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Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (With Guns)

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Their first inkling of trouble is when Face, having scammed his way into the mobster's mansion via a very accommodating housemaid, found "Royce the rat" tied up, in his own closet, in his underwear. Taking a minute to admire the handiwork of the knots, and the excellent placement of the duct tape gag, Face immediately began searching the bedroom for the relevant information Hannibal had sent him to collect. He came up empty, and no sign of an intruder. Worried, he left the mobster -- whose yelling was blissfully muffled -- and proceeded out of the house and to the rendezvous point.

"I think someone else is on this case," he told Hannibal.

Hannibal snorted. "Nobody's been able to bring Royce the rat down completely. That's why they hired us." He paused, thinking. "All the same, we should keep a careful eye out. I didn't plan on that particular factor."

Face nodded. "You think it's feds?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Probably not. They wouldn't have left him tied up like that -- they would have wanted to bring him in for questioning at least. Besides, the guy is bribing half the Newark police force."

"You're right. Rival faction?"

"Could be." Hannibal chewed on his cigar for a moment, then broke out of his trance. "We have to get over to the garage. BA and Murdock will be waiting for us." The other half of their team had been sent to put a new and different color of paint on the minivan they had acquired and were using for this particular mission. Face put the pedal to the metal of his borrowed Corvette and drove off across the city.

The garage looked like it had been hit by a very small, very localized hurricane. It was an absolute mess, and BA and Murdock were nowhere in sight. Neither was anybody else.

"BA!' Hannibal called, fear curling around his chest. He signaled to Face, who began to slink along the wall towards the back. He reached the door to the office, and carefully opened it, gun drawn.

BA and Murdock were inside, unharmed but looking very shocked.

"BA! What happened here?" Hannibal asked gruffly, worried that his hair-trigger mechanic had gotten pissed at a dent on the car and took a wrecking ball to the place. Figuratively.

"There was this woman," Murdock answered, sounding shook up. "She was just sitting around, you know, waiting for the oil change on her car, and then a bunch of Royce's rats came in here-"

"What for? Were they looking for you?" Face asked.

Murdock shook his head. "They didn't even know who we were. They went to the back -- in here -- and I think they were trying to extort money from the owner or something, his name was Frank, he was really nice and kinda old, and they said they were going to bust his kneecaps, and so BA and I got up to get them out of here, but then...this woman-"

"She took the place apart, Hannibal," BA filled in. "I ain't never seen anything like it. Sent all the goons packing. Nothing but her fists."

"They had guns," Murdock supplied helpfully. "She had tattoos."

"Sounds like one hell of a woman," Face added.

Hannibal frowned. "I don't like the feel of this, boys. I don't like it at all."

When they woke up the next day, they were greeted with the newspaper headline about how Royce the rat and most of his hierarchy of criminals had been caught at the scene of a drug deal, thanks to an anonymous tip that had included an entire package -- tapes, CDs, photos, papers -- of evidence, dating back almost twenty years. Royce the rat was going to prison for a very long time.

"Dammit," Hannibal growled.

"Well, at least he's been taken care of," Face said.

"I miss my van," BA grumbled.

Murdock didn't say anything. Murdock wasn't there.

"Where's Murdock?" Hannibal finally asked.

BA shrugged. "I dunno. Out getting breakfast?"

"Out getting his dog," Face said, pointing out the window. Hannibal and BA looked on in horror at Murdock, who was running down the sidewalk, yelling "Billy! Billy! Get back here, boy!"ˆ at the top of his lungs. There was, of course, no dog in sight.

Quickly -- very quickly -- they followed Murdock down the sidewalk, but Murdock was surprisingly fast, and by the time they managed to catch up, Murdock had already reached the local park. Fortunately, it was mostly empty.

Except, they observed, for a woman with a plaid shirt, glasses, and frizzy hair, who was sprinting across the grass, arms outstretched.

"Wilhelmina!" she shrieked. "You know better! Leave him alone!"

She reached Murdock and picked up something invisible at his feet, cradling it in her arms. "I'm so sorry, sir, Wilhelmina just gets a little over-excited sometimes."

"No problem," Murdock replied, stroking the place in the air where Billy's head would be if the dog was, in fact, real. "Billy does just the same thing. I daresay he scented your Wilhelmina. Broke clear out of my hold. And I was using the strong leash, too!"

"I hate it when that happens," the woman agreed, nodding and acting as if having a conversation about two invisible dogs was a completely normal thing.

"Murdock?" Face said, and both Murdock and the woman looked up expectantly. "Who is your new friend?"

"I'm Helen Moira Murdoch, good sir," Helen Moira Murdoch replied, suddenly having a Scottish accent.

"Ooch, lass!" Murdock replied in his own over-excited Scotsman accent. "You're from the isle too?"

"Yar!" Murdoch grinned happily, and the two began conversing in brogue too thick for the rest of the A-Team to understand, with the exception of a few words -- they could make out "haggis," "blarney," and "kilt," but not much else.

"Murdoch!" another female voice cried. The team turned as one, and Face's jaw nearly dropped at the stunningly beautiful strawberry blonde walking towards them, backlit by the morning light, hair billowing, hips swinging, music playing in the background as...

"Snap out of it, kid," Hannibal muttered, elbowing his second-in-command in the ribs.


"It's time to go," the hot chick said, wrapping an arm around Murdoch's shoulders.

"But I don't want to," Murdoch protested.

"Don't worry," her friend soothed. "We can see them again later."

BA recognized the tone. It was the same one Hannibal and Face used on Murdock to get him to leave his delusions in peace and come to the planning table. BA had no doubt that they would never see the woman again. Which was really too bad, he thought, staring at the magnificent ass as she walked away, her crazy friend babbling most of the way. Before she got out of sight, the sexy one turned and threw the team a wink.

Face literally took a step backwards.

"Hannibal..." he breathed. "I think I'm in love."

"You're not," Hannibal replied. "You said that last night. About dinner."

"That steak was delicious," Face said defensively. "And the marinade!"

"Car wax," Murdock informed him happily.

The other three stared at him.

"Um...mixed with lots of sauce?" he tried to save himself.

Hannibal rolled his eyes. The one thing that really sucked about being outlaws was that it was never safe to order takeout.

"Looks like a nice joint, Face," Hannibal said, staring at the entrance of the bar.

"Oh, it is," Face replied, grinning. "Just what we need after a stressful mission."

"That we didn't finish," BA grumbled.

"I had a little chat with the owner's daughter," Face told them. Hannibal snorted. Chat. "We'll be having full access to the VIP lounge. Just us...and a couple of exotic dancers, should we wish to order them."

"Damn, Face," BA smiled, patting him on the back. "You work fast."

"I figured I should at least give you guys a nice night out," he replied.

"It smells like glitter," Murdock said.

When they opened the door to the VIP lounge, there were already four women seated inside it, lounging -- for lack of a better term -- on the cushy seats and couch, drinks on the table.

They didn't look like exotic dancers. In fact, two of them looked disturbingly familiar.

"Clanswoman!" Murdock exclaimed happily.

"Clansman!" Murdoch replied gleefully. "You showed! But your kilt?"

"I was forbidden to wear the tartan," Murdock said, frowning, and holding a hand gravely to his heart. "But I honor our ancestors with pride nonetheless."

"The woman from the garage," BA said at the same time, narrowing his eyes.

"The fool from the auto shop." The woman rolled her eyes.

"The babe from the park," Face breathed reverently.

The babe waved.

Face shook his head. "Wait, wait. How did you get in here? I struck a deal with-"

"I had a little chat with the owner," the babe said.

"I'm going to guess that you aren't the exotic dancers," Hannibal began.

"We're not," said the fourth woman, who was tall -- very tall -- with short, iron-grey hair. Her feet were propped up on the ottoman and she had a glass of what looked suspiciously like Scotch in her hand. "Sit down, Mr. Smith. I've been dying to have a chat with you."

Hannibal immediately tensed at the use of his name. He could feel the other members of his team do the same -- even Face, who was still ogling the hot chick.

"Oh please, keep calm, I'm not any sort of governmental authority," the woman continued. "I do, however, know that you are the infamous A-Team. We've heard quite a bit about you."

"You're not as impressive in person," the big black woman said, looking them up and down disdainfully.

"Allow me to introduce myself." The tall woman, who radiated leadership vibes, stood and held out her hand. "Hannah Jones."

"Hannibal Smith," Hannibal said carefully, shaking her hand. "This is Face, BA, and Murdock."

"We know," Hannah said. "This is Tits, Miss B, and Murdoch."

"They call you Tits?" Face found himself asking.

Tits shrugged. "You can probably see why."

It was true. She had a magnificent rack. A nice ass, too. And legs that were a mile long.

"Besides," Tits continued. "It's a better name than Temperance."

Face could relate. So, so much.

"What's the 'B' stand for?" Murdock asked respectfully.

"Beatdown," Miss B replied, folding her muscular arms across her chest.

"Don't pay her any mind," Murdoch told them, curling herself up against Miss B's side. "She's all bark and no bite. Well, not unless you're into that kind of stuff. And you ask real nice."

"Were you behind the fall of Royce the rat?" Hannibal inquired.

"We were," Hannah said, grabbing a bottle of Scotch from the bar. She held it out to Hannibal. "Care for a drink?"

"Yes, thank you," he said, and she poured him a glass.

"I didn't want to encroach on your operation, but I knew we could get it done twice as fast," she continued. "You had some excellent groundwork going. Not bad for amateurs."

"Amateurs?" Face protested. "Look, we've only been on the run for nine months, but we've got over seventy years of military experience between us. We were rangers, for crying out loud!"

"I know," Hannah said. "We were military too. But unlike yourselves, we had the sense to quit or get booted out before we got ourselves arrested. I, for one, was sick and tired of being passed over for promotion simply because I was female."

"All the sexual harassment got kinda old after awhile," Tits threw in, legs already on Face's lap. Face looked very pleased with the proceedings, and he downed a shot of vodka with a grin.

"They declared me mentally incompetent," Murdoch informed them.

"Me too!" Murdock grinned.

They went back to building a model of a helicopter out of toothpicks and maraschino cherries.

Everyone looked at Miss B.

"They don't allow women in combat," she said gruffly. "And I like to hit things."

"So you became...mercenaries?" Hannibal asked.

Hannah sighed. "I do hate that term. So violent, don't you agree? I prefer 'soldiers of fortune.'" She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "And make no mistake, Mr. Smith. We are soldiers."

"People underestimate us, because we're women," Murdoch said. "Then we beat them up."

"Good times," Face said.

"So, Facey, tell me more about what you boys do," Tits breathed. "I find it so romantic, don't you? Helping the helpless, righting wrongs, saving lives?"

"Well, there isn't much glory in it," Face began. "But we do what we must...."

"I see my con artist has charmed your con artist," Hannibal chuckled.

"I'm sure. Cigar?" Hannah pulled one out of her shirt pocket.

Hannibal's heart thumped. Whether it was from lust or fear, he wasn't quite sure. But he took the offered cigar. It was quite good.

"What do you call yourselves?" BA asked.

"The B-Team," Miss B replied.

"Most people call us the Bitch Team," Tits said, perched on Face's lap.

"When you want a job done right, hire a bitch," Murdoch told them.

"Catchy, isn't it?" Hannah grinned. "Now. I believe we were promised strippers..."

A few hours later, after multiple drinks and a lovely, personal floor show complete with both male and female dancers -- and Face, who couldn't resist a chance to show off his body, especially when there was as appreciative an audience as Tits -- Hannah rose from her chair, which on her was more like a throne.

"Well, as fun as this has been, I'm afraid we must depart," she said. "People to see, things to do."

"Things to see, people to do," Murdoch giggled, leaning into and nuzzling Miss B's neck as her teammate helped her out of the lounge.

"Lightweight," Miss B grumbled. Her hand, however, was suspiciously low on Murdoch's waist.

Hannah tracked BA and Murdock's eyes.

"Yes, they are sleeping together and no, you may not watch."

"Wasn't gonna ask," BA grumbled.

"Too squishy," Murdock said. He'd had a few drinks.

"Ms. Jones, a pleasure" Hannibal said, holding out his hand for one final handshake.

"Mr. Smith, the pleasure was all mine," Hannah replied. Her grip was like iron.

"I'll call you, babe," Face whispered, having kissed Tits goodbye, thoroughly.

"I'm looking forward to it," Tits giggled.

With that, the B-Team was out the door of the lounge.

Face exhaled. "Wow. That"

"What a woman," BA agreed.

" 'Tis rare to meet a fellow clan member in such random places," Murdock said, Scotsman returning in his voice.

"Let's go home," Hannibal said. They navigated their way through the crowded, smoky bar and stepped onto the clear sidewalk, breathing the fresher air gratefully. They found their way to the side street where Face had left his Corvette.

The car was gone.

"Face? You sure you parked here?" BA asked.

Face began fishing through his pockets. "Let me just press the alarm button on the-"

"Yoo-hoo! Sweet cheeks!" came the call of a terrifyingly familiar voice. The team, as one, looked up, to see the lovely red convertible at the end of the street. Tits was at the wheel. Hannah, grinning with a cigar between her teeth, had her arm slung across the seat, looking incredibly relaxed. "Looking for this?"

"My car," Face whimpered.

"Keep the old ways alive!" Murdoch hollered.

"Pipe down, crazy fool," Miss B grumbled. "And get off my damn lap."

"Don't worry, Smith," Hannah called. "We'll return it." She paused. "Eventually!"

With that, the car zoomed off into the night.

"Damn, that was cold," BA muttered.

"I can't believe she out-scammed you," Murdock blinked.

"My car," Face whimpered again.

Hannibal sighed.

"Gentlemen," he declared. "We have been out-classed."

They called a taxi.