repsac
11-02-2006, 05:37 AM
This is the first 1237 words of my novel. I realise it's rough. This is intended to be a detective novel. Censored for content.
The man stood before the old building, staring at the parking meter like it was an old friend. Rummaging through his pockets, he came up empty first; no change to feed the beast today. "Great" he muttered quietly to himself. "Not again." His quest continued on, finally stopping when he dragged enough change for the day out. One of the coins, a battered quarter had some strange gummy substance upon it. Staring at it some, the man tried to scrape the stuff off and then feed it to the machine. The meter rejected the coin with a disdainful clunk. Again, he tried making sure to quickly thrust the coin in. Again the machine refused it. Cursing under his breath, the man smacked the machine only to draw the momentary ire of a passing tourist. One last time he thrust forward the coin, and this time the machine complied. His morning ritual done, the man; better known as Jacob Robert Livingston, turned and started to walk up to the old hotel before him.
Jacob wasn't much of a man, as men go. He was about thirty years old, but looked like he had to be easily five years older. Years of junk food, bad nights, long days, and far too much soda had worked its worst on the man. Many found, upon looking at his tired face that it was hard to imagine that he had no vices. No real vices at least. That wasn't to say that he didn't have some problems, some habits. They just weren't things which stood out in public. Yes, Jacob wasn't much of a man. He was the kind of person easily missed or overlooked. His choice of clothing didn't help that.
To say Jacob was messy, would be no different than saying a stop sign is red. Messy and Jacob went hand in hand. Usually he would be found wearing a simple white dress shirt. At least, the shirt had been white at some point in its life. Now, wrinkled beyond any recognition, the shirt had a strange yellow greyish tint to it. Over this, he usually sported a tie of some color, with his favorite being a conservative grey and red stripe. The rest of his clothing reflected the same messy style, his slacks possibly being worse than the shirt. That'd be a close race, with the slacks barely coming in first. Jacob apparently didn't own an Iron, and if he did it was rarely if ever used.
In a way, his car fit the man much like his clothing did. It was old, falling
apart and yet, he seemed to cherish it. The car may have been blue at some point, but now it was a strange primer spotted beast with doors that didn't match the body color. The car had seen better days, and hard ones were definately on it's horizon. One would think, that with his job, Jacob would have bought something newer, and yet here he was driving up in the old jalopy. Perhaps, as some of his clients surmised, he was just cheap. That, or he didn't have as much money as many suspected.
Stepping up to the old wooden doors, Jacob paused as he always did. The building was old, almost ancient in a way. Looking up, the man smiled softly and then nodded. Much as he hated to admit it, he did love the building. It was old, cranky, messy, and in many ways a good old friend. Oh sure, the heat didn't work in winter, and the air conditioning had died many months ago; but still the place held a bit of character. Something reminiscent of the days when it was built.
As he opened the great wooden door, he was rewarded with a strangely satisfying groaning squeak. The sound made him think of an old dog being roused from a good nap. The dog growling and complaining before rolling over and going right back to sleep. Stepping into the old entry way, Jacob had to duck aside a moment while some tattoed kids...ok, they weren't really kids. Jacob thought of them that way, but some were as old as he. Tattooed kids bustled past on their way up to the second floor. The glory days of the building were long gone. Jacob felt sad about that some, but there wasn't much he could really do. The building had once been a great hotel. Now, it was a series of apartments and office space. The second floor was converted into classroom space for the local arts college, along with a small tattoo parlor at the far end of the hall. Idly, Jacob wondered if the tattooing was part of the college or not.
Stepping into the hall, Jacob paused momentarily to pick up his mail. Shuffling through the series of bills and junk mail, he turned up nothing of interest. Oh sure, he probably should pay the bills, but money was tight right now; and he'd not been paid yet for his last job. Jacob grumbled a greeting to one of the young men in the building; some homeless guy that kept camping out in the lobby. No matter how many times the guy was run off, he kept coming back. Jacob liked the guy's tenacity and gave him a fiver just for that reason.
Walking along, he passed a few of the newer businesses. At one time, the whole right side of the hotel had been occupied by a bank. Now, however, a nail salon took it's place. That salon was always doing a good bit of business, though Jacob often wondered if more wasn't going on. Especially after the massage palor on the fourth floor was raided for illicit sexual activities. Smiling some, Jacob mused over that phrasing. It was a nice way of saying in the paper, ":censored: house." shrugging to himself, Jake paused at the elevator doors. Dare he ride today?
Like the building about it, the elevator was old, and while it seemed to work fine; Jacob just didn't trust it. The elevator groaned and creaked, and parts kept falling off. The last time he had stepped into the peeling paint and moldy interior, he was disturbed to hear a very loud snap from below him and something fall off into the murky depths of the shaft. Jacob was certain that one day, the elevator would give up the ghost and drop like a stone. He, planned not to be there when that day happened. Knowing his luck, he'd either get blamed for it somehow; or be on it at the time. What's worse, he was rather certain there was lead in the paint, so as if to make matters worse he was being poisoned...
No, he wouldn't take the coffin on a rope today. Rather he'd take the stairs. Besides, he needed the exercise. It'd do his body good to climb. The only hazzard there was tripping over some drunk sleeping it off there, or stumbling onto a drug deal again. There's no easy way to say "Just passing through" when you walk up on two very skittish people packing heat and illegal drugs. It's even harder when you resemble an out of work cop. Jacob, was no cop. Never had been. That didn't change the fact that he looked like one. All his life, he looked that way. "Maybe it's my hair" he thought aloud.
The man stood before the old building, staring at the parking meter like it was an old friend. Rummaging through his pockets, he came up empty first; no change to feed the beast today. "Great" he muttered quietly to himself. "Not again." His quest continued on, finally stopping when he dragged enough change for the day out. One of the coins, a battered quarter had some strange gummy substance upon it. Staring at it some, the man tried to scrape the stuff off and then feed it to the machine. The meter rejected the coin with a disdainful clunk. Again, he tried making sure to quickly thrust the coin in. Again the machine refused it. Cursing under his breath, the man smacked the machine only to draw the momentary ire of a passing tourist. One last time he thrust forward the coin, and this time the machine complied. His morning ritual done, the man; better known as Jacob Robert Livingston, turned and started to walk up to the old hotel before him.
Jacob wasn't much of a man, as men go. He was about thirty years old, but looked like he had to be easily five years older. Years of junk food, bad nights, long days, and far too much soda had worked its worst on the man. Many found, upon looking at his tired face that it was hard to imagine that he had no vices. No real vices at least. That wasn't to say that he didn't have some problems, some habits. They just weren't things which stood out in public. Yes, Jacob wasn't much of a man. He was the kind of person easily missed or overlooked. His choice of clothing didn't help that.
To say Jacob was messy, would be no different than saying a stop sign is red. Messy and Jacob went hand in hand. Usually he would be found wearing a simple white dress shirt. At least, the shirt had been white at some point in its life. Now, wrinkled beyond any recognition, the shirt had a strange yellow greyish tint to it. Over this, he usually sported a tie of some color, with his favorite being a conservative grey and red stripe. The rest of his clothing reflected the same messy style, his slacks possibly being worse than the shirt. That'd be a close race, with the slacks barely coming in first. Jacob apparently didn't own an Iron, and if he did it was rarely if ever used.
In a way, his car fit the man much like his clothing did. It was old, falling
apart and yet, he seemed to cherish it. The car may have been blue at some point, but now it was a strange primer spotted beast with doors that didn't match the body color. The car had seen better days, and hard ones were definately on it's horizon. One would think, that with his job, Jacob would have bought something newer, and yet here he was driving up in the old jalopy. Perhaps, as some of his clients surmised, he was just cheap. That, or he didn't have as much money as many suspected.
Stepping up to the old wooden doors, Jacob paused as he always did. The building was old, almost ancient in a way. Looking up, the man smiled softly and then nodded. Much as he hated to admit it, he did love the building. It was old, cranky, messy, and in many ways a good old friend. Oh sure, the heat didn't work in winter, and the air conditioning had died many months ago; but still the place held a bit of character. Something reminiscent of the days when it was built.
As he opened the great wooden door, he was rewarded with a strangely satisfying groaning squeak. The sound made him think of an old dog being roused from a good nap. The dog growling and complaining before rolling over and going right back to sleep. Stepping into the old entry way, Jacob had to duck aside a moment while some tattoed kids...ok, they weren't really kids. Jacob thought of them that way, but some were as old as he. Tattooed kids bustled past on their way up to the second floor. The glory days of the building were long gone. Jacob felt sad about that some, but there wasn't much he could really do. The building had once been a great hotel. Now, it was a series of apartments and office space. The second floor was converted into classroom space for the local arts college, along with a small tattoo parlor at the far end of the hall. Idly, Jacob wondered if the tattooing was part of the college or not.
Stepping into the hall, Jacob paused momentarily to pick up his mail. Shuffling through the series of bills and junk mail, he turned up nothing of interest. Oh sure, he probably should pay the bills, but money was tight right now; and he'd not been paid yet for his last job. Jacob grumbled a greeting to one of the young men in the building; some homeless guy that kept camping out in the lobby. No matter how many times the guy was run off, he kept coming back. Jacob liked the guy's tenacity and gave him a fiver just for that reason.
Walking along, he passed a few of the newer businesses. At one time, the whole right side of the hotel had been occupied by a bank. Now, however, a nail salon took it's place. That salon was always doing a good bit of business, though Jacob often wondered if more wasn't going on. Especially after the massage palor on the fourth floor was raided for illicit sexual activities. Smiling some, Jacob mused over that phrasing. It was a nice way of saying in the paper, ":censored: house." shrugging to himself, Jake paused at the elevator doors. Dare he ride today?
Like the building about it, the elevator was old, and while it seemed to work fine; Jacob just didn't trust it. The elevator groaned and creaked, and parts kept falling off. The last time he had stepped into the peeling paint and moldy interior, he was disturbed to hear a very loud snap from below him and something fall off into the murky depths of the shaft. Jacob was certain that one day, the elevator would give up the ghost and drop like a stone. He, planned not to be there when that day happened. Knowing his luck, he'd either get blamed for it somehow; or be on it at the time. What's worse, he was rather certain there was lead in the paint, so as if to make matters worse he was being poisoned...
No, he wouldn't take the coffin on a rope today. Rather he'd take the stairs. Besides, he needed the exercise. It'd do his body good to climb. The only hazzard there was tripping over some drunk sleeping it off there, or stumbling onto a drug deal again. There's no easy way to say "Just passing through" when you walk up on two very skittish people packing heat and illegal drugs. It's even harder when you resemble an out of work cop. Jacob, was no cop. Never had been. That didn't change the fact that he looked like one. All his life, he looked that way. "Maybe it's my hair" he thought aloud.