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 78 Doped
It was very late in the evening, around eleven o'clock, when B. A. knocked at the bedroom door and entered. Pushing a wheelchair ahead of him, he grunted when he noted Murdock was wide awake. The patient was still deep in thought. He stared up at the ceiling as if something there would give him answers.
Ain' natural, him bein' so quiet an' serious. Wish he was back ta bein' himself, even if it's pesterin' me with his crazy jibber-jabber.
Pushing the thought out of his mind, he announced his presence in the only way he figured would redirect his team-mate's worries, whatever they were.
"It's time. Stafford an' Willis are there already waitin' for us." For a moment he wasn't sure if the Captain understood.
Finally, Murdock sighed and turned his gaze toward the black man.
"Okay."
He said the word resignedly and struggled to a sitting position with his legs over the edge of the bed. His shoulders hunched, his head bowed, B. A. wondered if he was working up courage or about to pitch forward in a faint.
"Ya sure 'bout this?"
He had to ask. If there was any other way to get Murdock back to normal . . . don' even know what normal is for him . . . he would make sure they considered it. But he could see no other way to remove the implant.
Sensing the scrutiny he was under, Murdock straightened his shoulders and gave the Sergeant an unconvincing grin. "Aw, ya ain' tellin' me ya care 'bout what happens t' li'l ol' me, are ya?"
B. A. snorted and bent to put the pilot's arm over his shoulders.
The Captain tried to pull away but B. A. held on tightly. "C'mon, Big Guy. I can get there under my own steam."
"Shut up, fool. Hannibal's orders. He said ya use the chair. Not me. I'd letcha walk." B. A. figured Murdock didn't buy that story but he wasn't going to let the pilot see that he agreed with Hannibal that it was a good idea.
Hannibal better not tell him I volunteered ta wheel him to the van.
Lifting him from the bed and onto his feet, the Sergeant lied. "Only thin' that's worryin' me's if ya come outta surgery actin' more crazy than ya are now."
He was glad to hear the soft chuckle beside him. It wasn't a happy sound . . . not like the pilot's familiar, sometimes irritating, mirthful laugh . . . but it was better than nothing.
"Least they ain' doin' a lobotomy. Then ya'd hafta come t' th' hospital 'n' feed me applesauce 'n' baby food."
This's jus' as dangerous. Don't the fool realize that? Or is he jus' sayin' stupid things cause he's scared?
A second later Murdock whispered, "Better get me in that chair quick 'r yer gonna be pickin' me up off th' floor."
The Sergeant scowled as the pilot sagged against him before collapsing into the chair.
For someone wantin' ta go inta surgery he ain' very strong right now. Sure hope Hannibal an' Cazador know what they're doin', lettin' the crazy man get his way like this.
He shook his head as he wheeled his friend out of the bedroom and into the hallway.
Fool's two parts crazy an' eight parts stubborn. Never will figure him out.
When B. A. and Murdock reached the ranch house door, the pilot caught a glimpse of Hannibal and Scanlon placing his unconscious tormentor in the back seat of Cazador's sedan.
"He ain' gonna be in th' van with us?" Murdock frowned up at B. A. as the Sergeant propped open the front door of the ranch house.
"We ain' takin' no chances on him wakin' up an' causin' ya any more trouble. B'sides, we got him, you, the four of us an' Cazador an' his goon goin' ta the hospital. There ain' room in this van for everyone." B. A. glanced down at his team mate before focusing on maneuvering the wheelchair across the door frame. "Ya got a problem with that, fool?" His words were harsher than what he really felt. He knew Murdock couldn't see the anxiety on his face from where he sat.
"No. No problem at all." Murdock shivered slightly. A second later, he darted his hand up to grip B. A.'s wrist. "Listen, Big Guy. I don' know what's gonna happen while I'm under th' knife. I wanna tell ya somethin' b'fore . . . " His words faded away. He dropped the black man's wrist and scrubbed at his face with both hands. "Oh God." He kept his face covered.
The Sergeant paused outside the door and set the brakes on the chair. Moving to the front, he squatted down. He grasped Murdock's wrists and pulled his hands down to look him directly in the eyes. Taking in a deep breath when he saw the worry in the pilot's expression, he let the air out in a long sigh.
"Ya don't gotta say a word. Hannibal, me an' Faceman ain' gonna let nothin' happen. Yer gonna come through this . . . jus' like over in Nam. Didn' letcha die in th' camp, did we? Well, we ain' gonna letcha die now."
He was surprised to see Murdock shake his head furiously. "It ain' that! Will ya let me talk b'fore Hann'bal gets over here t' see what th' hold up is?"
The vehement response and the smoldering look in the pilot's eyes silenced B. A.
Murdock searched the black man's face before beginning. "Ya gotta keep yer eyes on both Hann'bal 'n' Cazador for me. Don' want either o' them goin' 'n' callin' th' authorities on each other. 'N' I'm 'fraid one 'r th' other will. Will ya do that for me?"
"I'll stop Cazador if he looks like he's gonna make a call. Don' know if I can stop Hannibal. Don' know if I want to. Cazador's a . . . " B. A. stopped when he noticed the look of frustration on the other man's face. Standing up again and releasing the wheelchair brakes, he mumbled, "Yeah, okay. I'll see what I can do."
Crazy man's gonna defend Cazador no matter what I say. Don' know what Cazador's fed him but it's lookin' more an' more like he's gonna take that job.
"Thanks, B. A." Murdock gave him a quirky half-smile and a wink as the Sergeant helped him into the back seat of the van. But the black man noted that the pilot's eyes did not sparkle with amusement. The uncertain gaze was anything but light-hearted.
As B. A. folded the wheelchair and placed it in the back of the van on top of the weapons box, Face cautiously climbed into the back seat with Murdock. Amy shot the Sergeant a mysterious glance before following the Lieutenant. He paused, puzzled for a moment, then shook his head.
Don' know what that look was s'posed ta mean. Prob'ly nothin'. Maybe she's worried 'bout Face. He's movin' pretty slow. He must be hurtin'.
Still in thought, B. A. shut the rear doors of the van harder than he meant to. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him until Hannibal clapped him on the shoulder. "Time to get on the road."
The Colonel patted down his jacket pockets for a cigar and found none. Shrugging, he got in his usual seat in the front and watched B. A. step around and climb in behind the steering wheel.
The sedan started down the dirt drive that led to the road. Hanson drove. Cazador, a loaded pistol tucked away in a shoulder holster, sat in the back with Colonel Jackson.
"Lieutenant, a cigar?" Hannibal held out his left hand shoulder height and smiled when the con man placed it in his grasp. Biting off the end and taking care to spit it out the van window, he waited for Face to lean forward with the lighter.
B. A. caught Amy's expression in the rear view mirror as the Colonel allowed the Lieutenant to light the tip of the cigar. She seemed fascinated by the first few puffs Hannibal took. The smoke drifted out the Colonel's window as he smoked and squinted at the car ahead of them. He kept silent but B. A. could almost feel the tension Hannibal was under.
The Colonel glanced into the rear view mirror. "Everything still good back there, Captain?" He breathed out a stream of smoke, his face set with concern.
"Still good, Hann'bal."
B. A. snorted but Murdock's voice was so uncharacteristically strained that he looked back to check on him.
The pallor and slight tremor the Sergeant observed didn't make him comfortable. He wondered if any of the rest of them noted the same thing.
No, he ain' still good. Hang in there, fool.
Dividing his attention between the road ahead and his three friends in the back, B. A. increased his speed to match that of the other vehicle. Amy was focused on Hannibal and Face had his eyes closed, his head resting on her shoulder.
Faceman shoulda been told ta stay in bed. He shouldn'ta been takin' a turn watchin' Murdock.
Hannibal blew out another puff of smoke and stared out at the passing scrub brush scenery. A second later, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.
When he spoke, it was directed at Murdock. "Willis said we don't have a very long time before someone comes to ready the surgical suite for the next operation. You and Jackson will have to be pretty much in and out of there without much time to recover. It doesn't leave you much time." His words grew fainter as he finished his statement and he swiped his face with his hand.
"Don' need a lotta time, Colonel. Jus' make sure I'm 'wake 'nough 'n' give me a half hour with Jackson 'lone. I'll tell ya when t' get us outta there. Same seatin' arrangement in th' vehicles when we leave. Okay? He can' see me. R'member?" There was a pause and then the pilot leaned forward across Amy to shake Hannibal's shoulder. "Colonel?"
Hannibal's arm dropped to his side between the front seats, the fingers releasing the smoldering cigar.
"Colonel?" B. A. sensed the pilot's presence beside him. When he dared to take his eyes off the road, he saw that Murdock knelt on the floor, one hand furiously stubbing out the cigar in the ashtray. The Captain pried open one of Hannibal's closed eyelids to examine him and sank back puzzled. "He's out cold. What th' hell?"
"Whaddya mean, out cold?"
B. A. peered over at Murdock who was frantically patting the Colonel on the cheek in an attempt to wake him up. "Come on, Hann'bal. Wakey, wakey." When he found his efforts to be futile, the Captain turned toward Amy, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. "What'd ya do to him, Amy? He's gonna be alright, ain' he?"
"Well, he can't turn in Cazador if he's unconscious, can he? Wasn't that what you wanted?"
That was Amy's voice. Murdock moved toward her, ignoring his best friend who was groggily waking to the commotion in the van. Gripping her upper arms tightly, so tightly she gasped in pain, he hissed, "I can' b'lieve ya did that. I wasn' in my right min' when I tol' ya t' do that."
So that was what that look was all 'bout.
"What'd ya do, li'l sis?" B. A. couldn't keep his own measure of disbelief from his voice.
Murdock released her and returned to Hannibal's side, repeated his earlier action of patting the other man's cheek and shaking his shoulder. "C'mon, Colonel. Ya gotta wake up."
"Amy? Angel? What's going on?" His words still laced with the light sleep he had awakened from, Face asked the same question B. A. wanted answered.
The pilot spoke, his temper back under control. He stopped his efforts and sank back to sit on the floor. "Amy doped Hann'bal 'n' put 'im t' sleep."
"Wha . . .? How'd she do that? She wasn' anywhere near 'im. Talk sense, fool." B. A. took one hand off the wheel and ran a hand over his head, his mind in confusion.
"Th' cigar. It musta been th' cigar." Murdock turned to Amy for confirmation. "I'm right. Ain' I."
"Amy? Is he right? Did you do that?" The Sergeant could hear surprise in Face's voice.
B. A. peeked at the rear view mirror to see Amy. Her face was chalky white but two spots of angry pink flamed high on her cheeks. She glared at the pilot and crossed her arms in defiance.
Oh, man, is she mad!
"You said you didn't want Hannibal calling the authorities to arrest Cazador. Well, I did what you told us to do. I knew Face wouldn't do it. So I did."
"He's gonna wake up from it, ain' he?" Murdock pressed two fingers on the pulse point on Hannibal's neck and let out a relieved sigh. "I mean, you don' know how much t' give a person, do ya? If ya put an entire needle's worth inta Hann'bal's cigar, that'll kill 'im. Only puts th' Big Guy here t' sleep long 'nough t' get where we're goin'. 'N' look how big he is compared t' Hann'bal."
B. A. scowled at the pilot. He always suspected the guys dosed him to get him on aircraft, especially the planes and choppers Murdock flew, but they usually excused it away. He couldn't keep his defenses up all the time and they managed to trick him as often as they needed when they had to fly somewhere instead of driving.
'Bout time Hannibal got some o' his own medicine. Maybe this ain' such a bad thing after all. Sure hope Amy didn' overdose him. I wanna see the look on his face when he wakes up and realizes . . .
"I put only about half a syringe worth in his cigar. I'm sure he'll be fine, Murdock." Amy was still angry but she had uncrossed her arms and her face was regaining its color. A small frown of uncertainty appeared between her brows.
"When we get to the hospital, you'll have to put the Colonel back here so nobody sees him while we're in there." Face swept a hand through his hair. B. A. nodded. In a way, this unexpected event made what Murdock asked him to do a little easier. He would have only one person to watch.
Looking in the mirror, he noticed the pilot's eyes on him, still seeming like he didn't trust the Sergeant would keep his word. Nodding once to the man behind him, he locked his gaze on the sedan in front of them.
With Hannibal down, I ain' got a choice. I hafta keep Cazador from makin' any calls.