Every Thought Captive
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 71 Finding an Accomplice
B. A. edged past Cazador and scowled as the businessman turned and smiled at him. He wasn't sure if the look was meant to reassure him or lull him into a false sense of security.
"Our patient seems to be doing fine. He tried to tear the IV out just like your Colonel said he would but I stopped him. You'll have to watch him to keep him from that. Good night, Sergeant." Patting B. A. on the shoulder, Cazador yawned and continued on to the master bedroom farther down the hallway. The Sergeant watched him until he disappeared through a door to his right, then approached the door to Murdock's room.
I don't trust 'im an' I know Hannibal don't either. If I had my say in it, Cazador wouldn'ta been alone in here when the fool woke up. But none of us could stop 'im.
Still scowling, the Sergeant slipped into the room and sat down in the arm-chair beside the bed.
Murdock frowned up at the ceiling. After a couple of minutes, he crooked his left arm and tucked it between his head and the pillow. Examining the pilot's face, B. A. felt rage rise inside him at the haggard eyes, worry lines, severe sunburn and hollowed cheeks. The days of being Jackson's captive had taken their toll.
The black man waited for a few seconds to see if the pilot would say anything. The silence grew between them until B. A. could hardly bear it anymore.
Cazador musta had something heavy ta lay on Murdock. Only reason he'd be this quiet. Ain' natural for him ta be this quiet, especially around me.
Murdock let out a soft sigh. "What'm I gonna do, Billy?" he murmured.
B. A. peered at the pilot's profile, unsure if Murdock meant to talk loud enough for him to hear or not. It was clear the man in the bed spoke to someone or something only he could see.
He ain' tryin' ta get me riled up. It's like he don't even know I'm here.
The Sergeant snorted and muttered, "Ain' no invisible dog in this room, fool."
He said it out of habit but Murdock's meditative silence made him wonder if they were losing him again.
Maybe what I said'll get his attention. Ground him in reality. Hope so 'cause I've never been real good at gettin' him back from inside his own head.
More minutes passed and Murdock seemed to be mentally wrestling with something. His frown deepened. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something so softly under his breath, the Sergeant couldn't pick up what he said.
So do I go get Hannibal or Faceman ta get him settled down? By the time we got back here, maybe he'll of ripped out that IV again. Can't leave 'im alone. Like Cazador said.
"Hey." B. A. leaned forward to put one hand on the pilot's shoulder and shake it gently. "What's goin' on with you, man?"
Damn Cazador! What'd he do to him? What'd he say to him?
B. A. wasn't ready for the pilot's reaction. Gripping his wrist so firmly it almost hurt, Murdock looked at him, his eyes full of distress.
He opened his mouth and took a breath as if to say something, then shut it again and released B. A.'s wrist. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he closed his eyes again. A slight tremor passed through his body.
"I gotta talk t' Hann'bal. I gotta tell 'im somethin' in case when Stafford takes th' thing outta my head, I ain' 'wake for a while after." Murdock's voice sounded husky, like he was trying to hold back a flood of fear and pain.
"Hannibal's sleepin' an' ya ain' gonna have that surgery 'til th' doc thinks ya can handle it without . . . " B. A. stopped himself short of saying the word. The image of Murdock dying beside him in the bed was still as strong as any nightmare he ever had about Nam and the POW camp.
"Dyin', ya mean?" Murdock carefully examined the burly man's face. "Scared ya, didn' I? Guess I was pretty close to it this time, huh?" B. A. involuntarily winced at the memory and then tried to recover his stoic appearance.
He knew he hadn't fooled Murdock at all. The pilot let out a deep sigh. "Don' worry no more 'bout that. I ain' gonna die. I can' die. If I did . . . "
B. A. heard the loud click as Murdock swallowed and turned his face toward the Woody Woodpecker nightlight.
After a second of silent contemplation, he murmured, "Well, it jus' ain' gonna happen." Another few seconds of silence, then he mused, "If only everythin' could be as easy as th' cartoons make it seem. Bombs'd fall on folks 'n' they'd get up like Wile E. Coyote t' chase the Road Runner all over 'gain th' nex' day."
The Sergeant stared at Murdock, waiting for him to explain or give him one of his crazy lopsided grins. Neither happened.
Suddenly the Captain turned back to B. A. and anxiously scrutinized his eyes. "I need someone t' help me jus' in case I can' wake up right 'way afterwards."
"Help ya do what? Ya ain' gonna be doin' anything after surgery but recoverin'." B. A. leaned forward to get his face within a few inches of Murdock's. He let the words come out in his most threatening growl.
"B. A." Murdock kept his eyes locked on those of the Sergeant's. For a second the pilot seemed like he was trying to figure out whether he could trust the black man with something. "I know you 'n' me don' see eye t' eye 'bout stuff a lot o' th' time . . . "
The Sergeant kept the emotion out of his expression. The statement was true for when Murdock did crazy stuff . . .
. . . but Murdock's smart beneath all that. How many times did he come up with somethin' ta save our bacon? An' there's times he's almost tolerable . . .
If the pilot hadn't seized his forearm again, he would have missed the request that followed.
" . . . but I gotta make sure ya do somethin' for me soon as th' surgery's done. It's real important." Murdock's molten brown eyes bored into him with total seriousness.
"I don't know. I'd hafta hear what ya want me ta do before I say yes 'r no."
Murdock tightened his grip on B. A.'s arm. "That's not good 'nough. Not this time. It's gotta be a promise."
No cross my heart an' hope ta die stuff? He's really serious 'bout this. How can I promise when I don't know what he's up to?
B. A. thought for a moment and remembered Cazador's insistence that he be the one to talk to Murdock when he woke next. The businessman had said it was because he wanted to share in the responsibility of caring for the pilot.
Yeah, right. He said somethin' ta rile the fool up. That's why he forced Hannibal ta let him take over the watch.
Murdock was still searching his eyes for some sign he would help him in whatever he had planned. After a few seconds, the pilot sighed in frustration and released B. A.'s arm. Turning his face away, he muttered something the black man couldn't distinguish.
His face still turned toward the nightlight, Murdock grumbled, "Fine. I won' have this thin' taken outta my head then."
"Hannibal'll make ya. Ya don' have a choice 'bout that." B. A. scowled and crossed his arms. The crazy man was talking even crazier than usual.
He couldn't wait ta have the implant taken out when he was out there in that shed with Jackson an' now . . .
"Then I wanna see Face 'n' talk t' him." Murdock's fingers knotted in the blanket that covered him. "Go get 'im. Ya can at least do that, can'tcha?"
"I didn' say I wouldn't help. I just said I needed ta know what I'm s'posed ta do before I'd promise. Besides, Faceman's sleepin' an' Amy is, too. I'm not gonna go get them up for some fool idea ya got in your head."
No way the fool's gonna leave me outta whatever this is. If it's somethin' crazy, Faceman'll turn 'im down, too. Might as well be me ta tell 'im no.
"Will ya listen, really listen? With both ears an' yer brain? 'N' then I'll leave ya 'lone t' d'cide. But if I can' count on either of ya, I ain' gonna let Stafford 'r no one else go after that implant. I'll kill Jackson myself b'fore I do jus' so he can' use me no more 'n' I can stay 'wake." Murdock kept his face turned away.
His voice was harsh with stubborn determination. It was so unlike his usual easy-going nature that B. A. cursed Cazador in his mind for unsettling his friend like that.
"Talk, fool. Tell me what ya need an' I'll tell ya if I can do it." The Sergeant flexed his hands and curled them into fists.
We're at a stalemate. Game's gettin' old. Man's gotta tell me what he's plannin' or I got no choice but ta tell Hannibal he's up ta somethin'.
"Ya know, I could jus' order ya t' help me." Murdock turned his intense glare back on B. A.
The Sergeant avoided the pilot's angry eyes by glancing down at the floor at his feet.
Crazy man don't usually pull rank on me like that. Whatever's eatin' him must be pretty big.
B. A. focused so much on the patterned carpet at his feet that he didn't see Murdock grab the IV tubing. He heard the tape rip from the pilot's arm at the same time the patient sucked in a sharp gasp of pain.
Abruptly getting to his feet, he was too late to stop Murdock from throwing the covers back and slipping out of bed. The patient glared at B. A. as he inched backwards to the wall. Droplets of blood made a spotted red trail across the crisp white sheets and the carpet.
"Get Faceman. Or get Hann'bal. Or help me out. D'cide, B. A. What's it gonna be?" Murdock hissed, pressing his trembling fingers against the bleeding tear in his arm from the IV. Slumping against the wall for support, he glared at the big man. His breaths came in short harsh bursts.
B. A. eyed him warily, seeing the desperation in Murdock's action.
He ain' thinkin' clearly. Damn Cazador for whatever he told 'im!
"Now what'd ya do that for, fool? Ya know I can' put that back in your arm." The Sergeant advanced toward his team-mate.
Murdock's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "IV makes it easier for y'all t' slip me a sedative t' stop me from doin' what I gotta."
Even from two yards away, B. A. noticed the pilot's legs shaking under him.
He's talkin' tough but it ain' gonna be long b'fore he passes out on the floor.
With a resigned sigh, B. A. gave in. "Get back in bed an' I'll listen t' what ya have to say. I'll see what I can do."
Murdock scrutinized B. A.'s face for a few more seconds before nodding. He took one shaky step and fell to his knees. "Gonna need yer help, Big Guy." His voice came out as a harsh rasp.
B. A. moved quickly to the pilot's side and clutched him under the armpits with his arms, lifting him to his feet.
"Crazy fool," he muttered. "Shoulda stayed in bed like ya were s'posed to 'stead of tryin' a stunt like this."
Murdock grasped the Sergeant's arm to steady himself and accepted his help to stagger toward the bed. Once there, B. A. pulled the covers up over the pilot and sat on the edge of the bed.
"So tell me," the Sergeant muttered, crossing his arms over his chest once more.
The patient took a deep breath, his hands busy picking at loose skin around his nails. He avoided B. A.'s fierce frown for a moment. "Ya need t' help me keep Hann'bal from gettin' Mister Cazador arrested. He can do what he wants with Jackson 'n' Stafford but Mister Cazador . . . "
"Had snipers pointin' at us when we got here an' he smuggles weapons an' sends 'em overseas." The black man snorted. "Hannibal don't take being made a target very well. An' Cazador's doing somethin' illegal an' showin' no signs of stoppin'. The supply train from the gov'ment stops, he's gonna find another way, man." B. A. saw the patient in the bed flinch.
"He offered me a job. Offered t' let me fly 'im wherever he needs t' go," Murdock mumbled. He quickly glanced up at B. A. to see what sort of impact the statement had.
The Sergeant snorted again. "He know where ya live, fool? Why should he want ta have a crazy man flyin' anything he owns?"
"He knows where I ended up after th' war. Don' matter t' him. Unlike some folks." The pilot glared at B. A., then returned his gaze to his hands. "S'long as I take good care o' his birds, he don' care." He stopped picking at his fingers and tightly gripped the bed covers once more.
Cazador don't know the full story if I'm readin' the fool right.
"Look. Don't matter ta me either if ya get outta the VA as long as you're able ta handle it on the outside. But workin' for Cazador means bein' the pilot for weapons shipments. Ya think of that? An' if that offer's the only reason . . . "
"It ain'," Murdock muttered. Swiping one hand across his eyes, he added, "I jus' can' let 'im be arrested 'n' put in jail. I got my reasons."
B. A. scowled. "Talk ta me, fool. Maybe b'tween the two of us we can convince Hannibal."