Dalton James could hear the heavy footsteps banging against wooden stairs. He’d always been able to hear them. His office was very much on the old side of things. Mt. Pleasant, Cleveland. This was Browns country and moreover, this was one of the city’s worst neighborhoods.
The rent was cheap enough and the building had been everything Dalton had desired. Even down to the shitty wooden steps which led up from the street below. A warning system, if nothing more.
“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” Adam said as he entered.
The office door was just as sad looking as you’d imagine in a building that was decades behind a builder’s code. Thick wood with an antique knob and milky glass with no other purpose than to be there with his name plastered on it.
Dalton James. Private Detective.
“Beauty my ass.” Dalton replied as he raised his head from the desk.
Like everything else, his desk was a relic of severe age and neglect. It had likely been a fine piece of furniture once upon a time. The kind that you’d imagine in some upscale bank, shining beneath fancy overhead lighting. Now it was littered with the haze of age and the scars and nicks of everyday use.
“You said 8 o’clock.” Adam reminded.
Grumbling under his breath, Dalton stared at the clock which hung on the wall. It was rather large and wrapped in a steel band, resembling the clock in one of any of the thousands of labor factories around the world.
“It’s fifteen after.” Adam said. Holding up his antique pocket watch.
“Shit,” Dalton complained.