Now, Hannibal, this sounds like one of those plans. And whenever we use one of those plans, somebody always gets mad at us.

Yeah.

- Murdock and Hannibal, "The Out of Towners"

Chapter 6: Assessing Observations

As soon as Templeton Peck opened the door to the penthouse suite, he and the others dredged inside. He pulled off the blue winter parka and hung it up in the closet, wanting to keep the place as immaculate as possible. It wouldn't bode well for his scams if they left the place a mess, as hotel staff were like restaurateurs . . . they talked to others within the trade, and often within the same union, even though they worked at various locations all over the city. Word would get out, which would ruin any chance of being able to scam good hotel rooms for future visits to the Windy City.

He left the door to the closet open, not out of laziness, but as a reminder to the other members of the A-Team that they should follow suit and hang their coats in there. He then made his way to the leather chair in the living room and sat down upon it with a sigh.

Murdock hadn't bothered taking off his coat before throwing himself face down into the leather couch near where Face was sitting. For the pilot, it had been a very long day. Heck, it had been a long day for all of them, starting with the tricky landing at Meigs Field, then having to wear costumes just to sneak into Mrs. B's apartment building, and finally meeting what seemed to be her new boyfriend. He didn't want to say it in front of her, in her apartment, but Spencer Jackson gave him the creeps! That made him very worried about her safety, a sentiment that the others also echoed.

To top it all off, they had to sneak through a back alley full of rotting garbage that was so horrid that it made the Texan want to retch. Even the rats, which were of considerable size, ran away due to how awful the smell was. But, by taking that route, they were able to avoid attracting the attention of the MPs and, more importantly, they didn't have to don those disguises again. The Colonel had wanted them to put those outfits back on, but both he and Face vehemently vetoed the idea. He wasn't going to be seen again in that elf costume if he could avoid it!

Hannibal sat down on the loveseat where he had been pulling out the disguises from the bag earlier that day, and unzipped his winter coat. Plopping the bag with the disguises on the floor next to where he sat, he watched Murdock roll over a bit in order to observe all of them, and then reached into his safari jacket to pull out a fresh cigar. He chewed off the end of it and was about to spit it out, like he normally did, when he noticed the fierce stare from his Lieutenant. Not wanting to test his patience and hear an earful from him, the A-Team's leader spat the end out into an ash tray that sat on the accent table next to him. He pulled out a lighter and flicked it open, holding it up to the end of the cigar. Once he was able to pull a flavorful drag from it, he closed the lighter and stuffed it into the breast pocket of the tan jacket.

BA wasn't as calm as the others were. In fact, he was like an angry thunderhead that was more than primed to be volatile considering the atmosphere they had just been through, and the veins that stuck out on his muscular biceps were like streaks of lightning . . . a force of pure power that could do significant damage. He looked like he was ready to strike out at anyone or anything that dared cross his path as he paced up and down the length of the room. There was one person that he really wanted to strike out against right now, and have him feel the full force of his muscular might . . . Spencer Jackson. Even just the sheer sight of the rich surroundings of the penthouse suite reminded the Sergeant of him, causing him to glower.

The silence in the room said it all as Hannibal looked around at each member of his unit. They each likely had their own thoughts with regards to Mrs. B's new beau, and based on their reactions at the apartment, the questions they asked, and even how sullen they were acting now, it was clear that those thoughts were not good at all. "Well, guys," Hannibal started to say, hoping that those two words alone would get the discussion about what they observed flowing.

"I don't like it, Hannibal," BA growled as he hit his fist against the open palm of his other hand, which made his biceps bulge with just the sheer force he was using. He stopped pacing and made his way over to the couch. He watched Murdock scramble into a seated position so he wouldn't get squashed, and then plopped down beside him. "I don't like him, and I don't like it that he's seein' my Mama."

"I think you're right, BA," Hannibal nodded in agreement. He took a long draw on the cigar and let out a few puffs of white smoke. His crystal blue eyes watched as the smoke rose within the air as his mind reflected upon what he had heard and observed. "Something's not right with this guy. He's more than he seems to be."

Face looked around at the others as he recalled the conversation from Mrs. B's apartment. Reaching up, he ran his fingers of his right hand through his hair, almost as if subconsciously trying to smooth any stray strands back into place. One thing left him unsettled, and really stood out to him. "Is it just me, or did he seem kind of vague about what he does for a living?" the con artist pointed out.

Murdock nodded slowly in agreement and teepeed his fingers together. He flexed his hands closer together, and then further apart, almost as if trying to burn off nervous energy. His eyes darted over to BA, and noticed how the master mechanic was practically fuming. If this had been a cartoon, he probably would have actually seen smoke coming out of his ears. "Ya know, I saw that too. And he got reeeeeeeeal uncomfortable when we started askin' him questions," the Texan pointed out.

Hannibal suddenly grinned as a familiar light began to shine within his eyes. The beginnings of the Jazz was starting to flow within his veins and a plan was starting to hatch within his mind. But, before he could solidify that plan, he needed to hear more from his men about their thoughts on the matter. Not just all of his men, but especially Bosco Andre Baracus, his trusted Sergeant, mechanic, and Ordinance Officer. This was his mother after all, and while they all wouldn't hesitate to help her out, the final say in this rested upon his burly shoulders. "Whaddya say, guys? Think we should investigate?" he asked his men.

"We wouldn't be who we are if we didn't help someone in need, Colonel," Murdock pointed out, his words filled with the light of truth and carried to their ears by his smooth tenor voice. He had to admit, the last time they were here to help out BA's mom, he really did take a shine to her. Then again too, she put up with his antics kind of in the way that Hannibal did and found them amusing. It kind of made him think of her as his adopted mother, in a sense. "Mrs. B may not know it, but she's gonna get herself hurt by that scuz bucket if we don't step in and do somethin' 'bout it to protect her."

The anger that had been present on BA's face earlier dissipated, and was now replaced by a look of sheer determination. He was very worried about his mother after seeing that guy. Ever since his dad's death, she had become a strong and independent woman, more than capable of taking care of herself. But, inside, he knew that she was lonely and needed to fill the hole in her heart that existed . . . not just from his father's death, but also with how BA himself had joined the Army, went to Vietnam, and then wound up becoming a fugitive. He just hoped that she could somehow see past all of that charm and money, and see what the others were picking up on. "She's my Mama. We help because I say we help," he announced firmly.

"What if we're wrong, Hannibal?" Face asked, only to be met with a loud growl from BA. He pushed off the chair and started to walk around the room himself this time as his mind filled with doubt. He had no doubt about wanting to help out Mrs. Baracus, but he wondered if maybe they were reading Spencer Jackson all wrong because of how sharply he dressed. He held up a hand to try and forestall any further interruptions before he could get the rest of his thoughts out. "Let me finish. If we're wrong and this guy is genuine, we might end up causing more harm than good. Right now, all we have to go on is the fact that some rich guy is interested in Mrs. B, and has given her a lot of gifts. There's nothing really wrong with that."

"There's nothing wrong with that, but our guts are all screaming 'fake' right now," Hannibal quickly pointed out. Although he should have said something more for his Lieutenant potentially questioning the plan, the cunning strategist actually saw what the con artist was trying to do. He was playing Devil's advocate and providing them with something else to consider in all of this besides just going on gut instinct alone. He wanted them to look at logic, and not automatically judge Spencer Jackson based on first impressions.

Face moved back to the chair and sat back down, letting out a bit of a sigh. He didn't want to be seen as an obstructionist or have any of them think that he didn't care about Mrs. Baracus at all. No, it was just the opposite. She was a very sweet woman who opened her doors to all of them, but he didn't want to see her hurt by their efforts just as much as he didn't want to see her hurt by whatever they managed to find out about her new beau. Drawing in a breath, he clarified, "I'm not saying we shouldn't investigate. I'm just saying that we should be careful not to ruin something that is obviously making Mrs. B very happy . . . at least not until we are sure we're right."

BA listened carefully to everything that the Lieutenant had said, and the anger that had originally welled up within him had abated once he finally understood why the con man said what he did. He wasn't fighting against the idea of checking into that slimeball. He was concerned for his mother, her feelings, and ultimately her happiness. "Faceman's right, Hannibal. I ain't seen Mama this happy since Papa died. What if we're wrong, man? I don't wanna hurt her," the Sergeant agreed.

Hannibal pulled the cigar out from between his teeth and looked at the glowing end of it. The red hot ash reminded him of BA's rage and how intense it could get sometimes, but after it had gone through the inferno, eventually it would cool down. Only, in this case, if their suspicions about Mr. Spencer Jackson turned out to be true, the Colonel doubted that he'd be able to stop the ferocity of his Sergeant from literally breaking the man's neck in two. He waved his hand that held the cigar around in the air a bit as he calmly answered, almost as if he had planned for this, "Then we'll just have to be careful, like Face says."

"Ya know," Murdock spoke up, this thick Texan drawl filling the air of the room. "One of us is gonna have to tell Mrs. B what we're doin'. If we keep it from her, she ain't gonna trust us for anythin' in the future." Even though this was only their second time around Mrs. Baracus, he knew that they owed it to her to tell her what they were up to whether she accepted it or not. But, it wasn't going to have to be just any one of them to tell her. There was only one person among them who would have to do this.

The A-Team's Commanding Officer nodded in agreement as he shoved the cigar back into his mouth and took a few long puffs. He savored the rich flavor of the Cuban imported stogie as he considered the pilot's words. Someone would have to tell Mrs. B what was going on, and try to do so in such a way where she would accept their help. He glanced over to the master mechanic and informed him, "BA, that'll be up to you."

"Awww, Hannibal. Not me," BA groaned. He couldn't even believe that his leader was even considering the possibility. The others were far better at talking to people, or even talking them into things, than he was. The only talking he ever really did was with his fists, something he could be very persuasive with in his own way ever since he had first learned to defend himself on the streets so long ago. "Man, you know I ain't good with words, not like you, Face, and Murdock."

The Sergeant had a point, but Colonel Smith wasn't going to give up on that too easily. They would have to prepare Mrs. Baracus for the eventuality of what they could find out about Spencer Jackson. "BA," the strategist started to explain. "You know that it's going to be easier for her to hear this coming from you than the rest of us. When the time is right, you'll know what to say."

As the others tried to encourage BA to talk to his mother, the Supply Officer leaned forward within his seat, trying to think of ways that maybe they could get an edge on this guy. They'd have to do it in a way to where they could try to get as much information as possible without raising the ire of Mrs. B, much less making him suspicious either. If he suspected anything was going on, he could easily hide any evidence that could incriminate him before they could even find it. "I have a couple of contacts that should be able to run a background check on Spencer. It may take a day or two, but they'll find out if there's anything shady in this guy's past," Face noted to the others.

"I got an idea," Murdock spoke up. He stretched out his long legs, propping them up on the expensive coffee table in front of him and then crossing them at the ankles. He noticed a withering glare from Face for putting his feet up on the furniture, and could have sworn he heard the con man grumble a few times under his breath. Face never did like it when any of them did something that made it difficult for him to maintain the high class lifestyle that he often tried to procure for himself. "I've always wanted to see the sights around Chicago. I heard its real pretty here at Christmastime. Plus, we didn't get much of a chance to look around the last time we were here."

"We don't have time for no tour, fool!" BA instantly complained. The deep scowl from the muscular Sergeant was enough to cause Murdock to take his feet down from the coffee table. In a way, BA couldn't believe that the pilot would even suggest something like that, when he knew like the rest of them that they all had concerns about his Mama's new boyfriend.

"I think I know where you're heading with this one, Captain," Hannibal remarked. The grin on his face almost seemed to get bigger, and the sparkle within his crystal blue eyes almost seemed to grow stronger. This was definitely going to turn out to be one very interesting visit to Chicago after all. "One of those sights would just happen to be the Museum of Science and Industry, and the office of a certain Spencer Jackson?"

A huge grin appeared on Murdock's face as he nodded, his rich brown eyes locking on with the Colonel's ice blue eyes. Due to their long history together, the pilot almost had an innate way of sometimes knowing what his Commanding Officer had in mind, although a lot of that was due to how their thought processes sometimes were very similar. Hannibal often played into Murdock's obsessions and various personalities, even though it annoyed BA and sometimes Face to no end.

The Colonel stood up from the loveseat and began to walk back and forth across the room. The Jazz was pumping wildly through his veins. He could feel it . . . he thrived on it, and it exhilarated him. When the Jazz was freely flowing, his plans were sometimes outrageous and often ended up having a few bumps in the road, but ultimately they were still able to make it work. Stopping suddenly, his eyes fell on the con man where he sat. "Face, first thing tomorrow, I want you to get BA the materials to build a couple of bugs. That way, we can keep an eye on Spencer until you get the info from the background check," he instructed.

"And if we don't turn up anything with the background check?" Face questioned. The tone of his voice still indicated that he was skeptical about all of this. Even though he agreed that something was amiss, he couldn't be sure if they were on the right track, or if maybe they were just looking into things too much.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Lieutenant," Hannibal pointed out firmly, trying to alleviate some of the concerns of his second in command. He flashed him a huge grin, which was electrified with the Jazz, causing the con artist to groan. The Colonel's voice was light and airy as he quickly added, "Lighten up, Face. This'll be fun!"