Chapter Two











BA waited until he heard the sound of water from the shower before dumping the clothes he carried on the bed. He hadn't expected Murdock to give in quite so easily, and was relieved that he had. Not that he blamed the crazy fool anyway. BA knew that if their positions been reversed, he would have reacted the same way.


He left Face's room, crossed the great room of the complex and entered the kitchen. He headed for the refrigerator, brushing Frankie-who was digging in it for something--out of the way. Frankie's reaction was instantaneous.


"AH!" he yelped, whirling away from the refrigerator. "Man, don't do that to me!"


"What's your problem?" BA scowled, reaching for the milk carton. "You's supposed to be fixing somethin' for Murdock t'eat. You ain't suppose to be screwin' 'round."


"You and Murdock," Frankie groused, "Sneakin' behind people, scaring the sh-"he paused as BA scowled at him, "--ah, stuffing outta them. I'm lucky I'm still in my skin."


"What you talkin' 'bout?" BA asked. He opened the carton, lifted it, and swallowed.


Frankie opened his mouth to complain, then closed it. "Nuthin'," he muttered, "Nuthin'." He threw a couple of sandwiches together, piling ingredients Dagwood-style.


BA set down the milk carton and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Frankie, inspecting him. Frankie grew more tense under the scrutiny. "What?" he asked, fidgeting under BA's gaze. "What, you don't like what I'm making?"


"What you so antsy 'bout?" BA asked. "Crazy Man been out all this time, ain't he?"


"Most of it," Frankie admitted, scowling, "but he sure was pissed when he woke up."


"So?" BA scoffed, "What he gonna do? Fall on you?" A grin creased his face briefly at the thought. "Hannibal tol' you them drugs don't agree wit' him."


"No kiddin'," Frankie retorted. "Ain't the first time I thought he was gonna tear my head off, neither."


"That stuff always makes him loose," BA shrugged dismissively, "Mess wi' him somethin' fierce."


Frankie snorted, and turned his attention back to the sandwiches, slapping them together as if punching someone.


BA studied him. He kept forgetting-as they all did-that Frankie hadn't around them all that long. The man hadn't developed that "sixth sense" they seemed to have about each other. He could feel fear radiating from Frankie. It wasn't just what was happening with Face, or the encounter with Murdock. It was something deeper. But he didn't want to deal with that now. Getting back to the hospital with Murdock came first.


The silence grew almost palpable. Finally, BA said, "He jus' scared."


"Murdock?" Frankie said, incredulously, turning back to BA. He found that hard to believe. Murdock-like the others--had always seemed so in control. Loopy, but in control.


BA didn't reply. Instead, he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Puzzled, Frankie watched him go. Then he began wrapping the sandwiches, piling them on the counter. He picked up the carton of milk BA had left on the counter, but it was empty. Setting it down, he walked back to the refrigerator, looking behind himself to be sure no one was there before opening the door and searching for more milk. There was none, and the lone juice carton that was the only non-alcoholic beverage in there was also empty. He didn't think BA would agree to Murdock having a beer.


"Looks like it's gonna be coffee," sighed Frankie. There was enough left in the coffee maker to fill one mug. He could hear BA's objection already. "Oh, well." He gathered up the pile of sandwiches and the mug of coffee, and went into the great room.


BA stood near the glass doors, staring out onto the grounds. He glanced at Frankie, acknowledging his presence as the other entered the room, then turned back to the window.


Frankie dropped the sandwiches on the table in front of the couches and set the mug next to them. "Is he out yet?" he asked.


BA shrugged. Frankie walked to the bedroom door, and hesitantly tapped on it. No response. He cracked the door open, and craned his head around it. The room was empty. He listened, but there was no sound of running water from the bathroom. Frankie withdrew his head, closed the door and retreated back to the couches.


"Well, he's out of the shower," Frankie reported, "I think." BA didn't respond.


Minutes passed. The door of the bedroom opened. Murdock walked out, looking slightly damp, and dressed in his usual outfit. "Let's go," he said shortly.


BA turned and looked at him. "Sit down and eat," he said.


Murdock glared back at him. BA returned the stare. "You eat, or I feed it t' you," said BA, "We ain't going till you eat somethin'." He moved in front of the door and crossed his arms, waiting. "Now."


Frankie watched them nervously. This did not promise to be a pleasant ride to the hospital. The argument appeared far from over, and he did not relish the thought of playing peacemaker to those two. He wished for a trapdoor to appear in the floor, so he could disappear. He searched for a way out of the confrontation, but found none. Stockwell's appearance would be an improvement to this, he thought as he sidled toward BA.


"We're wasting time," Murdock said. He walked toward BA and the door. BA stood his ground. Frankie paused, trying to keep his distance from Murdock.


"You ain't gonna be flippin' out again," BA insisted, "You know what that stuff do to you."


"I know, you know, Hannibal knows," Murdock retorted, stopping in front of BA, "That didn't bother anybody this morning."


BA let the remark pass. He knew Murdock was as anxious to get back to the hospital as he was. He looked at Frankie and said, "Get them sandwiches."


Frankie looked from BA to Murdock, and back to BA. He went to the table and gathered up the sandwiches and coffee. Frankie walked back toward BA, edging behind him until he could reach the door. There he halted, unable to open the door with his hands full.


"Ah, BA, you wanna open the door for me?" Frankie asked.


Scowling, BA reached behind and opened the door, allowing Frankie to go through. BA turned back to Murdock. "You eat in the van," he conceded. Murdock shrugged, and BA let him leave the complex.


They got into the van, and Frankie passed a sandwich and the coffee to Murdock. BA looked at the food, then turned to Frankie. "I tol' you no coffee," he scowled, "You's supposed t'bring milk."


"You drank it," Frankie protested, "What was I supposed give him, a beer?"


BA heard a soft snort, and turned back to Murdock. A small smile flickered across the pilot's face. "I ain't movin' the van till you start eatin'," BA said.


Murdock pivoted the seat so he faced BA, deliberately unwrapped the sandwich, and took an exaggerated bite from it. Cheeks bulging, he chewed precisely, eyes locked on BA. Eyebrows wagging in a ghost of his usual manic expression, he made a show of swallowing, then raised the mug and took a long, slurping drink. He set the mug down, and inquired, "Can we go now?"


BA's lips twitched in response. "Don't spill no coffee in my van," he said, starting the vehicle.


They drove in silence, Frankie fidgeting in the seat behind Murdock. Murdock polished off two sandwiches and the mug of coffee, then stared-unusually still--out the window. BA glanced at him occasionally, uncomfortable with Murdock's silence, and his own worries. Rush hour traffic was starting to pick up on the George Washington Parkway, and while BA would have preferred another route, this was the most direct way back to the hospital.


It wasn't until they passed the exits for Arlington that Murdock spoke, triggered perhaps by the directional signs for the National Cemetery. "It's my fault," he said, his voice just barely audible to Frankie and BA.


BA looked at him, then quickly back to the road, distracted by an errant driver. "Watch your driven', fool," he said irritably to the passing auto. He glanced back at Murdock again and said, "It wasn't your fault, man."


Murdock looked at him, and BA saw pain on his face. "Every time I screw up," Murdock said, "somebody gets hurt."


"That wasn't your fault, neither," BA said, eyes back on the road. The cemetery had bothered him, too. Bad 'nough Murdock's beaten' himself up over this. Man don't have to take the blame for everythin'.


Oh, yeah? said Murdock's expression.


"What're you talking 'bout?" asked Frankie.


Neither responded. They looked at each other again, then Murdock turned back to the passenger's window, and BA concentrated on the traffic as they crossed the Potomac. There was no further conversation as they drove through the city, passing famous landmarks, until they pulled into a parking lot near the hospital.


They left the van, and walked toward the entrance; reluctant to enter, yet knowing that they would not stay away. Hannibal would have called had anything happened. But in this brief period of time between leaving the van and entering the hospital, the worst was still possible.


>

Murdock and BA paused at the entrance doors. Behind them, Frankie stopped abruptly, confused by their hesitance. They stood for a moment, then Murdock looked at BA and said, "You think we're like cats, BA?"


"What?" said BA.


"Nine lives," Murdock said thoughtfully, "With all the things we've pulled, we must've had nine lives given us somewhere." He looked up at the building, thinking about Face, and Hannibal waiting in there.


"We been lucky," BA admitted after a moment. His expression turned stoic, as if preparing for a blow he couldn't duck. "C'mon, Murdock," he growled. He pulled open the door and walked into the hospital. Frankie trailed behind him, glancing questioningly back at Murdock.


"I hope you got a few left, Face," Murdock said softly, and followed the others through the doorway.









TO BE CONTINUED