Old Gun Tavern was a Hunter's Tavern.
The packed three-story building was filled with treasure-seeking hunters seeking merriment.
Heavy metal music sounded like an artillery barrage, piercing the ears. Scantily-clad girls danced provocatively on stage, a thick current of hormones filling the air. Excited men and women were everywhere, the dim light acting as a catalyst for debauchery, revealing faces naked with desire.
Leonard Churchill pushed his way through the crowd and walked over to the bar.
He took a look at the price list and shouted at the bartender: "A pint of beer."
One pint of beer, eighty.
The minimum charge on the menu.
He took a seat on a tall stool, took a sip of the foamy beer. It tasted slightly bitter, but at least it had a strong alcohol flavor.
While drinking his beer, Leonard watched everything about the bar. Ecking out the noisy music, he captured the conversations among the customers at each table. He divided them into intel and idle chat.
