Bluffing

"Drop it."

"Now why would I do that, Colonel Smith?"

"Because you've got a handgun and I've got an assault rifle. The rule is, you drop it."

Wainwright smirked. "Size isn't everything."

"Hear that a lot do you? From women I mean?"

Ignoring the dig Wainwright continued. "What counts is what you do with it. Or what you don't. And I happen to know what you don't do with your - ahem - weapon, however big it is. I know you won't shoot me."

"What makes you think that?" Hannibal sounded confident as always, but his hands were starting to sweat. He suspected he was about to run up against the big disadvantage of all that publicity Amy had been giving them.

"When I was at Harvard they taught me to always do my research. I've researched you and your A-Team very thoroughly, Smith."

Hannibal sighed. Why did Harvard men always want to tell you they were Harvard men? They should just get a big H tattooed on their foreheads and save time.

Wainwright went on, oblivious, clearly loving the sound of his own smugness.

"When I knew you'd become involved in this matter I read all the reports on you I could find. You don't actually shoot people."

"Stake your life on that, Wainwright? What makes you think we're not just very good at hiding the bodies?"

Wainwright let a moment's doubt flicker across his face.

"No. You're bluffing, Colonel."

Hannibal sighed again and lowered the muzzle of his rifle to the ground.

"Okay, you got me. You're right, I'm bluffing." He nodded over Wainwright's shoulder. "But he isn't."

Wainwright spun around, right into BA's fist. He dropped to the ground like a sack of spuds.

"Seems you were wrong, Harvard." Hannibal said to the unconscious man. "Size does count."


end


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