"Santana can handle it. Probably better. He's younger, after all."
"Bull. Youth doesn't mean a damn thing. Experience - that's what counts."
"Except when it comes to the ladies, Colonel. You know that, deep down." Stockwell leaned over the desk, speaking softly. "He's too old now, Hannibal. I'm not saying he can't handle himself, but he just doesn't have the appeal he used to. And that appeal is what's needed for this job."
Hannibal shook his head, mouth in a grim line.
"Okay. You may be right - may be. We'll let Frankie handle this one. This time. Then we'll see."
Stockwell smiled, then grinned, then laughed.
"Hey, Face, c'mon! Get your beauty sleep later, man."
Face jerked awake, nearly banging his head on the van's door. Frankie grinned at him. From the front seat, Hannibal was looking at him. Frowning.
"Yeah, Hannibal. I'm okay."
Maybe just okay...