CHRISTMAS 1987

 

 

If there was one thing Frankie hated about having to live under Stockwell’s lock and key, it was the boredom.  He hated being bored.  And considering who he was living with, he had originally been sure that boredom was something he wouldn’t ever have to face again.  Well, at least for a while. 

 

Okay, so he had been wrong.

 

Strolling into the mansion, Frankie looked around at the other guys, seeing what they were doing.  Hannibal was reading the newspaper; Face appeared to be reading a letter, while BA and Murdock were playing pool.  He wandered across to where Murdock was standing, staring at the pool table. 

 

“Who’s winning?”

 

Murdock didn’t reply or take his eyes off the table, but BA grunted to indicate that he was.  

 

“Guess that makes you colours then, BA.  Ooh, Murdock, you’re not doing so well, buddy.  Thinking about other things?  Been sacked again?  Something happen between you and Erica?”

 

Again Murdock didn’t respond, just bent down to line up a shot. 

 

Frankie bent down beside him.  “You know, I wouldn’t go for that shot.  I’d go for…”

 

But Murdock didn’t listen and hit the cue ball.  They watched as it ricocheted off two cushions and struck one of the stripped balls, which spun into a pocket.  Rebounding, the white knocked into another stripped ball which also rolled into a pocket.  Smiling slightly, Murdock drew himself upright and reached for the cue chalk. 

 

“I’m fine, Frankie,” he replied cheerfully, lining up his next shot, which sank his last ball.  “And I wasn’t sacked, I quit.”

 

BA grunted again.  “Fool couldn’t stand cutting down those Christmas trees.”

 

“They were defenceless, BA,” Murdock protested straightening up again, his eyes wide.  “They were screaming out for help.  I just couldn’t do it.”

 

“You did it when we were working on that lumberjack case.”

 

Frankie raised his eyebrows.  “You worked as lumberjacks?”  No one appeared to be listening to him though. 

 

“That was different,” Murdock said instead, turning to face BA.  “They were big old trees who’d had a good long life.  You should have seen the Christmas trees, BA.  They were just babies, cut down before they even reached their prime.”

 

“They’re just trees, fool.”

 

“No!  No they’re not, BA.  They’re sensitive souls.  They’re alive, growing, reproducing…”

 

“Dying,” BA added. 

 

“Well, some of them,” Murdock conceded.  “But not all.  But anyway, I’m a lot happier in my new job.”

 

“Which is?” Frankie asked.

 

“Santa.”

 

It was then that Frankie noticed the red jacket and pants thrown over the nearby chair.  “Cool.  So, has Erica seen you in it yet?”

 

Shaking his head, Murdock lined up his shot on the black, but missed.  “Erica and I split up,” he said shortly.

 

“Aww, sorry to hear that,” Frankie said clamping a hand onto Murdock’s shoulder as BA lined up a shot.  “What happened?”

 

Murdock shrugged.  “She just wasn’t Kelly.”

 

“Who’s Kelly?”  Once again Frankie wondering if he wasn’t being told everything.  As time passed he was becoming more and more aware that the other guys had lives he knew nothing about. 

 

Murdock bent over the table again, lining up the black.  “Just someone I knew back west,” he said, the black ball rolling smoothly into the pocket.  He stood up and grinned.  “Hey, BA, best of nine?”

 

The big guy grunted and reached for the triangle.  Frankie watched them for a moment, before turning and ambling over to where Hannibal and Face were both sat.  He took a seat next to Face, peering over the Lieutenant’s shoulder to see who the letter was from.

 

“Hey, who’s Beth?  Another girlfriend?”

 

Looking up, Face shot him a loaded glance that made Frankie back away slightly, his hands raised in a show of surrender.

 

“Just a friend,” Face replied.  “She runs an orphanage back in LA.  We’ve kept in touch.”

 

Frankie nodded, opening his mouth to ask just what kind of friend she really was when Hannibal glanced over his newspaper.

 

“Hey, Frankie.  Able Three dropped something off for you,” Hannibal said, motioning to an envelope on the coffee table.

 

“Great,” Frankie declared, reaching for it.  “Thought I saw Able Three on the way out.  Man, I keep telling him to do something ‘bout his side burns.” 

 

Opening the envelope, he pulled out a neatly typed piece of paper.  His eyes widened as he read it.

 

“Oh, man, I can’t believe this!”

 

Hannibal looked up over his newspaper again.  “What is it, Frank?”

 

“Stockwell’s giving me Christmas off.  It says here I can go back to LA and spend Christmas with my father.  Hey, cool man.”

 

“Congratulations, Frank.”

 

“Yeah, congratulations, Frankie,” Face added, carefully folding up his letter and put it back into its envelope.

 

Slowly Frankie’s smile faded.  “What about you guys though?  Stockwell give you Christmas off too?”

 

Hannibal shook his head.

 

Frankie frowned.  “Then why me?”

 

Hannibal just shrugged, folding down his paper.  “Maybe because you’ve got a family to spend it with.  We haven’t spent Christmas with our families in years so it doesn’t make any difference to us.”

 

“Look, Frankie,” Face said, “I wouldn’t question it if I were you, just take it.  Who knows when Stockwell will do something like that again.  And it’s not as if we can go on missions anyway since Hannibal’s still recovering from that trip to Hong Kong.” 

 

“Guess you’re right,” Frankie agreed, then suddenly jumped to his feet.  “Hey, I’d better go pack.”  Shooting off, he raced up the stairs.

 

Behind him the team all turned to look at each other. 

 

It was BA who finally broke the silence.  “Think he suspects we had anything to do with it, Hannibal?”

 

Shaking his head, Hannibal just grinned.  “Not a thing,” he declared.  “Hope the kid has a great Christmas.”

 

*-*-* 

 

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