Chapter 8
Hannibal was holding his own in the fight. As B.A. and Face approached, they saw that one of the guys was already down on his knees. Bright blood splashed against the white snow as the bully moaned about his broken nose.
Hannibal had taken down the weakest one quickly. The other three had begun to back him up against the wall, squaring off against the older man.
"Which one do you want?" Face asked B.A., sizing up the bullies. He wasn't sure what was going on, but Hannibal wouldn't be wasting time with these guys unless there was a good reason. That still didn't make him any more comfortable with the attention they were likely to draw. Also, ruining these clothes meant he'd have to resort to Murdock's outfit after all.
"I'll take the big one," B.A. replied. Hannibal could have taken all three of the remaining bullies with no problem, but seeing the glint of steel in their hands gave him enough excuse to get involved. He stepped in and deftly removed the knife from the largest tough's hand, while giving it a painful squeeze. He used the grip to spin the guy around, then B.A. tossed the blade aside. "You look like a sucka to me." He growled, blocking a punch and returning it with one of his own.
"So much for flower power." Face gave the other one with the knife a tap on the shoulder. The hip-looking bully, dressed in a fringed jacket, spun around and took a clumsily aimed swipe at Face's head. Face leaned back and the knife grazed his cheek before he was able to grab the hand that held it. "Aww, come on. Where's the love for your fellow man?" He asked, finding the pressure point at the bully's thumb joint and using it. The kid groaned and dropped the knife, but went for Face with a fist.
Hannibal continued to work on the last one, a middle-weight just the right size to put up some semblance of a fight. Two punches to the gut and a sideswiping kick was the fatal combination to take him down. He rolled on the ground, heaving and groaning as Hannibal wiped the blood from his lip and checked on his team.
B.A. had just put his own guy down against the alley wall. The man was completely out, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. Face had disarmed his opponent, and they were eyeing each other, fists up defensively.
"Aren't you going to help him, B.A.?" Hannibal asked, getting his breath back. Face landed a punch that knocked the breath out of the bully, but the guy still tried a return hook, which Face dodged.
B.A. snickered. "Nope. Faceman look like he got it under control. He grinned and then winced as he saw Face take a particularly hard, unfair knee between the legs. The lieutenant fell to a kneeling position, and B.A. growled. "Now that ain't fair." He said, stepping forward to snatch up the man in the fringed jacket. He spun him around and head butted him. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, and the bully went down in a heap.
"'Coulda done that a little bit sooner," Face groaned, accepting B.A.'s hand up.
"Yeah, but I had to let you give him a try," B.A. said. "You ok?"
"No." Face replied, but he was walking off the pain, looking at their handiwork. Not bad, but he knew he should have been a little quicker with these guys. They were average run of the mill street toughs, after all. He shook his head. "Aww, look at this, Hannibal," he said, pointing to the blood on his shirt. It wasn't all his, either, but a huge stain made the shirt worthless now. "Can you explain why we had to do this? What did they say to you?"
Hannibal didn't reply, but was already heading back to the front of the alley where they'd left the drunken serviceman. Hannibal frowned when he saw he was gone. He didn't know what he'd planned on doing to help the guy, but . . .he would have done something. He turned back around to the inquisitive stares of his men. "I'll explain in the van. We better get out of here before we draw attention to ourselves."
"Before we draw attention to ourselves?" Face looked at B.A., then down at his blood splattered shirt. "He's worried about us drawing attention to ourselves." He said incredulously, then shook his head and quickly moved back to the van.
Hannibal explained the reason for his fight with the hippies while they were eating lunch, which had come from a Chinese restaurant across town. Not wanting to draw any more attention, they didn't go in to eat; Hannibal had gotten everything to go. Now they sat in the hotel room, munching on lo mien noodles, sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls as well as several other dishes.
Once Hannibal told the story, B.A. and Face both agreed he had done the right thing, but B.A. was probably the most upset at what Hannibal had to say. He actually sat his carton to the side, clenching his fists in anger as Hannibal described the abuse the hippies had been giving the soldier. The big man even got up to stalk around the room toward the end of the tale. Face knew B.A. had an overdeveloped sense of what was fair and not fair. He worried it might get his friend into trouble one day.
"If I had known that before we got into it, I probably would have rearranged that sucka's face permanently." B.A. said in a growl as he thought back to the fight.
"You did a pretty good job of that already, B.A." Face replied thoughtfully. He poked
his chopsticks into his container of chow mien and twirled them for a moment. "Things have changed, haven't they?" He said simply, glancing up at the others.
"What do you mean?" Hannibal asked.
"I mean this afternoon. This kind of thing wouldn't have happened when you came back from Korea, right? I get the feeling this isn't an isolated incident." Face had known the world wasn't a friendly place—he wasn't naïve after all—but the scene Hannibal had described made him angry, disgusted and depressed.
Hannibal's look contained a touch of sadness as he measured up his men for a moment before replying. "No. This kind of thing never went on." He admitted. "This country seems to be a different place." There didn't seem to be much else to say.
"Some changes are good," B.A. began, thinking of all the reasons his mom and dad had moved from the South to the North before he'd been born. The world had improved some since then, so change was good…sometimes. "This, though. This just ain't right. People just shouldn't be allowed to act that way." He had stopped in his pacing long enough to glare out of the window at the falling snow.
"You can't change the world, B.A.. The world's had problems a long time. You're just one man." As Face spoke, B.A. turned and regarded him with a dark, silent gaze. "It's not up to you to fix it." Face said finally, trying to make B.A. feel better. He could tell it wasn't working.
"You're wrong. It's everybody's responsibility to fix it." The big man said simply, sitting down at the table in the room and grabbing his rice again. He began to eat once more, using the chopsticks skillfully.
"With that kind of determination, who knows what B.A. could accomplish?" Hannibal said, attempting to play peacemaker again. He certainly spoke with a lot more optimism than he felt because B.A. was starting to scowl more openly. It was time to bring this budding argument to a close. "But he's right, you know." He referred to Face as he glanced to B.A.. "The world has turned into a pretty nasty place. If we're gonna fix it up, we've got a big job ahead of us, don't we?"
B.A. looked up, thinking Hannibal was teasing him, but he could tell that the Colonel wasn't kidding. "Work ain't never scared me." He said defiantly.
Face just shook his head and smiled wanly. "You win." He said. "One man can change the world."
"That's more like it." Hannibal replied. "I'm going to see if our fight made the news. Keep your fingers crossed." He turned on the TV and began switching channels.
"Always." Face and B.A. returned. Crossing their fingers was becoming a way of life for all of them.
It was a slow day for local news, judging by the ending segment on a local elementary school's fundraiser.
"Looks like our little scuffle didn't make headlines." Hannibal breathed a sigh of relief.
"Just glad no police showed up." B.A. said. "That would have been bad."
"Hey Hannibal, turn the TV up." Face said, leaning forward to watch the national news update.
Hannibal leaned forward to adjust the volume as the news anchor began reporting.
"The manhunt for 3 fugitives, known as the A-Team, who escaped from Fort Bragg was called off in Atlanta today. At a press conference, the Army said they were 'disappointed' in the search results and has concluded the fugitives are no longer in Atlanta. The military will now be taking a 'more targeted' approach to searching for the missing men."
B.A. sighed as all 3 of their pictures were flashed on the news. The last thing he wanted all of Chicago to see was a refresher of what they looked like.
The anchor continued. "The Army has asked that you contact them if you have seen any of these three fugitives. However, do not approach them yourselves, as they are considered extremely dangerous. Turning to other news…"
Face walked over the TV and turned it off. "So Lynch finally wised up."
"Well, good news is it sounds like they have no idea where we are." Hannibal frowned. "Bad news is, this makes B.A.'s meeting with Mrs. Baracus a little more complicated. If they've given up in Atlanta, they'll have more heat staking her out."
"Hannibal," Face began, "Do you think it's even wise to go ahead with the meeting? I mean, with all the extra attention and all, wouldn't it be better to go ahead and split?"
"Faceman's right." B.A. said softly, looking at the stained carpet. "Gonna be too dangerous now. Don't wanna get us caught, just so I can see mama."
"We came here to see Mrs. Baracus, and that's what we're going to do." Hannibal said firmly. "We'll just need to do a longer stakeout of the diner. So if you guys are finished eating, we'll head over there now."
They sat in the van for an hour, observing the diner. As a whole, it was a pretty good location. One entrance from the street, a delivery entrance in the rear, and neighboring stores on each side. Across the street was a park, but in the biting cold, it was deserted. Anyone who tried to hang-out nonchalantly in there would stick out like a sore thumb. The one potential problem was the roof, which was flat. It would be easy for someone to hide there. They would just have to make sure that someone was Face, and not one of Lynch's men.
Hannibal tucked a gun into his waistband. "I'm going to go have a look inside. If I'm not back in 10 minutes, get out of here."
He crossed the street as quickly as he dared and was glad to be greeted by warmth when he opened the diner door. He selected a counter stool near the front and sat down.
"Welcome to the Family Diner." A cheery waitress greeted him. "What can I get for you?"
"This dude I know told me you have the best apple pie in town." Hannibal said, in full hippie mode. "I'd really dig some."
"Ok" the waitress smiled, making note of the order and then tucking a pen behind her ear. "One hot piece of apple pie, coming right up."
Hannibal took in his surroundings with a keen eye. Hallway at the back, leading to a pay phone, restrooms, and rear delivery entrance. Kitchen in the back right corner, with a swinging door leading to the dining area. Mirror behind counter, which made it easy for him to check out the customers without turning around. Most of them seemed to be regulars, joking around with the waitresses, who knew what the customers were going to order by memory. That would make things a bit problematic. But if B.A. kept the meeting short, maybe he could get out of there before anyone recognized him.
The waitress re-appeared with the hot pie and set it down before Hannibal. "Here you go. Anything else?"
"No man, I'm good." Hannibal lifted his fork and cut the corner of his pie. His made-up friend was right -- the pie was delicious.
"Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We will be landing in Chicago in about 15 minutes. Please secure your tray tables and make sure your seats are in an upright and locked position. We know you have a choice in air travel, and thank you for choosing United Airlines."
Lynch grumbled as he followed the captain's orders. He hated commercial flights. What a lousy end to a lousy week. Not only had the A-team escaped from his prison, but he had let them lead him on a wild goose chase to Atlanta, where they had, undoubtedly, never been. Needless to say, the search was not going well. And neither was his career. He had been told, in no uncertain terms, that until the team was caught, he would never go any higher. And that was the best-case scenario.
So, here he was, sitting in a miserable middle seat, flying to Chicago to interview Mrs. Baracus. She had been under surveillance for a couple of days, with no leads. He hoped, more than believed, that she would offer some new information. But at this point, he was grasping at straws. And since he didn't have any leads, at least he could offer his superiors the appearance of making progress.
And who knew? Maybe he would get lucky.
To be continued…