Chapter Text
“Everything’s fine, Colonel,” Face barely contained a snarl in his voice as he stalked towards his car, “From now on BA’s gonna work for all the guns and the ammo and the fake IDs and the uniforms and the squad cars or whatever else you need.” He paused. “He’s gonna earn it like an honest man.”
He yanked open the door of the Corvette and got inside. “So I guess you don’t need me around any more. But, as a personal favour to you, I’m gonna go and meet a gang of gun runners in the desert and try not to get shot up getting you some working weapons.” He slammed the door, started the engine and was pulled out of the garage by the time Hannibal had even drawn his brows together in a frown.
“All going well out here, then?” Hannibal said lightly, turning to BA who was glaring at the empty space where the Corvette had been.
“He called me a hypocrite,” BA said, gesturing with an oily rag towards the open garage door. “He’s nothing but a liar, and a cheat and a thief and he calls me a hypocrite!” He flung the rag into his toolbox with a grunt.
Hannibal sighed. “Oh come on, he’s much more than a liar and a cheat and a thief. And he’s doing it for a good cause,” he smiled. “You don’t think custom tires just fall from the sky, do you?”
“I work for my money,” BA said, indicating the tools around him. “We help people and we get paid for it.”
“Yes, as mercenaries. That’s illegal,” Hannibal added. He held out a blue slushie towards BA and gave it a little wiggle. “How about you take a break and cool off, huh? The heat’s got us all on edge.”
BA scowled and snatched the drink from his hand, taking a seat on the top of the workbench.
“Look, you gotta cut Face a little slack, he is as we made him after all,” Hannibal continued, taking a drink of the orange slushie he’d brought for Face.
BA cast him a long look. “He’s always been like that.”
“What he does is necessary to the function of this team, and you’re just being grumpy,” Hannibal said reprovingly.
BA scowled at his drink, then sighed, “I guess so. Just, sometimes he gets to me, that’s all, strutting around like he’s better than all of us.”
“BA.”
“I- no, I know,” BA sighed again. “Just, I guess the heat and that damn timing belt…” He looked ruefully at the van. “You know how it is.” He took another long drink. “Feels like it’s been three hundred degrees all day and then he’s talking about some yacht party and I…” He smiled thinly. “I guess I am kinda a hypocrite, huh?”
Hannibal shrugged. “You know he gets nervous about these deals,” he said, leaning up against the workbench beside BA, studying the van, “something goes wrong and you’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a guy with a bunch of guns.”
BA frowned. “That’s where he’s going? For real?”
“I was gonna suggest you go with him, but…” Hannibal pointed his slushie towards the garage door.
“Why the hell didn't he say so?” BA snapped. “All he kept yammering on about was the party-”
“He gets nervous,” Hannibal repeated, “and you know he’s not going to admit that.”
“I don’t see why not, he whines about everything else.” BA looked anxiously out to the street. He shook his head and pressed the slushie cup against his it. “Damn it’s hot.”
Hannibal shrugged. “Face is a complicated soul,” He took another long drink, contemplating the door. “Now, when he comes back you’re gonna say you’re sorry for insulting him, and he’s going to say he’s sorry for insulting you, and we’ll all be friends again, right?” He cast BA a pointed glance.
BA nodded, “Yeah.”
“Good boy.” Hannibal straightened off the workbench and headed back into the house. “And try not to start a fight with Murdock when he gets back.”
--
The desert was bone white, the horizon blurring into the sky. Face had found himself unable to calm down. Normally he could forget BA’s comments with a roll of his eyes, but between the heat and his destination he couldn’t help but grind it over in his mind. He knew it was stupid. BA could be, occasionally, a little self-righteous, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew the team wouldn’t get anywhere without Face doing what he did and he knew Face wasn’t just scamming people for fun. Mostly. Sometimes Face scammed people for fun, but only people who deserved it. If you had enough money to drop forty thousand dollars but not enough sense to consider if it was even possible to own a national landmark then your money was better off in other hands, anyway.
It’s not like he was hoarding it all for himself, either. Black market weapons and fake passports were expensive and Hannibal’s pricing structure was erratic. For every ten thousand dollar payday there was a job for a kindly word and a home cooked meal from a grateful old couple, which made it all the more important. Face wasn’t against going easy on people in need, but it did mean he had to find an alternative source of income if they wanted to help anyone at all.
He did not like dealing with gun runners in general but sometimes he was left with no choice. He aimed to get the deal over and done with as quickly as possible.
He pulled up about six feet behind a white pickup and stepped out of the car.
The driver of the pickup was wearing denim dungarees with no shirt underneath, sunglasses and a Yankees cap. He was older, perhaps the same age as Hannibal, with a broad, muscular chest and thick arms. He was leaning casually on the pickup, smoking, and threw his cigarette aside as Face approached.
Face, in a cream linen suit, pink shirt, pink tie and Ray-Ban sunglasses couldn’t have painted a more opposite picture as the two met.
“Huh,” the man grinned, looking him over, “Didn’t expect the dean of liberal arts to show up.”
Face wasn’t much in the mood for banter. “Burton?”
“That’s me.” Burton patted a crate in the back of his pickup. “Everything you ordered, right here.”
Face glanced at it. “I wanna take a look.”
“Sure.” Burton reached in and hefted the crate out on his own, lowering it onto the dirt with a grunt. “You and the golf club planning a coup?” He grinned again and took off the lid. “There y’are, the full ‘my first militia’ kit.”
Face reached in and took out a machine pistol, inspecting it quickly. Burton watched him with a smirk.
“You’ve done that before,” Burton observed with a chuckle. Face threw him a look and Burton shrugged, casting his gaze out into the desert. “You know I knew a guy said he got abducted by aliens.” He turned back to watch Face check the guns. “Said he was taken to a shining city full of strange people in bizarre clothes. I said, uh, well that’s nice, but next time you go to Vegas, invite me, too.”
He laughed at his own joke, then laughed more at Face’s look. “You should lighten up. If you can’t trust a guy selling guns out the back of his truck in the desert, who can you trust?”
Face said nothing, just pulled the lid back on the case. “They look good.”
“Course. Weapons are good, and if your money’s good, we’re good,” Burton replied. He tilted his head, smiling, “Besides, I wouldn’t screw over one of John’s boys.”
Face didn’t react, just watched Burton from behind his shades.
Burton chuckled, “John Smith? Former Colonel?” He smiled genially, “We go way back. Right through boot camp together. Slogged through miles and miles of mud and shit just so a corporal with a temper could spit in our faces. That’s the kind of bond a trunk full of guns can’t buy.” He nodded to the weapons, “Tell you what, they’re yours, for old time’s sake. A peace offering.”
Face stood, not sure what to do for a moment. It sounded very much like a trap.
“I get it,” Burton said. “You’re on the run, a guy turns up in the desert saying he knows your commanding officer,” he shrugged, “I get it. You want a drink?” He walked back and opened the door to his truck, and Face’s hand twitched towards his gun, but Burton pulled out a six pack of beers. “They’re warm, but they’re wet.” He pulled one from the plastic rings and held it out for Face.
Face hesitated, then took it. There was no way Burton could’ve tampered with an unopened can.
Burton then took a seat on the weapon crate and opened a beer for himself. “I wont pretend me and John are great friends,” he said, patting the other side of the crate to encourage Face to sit.
Face remained standing and pulled open his beer.
“It was obvious John was cut out for the army, born to it,” Burton said. He rested back on one arm and contemplated the sky. “It must have hit him hard when they turned on him.”
“Why have I never heard of you?” Face asked, taking a drink of warm beer. He bit down a grimace and looked at the label. He didn’t recognise the brand but vowed never to have anything to do with it again. Still, Burton was right about one thing. It was wet.
Burton chuckled, “We had a disagreement, I wasn’t the army type. Didn’t like rules, didn't like getting pushed around. Joining up was a mistake,” he said, “but you know what I’m talking about.”
“What makes you say that?”
Burton said wryly, “Here you are, buying guns off strangers and drinking warm beer in the desert. Bet you didn’t think that’d happen when you joined the army.”
Face shrugged. “It was the lesser of two evils.” He took another drink of beer.
“When you joined up or when they booted you out?” Burton said. “I guess it’s all the same to you.” He regarded Face for a long moment and then took a deep gulp of beer. “Johnny always had this way of making people believe in him, even when he told you something completely impossible. That why you stuck around? You believed him when he said everything would be ok?”
“I believe in money,” Face replied. He was sure now he should just leave Burton and the weapons and drive away. “I need to be getting back.” He tossed the half empty beer can off the road.
“Oh don’t get like that,” Burton stood, grinning. “I’m just wondering what it is about Johnny that drives such loyalty. You followed him right off the cliff, after all.” He paused. “Then again, you were what? Ripe old age of 21? That’s when we all make the best decisions, ain’t that so?” He laughed.
“What were you kicked out of the army for, anyway?” Face asked tartly.
“I wasn’t, but when my tour was up I left and never looked back. That’s when we lost touch.” Burton shrugged and took a long swig of beer. “John might’ve forgiven me for that, but now, well, I took something of his.”
“What’d you take?”
Burton smiled, finished his beer, crushed the can in his hand then threw it into the back of his truck. “It was silly, really.” He sighed, “You see, I took his lieutenant.”