TheGrind
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2010
- Posts
- 872
James walked by his secretary as he put his hand on the brass door knob to his office. Twisting the knob he questioned Evelyn as a form of daily repetition, “Anything new today?”
She responded negatively in soft tones as though to lessen the blow. But she knew as well as he did that if things continued going the way they have been that it wouldn’t be long before she was forced to leave. The question of whether he was able to afford her was constantly buzzing in his mind.
His name had been printed on the door’s glass seven years ago just before Hoover’s arrival. And now seven years later specks of dust were gathering against the pane of glass, highlighted by the sun filtering through a window and a light shade on the other side of his office. It didn’t matter at this point. If there was anyone who was desperate enough to afford his time they surely weren’t going to care about what the window looked like. And James had been beaten down for so long, neither did he.
There wasn’t much left of his office. A desk and it’s chair, along with a few common wooden chairs on the other side but there was nothing more aside from a coat rack brooding next to the door.
Before he sat down behind his desk he removed his revolver, placing it inside the top drawer as the holster joined it’s partner moments later. It hadn’t been used today, or ever. The more he stayed in the shadows the better he was. The way they depicted his occupation in those comic strips or films just weren’t accurate. But he wasn’t about to downplay the hero-like features of those recent Dick Tracy radio broadcasts.
A morning newspaper had been laid out on his desk as he pulled himself forward. His hands laid the paper flat and read more headlines that would’ve been surprising or heartbreaking in almost any other decade. Instead it was just the daily news. It was something else to be forgotten by tomorrow. The nation certainly had troubles but each person had more immediate problems that needed to be solved.
She responded negatively in soft tones as though to lessen the blow. But she knew as well as he did that if things continued going the way they have been that it wouldn’t be long before she was forced to leave. The question of whether he was able to afford her was constantly buzzing in his mind.
His name had been printed on the door’s glass seven years ago just before Hoover’s arrival. And now seven years later specks of dust were gathering against the pane of glass, highlighted by the sun filtering through a window and a light shade on the other side of his office. It didn’t matter at this point. If there was anyone who was desperate enough to afford his time they surely weren’t going to care about what the window looked like. And James had been beaten down for so long, neither did he.
There wasn’t much left of his office. A desk and it’s chair, along with a few common wooden chairs on the other side but there was nothing more aside from a coat rack brooding next to the door.
Before he sat down behind his desk he removed his revolver, placing it inside the top drawer as the holster joined it’s partner moments later. It hadn’t been used today, or ever. The more he stayed in the shadows the better he was. The way they depicted his occupation in those comic strips or films just weren’t accurate. But he wasn’t about to downplay the hero-like features of those recent Dick Tracy radio broadcasts.
A morning newspaper had been laid out on his desk as he pulled himself forward. His hands laid the paper flat and read more headlines that would’ve been surprising or heartbreaking in almost any other decade. Instead it was just the daily news. It was something else to be forgotten by tomorrow. The nation certainly had troubles but each person had more immediate problems that needed to be solved.