10 Off at Nine

I checked my watch. 20.00 hrs. It never leaves you: any time at all in the company of ex-servicemen and the clock is 24 hours, within minutes. It was difficult not to think about what I had just done. In reception, Margarita Gegprifti was looking at the PC with an air of puzzlement.

'What's up with it? Blue screen of death?'

She looked up. 'Wha'? What does that even mean?'

'You want me to look at it? I'm an expert on out-of-date technology.' She was out of her seat in an instant. I went behind the counter. It was, of course, the BSOD. Pronounced "Be Sod". Most BSOD's could be fixed by the ON/OFF routine. I was counting on Ms Gegprifti not knowing that. I tapped keyboard buttons and wiggled the mouse a few times. Which of course achieved absolutely nothing, as it was supposed to do.

I cleared my throat. 'What were you doing, when it happened?'

'I was putting your details in.'

'Hmmm… how far did you get?'

'Two letters of your first name.'

'What are you using? Excel?'

'I don't know. I just click on the thing on the desktop that says visitors.'

'Great. D'you think I might have a coffee?'

She went to the kitchen. I turned the computer on and off at the mains. I tore the paper with my name and fake address on it from her notepad. It went into my pocket, crumpled tightly. I was hoping the PC would boot up quickly. Surprisingly, it did. The desktop was uncluttered and I opened the database file marked visitors. I typed the name and last known address I had for someone I'd served with, who had avoided every detachment lasting more than a week, before landing himself a ground tour that lasted the rest of his 30 year career. He wouldn't have moved house. Too lazy. It would have been unfair to give that agent's address. Besides, murder is a worse crime than publishing even, after all. I closed the file. The coffee arrived. She hadn't made one for herself. I finished the coffee, it was lukewarm.

'Off at nine, huh?' I leaned back in her seat.

'Yes. There's a pub down the street, if you…'

I thought about it. Of course I did. But if I did say yes, that would have made me the old fool there's no fool like. In any case, whatever her motives, even had they included being nice to an old geezer, I didn't have time for complications.

'Yeah, I'll meet you there,' I lied, knowing that if I ever did see her again, I'd be in the dock, so I wouldn't be meeting her anywhere  at all, if I could help it.

I passed the pub. It looked like some sort of craft beer place. The name made me smile though; 'The Broken Promise'.