"Mmm, Faceman, you really oughtta try some of this sausage. A delight upon any palate, especially one as unique as mine," said Murdock through a mouthful of spicy venison. "Almost as good as gettin' it fresh off the hoof."
Watching his friend stuffing himself, Face felt slightly queasy. "On second thought, B.A., I might go with that beef jerky you offered me before."
"That must be the Mathers place there," said Hannibal, indicating a log cabin that had probably once been comfortable, but was now derelict and boarded up, covered in a thick tangle of kudzu, with a few squirrels scampering to and fro. "Take a left, B.A."
He did, onto a two-lane road barely wide enough for a horse-drawn cart. He kept the van at a snail's pace. The sun had finally made its appearance, breaking through a veil of clouds onto a dappled canopy of trees rich with the last of the autumn colors. Leaves fluttered down like tickertape on a politician's motorcade.
"Them guys back at that dive didn't seem too happy 'bout us bein' here," B.A. observed, turning to face Hannibal.
"Did you really expect them to buy us drinks?" Hannibal answered with his usual cheer. "Besides, we got their attention. It'll be easier to draw out Prescott and his cockroach cronies now that they know we're here. You did say you brought that new device you were working on, right, B.A.?"
The big man snorted. "Yeah, sure did. Ain't it a little too early in the mornin' for you bein' on the jazz like this?"
"Not at all, Sergeant. You didn't have a cup of Miss Rosey's coffee, did you?" Hannibal flashed a grin. "It was the kind that would have put hair on even the Aquamaniac's scaly chest."
B.A. suppressed a smile of his own. "No. Her doughnuts weren't too bad, though, man."
"Hey, guys, have a look," said Face.
As the van crested a small hill, the A-Team peered down into a bowl-shaped valley. A cluster of homes and businesses sat huddled around a country church, pretty as a postcard in the golden sunlight. Only a few Jersey cows in a nearby pasture seemed to be awake at this early hour.
"Possum Lodge, Tennessee, population 782. Plus four, for now," Face announced, reciting from the file Hannibal had given him back in L.A. "I wonder if they have a Kiwanis Club?"
"Or a chapter of Lycanthropes Anonymous?" wondered Murdock.
"Oh, shut up, fool," shot B.A. "You better not start actin' like no wolf man in front of these people."
"I'm safe for now, big guy. Sun's up and everything…"
"Four days wit' this crazy rap, Hannibal! I ain't gonna take it!" B.A. pointed accusingly back at Murdock.
Hannibal looked to his cohorts sternly, then to his wristwatch. "Speaking of our client, we're right on time. Mrs. Hawkins is over at First and Sycamore. Let's not keep her waiting."
There were only a finite number of named streets in Possum Lodge, which by comparison made Tyrell seem like Riverside. B.A. had no trouble finding their destination as Face read from his notes. The brick Craftsman house at which he pulled over, whose mailbox was stamped Hawkins, had probably been considered luxurious during the Depression, when it had been built. Now it was just comfortable. A white picket fence surrounded a slightly browned lawn, and beds of pansies added some color late in October. A flag on the porch fluttered lightly in the morning breeze.
"I can see it now. Mr. Hawkins is a farmer with glasses and a pitchfork, and his wife wears her hair in a bun and stands next to him. Right?" joked Face.
"Faceman, you been readin' that art book of yours too much," B.A. retorted as he killed the van's engine. "They just nice hardworkin' people who need our help."
A woman appeared on the wraparound porch. Her hair was cropped short rather than styled in a bun, and she wore a simple skirt and sweater with an apron instead of severe Victorian dress. She looked like the perfect image of everyone's favorite aunt or grandmother. She waved and called to Hannibal as he opened his passenger door.
"Mr. Smith? Is that you? Goodness, you actually made it! Any trouble gettin' here?"
Face looked to Hannibal, who in turn glanced at B.A. Murdock, looking slightly stunned, was staring somewhere off to the side of the house. "No, no trouble, ma'am. We did have to stop back in Tyrell just a while ago. But your directions were fine," said Hannibal, ignoring his men's slightly annoyed looks.
"This is too much! The A-Team, right here in my own Possum Lodge! Hayward…that's Mr. Hawkins…he'll never believe this, laws, no…" Mrs. Beatrice Hawkins looked giddy, and her wrinkled features for a moment showed something of the pretty young woman she'd once been. "But oh, where are my manners? Please, c'mon in and I'll introduce you."
"Much obliged," Hannibal said, the others trailing.
"You smell that?" Murdock muttered to Face as they crossed the yard. "I think they got some kinda dog here, a real big fella."
"Can it, Murdock," Face whispered back sotto voce. "I happen to agree with B.A. on this one. We want these people to like us. If you have to go to the bathroom, please go inside. No fire hydrants, or anything like that."
"Faceman, really. Fire hydrants?" The pilot looked affronted. "What kind of guy do you think I am?
B.A., a step behind, glowered. "I think you're a guy wit' a concussion if you don't shut up and behave yo'self."
"Here we are. Y'all come on in," said Mrs. Hawkins, not hearing a word of their conversation. "Straight through this hall, and the sitting room's just on your right. I'll let Mr. Hawkins know y'all are here." She held the door for her guests.
Inside the Hawkins home was just as comfortable and inviting as its all-American, Norman Rockwell exterior. In the sitting area, Hannibal took a grey chintz armchair. B.A. sat in the one opposite, while Face and Murdock shared a faded pink loveseat. Mrs. Hawkins continued to beam.
"Would y'all care for some redcurrant scones? Right out of the oven?"
"That's very kind of you," said Hannibal.
After a few minutes, Mrs. Hawkins came back with a platter of scones, tea and cream, along with her husband in tow. He was the kind of stocky, earthy Scots-Irish type whose ancestors had probably first settled the land two hundred years ago. His weathered face crinkled in a smile.
"Hayward Hawkins. So you're John Smith. Missus been tellin' me a lot 'bout you fellas." The two men exchanged a firm handshake.
"It's a pleasure, sir. I'd like you to meet Templeton Peck," Hannibal said, indicating Face, "B.A. Baracus, and H.M. Murdock." They each favored the mayor of Possum Lodge with a nod.
"B.A., H.M., all these initials. You fellas got first names?" asked Mrs. Hawkins, pouring tea from a silver pot.
B.A., a bite of scone in his mouth, swallowed quickly. "Momma calls me Bosco. Everyone else, jus' B.A. will do."
Murdock's eyes darted to the tea service. "Is…is that real silver?" he asked nervously, ignoring the question at hand.
"Why, no, hon. Just silver plate. Why do you ask?"
"No reason." Murdock let out a sigh of relief and accepted the cup of tea she passed him.
"We affectionately call him 'Howling Mad.' Long story," Face explained, sipping at his own tea and smiling as if in apology.
"Oh."
Hannibal cleared his throat. "Mayor Hawkins, back in L.A., your wife told me a little about this ongoing problem you're having with Trey Prescott and his gang. Now, how long has this been going on?"
Mrs. Hawkins spoke first. "'Bout since that no-good Trey got himself elected constable. Last December, that was, back when ol' Cale Garrett passed on and they held a special election. Nobody else wanted the post, see. We aren't exactly the size of Chattanooga, or even Fairwoods. He seemed like a nice fella at first, talkin' about truth and justice, but…" She sighed wearily. "He don't care about upholdin' the law, just about twistin' it for his own sake. Right, sugar?" she asked, elbowing her husband.
"Yep, that's just it. Takin' them pit bulls up in the woods and havin' their sick idea of some fun." Mr. Hawkins frowned. "Bunch 'a devils is what they are."
B.A. put down his cup and leaned forward. "Ain't there somethin' you can do as mayor of this town?"
The Hawkinses looked at him, then at each other. "I wish it were that simple, hon. Constable up this way has a lot more authority that we do. There's no regular police force here, just him and that Ike Redthorn. Plus we just ain't spring chickens anymore," admitted Mrs. Hawkins.
"And what does the county sheriff have to say about all this?" asked Face.
The mayor chuckled. "Vic Ames only comes up to Possum Lodge when Ginny del Greco has her free beer nights at the Triple Shot. Which is to say, once in a blue moon. He's also an old fraternity buddy of Trey's daddy, Junior. We're pretty far down his list of things to do," he admitted sadly.
"And you don't have anyone sympathetic to you? No one who'll help at all?" prompted Hannibal.
"That's why we finally looked you fellas up. Everybody here's just too scared, what with all the pets that've been disappearin', and the like. They're afraid it'll be one of their lambs or calves next 'stead of a puppy or kitten that goes missin'. We're farmers, Mr. Smith, not fighters. And Trey and his cronies are meaner'n a box full of copperheads," Mrs. Hawkins said as she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Thank God we still got Took out there, he always lets us know when trouble's comin'…"
Murdock rejoined the stream of reality for a moment. He perked up and eagerly clasped his hands together. "I knew you had a dog, I could just tell! What kind? I just love dogs…"
B.A. glared at him as if to say Watch out, sucker!, and Face looked as though he wanted to disappear into the pink velvet. Hannibal shook his head like a kindly headmaster.
"It was Captain Murdock here who persuaded us to take this assignment, Mrs. Hawkins. He's quite the animal lover."
"Oh, is that so?" Mrs. Hawkins glanced fondly at Murdock, who was now rocking back and forth and grinning like a loon. "If you like, sweetie, you're welcome to take ol' Took his breakfast. He's the big husky in the run to the side of the house. Just be careful he don't lick you to death, y'hear?"
Murdock didn't need a second invitation. He was up and gone in a streak of brown leather and khaki. Some of the yipping noises he'd made earlier in the van could be heard as he made his way back outside.
"He seems, oh, what's the word?" Mr. Hawkins put a finger to his forehead. "A little different?"
"He grows on you after a while," Hannibal said lightly, finishing off his tea.
"I'll never get used to that crazy fool," muttered B.A.
"Murdock's an American original," Face agreed.
"So, y'all are gonna help us? The four of you against Trey and Ike and all them?" asked Mr. Hawkins hopefully.
Hannibal nodded and stood. "Consider us on the case. They may be a box full of copperheads, but they're going to find that there's a mongoose in town who's looking to even the score." He shook hands once again with the mayor and his wife. "We're going to pay a little visit to the constable's office this morning and see what we find. We appreciate your hospitality, and we'll be checking in soon."
B.A. and Face thanked their hosts in turn. "Don't worry, momma. We'll be fine out there, and we gonna make this Trey dude pay," B.A. said, towering over petite Mrs. Hawkins.
"But I am worried," she confessed as the big man comforted her. "Last one that tried to bring down that ring was old man O'Faolan, and we never saw him again. He was a strange old bird, to be sure, but that's no reason to wish harm on him, bless his heart."
Face, who'd been straightening his tie in a mirror on the wall, turned around. "Uh, never seen again? What happened to him?"
The mayor of Possum Lodge shrugged. "We just ain't sure. We never found nary a trace of him."
Hannibal put a hand around Face's shoulders. "Think of it as an added challenge, Lieutenant. An enemy that actually thinks, albeit in a backwoods sort of way, and fights back, instead of those lazy fat-cat developers from that Beddington job last month. Right?"
"Oh, right. An enemy like the VC, you mean?"
"VC? Y'all fought in Nam?" Mrs. Hawkins asked, her curiousity aroused.
"That's right. Another long story," sighed Face. "But I'm sure I can tell it to you another day over some more of those scones." He repeated the circle-and-forefinger gesture he'd given Rosey earlier and smiled.
"If you'd be so kind as to give us directions to the constable's office, that would be helpful," said Hannibal. As Mrs. Hawkins spoke, Face scribbled them down on the napkin from the Happy Catfish.
They repeated their goodbyes, leaving behind a stoic Mr. Hawkins holding his wife, who looked as though she were sending her own sons off to war. On the porch, Hannibal pulled a cigar out and bit off the tip. Face's jaw dropped.
"I thought you said you ran out?"
Hannibal grinned. "Always keep a reserve for the direst of emergencies, Face. This qualifies as a dire emergency." He lit up and inhaled gratefully.
B.A. put a hand to his forehead. The sunlight was brighter now that it had crested the hills surrounding Possum Lodge. "Gonna be a dire emergency if that fool Murdock don't get back here pretty quick…"
"Captain! We're ready to go!" shouted Hannibal.
Around the corner of the Hawkins home came two blurs: one the lanky form of H.M. Murdock, and the other an elegant Siberian husky with a Frisbee in its mouth. Both drew up, panting, in front of the porch.
"Looks like you've made a friend, Murdock," quipped Face.
"Fool, what you been doin'?" B.A. demanded.
Murdock paused to catch his breath, then spoke. "Took…Took here, for your information, B.A., is no ordinary dog. He hails from a long line of proud lupine ancestors too. He was just tellin' me it's not really so bad, once you get used to chasing rabbits and foxes, and dealing with fleas…" The husky sat on its haunches and made a soft whuff!
"See? He's my brother!" Murdock spouted, dropping to all fours and imitating the sound.
B.A. was not amused. He snatched Murdock's shirt front, bringing him back up to an upright stance. "I ain't got time for your crazy talk out here. Now you made us take this case, and these nice people…" He thrust one hand back at the house, "they countin' on us to help their town, not countin' on some crazy wolf man runnin' around diggin' up their flowers and eatin' dog food!"
Murdock swallowed hard, eyes wide. "All right, big fella. Lemme go. I let Took there have all the food. I swear I did."
"Hannibal, this fool's hopeless. Almost wish he'd brought his invisible dog 'stead of this jibba-jabba." B.A. let go of his comrade.
Hannibal pulled at his cigar in thought. "Guys, we've got a lot to do this morning. B.A., I'm probably going to need that device of yours."
"Yeah, I'll start settin' it up."
"Face?"
"Hmmm?"
"I think it's time Professor Albert Colston and his graduate assistant paid a visit to Possum Lodge. What do you think?"
Face's bright smile matched Hannibal's own as Murdock raised his head to the sky to start yelping again.