Seriously, if you guys have any suggestions for the book, just PM me. I'm all ears.

Assassins attack crew at port. Big gunfight.

Here's an alternative: Rocco owns 300 Rand to a LSD dealer named "Falcon", who threatens to cut his fingers off. Greg pays a visit to Falcon to have a discussion (and by "discussion", I mean he hits him over the head with a crowbar, shoots out one of his kneecaps, and tells him to leave Rocco alone if doesn't want to get shot in the other knee).

then has Ares back him up to kick the assess of the LSD dealer's crew.

Do you guys have any ideas for the port scenes?

Falcon and his boys go to the dock for revenge.

What is it with you and action scenes? All the action takes place in Somolia.

I need some help on deciding what song Greg sings at the bar (I've decided to cast out "Let's Spend the Night Together"). Any suggestions?

Research bands that perform in south africa or have made a tour their.

No, it must be something based on Greg's musical preferences (he likes Iggy Pop, David Bowie, Lou Reed, The Doors, and The Rolling Stones).

did any of them ever do a big concert there? Maybe you can say he likes them and saw them live?

I've finally decided on Johnny's weapons:

* His sidearm is a SIG Sauer P225.

* His main weapon is a Heckler & Koch MP5A3 fitted with a Navy trigger group, Surefire 628 weapon light, ACOG scope, and two magazines clipped together. His secondary weapon is a Milkor MGL-140.

Id go with a 228 or something with bigger capacity.....

Early in the story, when the gang is discussing what they're going to do with their share of the money, Greg says that he could care less about money. He just loves living the life of a mercenary ("Deep down inside, I'm a soldier at heart. I don't give a rat's arse about money. Money burns, y'know.").

Lame. (10characterpost)

What do you mean "lame"?

Hes got to want something, bigger apartment, some custom guns, restore an old car or motorcycle, etc.

Okay, maybe a better apartment and to restore a motorcycle, but I still want to keep that line in there.

Another passage:

“You want some?” he said, offering them to Lynn. She just gave the eggs a nonchalant look at them.

“Greg, I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.”

“I am aware of what a vegetarian is. I just wanted to know if you want some eggs. Eggs aren’t meat.”

“Eggs are the aborted chicks.”

Greg suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. He stopped, caught his breath, and looked at Lynn.

“Look, chickens don’t have unexpected pregnancies. They just lay the eggs and keep them warm until they hatch. And chickens are probably the stupidest animals on earth. They can’t decide if they want to keep their eggs. They have no free will.”

“I don’t need your opinion, Greg.”

“Well, I’m just openly voicing my opinion.”

He fished a half empty packet of Marlboros out of his pocket and offered a cigarette to each of them. The only taker was Todd. He took one for himself and lit it. He handed the lighter to Todd, who then lit his.

“Good god, why can’t you smoke outside?” Rocco asked as he entered the kitchen. He was wearing a t-shirt stained with bits of smudge and a pair of jeans. He sat down at the table and rested his head on his hand.

“Rocco, is there anything wrong with the engines?”

“They’re purring like a fucking kitten. The pistons are running smoothly and nothing seems to be broken.” He leaned back in his chair and scratched the back of his head. “How much are we getting paid again?”

“I’ve probably told you a thousand times, but I’ll say it again just for your sake. We’re getting paid 25,000 Rand and we’re splitting it ten ways.”

“There are nine of us.”

“The tenth share will be added to the budget.”

“Well I know what I’m going to do with my share.” Rocco said. “I’m going to buy spark plugs.”

“Why do you want spark plugs?” Ares asked.
“To fix up an engine of a Ford Pinto. I got the car from a used car dealer for 4000 Rand. The only con to the car is that the engine is shot to shit. For the past three months I’ve been rebuilding the engine. I just need spark plugs and I’m good to go.”

“You’ve could of picked a better car, you know.”

“Ares, that was the only car in my price range. Anyway, what are you gonna do with your money?”

“I don’t really know. I just want to get back to port. I really miss air conditioning and cold beer.”

“Fair enough.” Rocco said turning to Greg. “And you?”

“I’m just going to use my share and some of my savings to buy a better apartment. But to be honest, I could care less about money. I just fuckin’ love this job. The pay is good, but I just love being a fuckin’ mercenary. It’s better than wasting away your life in a dead end desk job, working nine to five to come home to a ratty apartment, and at the end of it all, nothing to show for it but a cheap gold watch that isn’t even worth five rand and a friendly note from the H&R lady that tries to boost your morals. Let’s face it: I’m a soldier at heart.”

Greg took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled, and then scarfed down the rest of his eggs.

Johnny walked into the kitchen with the earphones of his Zune wrapped around his neck. He gave everyone in the room a one sided smile.

“Greg old boy, we’re almost near the harbor. You going to get the money?”

“Ja. Andersson told me to meet him in the yachting marina. He’s going to give the other half there.” He got out of his chair. “Alright, you all know the drill. Rocco, I want you on lookout. Todd, help me with the cleats. The rest of you are to work on the bow and stern anchors.”

Johnny has a good taste in MP3 players.

Vegetarians.......how do they live.....

Anemically

Here's what I picture the Nostromo (the Merc's boat) to look like:

http://www.naval-technology.com/proj...ges/2_boat.jpg

I've finally decided on the song that Greg sings at the bar: Iggy Pop's China Girl:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BBAEUOOFKQ

Another passage:


Everyone immediately got out of their chairs and went out onto the deck. Greg was briefly stunned by the bright sunlight. He was photosensitive due to his migraines. Todd handed him a rope and he tied a sailor’s hitch around the cleat. The boat slowly reached the Victoria & Alfred Waterfront where tourists were sightseeing and shopping. As soon as he was close to the docks he hoped off with the rope in one hand and tied it around another cleat that was attached to the dock. Johnny was helping Katie and Lynn with the bow anchor, but Ares had already tossed the stern anchor in as if it was light as air. He tossed Greg his brown leather jacket. It was beaten up and a bit dirty, but it was worn with love.

“Alright, I’m going to meet Andersson at the yacht and I’ll be back with the money soon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Greg took his pistol out of his holster and unloaded it. The magazine was loaded with .45 caliber hollow points. He loaded the magazine back in, chambered a round, cocked the hammer down, and engaged the safety. He placed the gun back in its holster and headed off to the yachting marina.

The man that had hired them was a Swede named Dag Andersson who worked for the African Union. He had found out that Sasha Solomon, an employee of the head of state, had taken money from the African Union and used it to fund the Lord’s Resistance Army. Andersson had hired them to kill Sasha quietly. It had been quietly, but Sasha’s death was painful. Greg had beaten him with the stock of his rifle and then shot him in the head at point blank range.

Greg had arrived at the marina and went towards a yacht called the Menelaus. A young man with bleached hair and a bad tan guarded it. He had M4 assault rifle in his hand. Greg approached him with a casual smile on his face.

“Hey, bru. It’s Archer. Gregory Archer. I’m here to see Dag Andersson. It’s about the money.”

“Your weapons.”

“Huh?”

“Hand over your weapons.” The guard said, cocking the bolt on his rifle. Greg pulled the .45 out of his holster and handed it to the guard, who tucked it in his waist. Greg walked into the yacht and was lead into the bar room. It was very elegant with a Persian rug in the middle of the room and a few paintings by Van Gogh hanging along the walls. Dag Andersson was at the bar with two bodyguards dressed in Armani suits. Andersson was in his early forties with dirty blond hair and smelled of a cheap aftershave.

“Ah, Herr Archer, so nice to see you. Drink?”

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“Yes, but this is a particularly good Scotch. Single malt, five years.” He poured himself a glass as Greg sat down.

“So, is that pig Solom dead?”

“I shot him in the head with a rifle. Is that the answer you want, Dag?”

“Ja.”

“So are you going to give me the other half of the 25,000 Rand?”

“Her Archer, I am a man of my word.” He whistled to one of his guards.

“Heinrich, få portfölj. Det är i mitt sovrum.” The guard nodded and left the room.

“So, how long have you been a soldier of fortune?”

“About four years, Dag.”

“Is the money good?”

“It depends on the job. I usually make around 1,000 Rand for guarding a convoy.”

“I was a soldier once. It’s the Swedish law that every young man participates in military service. I fought in Afghanistan and lost a lot of good friends.”

Andersson took a sip of his drink and poured another glass for Greg.

“To all the young soldiers.” Andersson said and clinked glasses. Dag swallowed his down while Greg poured his into a nearby potted plant. The guard arrived with a briefcase in hand. He gave it to Greg, who then opened it up. There were 25 bands of money in the case. Each band held 500 rand in 50 rand banknotes. Greg closed the case and shook hands with Andersson. He then left the yacht and took his handgun back from the guard.

Another passage:

When he arrived back at the boat, Ares was waiting for him. He was now dressed in an olive green t-shirt and had a pair of Alain Delon sunglasses on. He helped Greg get onto the boat.

“Did you get the money?”

“Yes, I got the other half of the 250,000 Rand. Let’s just get the shares sorted out so I can go home.”

The two went into the boat’s kitchen where the second case of money was. Greg opened both cases and started to divide the money. He made a stack that had five bands and gave them to each one of the mercenaries and crew. He placed the last stack in the middle of the table.

“That’s for the house.” He said putting his share into a small duffel bag. He went into his cabin and packed up some of his belongings. He shouldered the bag and walked out of the boat. Katie then followed after him.

“Where are you going?”

“To my apartment. You’re free to visit if you’d like.”

Greg then hailed a cab and told him to take him to The Gardens. The cab driver did so and drove him to an apartment building that was a few blocks away from the Mount Nelson hotel. He entered the apartment and took the lift up to the sixth floor. Young professionals mostly occupied the apartment. They were materialistic entrepreneurs who were in their early twenties and were somewhat promiscuous. When he reached the sixth floor, he got out and went to apartment 619. He took a key out of his back pocket and opened it up.

The apartment was 500 square feet. It had a living room, a kitchenette, two bedrooms, and a washroom. The living room had a couch from IKEA with a glass coffee table in front of it. A TV stand was in front of that with an 18-inch flat screen TV on top. Two potted plants were near the windowsill. The kitchenette had a refrigerator, a microwave oven, a coffee maker, and a cabinet full of food.

Greg placed the duffel bag and his pistol on the kitchen table. He placed his coat and boots in the entryway. He walked into his washroom, stripped off his clothes, and took a warm shower. Afterwards, he placed his clothes in a laundry hamper and put on a bathrobe. He then shaved, stretched a bit, and walked into his bedroom.

His bedroom had a nice view of the street below him. It had maroon colored walls and olive drab shag carpet. It had a two-man bed with black sheets, a bedside table with an alarm clock, a dresser, and a shelf where a stereo system was placed on. Greg also had a few posters in the room. On the backside of his door was a poster of David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane that was a real bargain he had bought at a flea market. Near his bed was a poster for the film Velvet Goldmine. He had gotten that one for his 15th birthday.

Greg disrobed and put on a pair of jeans and a shirt featuring Che Guevara. He took a remote off of his dresser and hit the play putting. The stereo suddenly turned on and began to play David Bowie’s John, I’m only Dancing. He lay down on his bed and picked up a paperback copy of William S. Burroughs’ Junkie. He lost interest after reading a few pages and went into the kitchenette to get something to eat. The only thing in the refrigerator was a quart of milk that had expired a few days ago. He sniffed it, winced in disgust, and threw it in the rubbish bin. He put on his jacket and boots and went out of his apartment. He went into a grocery store and bought enough food to last him a week. This included pot noodles, three quarts of milk, two cans of beef stew, a six-pack of Pepsi, a bag of potato crisps, coffee, koeksusters, and a quart of vanilla ice cream.

On the way home, he stopped by a sandwich shop and ordered a mutton Gatsby with hot chips and Heinz tomato sauce and a Coca Cola. He tucked the sandwich into one of his two brown paper bags and took the cola in his right hand. He paid the clerk and walked back to his apartment. When he got home, he put his groceries on the countertop. He then put his groceries in his respective places and sat down to eat his sandwich. He then noticed that the spare bedroom door was open. He opened a drawer in his kitchen countertop. Inside was a .357 magnum Ruger. He checked the load in it, cocked the hammer, and barged into the bedroom. To his surprise, Rocco was there. He immediately drawed out a 9mm Heckler & Koch pistol from his waistband.

Song titles and book names should be in italics

They are on my word document of this.

People wearing che guevara shirts should be kicked in the throat

Please refrain from kicking my main character in the throat (besides, Greg could care less about politics).

che was a joke, kids wear his shirt thinking hes cool but he was nothing, and greg doesnt seem like a college stoner with no ambition.

I respect your opinion. What do you think of his apartment?

Another passage:

“Oh, it’s just you. You could’ve just said hello.”

“Rocco, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, to make a long story short, I got evicted from my place because I couldn’t keep up with the rent and I need a place to stay.”

“And of all people, you’ve decided to stay with me?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, you can stay here until you get a new place to live. Just don’t mess up my stuff.”

Greg put the revolver back in the drawer and return to his lunch. Rocco came out wearing a t-shirt, wind pants, and sandals. He took out a pearl handled stiletto and start to clean his nails with the blade. He looked hungrily at the other half of Greg’s sandwich. Greg gave him the other half and took a sip of his Coca-Cola. He took his drink walked into his bedroom, and closed the door. He took a packet of Marlboro Lights off of his desk and light one. He grabbed a copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet off of his dresser and sat down on the bed, beginning to read. The stereo began to play some song by The Velvet Underground.

Greg took a few puffs on his cigarette as he turned the page of the book. He was in a trance for a few minutes before Rocco interrupted him. He suddenly broke out of his trance and stared at Rocco.

“I need some help unpacking my stuff.”

“Your stuff?”

“My personal belongings. Are you or are you not going to help me?”

“Sure, since there’s nothing else to do around here.”

The two of them walked into the spare bedroom where two large backpacks were sitting on the bed. Rocco opened the first one and dumped the contents of it onto the bed. It was a total mess. Among the hodgepodge of junk were two sets of worn out clothes, a few pornographic magazines, a half eaten bag of crisps, and other various knick-knacks. Greg opened up the second bag and looked at the contents. There were two bags of marijuana, a hookah pipe, a small baggie of pills, and a bottle of whiskey.

Greg turned to Rocco with an annoyed look on his face. Rocco gave him a toothy grin.

“I’m perfectly content with you being a drunk, but drugs?”

“It’s not the hardcore stuff. Just grass and acid.”

“And what are you suppose to do this hubbly-bubbly?” Greg said picking up the pipe.

“You smoke the grass in it.”

Greg put on his jacket and boots and walked towards the doorway.

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to get a drink, and no, you can’t come.”

Greg walked down to a local dive bar called Miller & Carlyle. It was a simple place with a cigarette machine, a snooker table, and a dartboard. The bartender was in his early forties with a bad haircut. Greg ordered a Coke and Rum without the lime wedge. The bartender handed it to him and he drank in silence.

Shouldhave him go home drunk, and when drunk everything seems like a good idea. So he decides to smoke weed with Rocco. And Rocco laces it with salvia so he gets a mad trip

Aren't weed and salvia the same thing?

No, salvia affects the nervous system and causes hallucinations, strong stuff, and Its, well, legal. At least to civilians, I cant touch the crap, saw my friend on the stuff though and he was crazy. Trying to burrow in a couch and said he had to get out of the rabbit hole. Its funny the more powerful one is legal.

Another passage:

A young woman approached the bar and stood next to Greg. She was around the age of twenty-two and her face was covered with make-up. She had sandy blond hair and green eyes. She wore a red tank top, white hot pants, and wore high heels. She looked at Greg promiscuously and then ordered a light beer. She was given a bottle and started to drink it in a lewd way that made Greg uncomfortable.

“You looking for a good time, handsome?”

“Are you some sort of prostitute?”

“Ja.”

“Look, I already have a girl and she puts out for me. Now bugger off”

“I can be dirty.”

“I’m not interested.” He said as he downed his drink. He suddenly came to a realization. “But I know someone who is.”

Greg paid for both of their drinks and lead the woman back to his apartment. He asked her name and she said it was Kristi. He let Kristi into his apartment and knocked at Rocco’s door. Rocco answered and then stared at the woman.

“I got you a house warming gift. Rocco, this is Kristi. She’s a call girl.”

Greg handed her five hundred rand in advance. “You get an hour and a half with her. Just send her back with her hair in a mess, exhausted and tired.”

Greg slapped Kristi on the bum, sent her off with Rocco, and she closed and locked the door. He took a Pepsi out of the fridge and took a sip. He then went into his room and started to do bicep curls with ten pound barbells. He did thirty of them on each arm and then began to do sit ups. He felt weak and out of shape, so he wanted to build up his body.

He tried to ignore the noise next door by playing Joy Division on full volume. They were a pretty good band that Johnny had suggested to him. He was surprised to learn that their lead singer killed himself in 1980. The remaining members went on to form New Order. He had heard some of their music and they weren’t bad. He still preferred what he considered the three pioneers of music: Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, and David Bowie.

He had seen Iggy in concert when he was seventeen. The guy was pretty rambunctious, but was a kick ass singer. He had smoked a joint at the concert and woke up in the morning with a bad headache. He hadn’t listen to Lou Reed lately, but he consider his music a good choice to mellow out to. He absolutely loved Bowie. The man had a very distinct style. His love of Bowie had earned him the nickname “Ziggy” in high school.

Another passage:

Greg finished the rest of his Pepsi and went into the living room. He turned on the television and began to watch a news program. It began to talk about civil unrest in Chile caused by Marxist sympathizers. He was uninterested in that. It than began to talk about the activities of Al-Shabaab militant group in southern Somalia. They have taken over Mogadishu, the former capital of Somalia (the capital was now located in Hargeisa). They enforced a strict interpretation of the Sharia law, and anybody who broke this law was either stoned or executed in the street.

Greg had been apathetic to the troubles in the Middle East when he was growing up. To him, it was just the Crusades with tanks and machine guns. But this had caught his attention. This wasn’t the LRA or any other militant groups he had fought. These were radicals. He expected Somalia to be controlled by Pirates, but he had never expected radicals to be a problem in Somalia.

Kristi came out of the bedroom when the news program was over. Greg gave her an additional one hundred rand and sent her out. Rocco soon came out after in a t-shirt and a pair of jockey shorts.

“How was it?”

“It was pretty good.”

“There’s nothing like a good pomp to get you back on your feet.”

“I know what you mean. Do you know what’s better than sex?”

“What?”

“Grass.”

“That’s a load of kak.”

“Haven’t you ever tried it? It sends you straight to the moon and back again. It’s a better way to past the time than what you do.”

“I’m content with what I do.”

“You smoke cigarettes and listen to David Buoy.”

“His name is Bowie.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying that you need to be a little more open minded.”
Greg pondered on this thought for a moment and then made up his mind.

“Alright, if it’ll get you off my back. And if I have a bad trip, I’m tearing you a new arse.”

Greg looked out the window and tapped his fingers along the arm of the couch while Rocco set the pipe up. He just wanted to get this over with and get on with his life. Rocco handed him the hose and he inhaled. He suddenly coughed out large puffs of smoke and lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“You sure you don’t want some?” Johnny asked Katie, offering her some of his lunch. They were having lunch at an eatery in Fish Hoek bay. Johnny was wearing a t-shirt showing his favorite rugby team, the Vodacom Blue Bulls. He was having falafel in pita bread with tahini sauce with a bottle of Castle Lager beer. She was having two hamburgers with chips and a cherry cola.

“I don’t even know what’s in there.”

“Fried balls made from chickpeas and a paste made from sesame seeds, all stuffed in a round pocket bread.”

“I’m fine with what I have, but thank you.” She said thanking a bite out of her second hamburger.

“How can someone so small scarf down all that food?”

“Johnny, I’ve been stuck on a boat with nothing but process food to eat.”

Johnny took another sip of his beer and asked her another question.

“How are things going with Greg?”

“It’s doing pretty good. We’re in a healthy relationship.”

“Have you been getting some?”

“Occasionally.”

“Well, I’ve had a fling every now and then.”

Greg is ludicrously susceptible to peer pressure

Yeah, i think if he was hammered and agreed it would be more realistic, everything seems like a good idea when drunk.