Henry slouched his way into the Saloon and landed himself on a free bar stool, “Lesley I’ll have a double red eye.”
Lesley the long suffering bar maid slammed a shot glass and filled it for him, “just because we call this place a saloon doesn’t mean you have to talk like someone out of a third rate Cowboy movie,” she said despairingly. Henry necked the shot down and looked up, “I’ll have a pint of mixed now.”
The Saloon was a popular spot for the former Navy Barracks which was stationed a few blocks away and now had be requisitioned as… well nobody really knew. The official details which had been put on public record was that it was being converted into an experimental factory to create artificial food. There had been lots of rumours of course; during the night lorries had been seen coming and going from the plant. Then of course there were the ghosts. This was the local name for the security guards on the premises, they wore greyish white uniforms which seemed to have a fight glowing under the street lamps. They had been observed patrolling all night, every night. They were never seen in the day which was another contributing factor as to why they were called Ghosts.
Henry was not happy, every since the barracks had closed the price of his drinks had gone up. This was down to the former landlord having made a deal with the CPO in charge of the Barracks stores and NAAFI and knocked off price booze was frequently served.
“You any idea what is going on in that place?” He asked Lesley.
“Not a clue,” she replied.
“Well,” said Henry. “Tonight I am going to find out.”
“Henry, don’t be silly,” she sighed. “You are still on probation. You don’t want to go to jail do you?”
She was right of course. He’d have to find someone else do it for him. He browsed through his phone and selected Albert. He’d be easily persuaded, he wouldn’t want it known where he wasn’t on the night his ex-wife was knocked down… Henry dialled the number.