Chapter 10 (Epilogue)

"How'd you manage to finish Prescott and Redthorn off, again?" asked Mrs. Hawkins for at least the third time since the A-Team had returned just after noon. She bent diligently over Hannibal's wound, pulling thread through a needle with her teeth. It seemed inevitable that the events of the previous night, many times retold, embellished and exaggerated, would become a permanent part of the folklore of Possum Lodge.

Hannibal didn't wince as she went about her task, but offered a disarming grin instead. "Ma'am, there are so many examples in history of…" he gritted his teeth, "a smaller force defeating superior numbers. You just have to know your enemy's weaknesses, then exploit them. Right, Face?"

The younger man's mouth was stuffed with scrambled eggs, bacon and pancake. He looked up, his cheeks bulging like a squirrel's, then swallowed the food with a guilty look. "Yeah, that's it." Face took a gulp of strong coffee. "Just another day at the office."

B.A., from his repose on one of the armchairs, was impassive. He'd gotten his van and its precious contents back without so much as a scratch, but the little machine that looked like a stereo hadn't been in the backseat. Something told him it had been in Ike Redthorn's home before the whole thing had blown skyward. He looked like a child stoically dealing with the loss of a beloved pet, and had said little on the brief ride back into town and afterward.

"What about poor ol' Mr. O'Faolan?" Mrs.' Hawkins' eyes were wide as she worked. "You ever find his body?"

"Let's just say, in addition to felony charges for dogfighting and drug and weapons trafficking, your former constable and his deputy are also looking at first-degree murder charges," said Face, some of his dignity recovered. After they'd finished off the remnants of the Brotherhood of the Black Fox, the A-Team, following Prescott's whimpered confessions, had located the old root cellar buried just west of the constabulary: high-grade marijuana and heroin, enough weapons to arm half the county, and human remains. No doubt a forensic team would confirm they belonged to the late Ronin O'Faolan.

B.A. nodded in agreement, his gold jingling softly. "Yeah, momma, them two were bad news. But they ain't gonna be botherin' you folks no more."

"What about that daughter of his? Mary? Marsha?" Mr. Hawkins asked, clicking his fingers together while trying to remember. "Only met her once, down at the co-op. Seemed like some kinda wild woman, but a good egg like her daddy. They get her too?"

Hannibal looked to B.A., then to Face, both of whom bore an our-lips-are-sealed expression. "Moira. She helped us out against those sleazebags; she's quite a woman. I think she places a high value on her privacy, so you might see her," he searched for the right phrase, "once in a blue moon?"

"Suppose so. Ain't right, though, poor woman livin' out there all alone."

Face interrupted Mr. Hawkins. "Don't worry about her. She's, ah, got a little more bite than most women, you might say."

"Is that so?" The mayor sipped at his coffee. "Well, if you say so, Mr. Peck…"

Mrs. Hawkins, like a mother hen, shook a finger at Hannibal, who was trying to stand already. "You just stay off that there leg for a while, Mr. Smith. Take it from an ol' school nurse. You just have yourself some tea, and I'll get an ice pack for you," she admonished, pouring a third cup for her patient, then bustling off to the kitchen.

"Always ice packs," mused Hannibal. "Did you get in touch with the Szabo sisters again, Face?"

"I sure did. They haven't forgotten me, you'll be pleased to know. And they still want us to take their case. If we're willing, that is," he grinned.

B.A. groaned. "We gotta drive back forty-eight hours wit' that fool Murdock? Where's he gone off to, anyway?"

Before Hannibal could answer him, Face chimed in. "He took the dog for a walk, remember? I think he's feeling better already."

"Feelin' better? You fellas were out in the cold all night; did he catch pneumonia out there?" Mr. Hawkins asked, concerned.

This time Hannibal spoke. "Not exactly. But don't worry, he's not contagious."

"Oh."

B.A. scowled; his patience was nearly gone after their long ordeal. He quickly changed the subject. "You manage to track all them bad guys down?" he asked Mr. Hawkins, who was sipping from a stoneware mug.

"That's the darndest thing," said the mayor with the hint of a boyish smile. "See, I was readin' the town charter, and according to section eight, clause nineteen, in the event that the town constable's a, 'scuse my French here, behavin' like a real sumbitch, the mayor's got the author'ty to round up a posse and throw him an' his cronies in the pokey."

Hannibal, B.A. and Face shared a look of amusement. "So, did you?" Hannibal asked.

"Yessir, we sure as heck did." Hayward Hawkins puffed out his chest with pride. "Ol' Mick Aldrich, Ezra Fain from the hardware store, Robbie Ray, Jay Bruce McLarin…he'll prob'ly be the next constable, if we can persuade him…and me. Locked 'em all up in that holdin' cell like sardines in a can," he said, beaming.

"Jay Bruce…why does that name ring a bell?" yawned Face, rubbing his eyes. In addition to being ravenously hungry, he was in dire need of twelve straight hours on a soft mattress. He'd probably have to settle for his seat in the van instead.

"You prob'ly met his pretty little cousin, Millie Rose, over at the Happy Catfish." Mrs. Hawkins, who'd re-entered with a frozen ice pack, winked at Face conspiratorially. "She's just the sweetest girl, isn't she?"

Face winced. "Yeah. Real sweet." He pulled his leather datebook from the breast pocket of the navy sport jacket he'd changed into. "Hannibal, remind me to call Rochelle and Cyane Szabo again once we get on the road? I don't want them to think I'm neglecting their case," he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"After we get on the road," answered Hannibal. He looked down at the wound, freshly dressed and stitched shut, and, seeing Mrs. Hawkins smile, returned the favor. "Feels just about a hundred percent better. Thanks."

"Oh, we should be thankin' you fellas. You got rid of both of our problem children, and you made our town safe again," said Mr. Hawkins.

Hannibal reached for the cane the mayor had loaned him. "Nothing to it. We may not have it all together sometimes, but together we have it all," he said, gesturing to his men. "Redthorn and Prescott are gonna be making license plates for a long time, which is just about the only profession suited to scuzzballs like them."

"Took, c'mon back here!"

The big husky bounded into the living room, heedless to Murdock's call. He scampered straight over to B.A., who pulled back as if scalded.

"Get this damn dog off me, fool!"

"Took, sit," commanded Mr. Hawkins. Took instantly obeyed, tail wagging still.

"Now, B.A., that is no way to speak to a noble member of the Canis domesticus family, especially one with as many shared genes to Lupus lupus as Took here," chided Murdock, sauntering into the living room. Clean at last, he wore a bright orange T-shirt with the caption Howl If You've Been To Albuquerque, N.M. underneath his favorite bomber jacket.

B.A. Baracus, pushed to his limit, sprang to his feet and grabbed his nemesis firmly by the collar. "Fool, I had about enough of yo' crazy wolf talk to last my whole life long. Now we got two more days goin' back to L.A., and if you say one more word 'bout it, there's gonna be a big spot of roadkill somewhere jus' past Little Rock," he snarled.

Murdock's eyes rolled in their sockets like those of a startled horse. "Okay, okay, big guy. I got it." He frantically gestured to the leather pouch strung around his neck. "See that? Fresh mistletoe and wolfbane. I'm feelin' fresher than a chrysanthemum."

The chokehold loosened. "You better be, foo'."

Rubbing at his throat, Murdock turned to Mrs. Hawkins as if nothing had happened. "Ma'am, you mind if I use your powder room before we saddle on up?"

"Of course not, sweetie." She pointed. "First on the right down that hall."

"Much obliged," said Murdock, tipping his cap.

Mr. Hawkins watched him go. "You're sure he's all right?" he said, lowering his voice.

Hannibal stood with the aid of the cane. "I've been sure for almost fifteen years now."

"Oh, look at the time," Face said, pointing to his watch. "We are planning to get to Tulsa tonight, aren't we, Hannibal?"

"Right." The colonel shook hands with their hosts one more time. "Folks, it's been a pleasure, and hopefully you won't be needing our services again for a really, really long time."

"Well, I was hoping to get Millie Rose a nice young man for the Founders' Day dance," Mrs. Hawkins lamented, eyeing Face, who nervously straightened his tie.

"I'll be sure to let you know if I ever meet one." He flashed a smile. "Thanks for the food; it sure hit the spot. I will say one thing about the South; you guys really know how to fill a man's stomach."

B.A. was the last to say goodbye. He hugged Mrs. Hawkins the way he might have his own mother, then frowned.

"Where is that crazy fool? Always makin' us wait…"

He stomped down the hall and pounded on the bathroom door with one fist. "Hurry up, man! We're ready to go!"

There was the sound of a flush and the water running. Then, softly, the voice of H.M. Murdock from behind the closed door.

"Trapped for millenia beneath ceaselessly shifting sands, buried among his priceless earthly treasures yet unable to escape the strange and terrible curse placed upon him by his treacherous Grand Vizier, Sakmut…he is now unleashed upon the world in all his fury!"

B.A.'s pounding intensified. "Shut up and come on outta there 'fore I break it in, fool!"

His threat was in vain; the door opened to reveal Murdock, covered from head to toe in what appeared to be the Hawkins' entire household supply of Charmin. Only his dark eyes, bright with mischief, were visible beneath his wrappings. Both arms were held before him as if sleepwalking.

"Behold, Amun-Murdokh!"

"Oh, man!"

Hannibal laughed, Face stared in disbelief, Took barked, and the Hawkinses shared a glance of amusement as they all watched B.A. charge through the living form after the fleeing form of the mummy.

Fini

(Many, many thanks to all those who have read this story and commented upon it. It's a labor of love and I do it for you, the readers. Hopefully I'll have another episode-length story in the works very soon.) ~Heather (Mizhowlinmad)