Chapter 3

Turns out there's only a few differences between watching the Super Bowl from the comfort of your own home and actually being there. "Another timeout? C'mon, man!" Just when the game was starting to get good. The Eagles, after an opening defensive stand, had taken it deep into the Dragons' red zone and were ready to score. They were stopping things every couple minutes, leaving us time to talk. Felt more like a damn matinee baseball game.

"It's all the extra commercials. Remember?" Cyera whispered into my ear. "Those multi-gazillions of dollars hard at work. You know, they even wanted me to do one of those this year, for some candy company? I said no and meant it."

I couldn't help but grin. From slumming it with me in Philly, to getting paid millions just to endorse products. The girl had made it. It was the sort of bullshit thing I'd always wanted for myself. In fact, I was kind of jealous. All because of one little misunderstanding, I'd always have to bring home my bacon strictly under the table. I'd never be able to show my face above ground again, or would I?

Give it time, Lieutenant. Time cures all ills, I heard Hannibal saying in my head.

"Lookie there, sweet cheeks. Have you ever seen a more perfect ass in your life? Course, it's not nearly as nice as yours." Murdock, wolf-whistling, threw a large rock through the glass house of my thoughts. I couldn't tell whether he was pointing to the line judge, the usher standing a few rows in front of us, or the hulking backup Eagles linebacker. Whenever he adopted a persona, he always ran with it. I'd given him free rein…but he was starting to embarrass me.

"All right, buddy. Just calm down. We don't wanna get too much attention. We're undercover, remember?" I said from the corner of my mouth, but Cyera heard me anyway. She smiled and punched me playfully on my upper arm.

"Phil, seriously…there is nothing to be ashamed of. I'm so happy for you both. How long have you guys been together, anyway?"

Murdock glanced back at me with a playful smile. "Oh, 'Phil' and I know each other real well. Like, going back to our Army days. Let me tell you, I'm a sucker for a man in uniform," he said with a wink.

"You guys knew each other in the Army? Was this before the don't-ask-don't-tell thing?"

"Yeah." I scowled. "Damn near broke my heart when we were sent to separate facilities after the court-martial. I went all 'Brokeback Murdock.'" If he was going to hit below the belt, then so was I.

"'Cause they got lots of creature comforts now in max security, but 'Snoogy-Woogy Wips' here ain't one of 'em," Murdock said with a theatrical sigh. "I'm so glad that's over and we're together again."

We were both exchanging mock-poisonous stares on either side of Cyera, to her amusement, when the crowd exploded into a cheer. Laird had connected with Udall on a short touchdown pass and everybody had seen it happen but us. The replay screen showed it again. 6-0, Eagles. A moment later, the extra point was good and, of course, time-out was called.

"So, are you guys like, planning on making it official?" Cyera asked when I'd finally stopped cheering and given both of them multiple high-fives.

I nearly choked on my swallow of fifteen-dollar beer. "What?"

"A wedding. Are you gonna tie the knot?"

Murdock purred in my ear, cuddling himself closer to me and running a flirtatious finger up and down my jacket sleeve. I'd have once cut off my left nut for Cyera to do that. "Oh, yeah. Soon as we can save up the money for a proper wedding and all. I hear Vermont is so pretty in the fall, and we'll have a honeymoon too! Won't that be fun, schnoodle-bum?"

Where the hell did he come up with these things? Probably all the bad TV he'd been watching in the closed ward. There probably wasn't much else for him to do. I felt even more like a dick for leaving him all alone, and it must have showed, because Cyera laughed.

"Oh my God, you're actually blushing! I never thought I'd see you blush. You must really be in love, Phil," she said in between giggles.

"I, uh…" I looked at Cyera, and she started a fresh round of laughter. Then I turned, and my eyes met with Murdock's green ones. He was immensely enjoying himself, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the game. Was this his way of getting revenge on me? I guess it was more subtle than TP'ing my apartment or programming clown porn into my phone, but he could be a real son of a bitch when he wanted to. The worst part was, he had a legitimate reason for feeling this way. "I have to go to the men's room," I said finally, standing up.

"Okay. But hurry, or you'll miss the kickoff." Cyera said, giving me a peck on the cheek.

"Mind if I come too, Studly Do-Right?" Murdock put down his ridiculous foam finger and sprang up from his seat. "Someone's gotta look after that national treasure that is your body, muchacho."

I gritted my teeth. "Fine, but let's go now before the quarter's over. There'll be a huge line otherwise." We trotted up the stairs together to the sound of cheering fans and Cyera's laughter.

~~s~~

The john, like everything at this stadium, was top of the line. It didn't even smell like piss and urinal cakes the way they usually did. There were even screens everywhere so we wouldn't miss a moment of the action. I hadn't really had to go, but it seemed as good a way as any to get Murdock alone to talk to him. Maybe get him to tone it down a little. The longer this went on, the less chance I had of ever convincing Cyera that it hadn't all just been a joke.

"What's up with you tonight?" I hissed at him once the last guy had left. "I mean, I haven't seen this girl for years, and you're making her think I'm gayer than Elton John? What gives?"

Murdock shrugged. Everything was always a game to him; catching him in a serious mood was harder than herding cats. "She seems to like you better this way. Besides, I kinda like you better this way. You're more sensitive," he said with a huff.

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

Before he could answer, the door swung open and another guy walked in. I couldn't quite say why, but he made my senses ping with alarm. I'd seen enough of his type in the Sandbox all those years; they were the ones who liked to play with IEDs and make life hell for us Rangers. This one was just a rat-faced kid, probably a college student, dressed in the ugly yellow food services uniform the vendors wore. He had the reddened eyes of a chronic stoner. As he passed us, he didn't even blink, just went into one of the stalls and slammed the door.

"Well? Murdock, do you need to get something out? Because this is not the time or place to do it, buddy. This is the Super Bowl. We can talk when we get home, all right?"

"I just thought of something. We're in the bathroom, Faceman. This is the perfect place to get something out." He erupted into spasms of high-pitched giggles, and it took me way back. The first time I'd heard that particular cackle, in Mexico all those years ago, he'd just set my sleeve on fire.

"Murdock, seriously…"

On screen, the Eagles had just kicked off and pinned the Dragons deep. Cyera must be wondering where the hell we were.

"You wanna head back?" He was still heaving with his fit of hilarity. "Hey, I just said 'head.' C'mon, Face, it's funny!"

"Hilarious. No, really, we gotta talk. Some of it's my fault, and…" I hadn't heard the door opening and closing. I did hear the deep, gruff voice behind me as I stood before the row of urinals.

"Excuse me."

My attention turned from Murdock to the looming, solid figure of Teensy McRae. For such a big man, he moved as quietly as a cat. "Can I help you?" I asked, aware of how dumb I sounded.

"You're in my way."

"There's a bunch of other urinals, man. Use those. I'm in the middle of something here."

"I said," his voice was dangerously low, "you're in my way."

"Oh. Right. All yours." I put my arm around Murdock and herded him away. Usually I could talk my way out of trouble. That bullshit wasn't going to fly with a behemoth who used to sack quarterbacks for a living. We'd have to continue our conversation somewhere else.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go," Murdock muttered when we were out of earshot and back out on the concourse. "Nice guy, huh?"

I wasn't thinking of Teensy. Instead, I was still thinking of the scrawny little guy who'd gone into the stall. Had he come back out? I was always observant; I would have remembered that nightmare banana suit. Either the stadium food hadn't agreed with him or, more likely, he was finding a quiet place to break out a spliff. Damn stoner kids. Even at the Super Bowl, they were everywhere.

Thankfully we hadn't missed much of the game. The Dragons had punted, leaving the Eagles on their own thirty. I was about to suggest to Murdock that we get our asses back down to our seats before Cyera called an APB on us, when a couple of near-identical blondes blocked our path. Any other time, I might have been interested. They had bodies that could melt butter. Right now I was just annoyed.

"Ladies, we have to go. Sorry."

Blondie Number One was blushing furiously and looking down. Her friend looked me right in the eye. "Excuse me. Aren't you that actor? Cooper Bradley? Can we have your autograph?"

I mentally added that guy's name to my shit list. Then I remembered how many celebrities attended the Super Bowl. I'd never heard of the guy before tonight, but I'd have to look him up on IMDB. Maybe he actually was famous; I didn't really pay so much attention anymore. I had already spotted a couple of A-list actors and a retired basketball star in our section alone…not to mention Cyera in disguise…but I wasn't some rube. These girls, on the other hand…

"No. Sorry. I get that all the time."

Before I could stop her, the blushing girl pulled out a camera phone from her purse and snapped my picture. "This is so going on my Facebook page. My friends won't believe it."

Even Murdock looked stunned. One of the things Hannibal had drilled into us was to never let ourselves be photographed, especially now that we were on the run again. One slip-up and we'd be everywhere on social media. I was done being pleasant. I had to be the bad cop here. With a deft move, I pulled out my fake badge and flashed it. "Phil Vandiver, Special Agent. Photographing a law enforcement officer is illegal." I had no idea if it was, but it sounded official. I held my free hand out. "I'll need to confiscate that."

The girl reluctantly handed over her phone, which was the same late model as my own, and I slipped it inside my jacket. "Can we at least have your number? We both think you're really hot, and we have this beach house down at Newport…"

Unexpectedly, it was Murdock who saved me. He gave me the second deep kiss I'd had in an hour, and I just had to play along. The girls were wide-eyed with disappoinment. "Oh, no, girls. This sexy beast belongs to me. Sorry to disappoint," he cooed.

"Okay. Yeah, well, like, we'll be going now." As they both walked off, I could hear then talking about how much the cute ones were always gay. If only they knew.

"Thanks, buddy," I said quickly. "I mean for the saving part, not the kissing part. No offense."

"Hey, no problem. You taste kinda sweet, though."

"Are you sure that isn't just all that cotton candy you ate?"

Murdock didn't have the chance to give me some witty response, because I'd spotted something from the corner of my eye and frozen in place. Banana Boy was out of the men's room, and he was standing with another guy in the same uniform next to a trash can just down the concourse. They were talking in low voices. What was it about these guys that bothered me so much? It wasn't that they both should have been serving up beer and hot dogs. These guys were up to something, and the rent-a-cops either didn't notice or didn't care. My instincts were jumping like grease on a griddle.

"You see those guys?" I asked Murdock, not taking my eyes off the marks.

"Y'mean the two Lemonheads over there? Yep, I see 'em. What's up, Face?"

I didn't know what to tell him. I was here for one reason only. To protect a girl I cared about and help her enjoy herself. Well, and to spend some time with my best friend. I wasn't on duty, not even close. I had exactly one gun with two extra clips. Forty-five rounds. Not nearly enough to go all gung-ho and take out some bad guys. I wasn't even wearing a vest. I was supposed to be low-key, boring, fade into the background. I'd already been picked out by several people, and I could be easily described. Hannibal, if he ever found out, was going to have my balls for this one. What had I been thinking?

"Face?" Murdock sounded a little worried. "You okay?"

Another guy in yellow had joined the Banana Boy and his friend. Two was company and three was a crowd. Something was definitely up.

"Yeah." A plan was furiously cobbling itself together in my head, and it didn't involve rent-a-cops or even the real cops. First, I'd have to find out what these guys were up to. And for that I'd need Murdock as my wingman. "Follow those guys and make sure they don't go anywhere. I'll catch up with you."

"I'm on it. What about you?"

"I gotta go find Cyera. Make sure she's okay." The Banana Trio had picked up their pace and were leaving. "Go on. I'll find you. Be careful."

With a quick bit of sleight of hand that might have outdone David Copperfield, Murdock moved aside his jacket to reveal a flash of a shoulder holster underneath. If I wasn't mistaken, that was my other Beretta inside it. "I always am, Face," he said with a grin.

~~s~~

"There you are! You just missed the most exciting play. The Eagles just intercepted," Cyera shouted over the crowd noise. "You were gone a long time. Everything all right?"

I nodded. I was sort of pissed that I hadn't seen the play; Harvey was my favorite defensive player and he'd just made a beauty of a catch. That was going to have to wait. "I'm fine, but Murdock isn't. He, um, ate something that didn't agree with him. He's gone up to the medic station," I explained.

Cyera waited for the roar to die down. When she spoke again, it was so low only I could hear it. "Temp, you may think otherwise, but you never could lie to me."

I'd been lying for years and years. It was how I'd made my living. She was right. I always found it hardest to lie to people I really cared about.

"Okay, so it wasn't bad cotton candy. I think there's some trouble. We're just going to check it out," I said, keeping my voice at barely a whisper. "It has nothing to do with you, so no worries there. Might just be me being paranoid. Give me ten minutes, all right? I promise I'll be back."

She stared at me stubbornly. "Hey, maybe I can help?"

I shook my head. "No way. Just let us handle this. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Temp," she begged, "c'mon. Please? It'll be exciting."

I wanted to tell her that "exciting" to me meant something else entirely than it probably did to her. While she'd been behind a microphone, I'd been in prison, getting shot at, and falling from high altitudes in things that had never been meant to fly. "Exciting" to someone like Cyera meant playing Call of Duty. I'd lived the real thing. I'd had all the "exciting" I could ever want, and then some. It was what Hannibal sometimes playfully called "the jazz."

"And what if I say no?"

"Then everyone," she swept her arm around the stadium, "might just know you're a member of the infamous A-Team. Please? I can help."

Oh, shit. She just had to go there. First Murdock's Liberace act and now this? This is supposed to be the Super Bowl! I'm supposed to be having fun!

I had no choice.

"Fine, but follow me and stay close." I kissed her on the cheek. "And try not to get shot, okay?"

To Be Continued.