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“Check, Please”

Check, Please

by Mizhowlinmad (HBF), 2009


Rating: G

Summary: Response to the ATSB Quick Pick "Ice." Random bit of silliness involving the Team, with their new client, at an ice rink. Possibly a teaser for "The Eh? Team," but not decided yet.

Disclaimer: The A-Team belongs to SJC and Universal. I'm just borrowing them for three salchows, a backflip and a triple axel.




            "Da….da dadadada DA da da da…"

            Even from the tight confines of the penalty box, they could hear the sound. The faint strains of Ravel's Bolero, if it had been forced through a meat grinder, then run over by an ice-cream truck with a calliope. Its source was not the PA system, but a man tall enough to be a winger for the Ventura Waves hockey club but lankier even than its mascot, Ozzie the Sea Otter. He careened in wildly uneven laps one after the other around the freshly-Zamboni'd ice.

            "Is he all right?" Elzbieta Vokouna raised one eyebrow, clearly amused. "You know, in Praha, back in my country, there are places for him."

            Hannibal, still in his Zamboni driver's uniform and fake paunch, grinned broadly. Face didn't.

            "Well, ah, he has a place. We go get him when we need him, see."

            "He skate well." Her cool grey eyes strayed to the lone skater, now twirling in place, then back over her shoulder. "You skate?"

            Face sputtered. "I, ah, skate. Sure. If we're talking roller skates." He draped one arm casually around her shoulder. "It isn't easy to find ice around here."

            Elzbieta laughed for the first time. "Plenty of ice."

            Hannibal cleared his throat. "Now, Miss Vokouna, about your security. You say there's a couple of East German thugs following you around?" He pulled a fresh cigar from his jumpsuit pocket and lit it. "Something tells me they wouldn't be trying to sell you encyclopedias. You're sure they didn't tail you here?

            Her lithe body trembled, and not from the chill. "I come alone, like Chinese man said, look for Zamboni man after close. I find you. A-Team." She stopped. "I thought you say four men?"

            "There are four of us. In fact, here comes our missing piece now."

            The bleachers shook under B.A.'s booted, two hundred twenty pound approach. He opened the door to the little cubicle and offered little more than a scowl to Elzbieta, whose eyes were wide.

            "Elzbieta Vokouna, meet B.A. Baracus."

            The big man nodded and grunted, ignoring her delicately proffered hand. He thrust a grease-spotted paper bag at Hannibal. "Got the last three hot dogs. Nothin' like an ice rink hot dog."

             "How would you know?" Face blurted.


            B.A.'s brows knitted tighter. "Chicago, man. You think it's 72 and sunny there in December?"

            "Well, ah, no…I mean…"

            Face's sentence, and Bolero, trailed off as Murdock sped over, a blur on blades, halting in a violent spray of frost before the penalty box. "Oh, hey, big guy, you got hot dogs! Can I have one? Pretty please with some strawberry sauce and coconut flakes on top?"

            "No," barked B.A. "Get yo' own food, crazy man." He bit into his own foot-long.

            "Pretty please? I won't do Bolero anymore. Maybe some Romeo and Juliet, or Carmen?" His eyelashes fluttered.

            "Get outta here! I don't wanna hear none of your Torville and Dean rap!" B.A.'s eyes sparkled with ferocity.

            Murdock skipped three steps backward and folded his arms. "Betcha can't beat me. One lap. Loser…that's gonna be you… buys sno-cones."

            "Who'd want to eat a sno-cone? We're in an ice rink, fool!"

            "Okay, then." Murdock cocked his head, put one finger to his mouth. "Hot chocolate?"

            "You're on, crazy man." B.A. bent down and immediately started unlacing his boots. "Hannibal, they got rentals here?"

            His CO nodded. "Up front. Just don't break the door."

            The bleachers shuddered more violently as B.A. thundered back up two steps at a time.

            "Miss Vokouna, maybe we should talk about your security afterwards." Hannibal wiped the plexiglass, which had misted considerably, with his sleeve. "This I've gotta see."

            "Yes, all right," she agreed. After she was sure B.A. had gone, she pointed. "They have place for him too?"

            Face shushed, keeping his arm where it was. "He's fine. B.A. really is a warm-hearted, lovable guy, once you get past the frosty exterior," he assured their client.

            "Ah." Elzbieta still seemed puzzled. "And he, B.A., not like Murdock?"

            This time Face did chuckle. "You have no idea."

            B.A. was back, a pair of beat-up but freshly sharpened hockey blades on his feet and a fierce grimace on his face. Murdock was doing some type of spastic calisthenics in preparation on the ice.

            "You goin' down, man."

            "So you say, Baracan one." Murdock stuck out his tongue.

            Hannibal leaned out over the boards. "You guys need a ref for this, or are you good?"

            "We're good."

            "Muy bueno, Colonel."

            "Shake on it, then." They did. "First one to this point, all around the outer rim, wins. On three…"

            When it came, Murdock sprang out as if bitten by a snake. B.A. didn't move.

            "Uh, B.A., three? Go?" Face urged him.

            "Not yet, Faceman." The big man folded his arms, watching his opponent streak down the ice.

            "B.A., come on! You're gonna lose!"


            As Murdock pulled around past the far side goal, the big man exploded from his standstill quicker than seemed physically possible. He skated low and hard, a fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse removed from his mount and forced to make do with blades. Looking down, Murdock didn't see him until it was too late. Right before impact, he shrieked.



            Murdock became the lunchmeat between the slices of B.A.'s huge frame and the board advertising Huck's Bail Bonds. He crumpled soundlessly to the ice, and, prone on his back, started spouting something in a high-pitched voice about fuchsia hedgehogs.

            B.A. casually skated back over to Hannibal, Face and Elzbieta.

            "You didn't go all the way around, Sergeant, but you were the first back."

            He smiled. "Hey, man, I don't even like hot chocolate. That was a whole lot sweeter."

            Elzbieta was beside herself. "You skate good too, Mr. B.A. But is he…?" She glanced over at the still-dazed form of Murdock.

            "Yeah, lady, he gonna be just fine. If that were a real check, he'd be goin' to the ICU."

            Face looked right at B.A. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

            A giggle.

            "Chicago, man. Chicago."





Check, Please by Mizhowlinmad



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