Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "Mission Impossible."
Author's Note: Inspired largely by Jeremy Renner's appearance in the music video for P!nk's "Trouble".
"Guys. This is ridiculous. I'm pretty sure everybody in this bar can see right through this."
"Stop talking, Brandt. They don't like people who talk to themselves down here."Agent Benji Dunn teased him in his earpiece.
Agent William Brandt paused as he glanced at himself in the dusty mirror in the hall. "Texas. Why. In the hell. Did it have to be Texas?"
"The Sheik is in deep with Damon Flynn, who happens to be one of the richest oil producing men in Texas," Ethan Hunt filled him in from across the bar. He was leaning against the bar, waiting for Brandt to make his move. "The Sheik has never met Flynn, they've only spoken over the phone. Flynn invited him here. While Jane's keeping Flynn….busy, you're going to pose as Flynn and get the information we need."
"Yeah but Ethan seriously…" Brandt sighed as he tugged his cowboy hat down over his face.
"Just shut up, Brandt, and get over here, before the Sheik decides he's had enough whiskey and calls it a day."
When Brandt stepped into the main room, he heard Benji burst out laughing in his earpiece. "Yeehaw!" Benji drawled into the mic. "Go get 'em, cowboy." It sounded really funny in his accent, and Brandt muttered something not repeatable, even in this crowd, into his mic. Which only made Benji laugh harder.
Brandt made his way up to the bar and caught Ethan's eye. Even Ethan was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Brandt shook his head as he caught a glimpse of the bandanna-print Western shirt with pearly buttons, bolo tie, silver belt buckle and Wranglers in the mirror over the bar. They were so screwed. "Howdy! You Sheik Mamoud?" he asked the impeccably dressed and very out of place Middle Eastern man at the bar. "Can I buy ya a drink?" He glanced down, then turned to the bartender. "'Scuse me, barkeep, lemme have another one of whatever he's drinkin'-no, make that two." IMF can pick up the tab. He tipped his hat to the Sheik. "I'm Damon Flynn, it's a real pleasure to finally meet ya." The accent sounded horrible, and Brandt was sure the Sheik could pick that up a mile away. The bartender set their drinks down, and Brandt turned to the Sheik. "How 'bout we sit down, and you and I have a chat?"
Moment of truth…Brandt kept the stupid grin on his face, and the Sheik finally nodded. Gotcha.
Ethan watched Brandt make his way over to a corner table, drinks in hand. The two men sat down. Ethan listened to the exchange over his earpiece.
Things were not going well. Turns out the Sheik knew what Flynn looked like...Seems like everybody has a Facebook page these days... "Do something, Brandt," Ethan hissed.
"Like what?" Brandt asked, over his earpiece. The Sheik demanded to know who he was talking to, who he was working for. Finally, Brandt had had enough. He picked up the glass of alcohol on the table, and smashed it into the side of the Sheik's head.
Not to be outdone, Ethan provided a distraction by punching the guy nearest him, and the two men incited a full-out brawl in the bar. "What's goin' on in there?" Benji demanded, but neither of them answered him. Ethan fought his way across the room to where Brandt was just pulling the Sheik up from the chair and slung his arm over his shoulder. "You made me start a bar brawl?" Ethan asked him. A half-drunk man in a Stetson came staggering toward him, and Ethan grabbed him by the belt buckle and threw him head over Tony Lamas into the table.
Brandt surveyed the chaos in the room. "I knew it would work. So shut up and let's get him outta here." He ducked as a tray of drinks came hurtling past him, and slammed into the Schlitz Beer sign where his head had just been. "I think he's had enough."
"How did you know it would work?" Benji asked him as he and Ethan dropped the Sheik into the truck outside. Brandt leaned back against the sliding door and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his too-tight jeans. "This ain't my first rodeo," he drawled.