Horizons

Against the Grain

Standing in front of this building, you frowned at the business card that you were holding in your palm. The address was right, but then why did it look like a bar instead of the office of a company? Well, the card had looked rather cheap, too. It wouldn't surprise you if this all happened to be a ruse for the killer to hide behind if need be. Not that you were going to make any conclusions without evidence.

James stood next to you, rocking back and forth on his feet, obviously nervous.

"Did you really have to come all the way out here to question this person?" he asked for the umpteenth time that day as he looked over his shoulder just in case someone might be lurking about, ready to empty his pockets or even kill him without him ever noticing.

"Yes," was the only response you gave him. You always preferred a face-to-face interrogation, people finding it much easier to lie their way out of things when you couldn't see their stupid heads. How you hate simple-minded people, petty enough to sink to the level of crime instead of earning their lives the legal way.

Without waiting to listen to his whining again, you checked the business card one last time before crossing the street, first looking left and then right even though you hadn't heard any cars coming, to get to the building. After avoiding the cracks on the pavement, you climbed up the short stair case.

One.

Two.

Three.

You turned and re-counted the amount of steps, making sure you had gotten the correct amount, before walking over to the front door. All the while, James, who had already arrived at the front door, waited patiently for you. He knew that if he interrupted you doing "your thing", as he liked to call it, you would have to start all over again.

"Come in!" was called from the other side of the door before you had even managed to raise your hand and knock. You shared a glance with James, who merely shrugged and gestured for you to do "your thing" again.

After patting all the pockets you had on you - two front pockets, two back pockets, two coat pockets - you opened the door and stepped inside, immediately beginning to eye your surroundings as you did so.

It looked absolutely horrible. Dirty, furnished by an amateur, empty yet disorganised, and sombre... You couldn't believe a business like this managed to not go bankrupt. At least that explained the cheap-looking card. Pizza boxes were scattered everywhere, the desk standing at the back hurt your eyes with its littered top, the carpet wasn't put down properly with edges tucked beneath itself and - worst of all - the... paintings or whatever they were hanging on the wall - slanting.

Slanting.

And, possibly even worse, the tiles were designed just so that your foot didn't fit into one of the decoration circles.

How could anybody live, or just work, in a place like this?

"Ya done examining the goods?" the apparent owner of this horror house whom you hadn't noticed yet asked you, tilting his head to the side as he, in turn, examined you, his eyes filled with amusement as he did so. He sat at his desk, his feet resting on top of it with his arms behind his head.

The dirty desk.

Your fingers started itching at the sight of all this chaos and James couldn't help but let out a groan. The place they had to visit just had to look like this, didn't it? The two of you were never going to get out of here anytime soon.

Shaking your head and trying to concentrate on the case again, you took a few large strides towards this white-haired man and his desk - his obnoxious desk - while fingering the business card, which you then slammed down on the stained surface when you arrived there.