. Was it Scooter's blood? Was Scooter hurt in some way? Could Spencer have hurt her son? Anger boiled up inside of her once more at that thought, before her dark eyes focused on the wry figure in the pink robe. "Is my baby okay, Murdock?" she demanded.

"He's fine, Mrs. B. He didn't look too happy to be in handcuffs and stuffed into the back of a cop car, he was his usual scowlin' self," he reassured her. "Face was hurt . . . must've happened as I escaped outta U-505. The guards had us cornered there and were shootin' at us. Face must've gotten hit and BA used this to stop the blood." He held up the small silver camera for a moment and revealed, "We got all the proof right on this here camera. Face took pictures of all the papers, the blueprints, everythin'."

Although she was relieved that her son wasn't hurt, she was livid at the fact that blonde-haired Lieutenant had been. She rose to her feet and started pacing furiously around the room, her round body swaying in time to match her inner rage. Her face darkened with anger and her eyes bore an inner fire that didn't look like it would be quenched with anything less than the satisfaction of seeing justice done for the fact that her son and his friends had been put in such mortal danger.

"How dare he chase my baby and shoot at him! I can't believe I was sucked in by that no good, deceitful . . ." she trailed off in an angry tone before she began to use more colorful language. Mrs. Baracus had only sworn once before, and that was briefly to the face of the man that had been responsible for killing her husband. Outside of that, she never used such detestable language . . . until today.

She turned to face Murdock, who looked totally taken aback by the words that had spewed from her mouth. Her rage made her totally unapologetic at this point. All she could think of was getting her son out of jail, even if it meant walking through the front door of the police department and demanding his release. "We gotta go to the precinct, give them that camera, and get Scooter, Hannibal, and Face outta jail," she stated firmly.

"Whoa," the Texan said, putting his hands up in order to try and get her to stop her current train of thought. She seemed ready to storm off to the cop shop without really thinking things through. "What are you gonna do, Mrs. B? You can't just walk in there and demand they're let go. They're wanted by the government. Givin' them the camera ain't gonna help either."

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at him, her face set in an expression of grim determination. She was gonna get Scooter out of jail, one way or another. "You got that right. I plan on marchin' down there and demadin' that they let them go," she pointed out. "Unless you got a better idea."

Murdock's tired features slowly broke out into a grin as he marveled at the woman standing before him. From what he had observed, even during their previous visit to Chicago, Mrs. Baracus was a very even tempered woman compared to her son . . . but when she was riled like she was now, she was fiercer than a mama bear determined to protect her cubs from harm.

"I got an idea, Mrs. B, but I'm gonna need your help," he told her gently. His warm, brown eyes twinkled with crazy light that was his own form of the Jazz. He always liked running scams with Face, and he was confident that he could pull this one off. He leaned forward and began to relate the elements of his plan to get the guys out of there, as he realized that this was going to be fun.

Adele's eyes widened with surprise as she heard the beginnings of his idea and the part she was going to have in this. The initial reaction gave way as she smiled and began to nod, taking in all of the various details on how this was going to all work out. Even her own dark eyes started to almost mirror the look within Murdock's. If one didn't know any better, they would have sworn that she was also on the Jazz . . .