“Let's get some cold beers and thick steaks,” Starkey said. “See if we can get in a little trouble in Fayetteville, or maybe some other town down the line. That's an order, gentlemen.”

“I'm up for that,” said Harris. “It's been a good day, hasn't it? Let's see if we can spoil it.”

By the time they left Fort Bragg darkness had fallen. “On the road again...” Warren Griffin started in on his theme song, the old Willie Nelson standard that he sang just about every time they started an adventure. They knew Fayetteville, not only from business trips, but from a time when they'd been stationed at Bragg. It was only four years since the three of them had left the Army, where they'd been Rangers: Colonel Starkey, Captain Harris, Master Sergeant Griffin. Seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment, 3rd Battalion, originally out of Fort Benning, Georgia.

They were just entering town when they saw a couple of hookers loitering on a semi darkened street corner. In the bad old days Hays Street in town had block after block of rough bars and strip joints. It used to be known as Fayettenam. No more, though. The locals were trying to gentrify the downtown area. A billboard put up by the Chamber of Commerce read: "Metro Living At A Southern Pace'. Made you want to throw up.

Warren Griffin leaned out the side window of the Suburban. “I love you, and especially you. Stop the car this minute! Oh God, please stop the vehicle. I love you, darling. I'll be back! ”he called to the two girls.

Starkey laughed, but he drove on until they reached The Pump, which had been there for at least twenty years. They strolled inside to eat and party. Why work if you couldn't get a reward? Why feel the pain unless you got some gain?

During the next few hours, they drank too many beers, ate twenty-four-ounce steaks with fried onions and mushrooms slathered on top, smoked cigars, and told the best war stories and jokes. Even the waitresses and bartenders got into the act some. Everybody liked Thomas Starkey. Unless you happened to get on his bad side.

They were leaving Fayetteville around midnight when Starkey pulled the Suburban over to the curb. Time for a live-fire exercise," he said to Griffin and Harris. They knew what that meant.

Harris just smiled, but Griffin let out a whoop. “Let the war games begin!”

Starkey leaned out his window and talked to one of the girls loitering on Hays Street. She was a tall, rail-thin blonde, wobbling slightly on silver platform heels. She had a little, pouty mouth, but it disappeared when she flashed them her best hundred-dollar smile.

“You are a very beautiful lady,” Starkey said. “Listen, we're heading over to our suite at the Radisson. You be interested in three big tips, instead of just one? We kind of like to party together. It'll be good, clean fun.”

Starkey could be charming, and also respectful. He had an easy smile. So the blonde hooker got into the Suburban. “You all promise to be good boys,” she said, and smiled that wonderful smile of hers again.