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He took long strides as he made his way down the alley. A cool, damp night was the gift of the season. Puddles formed at the base of the buildings on either side, collecting the leftover rain that fell from the eaves. A good daily rain was typical this time of year. Or several, as it were.
The only feature there was to draw the eye away from the dimly lit corridor was an old dumpster covered in graffiti. A steel trap for unwanted items and vermin. "Lovely", he thought to himself.
His eyes found his target. A drop ladder just out of reach, leading to the building above. A hard pull on the dangling rope let it loose with an ear piecing screech. He climbed up, his hands finding the steel rungs they had known for five years now. Cold, wet...familiar.
He made his way up the flights of stairs, passing the dark and empty windows of the people who lived below him. He didn't know them, and didn't care to. That's why he took the back way in. The front might mean running into them, and the painful, inevitable risk of greetings and small talk. No thanks, the slippery stairs are a much safer bet.
Six flights later, at the top, he opened his window and slid in. Flicking on the nearby light, his drab little apartment welcomed him. A room with not only a dusty old recliner, a rickety chair, but also a makeshift table of plywood and stacked up milk crates liberated from the corner store. It always made him laugh. The idea of "freeing" milk crates, to serve a better life as a coffee table.
He took off his long coat, and threw it over the chair, closely followed by the brimmed hat. It was his badge, the only required uniform item of a private investigator. He thought so, at least. He put his gun on the table, and made his way to the kitchen.
Now the kitchen, his favorite room, was loaded with the essentials. A coffee maker, some cups, and a half empty bottle of whiskey. He held it up to the light, as if to judge it's numbing ability.
He spoke to the bottle fondly, like it could return the warmth. "Hello old friend. How are we this evening? Feel like a little talk about nothin'?"
A couple ice cubes from the freezer clanked into the once empty glass, dancing around for a moment before settling at the bottom. He poured the warm, strong liquor over the ice, causing it to crackle and pop.
He felt the glass cool as he swished the drink around. Then slowly taking a small sip to test the temperature, before finishing off the glass in one gulp. Even chilled, the drink burned all the way down to his stomach. He poured another, and repeated the same motion. Only on his third cup did he allow the whiskey to become familiar with it's temporary captor.
The two of them, the whiskey and the weary investigator, both made their way to the recliner. As he slouched down into it, his eyes closed and he tried to let the day slip away from him. A deep breath helped, and he began to relax, feeling the alcohol start to have it's calming effect.
Just as he was about to lift his glass for another dose, the phone rang. He jumped, and the glass hit the floor. The ice and it's cold partner spilled across the hardwood. The glass was intact, but the disappointment on his face showed no sign of noticing.
The phone rang again. Almost louder it seemed. "DAMNIT!"
He snatched the phone off the cradle, and curtly let out a "Whaaat..."
"Hey baby, why so glum?" The feminine voice almost seemed to whisper the words, and in a moments time his whole mood shifted......
The only feature there was to draw the eye away from the dimly lit corridor was an old dumpster covered in graffiti. A steel trap for unwanted items and vermin. "Lovely", he thought to himself.
His eyes found his target. A drop ladder just out of reach, leading to the building above. A hard pull on the dangling rope let it loose with an ear piecing screech. He climbed up, his hands finding the steel rungs they had known for five years now. Cold, wet...familiar.
He made his way up the flights of stairs, passing the dark and empty windows of the people who lived below him. He didn't know them, and didn't care to. That's why he took the back way in. The front might mean running into them, and the painful, inevitable risk of greetings and small talk. No thanks, the slippery stairs are a much safer bet.
Six flights later, at the top, he opened his window and slid in. Flicking on the nearby light, his drab little apartment welcomed him. A room with not only a dusty old recliner, a rickety chair, but also a makeshift table of plywood and stacked up milk crates liberated from the corner store. It always made him laugh. The idea of "freeing" milk crates, to serve a better life as a coffee table.
He took off his long coat, and threw it over the chair, closely followed by the brimmed hat. It was his badge, the only required uniform item of a private investigator. He thought so, at least. He put his gun on the table, and made his way to the kitchen.
Now the kitchen, his favorite room, was loaded with the essentials. A coffee maker, some cups, and a half empty bottle of whiskey. He held it up to the light, as if to judge it's numbing ability.
He spoke to the bottle fondly, like it could return the warmth. "Hello old friend. How are we this evening? Feel like a little talk about nothin'?"
A couple ice cubes from the freezer clanked into the once empty glass, dancing around for a moment before settling at the bottom. He poured the warm, strong liquor over the ice, causing it to crackle and pop.
He felt the glass cool as he swished the drink around. Then slowly taking a small sip to test the temperature, before finishing off the glass in one gulp. Even chilled, the drink burned all the way down to his stomach. He poured another, and repeated the same motion. Only on his third cup did he allow the whiskey to become familiar with it's temporary captor.
The two of them, the whiskey and the weary investigator, both made their way to the recliner. As he slouched down into it, his eyes closed and he tried to let the day slip away from him. A deep breath helped, and he began to relax, feeling the alcohol start to have it's calming effect.
Just as he was about to lift his glass for another dose, the phone rang. He jumped, and the glass hit the floor. The ice and it's cold partner spilled across the hardwood. The glass was intact, but the disappointment on his face showed no sign of noticing.
The phone rang again. Almost louder it seemed. "DAMNIT!"
He snatched the phone off the cradle, and curtly let out a "Whaaat..."
"Hey baby, why so glum?" The feminine voice almost seemed to whisper the words, and in a moments time his whole mood shifted......
Part II, part II, part II!!!! 
I really appreciate it.
LOL.
My fingers are cramping. 
I think you may have a new calling W4I!
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