Everyone knew that Hannibal Smith was the man with the plan, his schemes and tactics always saving the day with ease. What most people didn't know was that sometimes, well, more times than the man would readily admit; Hannibal's plans didn't quite go according to how they'd been laid out.
'Like this plan and my head need more bumps.' Murdock thought as one of Bilotti's grunts shoved him out of the car.
"How come I'm always gettin' knocked in the head? B.A. and Hannibal don't get walloped in the noggin'. Face never… no, I take that back. His visage gets rearranged all the time. But come on, boys, it ain't his fault one of the main criminal requirements is being beat with an ugly stick at birth."
A large fist landed against the pilot's skull.
"Ow, damn. Is there a flashing arrow above me that says, Please shake more crazy loose?" Murdock tried his best with cuffed hands to soothe the newest addition to his growing knot collection.
"Keep running that mouth of yours and I'll shut it permanently." The burly man growled as he yanked Murdock towards the building.
Hannibal had promised it'd be an easy job, just a simple stolen property recovery. And for most of their time in Pleasantville, NJ (HA!) things had gone smoothly.
That was until two days ago when the pilot ended up on the adiós end of one of these assholes' pistols and separated from the rest of the team.
"Get in there." Another hard push had Murdock stumbling inside the jewelry shop.
The older man behind the counter didn't even flinch at the commotion, waving them in as if it was an everyday occurrence.
Bilotti's man shoved Murdock against the wall then walked over to put the briefcase on the counter. He just started to unlock it when the door to the street flung open.
Three heads instantly turned towards the man with a rumpled suit and wild eyes that stepped in and immediately started waving a gun around.
"Don't fucking move." He shouted, before training the pistol on the pair at the counter.
Shit. Had he said bump? More like boulder.
"Alright, Gramps. Put everything you got in that case and don't you dare trip an alarm." The man gestured in Murdock's direction. "Have Gomer Pyle bring it to me when you're done."
Once Murdock was handed the case, he slowly made his way over, watching the gunman intently as he went.
"Come on. Fuck, you're slow." When the pilot was in reaching distance the man grabbed him by the arm, fingers digging into his bicep as he pulled him out the door.
"You fucked up, kid. Don't know who you're messing with!" Murdock heard the threat screamed from inside the store before he was roughly thrown into a waiting vehicle.
Murdock lost his grip on the case when the other man's body slammed into him, knocking him sideways as the driver sped away from the curb. He let out a surprised groan of discomfort as he was suddenly hauled upright but then a hot mouth pressed hard against his.
"O.K.? Concussion? Pain?" Each word muttered between swipes of tongue as hands held his shoulders firmly.
A loud cough came from the front seat as Murdock tried to extract himself from the grasp of the cephalopod formerly known as Templeton Peck.
"Everything alright, Captain?" Hannibal asked calmly even as his eyes traveled over the nasty bruises on the left side of Murdock's face.
"All good, sir." The pilot nodded as he reached down into the floorboards.
"Right here, bossman." Murdock handed it over to a broadly smiling Hannibal.
"Good job, son." He turned back in his seat and nodded to B.A. as he reached into his pocket. "I love it…"
"Really Face? Gomer Pyle?"
"I don't know, bud. It just sounded…"
Pulling out the cigar, Hannibal lit it and chuckled as the arguing continued in the back of the van. "…when a plan comes together."