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Matt leans up against the bar and winks at the barkeep, Bambie, “Gimme the usual hon” he says glancing around the club. His hands clench into fists as he sees Margo Vincent, the secret love of his life, enter with another man. Ignoring the open invitation on Bambie’s face he takes a deep, calming, breath and stalks over to where his friends, Benny Ray Riddle and Nick Delvecchio, are sitting.

“Can you believe she actually brought him here?” He growls gesturing towards Margo.

“Aaah, c’mon boss you ain’t done nothing, what’s she supposed to do, wait around forever?” Delvecchio says in an irritating whiny voice with what is supposedly a New York accent.

“Hey brotha lay off the dude,” comes a voice from behind them, as they turn they are confronted by a familiar tall black man with tattoos, piercings, and rainbow colored hair.

“What the Hell!!” Benny Ray exclaims, doing a double take of his ‘friends’ attire, “Did you get dressed in the dark this morning amigo?”

“More comfortable,” Deke slurs, turning so the guys can admire his dark blue cotton dress, “Besides you wouldn’t believe how much attention it gets me, and women just love it.”

Nick starts to say something but mercifully he is interrupted by the arrival of Xavier Trout, the team's liaison with the government, and the man who brings them ‘jobs’.

“Matt I need your help,” Trout doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, if anyone overhears they will be ‘taken care of’ in a timely and efficient manner.

Matt knows this as well and pulls a chair over for Trout with his foot, “Go ahead we’re listening.”

“Last night my car was stolen from the driveway in front of my house, inside the glove compartment was the file on your team,” Trout says, his voice low and serious, “You need to recover my car fast or you’ll be compromised.”

“How the hell did this happen Trout,” Benny Ray snarls, “you government types are incompetent nincompoops.”

“You have any idea where the car is?” Margo asks, motioning her boyfriend who had just come out of the bathroom, over to the group.

“No I don’t know where it is,” Trout snaps, then glancing at Margo’s half-open shirt, he relents, “We do have some intel about a car smuggling ring in the area.”

“So what we talking about,” Steve asks, giving Margo a squeeze.

“Noneya,” Nick says.

“What’s that?”

“Eh if I told ya I’d have to kill ya.”

Steves eyes go round, and he glances around the group, “Really?”

“I guess my driver should have locked the doors or something,” Trout goes on as if Steve wasn’t even there, “Or maybe used one of those club thingy’s.”

“Just maybe,” Matt says sarcastically, “Okay people, let's get busy.”

“Right, I’m heading back to my office,” Trout glances at the man standing beside Margo, “Steve, right?”

“Yeah,” comes the weary reply.

“Could you come with me for a minute?” He grabs Steves arm and drags him outside with him.

“Damn,” Margo mutters, “I lose more boyfriends that way.” She sighs, “What are you grinning about Matt?”

“Nothin,” Matts smile grows larger, “Just happy to be on another job.”

* * *

Margo stares in fascinated horror at the ghillie suit Benny Ray is trying to hand her, “You guys actually think you’re going to get me into one of those?”

“C’mon babe, if I have to wear them then so do you,” Deke looks down in distaste at his clothing.

“But this color doesn’t go with my complexion,” Margo pouts and looks pleadingly at Matt for intervention, “besides there bulky and make my butt look big.”

“Can’t have that,” Matt says, “Go ahead and wear whatever you want, just as long as it's in dark colors.”

“Thanks Matt,” Margo coos, pulling some tight black jeans and a button up black blouse out of her suitcase.

Deke looks longingly at the black evening dress, now on top in Margo’s suitcase, and starts to say something…

“Don’t even think it Deke,” Matt interrupts, “your wearing pants like the rest of us.”

Nick reaches into a box and pulls out several flak vests, “Don’t wanna forget these,” he hands them around, “Today is definitely not a good enough day to die.”

Margo glares but puts hers on, “Damn things make me look fat.”

Benny Ray's eyes light up as he looks at the long table in the center of the room covered with hand guns, riffles and sub machine guns. “Alright major, finally we get some action.”

“Fraid not Benny Ray,” Matt points to another, smaller, table over to one side, “We want minimum violence, that means no kills, no explosions, only tranquilizer darts.”

Benny Ray slumps, and slowly, dejectedly, walks over to the table to get his gun.

* * *

Matt glances around at his team, they are gathered in the back of a dark blue suburban that is parked in front of Marleys Auto Shop. “This is it people, lets take them down.”

“Right boss,” Benny Ray and Nick slip out of the suburban and head for the back of the shop.

“Margo, you and I head in the front,” Matt reminds her, ‘has a tendency to forget stuff,’ he thinks fondly ‘typical female’. “Deke you come on in five minutes after us.”

“Right boss,” Deke mumbles, flipping his gun around in his hands, ‘you’d think they’d have realized by now that I know nothing about guns’ he thinks, and sighs quietly.

* * *

Inside Marleys, Peter Santana, shop keeper and auto thief extraordinair, is flipping through his most recent copy of Playboy and humming to himself. When the bell rings, signaling a customer's entrance he quickly stashes the magazine under the counter and plasters a bright smile on his face. “May I help you,” he asks glancing over the attractive couple, his eyes lingering on the womans partially unbuttoned black blouse. It takes him a few seconds
to realize that the man is dressed in military gear and they are both holding guns. “What the hell is going on!” He shouts trying to discreetly grab his shotgun and pushing the alarm button near the cash register.

Matt is so busy looking around he completely misses the shopkeeper's stealthy movements, Margo is checking out her hair and make-up in a mirror located behind counter and misses them as well. They are both surprised to be suddenly looking down the double barrel of a shotgun.

“Alright clowns, lets have those pea shooters and get your hands in the air,” Peter growls.

Just then Deke enters the building, three minutes early and stumbles, knocking over a pile of hubcaps and making enough noise to wake the dead. Figuring he still has an advantage, after all his looks are enough to stun anyone, he charges forward intent on proving his worth to his idol, Matt and rescuing the two from certain death. Unfortunately, as he nears the counter, he trips and falls on his face in front of them all. Mortified at his clumsiness but knowing how good he is, Deke roles up and shoots wildly in the direction of the shopkeeper. When the smoke clears, from the wild shotgun blasts, Deke slowly stands up. “Hey peeps,” he drawls, “the calvary’s here.”

“You idiot,” Matt yells, holding the slumped form of Margo, “Don’t you ever follow direction. You nearly got us killed, you shot Margo and you let Santana get away.”

“No need to yell brotha,” Deke dusts himself off, “I’m sure Benny Ray or Nick got im.”

* * *

Benny Ray and Nick slowly work their way around to the back of the shop. There, sitting in the garage, is Trout's car.

“Aw jeez how’r we gonna get in,” Nick whines trying to pry the glove compartment open with his fingers.

“Stand back compadre,” Benny Ray says and pulls a glock out of his boot.

“Wait a minute,” Nick grabs Benny Ray's arm, “What the hell is that, Matt said no real guns.”

“Just get outta my way amigo,” Benny Ray shoves Nick aside and fires at the lock. The compartment pops open and as luck would have it the all important documents were still in there. “Piece of pie,” he smiles a dangerous, feral, smile and stuffs the folder into his jacket.

Nick is picking himself up off the pavement when Santana and five other guys come running out of the building. He quickly reaches for his gun and when he sees Benny Ray taking aim with the Glock he shoots him. “Sorry bud but the major said no violence, no casualties,” he says as Benny Ray crumples to the ground. …………..

Jerry Bruckheimer, co-producer of the well known and much loved syndicated television show SOF Special Ops Force, woke up with a start, his pajamas were soaked and he was shivering. “Oh God,” he says quietly to himself.”

His wife, shaken awake by his sudden movement upward, mumbled sleepily, “What is it dear?”

“Nothing to worry about hon, just need a drink of water,” He pats her shoulder reassuringly, climbs out of bed and glances at the clock. ‘3:17 a.m.’ he thinks to himself trying to shake the dream from his mind. Slowly he makes his way to the family room and turning on the tv he randomly flips channels. Suddenly he sits up straight, his face drains of color and his eyes
widen, on the screen he sees the SOF team gathered in Matts new bar, ordering drinks from the blond bimbo they hired to act the character Bambie. Slowly he puts down the remote, forcing himself to watch the ‘new and improved’ Soldier of Fortune, he resolutely makes a few mental notes… ‘Fire the new writers, fire Dennis Rodman, bring back old writers, maybe try to bring back Real Andrews and Mark Shepperd’

The End

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