Puttin' on the Ritz
Title: Puttin' on the Ritz
Author: chocolate_inyx
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Answering the prompt in the a_team_kink, the team dons tuxedos to infiltrate a target's casino.
Warnings: None
Genre: Humor/General
Character/Pairing: Hannibal, Face, Murdock, B.A.
Puttin' on the Ritz
“We can dress real neat
from our hats to our feet
and surprise them with a victory cry”
- 'Safety Dance' by Men Without Hats
“All you have to do is act like you could be doing something better,” Face murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
“I could be doing something better.” B.A.’s growl was quieter than normal as the four men entered the invite-only casino of the latest megalomaniac they had been hired to thwart. He tugged on his bow tie self-consciously until Face smacked his hand away.
“I just fixed that. Leave it alone.” B.A. made a threatening movement towards the blonde man.
Hannibal intervened quickly, “Relax, B.A. You look sharp.”
Murdock reached out to pat the Sergeant on the shoulder sympathetically, “Yeah! Don’t be blue, B.A.”
“Who says I’m blue, fool!?”
Murdock’s only response was to start singing, “If you’re blue and you don’t know where to go to why don’t you go where fashion sits? Puttin’ on the ritz.”
Thankfully he had chosen the quieter, Fred Astaire version, as they had just arrived at the edge of a crowd. The last thing they needed to do was draw attention to themselves prematurely. Hannibal gave a subtle nod and they all scattered to play their parts. Unlike all their usual down n’ dirty, small-town jobs, this one had required a bit more finesse. The client had heard of the A-Team through the grapevine and had requested assistance with a particularly nasty privileged playboy who owned a casino for millionaires. As objectives went it was pretty basic. All they had to do was get this dickweed to stop squeezing the client for a cut of her profits.
Stage one of Hannibal’s plan was measuring up the opponent-which required all of them dressed to the nines. The unpleasant playboy was hosting his annual benefit for an unheard of non-profit which he himself had created under a false identity. Face had managed to score tuxedos for all four of them and the whole team, apart from B.A., was enjoying the glamour.
Hannibal lit a cigar as he walked almost aimlessly around the perimeter of the ballroom. He looked at the mirror lining the wall and paused to admire his suit. Black tux, black shirt, black tie and shiny black shoes to top off the ensemble. He winked at his reflection and directed his gaze over to Chauncy Callum a.k.a. Poncy Chauncy. The casino owner was in a secluded part of the room talking in low undertones to his right-hand minion that had, just yesterday, blown the kneecaps off of their client’s accountant. The Colonel’s grin faded. Hannibal’s eyes found Murdock’s on the other side of the room, and he gave the signal. The Captain grinned, inhaled, and at the top of his lungs began to sing Good Charlotte’s Lifestyles of the Rich and the Famous.
Pinching himself on the arm to keep from laughing, Face schooled his features into his “insulted” look. He watched as Chauncey’s cronies began to chase Murdock around the room, unable to keep up with the energetic pilot and incapable of pulling out their firearms in the crowd. Turning his gaze away, he spoke soothingly to Chauncey’s girlfriend, who was looking sincerely scandalized. He couldn’t very well charm the Jimmy Choo’s off a potential informant with her hackles up, could he?
Murdock took his goose chase out of the ballroom and into the empty casino, where it was more likely that the security would pull out their .45s and start shooting his beautiful new suit. He winced as a slot machine to his left exploded into bright lights.
“I say, chaps, is that any way to treat the uppercrrrust?” Murdock called over his shoulder. He glanced at his watch, ducking as another volley hit the craps table he was hiding behind. B.A. just needed three more minutes. He ran through his mental checklist of inappropriate songs, grinned and bellowed, “Listen to the band, they’re playing just for me. Listen to the people paying just for me. All the applause-all the parades and all the money I have made. OH, IT’S LONELY AT THE TOP!”
Murdock’s voice carried all the way down to the basement, where B.A. was attempting to hack into Callum’s mainframe. He glanced up at the sound and smiled, praying silently that the crazy ass fool wouldn’t get himself shot. One last firewall to go before he was in. B.A. preferred mechanics to electronics, but here he was following some damn fool plan of Hannibal’s again. Not that he doubted for a second that the plan would work in some twisted kind of way. The small device running through the codes gave a tiny beep and B.A. knew that they were in. He jogged over to the circuit breaker on the other side of the room and fiddled with it for a moment. The lights in the ballroom and the casino flickered almost imperceptibly.
Hannibal glanced up as the lights sputtered. Show time. Assuming a nonchalant air, the Colonel sauntered over to his target and puffed a large cloud of smoke into the man’s face.
“What!? Who the fucking hell are you?”
Hannibal grinned around his cigar, relishing the mogul’s indignant sputtering. He could see an ugly vein pulsing just under the man’s hairline. “You want to watch your blood pressure there, Callum. One of these days you’re going to give yourself a coronary. Ah, ah. No need to send in the clowns. My team and I were just leaving.”
Callum took his finger off of the tiny security alarm on his watch, a fine sheen of sweat beginning to show on his upper lip, “How did you-”
“Oh, we know a great deal about you, dirtbag. And I’m only going to give you one warning.” Hannibal’s blue eyes hardened as he took a slow, deep drag on his cigar. “Lay off the small businesses.”
Callum twitched as he began to turn red, “Or what, old man!? The right greenbacks in the right hands can see you in the darkest corner this world has to offer.”
Hannibal shrugged dispassionately, “Been there. Good sushi.” He watched Callum start to vibrate with rage, and Hannibal knew he had the man’s psychological profile down. Privileged environments with constant access to instant gratification and no consequences-in that setting, there was no end to the kind of monsters that could be created. He was looking at the result right now, an overgrown child whose tantrums destroyed entire families.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw B.A. slip back into the expansive room followed by a panting Murdock. The knot underneath his chest eased just a little, and he was able to give Callum his classic shit-eating grin, “Listen, sweetheart, we’ve hacked into your database and have access to, oh, about all of the codes used to access your numerous off-shore accounts. One peep against you from any of the folks you’ve been extorting and we’ll be using them for any number of devious purposes, all of which will be traced back to…guess who?” Callum seethed, not noticing some of the nervous looks his guests were granting him as they left the hall with quick steps. “Sorry we can’t stay longer, but we have another engagement elsewhere and we’ll be leaving with no amount of fuss.” Hannibal raised his eyebrows and stared at the millionaire until the shorter man nodded stiffly.
Glancing at his team, Hannibal led the way calmly out of the stunned crowd, followed closely by his grinning team members. Murdock was almost out of the room when he spun around swiftly, tapped out a few steps and, in a voice to make Peter Boyle proud, bellowed, “Putting on the riiitz!”
Author: chocolate_inyx
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Answering the prompt in the a_team_kink, the team dons tuxedos to infiltrate a target's casino.
Warnings: None
Genre: Humor/General
Character/Pairing: Hannibal, Face, Murdock, B.A.
Puttin' on the Ritz
“We can dress real neat
from our hats to our feet
and surprise them with a victory cry”
- 'Safety Dance' by Men Without Hats
“All you have to do is act like you could be doing something better,” Face murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
“I could be doing something better.” B.A.’s growl was quieter than normal as the four men entered the invite-only casino of the latest megalomaniac they had been hired to thwart. He tugged on his bow tie self-consciously until Face smacked his hand away.
“I just fixed that. Leave it alone.” B.A. made a threatening movement towards the blonde man.
Hannibal intervened quickly, “Relax, B.A. You look sharp.”
Murdock reached out to pat the Sergeant on the shoulder sympathetically, “Yeah! Don’t be blue, B.A.”
“Who says I’m blue, fool!?”
Murdock’s only response was to start singing, “If you’re blue and you don’t know where to go to why don’t you go where fashion sits? Puttin’ on the ritz.”
Thankfully he had chosen the quieter, Fred Astaire version, as they had just arrived at the edge of a crowd. The last thing they needed to do was draw attention to themselves prematurely. Hannibal gave a subtle nod and they all scattered to play their parts. Unlike all their usual down n’ dirty, small-town jobs, this one had required a bit more finesse. The client had heard of the A-Team through the grapevine and had requested assistance with a particularly nasty privileged playboy who owned a casino for millionaires. As objectives went it was pretty basic. All they had to do was get this dickweed to stop squeezing the client for a cut of her profits.
Stage one of Hannibal’s plan was measuring up the opponent-which required all of them dressed to the nines. The unpleasant playboy was hosting his annual benefit for an unheard of non-profit which he himself had created under a false identity. Face had managed to score tuxedos for all four of them and the whole team, apart from B.A., was enjoying the glamour.
Hannibal lit a cigar as he walked almost aimlessly around the perimeter of the ballroom. He looked at the mirror lining the wall and paused to admire his suit. Black tux, black shirt, black tie and shiny black shoes to top off the ensemble. He winked at his reflection and directed his gaze over to Chauncy Callum a.k.a. Poncy Chauncy. The casino owner was in a secluded part of the room talking in low undertones to his right-hand minion that had, just yesterday, blown the kneecaps off of their client’s accountant. The Colonel’s grin faded. Hannibal’s eyes found Murdock’s on the other side of the room, and he gave the signal. The Captain grinned, inhaled, and at the top of his lungs began to sing Good Charlotte’s Lifestyles of the Rich and the Famous.
Pinching himself on the arm to keep from laughing, Face schooled his features into his “insulted” look. He watched as Chauncey’s cronies began to chase Murdock around the room, unable to keep up with the energetic pilot and incapable of pulling out their firearms in the crowd. Turning his gaze away, he spoke soothingly to Chauncey’s girlfriend, who was looking sincerely scandalized. He couldn’t very well charm the Jimmy Choo’s off a potential informant with her hackles up, could he?
Murdock took his goose chase out of the ballroom and into the empty casino, where it was more likely that the security would pull out their .45s and start shooting his beautiful new suit. He winced as a slot machine to his left exploded into bright lights.
“I say, chaps, is that any way to treat the uppercrrrust?” Murdock called over his shoulder. He glanced at his watch, ducking as another volley hit the craps table he was hiding behind. B.A. just needed three more minutes. He ran through his mental checklist of inappropriate songs, grinned and bellowed, “Listen to the band, they’re playing just for me. Listen to the people paying just for me. All the applause-all the parades and all the money I have made. OH, IT’S LONELY AT THE TOP!”
Murdock’s voice carried all the way down to the basement, where B.A. was attempting to hack into Callum’s mainframe. He glanced up at the sound and smiled, praying silently that the crazy ass fool wouldn’t get himself shot. One last firewall to go before he was in. B.A. preferred mechanics to electronics, but here he was following some damn fool plan of Hannibal’s again. Not that he doubted for a second that the plan would work in some twisted kind of way. The small device running through the codes gave a tiny beep and B.A. knew that they were in. He jogged over to the circuit breaker on the other side of the room and fiddled with it for a moment. The lights in the ballroom and the casino flickered almost imperceptibly.
Hannibal glanced up as the lights sputtered. Show time. Assuming a nonchalant air, the Colonel sauntered over to his target and puffed a large cloud of smoke into the man’s face.
“What!? Who the fucking hell are you?”
Hannibal grinned around his cigar, relishing the mogul’s indignant sputtering. He could see an ugly vein pulsing just under the man’s hairline. “You want to watch your blood pressure there, Callum. One of these days you’re going to give yourself a coronary. Ah, ah. No need to send in the clowns. My team and I were just leaving.”
Callum took his finger off of the tiny security alarm on his watch, a fine sheen of sweat beginning to show on his upper lip, “How did you-”
“Oh, we know a great deal about you, dirtbag. And I’m only going to give you one warning.” Hannibal’s blue eyes hardened as he took a slow, deep drag on his cigar. “Lay off the small businesses.”
Callum twitched as he began to turn red, “Or what, old man!? The right greenbacks in the right hands can see you in the darkest corner this world has to offer.”
Hannibal shrugged dispassionately, “Been there. Good sushi.” He watched Callum start to vibrate with rage, and Hannibal knew he had the man’s psychological profile down. Privileged environments with constant access to instant gratification and no consequences-in that setting, there was no end to the kind of monsters that could be created. He was looking at the result right now, an overgrown child whose tantrums destroyed entire families.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw B.A. slip back into the expansive room followed by a panting Murdock. The knot underneath his chest eased just a little, and he was able to give Callum his classic shit-eating grin, “Listen, sweetheart, we’ve hacked into your database and have access to, oh, about all of the codes used to access your numerous off-shore accounts. One peep against you from any of the folks you’ve been extorting and we’ll be using them for any number of devious purposes, all of which will be traced back to…guess who?” Callum seethed, not noticing some of the nervous looks his guests were granting him as they left the hall with quick steps. “Sorry we can’t stay longer, but we have another engagement elsewhere and we’ll be leaving with no amount of fuss.” Hannibal raised his eyebrows and stared at the millionaire until the shorter man nodded stiffly.
Glancing at his team, Hannibal led the way calmly out of the stunned crowd, followed closely by his grinning team members. Murdock was almost out of the room when he spun around swiftly, tapped out a few steps and, in a voice to make Peter Boyle proud, bellowed, “Putting on the riiitz!”