Keeper of the Truth
Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.
Chapter 31
Face's eyes widened as he saw Felicity's date draw his huge fist back to deliver the first punch.
It'll be like if B. A. hit me. And we all know how that would turn out.
Thankfully the bodybuilder paused just a second and smiled grimly when he noticed the con man's reaction.
Probably to make the moment more memorable for me. But it also makes him more predictable.
Face saw the exact moment when the big man launched his blow and ducked. The fist skimmed the con man's hair and crunched into something behind him. As Face rebounded from his crouched position, he was surprised to see the bodybuilder stagger forward and fall to his knees.
Maybe I'll get out of here alive yet.
Twisting in place to see what the man had made contact with, the con man saw Felicity sprawled unconscious on her back on the floor. Her eye was already beginning to swell shut and blood streamed from her nose.
Face was stunned. Seeing the three men he suspected as working with Schreiker coming toward them, he thought quickly.
Felicity's in good hands. They'll call an ambulance and they'll give her medical attention. But if those guys get hold of me . . .
"That's gonna be one hell of a black eye. Here, let me see if the kitchen's got a nice steak tartare they can spare." To his credit, the bodybuilder seemed to be very repentant about what he did to the woman lying unmoving on the floor and ignored his offer.
Face swallowed hard. That might have been me. Sorry, Felicity.
Without waiting for a response from Felicity's date, Face quickly made his way through the gathering spectators to the double doors leading to the kitchen. He was already calculating how much money to give to Serensetti to cover for the glass of Chardonnay, the lobster appetizer, the steak tartare and the waiter's gratuity.
Let's see . . . twelve dollars for the wine . . . the lobster caponata was about twenty . . . add eighteen for the steak tartare and another fifteen for the service . . . sixty-five dollars ought to cover it all . . . maybe a little extra for the commotion . . .
Even as he pushed open the doors he dug out his wallet and the bills he needed.
"Signor Peck." Just inside those doors, Serensetti himself, a worried look on his face, touched the con man's sleeve. "What is wrong? Was the lobster caponata not to your liking?"
Despite the urgency of the situation, Face gave the restaurant owner an appreciative smile. "The caponata was magnificent. The Chardonnay was at a perfect temperature."
"Then what is wrong?" Serensetti sounded very concerned.
"The business associate I was meeting brought along three thugs that I'm afraid intend to weasel me out of the money I'm due for services rendered. I need to leave but not so they can follow me, if you know what I mean." The con man motioned with his head toward the men, temporarily slowed down by the crowd gathering around Felicity and her date. He noted with relief that the woman was just beginning to wake.
"The young lady will need some medical attention . . . and something to take down the swelling." Slipping the restaurant owner the money in his hand, Face added, "A raw ribeye, perhaps? On me, please. And this should cover the steak and everything else. So . . . where's the back door?"
Serensetti motioned with his hand. "That way, Signor Peck. We will prevent those men from coming through here." A single snap of his fingers brought one of the assistant chefs to the older man's side. Before Face could hear the restaurant owner's instructions, he was hurrying toward the back door.
Three things I can count on Serensetti to deliver . . . excellent food, good service and discretion.
The hairs on the back of Face's neck rose a little as he opened the door. Peering up and down the alley, he tried to dismiss the feeling. He knew he didn't have long before his pursuers left through the front door to intercept him. He needed to get to the van as fast as he could.
But hasn't almost everything else having to do with this mission gone south? No sense in rushing out of one trap and into another.
A slight breeze riffled the pages of a discarded newspaper. A stray cat leaped onto the dumpster and sniffed around the edge of the lid before gracefully hopping back down onto the broken asphalt.
At the end of the alley a dark figure appeared, soon joined by another. Face ducked his head back inside the door and, for the first time that evening, wished he hadn't made B. A. wait with the van.
That was too quick for any of those guys inside to get out here. There's more than three of them. Which means I can't go back inside and I can't really go out this door either. Unless I make a run for it.
Taking in a deep breath and steeling his nerve, he stepped into the alley. Hearing the door close behind him with a click, he turned in the opposite direction from where the two men were. Too late he realized that the dark corner of the parking lot in front where he had left B. A. and the van was the other way, behind the advancing figures.
Just how fast can I run? Faster than a speeding bullet?
"That's Murdock's line when he wants to be a superhero," he muttered. Two other figures appeared in the other end of the alley. Sighing, Face turned once again, raising his hands in the air as he did.
Come on, B. A.! A little help here? Or did they get him, too? I wonder if they'll settle for taking us to their leader, whoever that is.
oooooo
From the folding chair, Doctor Richter watched Murdock watching the Tom and Jerry cartoon on the television. He had been surprised to note the progress Nurse Sullivan had made with the pilot since earlier in the day when he sat with his patient.
The nurse reported that the change happened when she noticed Murdock's reaction to the food she was feeding him. Thinking about that, he shook his head.
It's strange how that happens sometimes. What works for one patient doesn't always work for another. And in this case . . .
He saw a smile tug at the corners of his patient's mouth as the cartoon mouse hit the cartoon cat with a huge hammer. Another small sign of progress.
. . . food that he would recognize as something that wouldn't be served in the POW camp did it. Just like last night's bubble bath convinced him the blood he thought was on him had been washed away.
So far, Murdock hadn't spoken to him since the bath incident. Richter wondered if the pilot knew who he was. He seemed to accept the doctor's presence without protest.
As he does Sullivan's presence.
Thinking about that, Richter mulled over his mounting suspicions that there was something more to the relationship between Sullivan and Murdock than nurse to patient.
He had to admit, she seemed to know what to do to assist the pilot in regaining his sense of where he was.
They had tried letting another female nurse sit with him but he started to show signs of regression. He didn't do well when he was left on his own either.
No, it's got to be either Sullivan or me with him. Right now, we seem to be his tether to reality.
He thought again about what Peck had told him about the team's last mission.
Murdock had bonded with a kid who was in a cult. He had bought into the cult leader's teaching, promises of internal peace and no more nightmares and flashbacks . . .
Like Peck said, it's something he has to find for himself. We can help him but we can't wave a magic wand and make it happen.
He rose and walked to the window. Looking out at the dusky skies and gathering shadows Richter felt weary. He had invested so much of himself and his time into this one patient and to have one incident make all of the work regress to this degree . . .
And I still haven't spoken to Smith about all of this.
He wondered if the A-team leader was avoiding contact on purpose.
The cartoon came to an end and the announcer chirped, "We'll return after these messages."
Glancing at Murdock, he noticed his patient had lost his focus again. An advertisement for the popular kids' toy Teddy Ruxpin came on but the pilot didn't seem to care.
Frowning intently at his fingers, he picked at the skin beside his thumbnail. It was a nervous habit Richter recognized from times in therapy sessions when the pilot was faced with a question he obviously didn't want to answer.
Richter was reminded of the work of Abraham Maslow.
Maslow was the American psychologist who came up with the theory of the hierarchy of needs to describe the successive needs in everyone's lives which must be met before a person could grow into their fullest potential as a human being.
The doctor saw how the hierarchy of needs theory could be applied to Murdock. Obviously, the VA hospital supplied the bottom two levels of Maselow's pyramid, the basic needs. All of the patients' physiological needs of rest, food, water and warmth and the safety needs of a secure and safe place were met by the facility.
Richter always worried about the next level, the psychological needs. It was difficult to help patients feel a sense of accomplishment inside the confines of the hospital. Art therapy wasn't for everyone.
As far as the need to develop close relationships, some of his patients weren't aware enough of their surroundings to miss friendships and a sense of belonging. The relationships they formed were with others who had similar diagnoses and with the staff who cared for them. Murdock wasn't one of those patients.
Richter had hoped, after finding out about his patient's contact with his former team members, that occasional outings with them would fulfill the psychological needs. To a degree these 'missions' seemed to do just that.
Until this mission. Did that cult offer to fulfill his psychological needs in a more lasting way?
From what Peck said, the answer was 'yes.'
Richter frowned as he saw a bloom of blood appear on the sheet covering Murdock. The pilot had torn away too much skin from beside his thumbnail. Slowly moving toward the bed and carefully restraining him from picking at the skin anymore, Richter dug in his pocket for a clean tissue to wrap around the open wound.
"You shouldn't do that," he softly scolded. Glancing at Murdock, he saw no response. The pilot's attention was refocused on the next cartoon beginning on the television.
Richter sighed as he remembered something Maslow wrote.
In any given moment, we have two options: to step forward into growth or to step back into safety.
The doctor sadly shook his head.
What made you choose to step back into safety, Captain?