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I was an apartment building inspector for nine years, here's one of my stories.

Out of the dozen or so properties I help inspect, there wasn't a single building I dreaded more than this place. It had been well over two years since I'd been called to the Holly Way Apartments. It was an old sort-of refurbished three story building deep in western down town, among the other derelict, half abandoned high-rises.

It was a somewhat urgent call from the manager of that property. A tenet had skipped out on rent for the month and refused to answer his phone, email, or just the door. Apparently he'd changed the lock at some point or added a new one on, either way the manager couldn't get in and the neighbors have filed complaints. Smell complaints, noise complaints, even from the tenets above and below him on the first and third floor had something to say.
Like always the manager didn't want to get the police involved yet, so me and another inspector got called in to deal with it and to see if the police were necessary.

I've worked with the guy before, George was his name. I could already make out his distinguishable blue Camry parked beside the towering building. This building was old, one of our oldest. Light tan brick work covered most of the building, coated in decades of dark water stains emanating from each window or gutter. Barely six o clock and already the sun was well behind the horizon. In the looming darkness I could see each window above, the interior lights silhouetting whatever unique makeshift curtains the tenets had put up. Mostly the easily recognizable dip-shape of a thin bed sheet held up with thumb-tacks.
I had parked across from George. The stocky balding man was waiting in the drivers seat, leaning deep into his phone before realizing I'd shown up.
"About time you showed up." He said in his usual agitated nervousness.
"Six o clock traffic, terrible this side of town"
"Yeah well at least we won't have to deal with it after we get this over with."
He finished typing something on his phone before pocketing it.

"Why are we even down here? Don't they call the police for these kinds of things?" George said as we made our way to the buildings main entrance. The original coloring on the surface level walls was hardly discernible anymore, caked in a dark brown soot.
"I already asked about it and the manager is clear, he doesn't want police involved if he can help it." I said.
"Oh so we work for this guy now?"
"Look we just gotta ask a few questions, crack open the door, figure out what happened. Guy probably just ditched town. You know the types who live in these places."
"Oh and what about the smell then? They told you about the complaints right? Even the people on the third floor were complaining about the smells, the noises."

"Manager said they stopped a few days ago. Besides, If its anything other than a months worth of rotting food then we'll have every reason to call the cops no matter what this guy says."
We made it to the front door. The awning was tattered and stained, one of the doors had spray painted utility markings covering the glass and was obviously in no state to open. Both sides of the double glass door were dark and clouded, and the inside wasn't much better.

Unlike a lot of other low income apartments, this one actually had a lobby. An under used relic of it's past, but still a lobby. The original ceiling had been replaced with drop tiles, covered in dark water stains, some of them missing or knocked out of place. Furniture had been taken out, but dark spots stained the vinyl flooring where they sat for God knows how long.
A single light was turned on throughout the entire lobby floor, in the back office behind the reception desk. Donald, the owner of this building, sat hunched over his phone and a stack of papers, looking up at us almost in a fight or flight reaction once he heard the front door open.

"Oh." He took a breath before standing up "You boys are finally here." He reached out, shook both our hands before frantically searching his desk for something.
"Ah here we go." He produced a small piece of paper, handed it to George.
"That's the apartment number, 2-B5, and the numbers of the neighbors who made the complaints on the same floor."
"When did the complaints start?" I asked.
The fat man shrugged. "You'll have to ask the neighbors."
"You didn't report the complaints to the office?" George said.
"I don't report complaints to the office, they go straight to the office. Office didn't say anything to me." He continued.
"Office doesn't care about noise complaints, I only got involved when the smell got bad, but then the smell went away, problem solved. Then he was late with the rent."
We both shook our head in impassive agreement.
"And why haven't you called the police?" George asked.
"I got you guys, the office, all that, why risk lowering the value of this place even more with more reels of police around here if they don't need to be. You find something that merits the cops then you tell me but not a moment before." Donald finished with a raised, dramatic voice as he made his way back down the hall, disappearing into his office.