[More like a caption of a larger book.] Detective Gunn arrived at the bar and eyed up the young man at the counter. After a polite exchange of details, he asked for the manager. After several minutes, what sounded like a tyrant, was the the manager stomping in from the kitchen and swinging a joint of ham onto the bar counter. Detective Gunn pressed his hands on his stool to maintain it’s balance in the wake of her tremor. “Yeah?” She spluttered. How barbaric, Detective Gunn thought. Her hair was gelled in clumps from butter grease and he wasn’t sure has been needing the bread dough or just fell flat it in. She slammed her forearm onto the counter and pushed herself forward. But Detective Gunn inched back from the stench of rotten food plummeting out her mouth and managed to save falling glasses and menu stands from toppling off the table. Gunn would normally get straight to the point of business , however, raging concern bubbled from beneath his stomach. “I don’t intend to be candid, madam. But does your business not have any hygiene standards?” The woman trailed her eyes across the surface of the bar counting the empty glasses, she picked the last glass and prodded her eyes in a swift fashion and shrugged. “I don’t see the punters complaining about my service,” she boasted and gulped the last few drops of the alcohol left in the glass. She turned to Gunn’s attention and rolled her eyes from his feet to the tip of his bowler hat. “We don’t get many prim and polished punters like yourself in this tavern. Whadya want?” “Firstly, I’d like to inspect your kitchen before I even think about what I’m going to order off the menu.” “Your lucks just run short then mate, we’re out of halloumi, frittata and eggplant burgers. I can only really satisfy your taste buds with this joint of ham.” She answered without a trace of disappointment or apology. Gunn shuddered. This made him more concerned that she was even competent to run the business “I guess the kitchen rats reached it before I did then.” He said sharpening his tone. “Then count yourself lucky they left this big boy untouched for you then,” she smiled pushing the joint until it wobbled on Gunn’s side of the counter. It’s white oily juices splattered across his black leather shoes causing him to cuss and react immediately by using a tea stained napkin to polish them back up. “Jesus, woman!” He barked. “You must love yourself that much to see your reflection mirrored in your posh kicks, sir,” she scoffed with the aftermath on uncontrolled laughter. Detective Gunn just snarled under his bowler cap. This was going to be more difficult than he thought.