My Gun Has Bullets by Lee Goldberg

were rustling cattle instead of pointing a camera. He fancied himself the next John Ford. He slid off his canvas chair and sidled up to Charlie.
    "This is a big, action set piece and we're running three hours over. So, I'd like to do this bit in one long master," Wachtel said, referring to the wide shot that takes in all the action. "For coverage, I've got a B camera over there." He pointed to a second camera across the warehouse. The B camera would be used to capture footage that could be used for alternative angles on the same action when the film was edited together.
    "What do you say we wrestle this shot to the ground and brand it?" Wachtel said. The closest Wachtel had ever gotten to branding a steer was writing his name on a Big Mac carton.
    "Let's giddy-up," Charlie said.
    Itchy Matthews, the withered old prop man, rushed up and handed Charlie the massive gun that was Derek Thorne's trademark. Rumor had it Itchy had handled props on Birth of a Nation. It didn't matter that half the time Itchy handed Charlie his colostomy bag instead of his props. The man came cheap.
    Charlie holstered the gun and headed to his position behind a stack of wooden crates. He was here to foil the sale of stolen rocket launchers to a terrorist group.
    Elliot Wachtel crouched behind the camera, held up his hands to frame the shot, palms forward, thumb to thumb, and satisfied that everything was right, said, "Settle everyone. Background ready. And ... action!"
    Derek Thorne crept through the shadows toward the pool of moonlight. Six men were standing around a wooden crate. Lucas Breen motioned to one of his goons, who stepped forward with a crowbar and opened it up.
    Akmed Sabib, the international terrorist, grinned as he reached into the box and picked up a hand-held rocket launcher, just the weapon he needed to tip the scales in his private little war with humanity.
    "That will be one million dollars," Breen sneered. "Cash."
    Akmed held up the launcher and peered down the scope. "I thought you said this location was secure, that we would be absolutely alone."
    "We are" Breen said.
    Akmed suddenly spun around, taking aim at the exact spot where Thorne stood. "Then l guesses that would make you an uninvited guest, Lieutenant."
    Breen turned in surprise to see Derek Thorne stepping out of the shadows. "Thorne!" he snapped. "I should have killed you when l had the chance."
    "Your mistake," Thorne said.
    "Don't worry," Akmed said to Breen, "He's just one man. Nothing can stop us now."
    "And that would be your mistake," Thorne said. "You can leave here in handcuffs or a body bag, it's your call."
    Akmed laughed. "Perhaps you don't understand the situation. I'm aiming a weapon at you that fires an explosive charge that could reduce a 747 to smoking ash."
    "That's sweet and dandy," Thorne sneered. "But my gun has bullets."
    Thorne reached for his gun as Akmed fired. Whoosh! Thorne hit the floor. The rocket sailed over his head, slamming into the stack of crates behind him. KA-BLAMMO! The crates exploded in a burst of flaming splinters. Thorne rose up like a phoenix against the firestorm, firing his gun—BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!—the bullets pounding Akmed against the wall.
    Thorne aimed his gun at Breen. "What do you want to hear? Your civil rights or your last rites?"
    "Cut!" Wachtel sat up. ''That's a print."
    Charlie lowered his gun, and glanced over at Darren Clarke, a.k.a. Akmed Sahib, who was still lying wide-eyed in an ever widening pool of movie blood. Even he had to immodestly admit the scene had gone well.
    "Nice job," Charlie said, brushing cinders off his jacket. "Is this the first time you've been gunned down, or have you been killed before?"
    Darren twitched, his body caught in the grip of a pretty convincing death rattle. The assistant director ambled up and stared down at him. "Very nice, but you don't get paid any extra for performing once the camera stops rolling."
    Charlie looked into Darren's unblinking eyes. There was a spark