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Face considered himself a patient man. He was the laid back, easy going, lying-in-wait type. Happy to see where things went, relying on his instincts to tell him the right moment to jump in, or get out. Unassuming, underestimated, and, occasionally, underappreciated. He didn’t mind waiting, usually, liked to watch people go past, imagine their inner lives, their hopes and dreams and desires, like a fish tank only really it was the other way around, he was on the inside, looking out.
It was difficult to be patient when you were hungry. Not clawing-out-of-your-stomach hungry, but hungry. Past dinner-time hungry. Not eaten since that McMuffin on the I-80 hungry.
Thinking about that McMuffin again hungry.
Cold, too. It was evening in Little Fork, Nebraska, and it looked like it might snow. He ran the engine to keep the heat on in the car but his fingers and his nose were still cold. He was bundled up in his winter jacket and scarf, sunk down in the driver’s seat in a puffball of human misery, cold and hungry and watching the place across the road in a quiet little town where not even the drunks were out to make things a little more interesting.
This wasn’t Face’s preferred haunt. He liked cities, he liked being where people were and things were happening. Not that he hated small towns but he hated being cold and hungry and bored because there wasn’t even a crow fighting a rat over an old burrito to watch. There was something eerie about the quiet outside, too, the frost glowing in the sparse street-lights, drawing hard lines against the icy shadows beyond.
He could be back in the motel room, warm, better yet in bed, cocooned in the bed covers up to his ears, curled up on himself, purring internally. The motel was cosy, they’d provided extra blankets and the first thing the other three had done had been peel them off and toss them at Face. Face might have complained about their light ribbing if that hadn’t been exactly what he wanted, jealously hoarding all the extra blankets like a particularly nonthreatening dragon until he’d made himself the kind of nest that would make a weaver bird blush. The others had suggested he was going to die of heat stroke in the night, made remarks about buying him a heat lamp, and then they'd made him to go out in the cold anyway.
Of course even if he was in bed he’d still be hungry, still be longingly thinking about that McMuffin. Face wasn’t a picky eater, he couldn’t have been, at the orphanage you ate what you were given, no alternatives. Unless you were provably going to die if you put something in your mouth you ate it, and even then they’d have just told you to eat around it. The military wasn’t much different, nobody looked upon mess hall cuisine with any sort of anticipation though there was, ostensibly, a choice of what to eat it generally boiled down to ‘what colour looks least off-putting’, boiled usually being the operative word.
Hannibal, a man without shame, but especially about food, had put his foot down precisely once, when the smell had been so bad that even people nowhere near the mess had started to gag. Rumour had it the elderly cook’s taste buds had been shot off during the Siege of Boston.
He knew it had to be bad when he started thinking fondly about the mess.
At least his discomfort had a finite end. He checked his watch, two minutes to eight. Any second now. He switched off the engine and hopped out, the cold air hitting him like a brick.
He shuddered as he jogged across the street, entering the restaurant just as they put a large white plastic bag of takeout on the counter, a waft of blissfully warm, dinner-scented air washing over him.
Face smiled as he approached the counter, rubbing warmth back into his fingers. “Order for Smith?”
The woman behind the counter checked the ticket and nodded, pushing the bag towards him with a polite smile, “That’ll be $20.”
He checked the ticket, then peered in the bag to check the boxes. “Wait, hey, uh, I should have a ginger beef too.”
The woman frowned, “Oh?” She checked the ticket and the bag, “I’m sorry, hold on.” She pushed open the door to the kitchen, yelling in Chinese, then returned. “They’re just making some up, five minutes.”
Face sighed softly and smile, “Thanks.” He stepped to one side when the bell above the door tinkled. At least it was warm inside.
Three men walked in, faces serious. Alarms in Face’s head started to ring.
One of the men turned to Face, opening his jacket to show his gun. “Stay out of this.”
Internally, Face sighed. Of course this would happen now. Did this happen to other people? He doubted it. He doubted that it would happen if Hannibal or Murdock or BA had come to pick up dinner. His stomach rumbled in displeasure, the smell of the hot food beside him making him even hungrier than he had been. A smart man, being outnumbered by men with guns, might have just picked up his order and left. While Face was undoubtedly a smart man, doing nothing and walking away just wasn’t in him. The question became what to do.
Occasionally sacrifices had to be made, and nobody expected a General Tso’s chicken to the face.
The man furthest from him reeled back with a yelp of alarm, and Face moved, sweeping the closest one’s legs out from under him with a swift kick and drawing his gun on the last one. By the time the third had wiped the chicken from his eyes Face already had them covered.
“Up against the wall!” Face demanded, doing his best to sound like an off-duty cop, “face first up against the wall.”
The woman behind the counter stood slack-jawed.
“Can I get another one of those?” Face asked the woman, nodding to the General Tso’s dripping down the gunman’s coat. “I’ll pay.”
She blinked at him, then nodded, trembling as she turned back to the kitchen and shouted through another order.
“Thank you,” Face flashed her a smile and edged up to the men, disarming them one by one before backing up again and depositing their guns in a pile on the counter.
He was deciding his next move when the deputy sheriff walked in.
Before Face could even speak the deputy was fumbling his gun out of his holster, “Freeze, don’t move!” He yelled, holding his trembling gun on Face.
Face almost sighed again. “I’m not-”
The deputy, who looked all of 20 years old, suddenly yelped, “You’re them! You-you’re him!” He jabbed his gun in Face’s direction, “You- you stay right there!” He called into the sheriff’s office on his radio, and kept his gun on Face. “Gun on the counter and hands up!”
Face sighed heavily and slowly lowered his gun, putting it on the counter beside him. The gunmen glanced at one another, but otherwise remained motionless against the wall.
Eli Tanner, the sheriff of Little Fork, walked into the restaurant and made a face like he was already well past done with whatever was happening. He was a wiry older man with dark hair, greying in streaks, and looked like he’d spent a lot of his life frowning. Now was no different.
“Alright Kenny,” Tanner heaved a long suffering sigh, “Just what in hell’s name is going on in here?”
“That’s Templeton Peck,” Kenny said, waggling his gun at Face in a way that made Face’s stomach turn.
Tanner raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to recognise him?”
“He’s one of the A-Team.” Kenny said.
Tanner looked Face over with a light frown, “And what’s that, exactly? Some kinda boyband?”
“They’re a mercenary outfit!” Kenny exclaimed, looking mildly disappointed, “You must have heard of them.”
Tanner shrugged, “I can’t keep track of the names of every criminal in the US.” He cast Face a doubtful glance.
“It’s him,” Kenny said firmly, “The army wants him.”
Tanner cast Face another doubtful look. “Uh-huh.” He looked over at the three men by the wall, “And who are these guys?”
“Uh…” Kenny frowned.
“They were trying to rob the place,” Face protested, “Their guns are all there on the counter, look.”
Tanner grunted. “That right, Cherry?”
Cherry, still fixed in her spot behind the counter, nodded silently.
Tanner rubbed his hand through his hair. “Well, ain’t this a hell of a mess.”
Face was inclined to agree. His stomach gurgled.
“Cherry hon, why don’t you go out back for a minute?” Tanner said.
With an apologetic smile at Face she took the take-out bag and disappeared through the kitchen doors.
“Kenny,” Tanner took out his gun but kept it down at his side, “You go back to the station, pick up another set of cuffs and the file on the A-Team, if there is one.”
Kenny nodded, backing out the door.
“He wont take long, station’s just down the way.” Tanner said. He frowned at the three men, “I bet you were the three guys who held up the gas station last night.” He tutted, “Alright, all three of you hands behind your heads on the ground.”
The men complied and Tanner gave a short laugh, smiling over at Face. “I reckon they only did that because you’re standing there.”
“Look I’m not-” Face began, but was interrupted by Kenny bursting back in, breathless.
Tanner accepted a crumpled piece of paper off him, then handed him the cuffs off his belt. “You get those guys secured and let me see here.” He squinted at the paper, drawing it closer then pulling it back, “god damn tiny… ok, Templeton Peck, yadda yadda, says here you’re trained to kill.” He frowned at Face and looked back at the paper, “approach with extreme caution, likely armed and extremely dangerous.” He looked at Face, “That sound right to you?”
Face shrugged helplessly. The man was holding a photograph of him, it was hardly worth trying to pretend otherwise.
“Huh.” Tanner tutted, reading further, “Well according to this you’re a real tough cookie.” He glanced at the men getting cuffed, “I suppose we should add on here you’re also a master of the flying chicken technique.” He folded the paper into his pocket. “Kenny you take these guys in, best do it one at a time.”
Kenny glanced back at Face in alarm.
“He’ll be fine, get moving.” Tanner said.
Kenny nodded, pulling the first man off his feet and hustling him out the door.
“Well.” Tanner heaved another sigh, “A fine mess.”
They waited, listening to the clock on the wall ticking loudly. Face knew full well he could just walk out if he wanted to, but he didn't want to, and not just because he was hungry. He didn’t want to risk the old man shooting him, or the old man getting hurt, and it would stir up a whole bunch of problems. Better to wait and see where this was going, for now.
Kenny rushed back in, watching Face carefully as he took the next man out. Five minutes later he was back for the last man, still staring at Face as he came in and throwing a look at him over his shoulder as he left.
“I think you got yourself a fan,” Tanner observed, sending an amused glance at Face, “I haven’t seen that boy so interested in anything since the rally came through.
Face wondered if it was too late to tell Hannibal this whole mercenary thing was a terrible idea, though he also wondered if he’d have just got himself shot four months out of going it alone, so maybe it was the lesser of two evils.
Kenny came back in and stood by the door, “All in the cells, sir.”
Tanner nodded, “Good. Now-”
“Should I secure the mercenary, sir?”
Tanner frowned, then glanced at Face, “Kenny…” He rubbed his forehead, “Let’s say this guy really is a tough cookie.”
“He is!” Kenny protested.
Tanner nodded patiently. “Sure, now let’s think for a minute, huh? Let’s say he can do everything that piece of paper says he can, why do you think he’s standing there now and not half way to the next state in that fancy car outside,” He looked at Face, “That is your fancy car, isn’t it?”
Face nodded.
“Oh, it is?” Kenny grinned, “It’s real nice.”
“Thanks.” Face smiled thinly.
“Kenny, focus,” Tanner said, drawing Kenny’s attention back to him, “you really think we’re gonna just be able to take him in? I’m old enough to be his grandfather and you…” He shrugged apologetically.
“I can take him!” Kenny squared himself.
Tanner and Face shared a look.
“You think you can take on a highly trained and dangerous mercenary?” Tanner asked.
“I’m trained,” Kenny nodded, “And I have a gun.”
“I remind you that those three guys had guns,” Tanner said, “And our friend there took them out with a tub of chicken.”
“Well he had a gun, then,” Kenny pointed to Face’s gun on the counter.
“How fast you think he can pick that up?” Tanner replied.
Kenny was indignant. “I can take him.”
Tanner shook his head with a sigh, gesturing towards Face. “Well if you’re not gonna listen to reason I guess you gotta learn the hard way.”
Kenny squared himself up, “Alright, Mr Peck, I need you to come quietly…”
Face glanced at Tanner, who simply shrugged. “Try not to hurt him too much.” He said, crossing his arms to lean back against the wall.
“I wont.” Kenny nodded.
“Wasn’t talking to you,” Tanner said.
So Kenny edged towards Face, and Face noted he hadn’t even drawn his gun. Kenny reached out to secure his arm and in the end it was a simple manoeuvrer, some leverage, a little twist and suddenly Kenny was being shoved in the opposite direction, coming to a stumbling stop in front of Tanner.
Tanner cast Kenny a flat look.
“Hey!” Kenny spun back around, glaring at Face, “No fair!”
“Kenny-” Tanner sighed.
“No, wait, I wasn’t ready,” Kenny said, “Let me try again-”
“No,” Tanner said firmly, “you’re lucky, he was a lot softer with you than I would’ve been. Now will you quit this fool nonsense and listen?”
“But…” Kenny made a whining sound, “He’s a wanted criminal!”
“Yeah, he is,” Tanner nodded, straightening off the wall, “But he’s also stopped a robbery and helped us take in three other wanted criminals.”
“But-”
“Listen,” Tanner cut him off sharply, “or you wont learn anything. I think this young man could fold us up and put us away without even breaking a sweat. And I think that his friends probably aren’t that far away, or if they are now then they wont be long. Now he’s stood here and been pretty reasonable, considering, and I’m thinking he’s only done that because he wants no trouble.”
Kenny cast Face a doubtful look.
“Now, we’re responsible for law and order around here,” Tanner said, “And the safety and security of the people within our jurisdiction. And it’s my opinion that we just don’t have the manpower or resources to secure somebody like this and keep him secure. In fact I think we’d end up bringing more trouble, cause if he doesn’t escape himself his friends are gonna come for him. You want to re-enact Rio Bravo in Little Fork?”
Kenny looked blank.
“Kids,” Tanner sighed. “What I’m telling you is sometimes you have to think of the bigger picture. We arrested three guys tonight, that’s pretty good, so let’s not push our luck.”
Kenny shuffled, throwing a look at Face. “I guess.”
“Good boy. Now, our friend here must have gone before we got here, right?”
Kenny nodded.
Tanner smiled proudly, “Ok, you go book those guys. I’ll get Cherry’s statement.”
Kenny cast one last look at Face and left, and Tanner walked up to the counter. He nodded to Face’s gun, and Face picked it up and holstered it.
“Thanks.” Face said.
Tanner shrugged, “It’s cold, and I’m hungry,” He flashed a weary smile, then called out. “Cherry hon! You back there?”
Cherry peeked out, then came out with a smile. “Thanks, Eli.” She smiled gratefully at Face, “and thank you.”
“No problem,” Face smiled, “I don’t suppose you still have my order?”
Cherry nodded, “We kept it warm for you,” She disappeared into the back and returning with the order bag and another. “and something extra.” She gestured to it all and pushed it forwards, “on the house.”
“Thank you,” Face replied, taking it, and nodded to Tanner.
“Stay out of trouble,” Tanner called after him.
Hannibal answered the door to the motel room, about to speak when Face’s ‘ask me why I’m late, I dare you’ expression stopped him. Instead he wordlessly let Face in and closed the door. Face placed the bags down on the little table and stripped off his coat while the others eagerly delved into the bags.
Suddenly Murdock turned to Face with a pout.
“You forgot the ginger beef!”