Opera Buffa, Opera Seria
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Part 2. Opera Seria
Hannibal surged forward to deliver a vicious punch to one of five mob thugs sent to intercept Murdock and him in Bronson Canyon.
To the older man's left, the Captain ducked under a right cross. The henchman's fist slammed into the rock wall behind the pilot's back. He howled in pain as Murdock dodged another man who tried to grapple him around the waist. The Captain's eyes were focused on a more immediate danger to his CO than the ham-like fists of the strongmen that surrounded them.
"Watch out, Colonel!" The pilot yelled out a warning and threw himself between a knife-brandishing thug and his friend's back.
Hannibal turned in time to see the Captain clutch his right side and fall to his knees.
"Oh, God, that hurt!" he gasped before collapsing onto the rocky ground. He curled his lanky frame around his injury and received a kick to his back from the man with the broken, bleeding knuckles.
"Captain!" The distraction allowed the five mob strongmen to capitalize on the advantage they had. Two assailants wrenched Hannibal's arms behind him and held him back from the injured man on the ground.
The enraged thug circled the pilot, kicking wherever he saw an opening to inflict the most damage. Each time his foot connected, the action was met with a soft short grunt of pain. When his kick landed on Murdock's right knee, the pilot jerked and cried out, reaching down to wrap his hand over it.
The strongman smirked with satisfaction. "Ah, a sensitive spot, huh? I'll have to remember that for later."
He squatted to clutch a handful of the injured man's hair and lift his head to make eye contact. "Our boss wants to know where your nurse friend Daniela Scalatini is, flyboy. He wants those documents back, too. And sooner or later, one of you is going to tell him exactly what he wants to know."
Murdock snorted and spat blood from his mouth onto the thug's shirt before answering. "Like tha's likely t' happen. I ain' gonna turn 'er over t' be dragged back t' Chi-town t' be killed. Neither'll the Colonel."
"And those papers are going to put your boss away for a long time, maybe long enough to see Miss Scalatini get married and have children and a happy life," Hannibal added.
The Captain glared into the man's face for a moment before letting his gaze flicker toward Hannibal. In the brief second he did, the thug holding him drew back his fist and smashed Murdock in the jaw.
The pilot went limp.
Standing above the unconscious man, the strongman caressed his battered knuckles and motioned to two of his associates. "Take both of them to the van. Mister Enzinina will enjoy reasoning with them."
oooooo
Andre Enzinina was a persistent man. He was certain one of the two, when faced with the torture and possible death of the other, would be sure to give the location of the Scalatini girl the team was shielding and the papers they had stolen. Rank had its privileges. He had just finished with the silver-haired Colonel and now waited for the Scalatini girl's lover to wake up.
He stared with chilled calculation at the unconscious Captain bound to the chair in front of him. Cocking one eyebrow at his right hand man, "Big Lon" Leonardo Amardio, he gestured for him to wake his captive up.
The thug picked up a bucket of water and emptied it over the injured pilot.
Murdock sputtered and shook his head groggily. Remembering his last moments of consciousness, he bit the inside of his lower lip to prevent himself from saying something stupid and bringing any additional punches to his body. He was certain there would be plenty of that coming in the next few hours. And if B. A. and Face couldn't find and rescue him soon . . . well, that ain' somethin' I wanna dwell on fer too long.
He glanced around him through half-slitted eyes, sustaining the illusion of semi-consciousness as long as he could.
Dim sunlight shafted through grime-coated windows set high above them. The air inside the building smelled of dust and motor oil. The mob boss Enzinina leaned against a pallet of shipping crates. In his right hand a slender cigar burned, its smoke drifting upward to meet the meager sun rays.
Warehouse o' some kind. But where?
He hoped these low lifes hadn't done more than a cursory scan for weapons. Both Hannibal and he had tracking devices installed in their belt buckles and Murdock had an audio wire and small microphone sewn into the collar of his flannel shirt. He wasn't sure if the water had ruined both devices. They had expected trouble when they agreed to meet with Enzinina's representative.
But Hann'bal thought th' front door approach'd get us in t' see th' big boss quicker. Guess he was right.
They were supposed to give him incriminating documents Face had stolen in exchange for an agreement to cancel the death contract out on Daniela.
Well, they don' have the papers 'cause we didn' bring 'em. We already knew the Mob don' know how t' play fair.
Remembering the ambush and fight brought another thought into Murdock's mind.
Hann'bal! Th' Colonel was with me. What'd they do with him?
As if reading his mind, Enzinina chuckled. "Your friend wasn't a font of information. Big Lon here didn't get him to say much of anything. I'm quite sure you won't either, especially since Miss Scalatini seems to be important to you. But we can have fun seeing if that's true."
"What'd ya do t' th' Colonel? Where is he?" Murdock found his voice, forcing it past the mucous clog of blood that had accumulated down the back of his throat and in his mouth. He swallowed several times to make himself sound stronger than he felt.
Murdock's cap and bomber jacket lay beside him on the floor at his feet. There was drying blood on the inside lining of the leather jacket. He became aware of pulsing pain in his right side. Looking down, he noted the six-inch slash in the bright orange-yellow Gumby t-shirt.
Damn! One o' my favorite shirts, too. Feels like he cut me good.
It slowly registered in his mind that the blood soaked the entire lower right half of the shirt and was rapidly spreading to his khaki pants. A dark red drop fell to the floor into a slowly widening pool.
Wonder if he nicked somethin' he shouldn'ta.
Enzinina strolled over to the chair and stuck his cigar in the corner of his mouth as he examined Murdock's knife wound with his fingers. Every muscle in the pilot's body trembled with the agony. As the mob boss probed deeper into the raw bleeding gash, Murdock struggled against his bonds. His breath came in short pained huffs and he gritted his teeth against the scream that wanted to escape.
Straightening, Enzinina wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief and motioned nonchalantly at the gash. "That looks pretty bad. You should really let us help you."
His mind was clouding with the onset of dizziness from blood loss and what the mob boss had just done. Forcing himself to meet the mobster's gaze, the pilot tried to think of a smart retort, the kind both Hannibal and he were known to make in the face of almost certain death.
Nothing came to him.
Big Lon removed a notebook-sized black leather case from a duffel bag and unzippered it to lay flat on a dusty tabletop. Even in the low light, Murdock saw the soft glint of several metal tools and shivered involuntarily.
If they ain' brought the bad stuff out b'fore now, maybe it means they didn' use it on Hann'bal.
"Help me? I don' think so. Don' think that's on yer list o' things t' do b'fore ya die." Murdock tried to focus his attention on Enzinina and ignore the care his henchman was taking in preparing his arsenal of metal instruments. He could not prevent his eyes from shifting for a second to Enzinina's chief interrogator and right hand man. The deadly amusement he saw in the man's face made him swallow hard.
"If it's any consolation, Big Lon here is very good at what he does. It shouldn't take long." The mob boss smiled with mock reassurance.
Murdock shifted in the chair or at least as much as the ropes around his chest confining him to the chair allowed him.
He needed a diversion, something that would throw them off their game as long as possible. Maybe they wouldn't begin working Hannibal over again if he could drive them a little crazy.
Maybe . . .
a li'l opera? 'N' God help me if they know what th' words mean. 'Course th' big guy there looks like th' only culture he's got came from th' yogurt he ate. Don' know 'bout his boss.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the nightmare of Big Lon's special arsenal of tools, and focused on playing the part of Rigoletto, the hunchbacked court jester. If he escaped enough into the delusion he could cast Big Lon in the part of Sparafucile the hired assassin.
Becoming someone else if only for a short while helped him overcome fear in the past. He slowed and steadied his breathing and began to sing.
"Pari siamo: io la lingua, egli ha il pugnale. (We are two of a kind: my weapon is my tongue, his is a dagger.)"
Ain' that th' truth?
"What the hell?" That was Big Lon. Murdock couldn't stop to catch the look on either man's face. If he opened his eyes, the magic would be gone and he would stop seeing himself on stage singing his aria. If the magic disappeared, the pain from whatever Big Lon would do would become very real very quickly.
"L' uomo son io che ride, ei quel che spegne! (I am a man of laughter, he strikes the fatal blow!)" To emphasize the words, Murdock allowed a maniacal cackle escape from him to echo through the building.
He hoped the Colonel wasn't conscious to know what he was trying to do. He knew his CO too well. Hannibal would create enough of a racket to get Enzinina and Big Lon to respond to him and leave Murdock alone.
Could get t' be quite a li'l contest 'tween us, seein' who made th' most noise t' get their 'ttention.
"No one's gonna hear ya, tough guy." The henchman crunched grit under the soles of his shoes as he neared the bound pilot. "And I like hearing screams. Tells me I'm doin' my job right."
Murdock sucked in a breath as he heard the words. They were meant to intimidate him.
'N' if I think on 'em long 'nough, they will.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He sensed Big Lon kneel next to him . . .
. . . t' do what? . . .
. . . and felt the fabric of his pants leg on his right side being slit from knee to cuff.
What's Rigoletto's nex' lines? Think, H. M., think!
The jester's words came to him as the blade of the scalpel lightly traced the thin white scar from an old war wound.
"Quel vecchio maledivami . . . O uomini! . . . o natura! . . . Vil scellerato mi faceste voi! (The old man cursed me . . . O men! . . . o nature! It was you who made me evil and corrupt!)"
Nam made th' evil come out. Too much evil. 'Nough t' make me think twice 'bout ever killin' someone ever 'gain. Don' seem t' bother these two.
"Had surgery on this knee in the past, huh? That's too bad. Must of hurt a lot." The henchman's low crooning voice chilled Murdock as much as the sensation of the cold steel against his skin.
If he only knew. Almost lost this leg t' infection. Land on it jus' right 'n' it still pains me.
That was another thought he wanted to avoid. Amputation would have sidelined him, kept him from being with the team, his family, as much as he was.
He heard Big Lon shift positions, pick something up from the floor.
Keep singin'. Don' let 'im see ya sweat.
"O rabbia! . . . esser difforme! . . . esser buffone! (O rage! . . . to be misshapen! . . . to be a jester! . . . )" he managed before the white-hot pain of the scalpel tip being driven into the flesh above his knee turned the words into a half-stifled wail.
Big Lon shimmied the scalpel back and forth in the wound he created as he drew it out.
"The Scalatini girl and my papers, Captain Murdock?"
He heard Enzinina's voice but couldn't form the words to respond. The fresh pain in his knee sucked his breath away for several seconds.
It was difficult pretending to be Rigoletto when that drew all his focus. He shook his head feebly back and forth.
My lines, my lines! Gotta 'member my lines.
He opened his eyes in time to see Big Lon's hand hover above his knee in a new location. The scalpel handle, what he could see of it, glinted dully. Blood, his blood, discolored the blade.
As the scalpel descended, he took a deeper breath and braced himself. Watching was as bad as waiting. It was stupid of him to open his eyes to see what the interrogator was up to. He knew that, remembered that from the camps. But not knowing was almost as agonizing as the pain itself. So he watched and tried to refocus on Rigoletto.
Oh God. What was th' las' thing I sang? 'Bout bein' a jester. B. A. always calls me a fool. Maybe I am. But I can't give Dani up t' these slimeballs.
The sound of an engine revving outside drew the henchman's attention and hand away.
"Non dover, non poter altro che ridere! (To be permitted nothing but to laugh!)" he choked out, wanting to believe that B. A. and Face were behind the angry noise of the screeching tires and roaring motor. "Il retaggio d' ogni uom m'e tolto . . . il pianto. (I'm denied that common human right, to weep ….)"
If it ain' them, I'm a dead man.
The steel door of the warehouse crumpled under the assault of the accelerating vehicle as it entered and skidded to a halt. Someone sprayed the opposite wall with a line of bullets just above Enzenina's head.
"Drop it or the next round takes out your boss!"
His muscles became like jello and he sagged in the chair. His head filled with the white noise of dizziness.
"Hey, crazy man. We could hear yer singin' across the whole warehouse district. Ya still with me, Murdock?" It was B. A.'s voice from somewhere over his right shoulder.
He tried to answer but it was like pushing his way through an anesthetic after surgery. Darkness was luring him.
"H. M.!" The sweetest voice he thought he would never hear again called his name from a distance. Someone ran toward him. Soon after, he felt her hand stroking back his hair, her arms holding him, hugging him, even as B. A. worked at getting him untied.
"Gotta let me get him loose, Dani girl. Soon as I get 'im inta the van, I'm gonna have you put pressure on that knife wound in his side. Got it?"
"I'm a nurse, Sergeant. I know what to do. Just hang in there, H. M. Don't leave me," she murmured into his ear.
I'm tryin' not to, darlin'. I'm tryin' not to.
Face's voice was being quickly muffled by the pilot's descent into the darkness but he managed to hear the essentials. Hannibal was in the van, hurting badly but still alive. Enzinina and Big Lon were tied up and locked in the same room the Colonel had been kept. The cops had the evidence and the address to find them.
When B. A. released the ropes around his wrists, ankles and chest, Murdock slid unconscious off the chair into the pool of his own blood.