A third short chapter for Summer Rain. It is going to be a long while before chapter 4.
Tears in Rain Chapter 3 - Occupational hazards
The offices on the 3rd floor was almost empty and I waltzed straight past the receptionist like I belonged there and she didn’t bat an eye at me.
It was one of them open office floor design types, without those classic stuffy cubicles. The few partitions in the room was low walls covered with different green flora there was still a water cooler though. I guess some things in office life doesn’t change. The water receptacle known for its ability to make people wanna gossip was stuffed out of the way in a little nook next to what looked like a small kitchen. Besides the water cooler was a high-tech coffee dispenser with endless combinations of coffee, milks, foams and syrups with every flavour under the sun. I wonder what ever happened to coffee as tar black fuel where the only option was creamer or a lump of sugar.
I skulket through the office space looking for Clay Brand’s desk.
The few people left in Sterling Accounts were either in the process of leaving or staying for a long while working for that overtime check or that big promotion. They either didn’t notice me or simply didn’t care to.
All around the main office space was slightly nicer offices for the big shots that didn’t feel like slumming it in the main area with the common office folk.
The fancy offices was all frosted glass with glass doors to give the illusion of solidarity but they ended up looking more like some weird aquariums. Meant to hold some exotic predators, I guess that might not be that far from the truth if my experience was anything to go on.
I never really cared for office life, mom always said that I wasn’t cut out for it. I tried my hand at temp work to once, my career lasted for about 5 minutes. It definitely wasn’t for me. My told boss told me in no uncertain terms.
I passed a couple of coworkers on their way back to the elevators. They were giggling and whispering excitingly to each other. My detective ears couldn’t help but eavesdrop, I guess it’s a occupational hazard.
They were whispering sweet nothings to each other. But they were talking more of lust than love. One or both was definately cheating on a spouse. I’ve followed dozens of people like that in my professional life. That is most of detective work, seeing lust taint love and break marriages, turn best friends into the worst of enemies. Staring at the decrepitude of man, of men, sometimes seems to be all I do. And you know what they say when you stare into the abyss long enough it tends to look back at you.
As the couple passed me I heard a delighted yelp,
I looked back and saw the man's possessive hand retreat from the innermost part of the giggling woman’s thigh. I saw his wedding ring. The young woman didn’t have one.
Damn, couldn’t anyone in this city have a nice innocent romance. I’d like to be proven wrong for once..
I can’t help but be cynical but it is hard to remain a romantic in this job.. I thought about Nora. I really hope that woman wasn’t just some disillusioned girlfriend chasing a man that wasn’t what she thought. Maybe this case was different. I thought about the young me and that mess of a girl’s love life.
About Ricky, my first and Rosie, the real one. And all the ones between then and now. So maybe it’s me that isn’t good at romance and I shouldn’t blame my career choices.
My job though that I’m good at.
It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking. Clay Brandt had a nice corner office. Good for you mr. Brandt, good for you.
It was one of them open office floor design types, without those classic stuffy cubicles. The few partitions in the room was low walls covered with different green flora there was still a water cooler though. I guess some things in office life doesn’t change. The water receptacle known for its ability to make people wanna gossip was stuffed out of the way in a little nook next to what looked like a small kitchen. Besides the water cooler was a high-tech coffee dispenser with endless combinations of coffee, milks, foams and syrups with every flavour under the sun. I wonder what ever happened to coffee as tar black fuel where the only option was creamer or a lump of sugar.
I skulket through the office space looking for Clay Brand’s desk.
The few people left in Sterling Accounts were either in the process of leaving or staying for a long while working for that overtime check or that big promotion. They either didn’t notice me or simply didn’t care to.
All around the main office space was slightly nicer offices for the big shots that didn’t feel like slumming it in the main area with the common office folk.
The fancy offices was all frosted glass with glass doors to give the illusion of solidarity but they ended up looking more like some weird aquariums. Meant to hold some exotic predators, I guess that might not be that far from the truth if my experience was anything to go on.
I never really cared for office life, mom always said that I wasn’t cut out for it. I tried my hand at temp work to once, my career lasted for about 5 minutes. It definitely wasn’t for me. My told boss told me in no uncertain terms.
I passed a couple of coworkers on their way back to the elevators. They were giggling and whispering excitingly to each other. My detective ears couldn’t help but eavesdrop, I guess it’s a occupational hazard.
They were whispering sweet nothings to each other. But they were talking more of lust than love. One or both was definately cheating on a spouse. I’ve followed dozens of people like that in my professional life. That is most of detective work, seeing lust taint love and break marriages, turn best friends into the worst of enemies. Staring at the decrepitude of man, of men, sometimes seems to be all I do. And you know what they say when you stare into the abyss long enough it tends to look back at you.
As the couple passed me I heard a delighted yelp,
I looked back and saw the man's possessive hand retreat from the innermost part of the giggling woman’s thigh. I saw his wedding ring. The young woman didn’t have one.
Damn, couldn’t anyone in this city have a nice innocent romance. I’d like to be proven wrong for once..
I can’t help but be cynical but it is hard to remain a romantic in this job.. I thought about Nora. I really hope that woman wasn’t just some disillusioned girlfriend chasing a man that wasn’t what she thought. Maybe this case was different. I thought about the young me and that mess of a girl’s love life.
About Ricky, my first and Rosie, the real one. And all the ones between then and now. So maybe it’s me that isn’t good at romance and I shouldn’t blame my career choices.
My job though that I’m good at.
It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking. Clay Brandt had a nice corner office. Good for you mr. Brandt, good for you.
