Entering the room, which was lit dimly by the hues of the setting sun, Ulrich was promptly floored. He'd been impressed with the building's size and the care with which Jamieson had gone about restoring it, but nothing had prepared him for the awesome grandeur of the furnished model room.
To put it simply, it made his old apartment look like a lean-to.
Rich leather furniture filled the vast living room that opened up before him. The floor plan was such that he could glimpse a bit of the kitchen from where he stood, and the glimmer of new, stainless steel appliances met his eye before he was even through the door. Large windows lined the far wall, their blinds cracked to admit the light, and the view of the city below was absolutely breathtaking.
Toledo is not a city known for its beauty. Any visitor who makes a tour will most likely declare it a city past its prime, a place that must have been rather picturesque, once upon a time, but which is too darkly rendered now in the stark hues of degradation. Downtown Toledo is mostly unpeopled, and large buildings, once proud architectural marvels not unlike the Exeter House, are found sitting vacant in abundance, given over to the elements. There is a dearth of visible inhabitants to be found in the area, with many having left the inner city for the suburbs over the course of decades.
But to look out upon the city from these heights, to cast an eye upon the shells of spent grandeur which were so frequently passed with nary a thought, was to catch the faintest glimmers of the city's past glory and, perhaps, to envisage its eventual revival. Through the window, Ulrich did not see the empty, worn-out buildings of downtown Toledo for what they were, rather, he saw them as impressive, ancient things indicative of some long-passed era. It was like looking at the ruins of a once-great civilization, like standing at the top of a Mesoamerican pyramid and taking in the whole of Chichen Itza.
In a weird way, looking out from the furnished room, Ulrich felt proud of his city. It really was a beautiful sight from so far up, and as the sun faded and the lights of sparse downtown businesses flickered to life, the scene took on something of quiet liveliness.
“I told ya,” said Jamieson after a time, hands in his pockets. “Hell of a view, Harlan.” He lifted the blinds, pointing out across the city and setting his sights on a couple of towering buildings Ulrich knew to be abandoned offices. “The Exeter House is just the start of all this,” he began. “Downtown Toledo is a place that has been waiting ages for a revival. Know what I mean? Just look at this richness that surrounds us, this history. We've got it in spades around here, but we've left it to fester, crumble, by moving into the suburbs. It's a goddamn shame. Toledo was great once. And if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to bring her back. I'm going to fix up Exeter House, to start, and that'll be the first domino. Get it? When all is said and done, this whole scene is going to be lit up. It'll be a bustling metropolis once again, just like it was so many decades ago. Toledo hasn't been much of a city since well before you and I were born, bud, but I'm going to change that. There's too much potential out there. We mustn't waste it.”
Ulrich felt strangely moved by Jamieson's words. Indeed, there was a great deal of potential just outside the window, and he found himself looking forward to seeing the whole of downtown transformed. If anyone could do it, it would be the stubborn Jamieson Reed. It helped, of course, that he could draw off of his father's wealth.
“Let's walk,” said Jamieson, stepping back from the window and continuing the tour of the apartment. “You've got your living room here. Original floors, restored.” He gave a little stomp, the floors creaking under the sole of his shoe. “Patched up the weak spots in the plaster, fresh coat of paint.” He pointed to the ceiling, where a number of steel beams jutted out of an open wooden framework. The ceilings extended more than ten feet over Ulrich's head, and small, carefully-arranged fixtures provided light from the warmest possible angles. Whenever a bulb burned out, someone would probably have to come in with a cherry picker just to change them. “These rooms were used as warehouses once upon a time. Which is a shame. A waste of a beautiful space, don't you think?” This was plainly rhetorical. “Anyhow, you got a full bathroom here, just around the corner. New bath, new sink, new everything. Cutting-edge.” Walking past the kitchen, Jamieson reached into an open doorway and flipped a light switch, bringing a small bathroom into view.
Ulrich felt numb as he took it all in. I really get to stay here? he thought, giving a slight shake of his head. Somehow, it didn't make sense. One minute he'd been skirting the cusp of poverty. Now he was set to live like royalty for a week. Admiring the plush, king-sized bed in the bedroom adjacent the bathroom, which was covered in luxuriant satin linens, he cracked a grin. I could get used to living like this. Maybe I should work a few jobs and save up... ask Jamieson to give me a good rate.
When a brief walk around the bedroom was complete, and the walk-in closet had been inspected with no little awe, Jamieson led him back out into the kitchen. “Lots of counter space, lots of it. Dunno if you like to cook, Harlan, but this kitchen was made to work.”
Already Ulrich could see his numerous coffee supplies lining the open counters. He felt a little thrill in his chest just imagining what it would be like to sip an espresso in the clean, open apartment, while looking out over the city. It was everything he'd ever wanted.
“I can see it in your eyes,” laughed Jamieson, slapping him in the arm, “that you're in love with her, and I can't say I blame ya. She's a beauty. All of the apartments up here are just like this one. Made the layouts identical. Had to build closets into a couple of them, but they're all like this. The spaces on the lower floors aren't quite as generous, but I should be able to do something nice with 'em. These, here, on the top floor?” He looked around the room nodding. “Creme de la crème. And should you decide to stay when this is through, I'll see about making the price easy for you, bud.”
“T-thank you,” replied Ulrich, blushing. “That's extremely generous of you, Jamieson. I appreciate this a great deal.”
“Nah,” said Jamieson, waving a hand Ulrich's way as if to ward him off. “It ain't all that. Don't worry about it. I'm just happy to have a familiar face lookin' after my building. And a detective, no less. It's, uh...” he paused, trying to think of the right word, and then came back with a laugh. “It's providential, running into you, of all people. Here I was going to have to hire some help, was worrying that the place might get dirtied up, and then you walk in. What are the odds?”
Ulrich recalled the eviction notice that'd been fixed to his door and shuddered a little. That was the whole reason he was here at all. “Yeah...” he replied half-heartedly, rubbing at his elbow.
“I'm sorry to hear about the fire at your old place,” continued Jamieson, “but one night in this room and I'll bet you'll come to think of that fire as the best thing that's ever happened to ya.”
The investigator blanched a little bit. “Oh, t-the fire, yes,” he stammered, recalling his lie. He hoped that Jamieson wasn't one to watch the local news, else the conspicuous lack of an apartment fire in the headlines might tip him off. “So, I've seen the building. Anything more I need to know? I just make sure no one breaks in, and feed the cat, yes?”
“Well,” began Jamieson, “not quite. There's a little more to it than that. It isn't especially taxing; I don't expect this post will keep you too busy, but I'd appreciate it if you spent the night here every night until I get back. You know, stay in the building from sundown to sunrise. Walk the halls a couple of times, make sure nothing's out of place. The, uh...” He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “The homeless round here... they like to come in and, well, you know. They try to come in here for shelter sometimes. Gotta make sure the doors are all locked and the hallways are clear for that reason. If you find anyone in here, you can strong-arm them out. Or, if need be, call the cops and they'll escort 'em.”
“I see,” replied Ulrich. The thought of forcing a homeless person onto the streets didn't sit well with him. The streets were getting co
ld this time of year, and although he understood why Jamieson wouldn't want to host squatters in his newly-renovated building, he also thought it a little cruel. Nonetheless, he'd do his job, kicking out intruders if it came to that, lest he fall out of Jamieson's good graces and become homeless himself.
Jamieson pulled open the pantry in the kitchen, which was empty, save for a giant bag of cat food. “Food and water for the cat. I fill up the bowls near the stairwell in the morning and at night.” He smirked. “Though, don't fill 'em up to much. If that cat is doin' his job, he's filling up on other stuff.”
By this, Ulrich realized, he meant rats.
Jamieson scratched at his temple, looking around the room. “Uh... I guess that's most of it. I'll get you the keys and show you what doors they correspond to. I'll give you the phone number to my emergency maintenance guy, too, Mickey. I tell ya, though... don't call him unless it's a real emergency, cause he's expensive as hell. You needn't concern yourself much with the second, third or fourth floors. Make sure the locks are intact and that no one's broken in and those should be fine. Walk through the lobby, through the downstairs passages, and make sure they're clear. And then the stairwells. Other than that, the doors up here for the other rooms should all be locked. Don't need to canvass those, unless you wanna see about picking one for yourself,” he said with a wink.
“Sounds good,” Ulrich replied. “And the bar?”
“Ah, yeah, the bar. You can keep an eye on it, but you don't really need to go in there. It opens for lunch at one and closes every night at midnight. Callum's good at locking up and keeping the riff-raff out, so you needn't mess around in there. Any other questions?” asked Jamieson, digging around in his pocket for a small ring of keys.
“Not really, I guess. It sounds rather straightforward.” Ulrich accepted the keys and followed Jamieson back out into the hall.
“That silver key there is for your room. It has a number one on it, see? Then the other silver keys, numbers two through five, are for the corresponding rooms up here.” Jamieson pointed to a large brass key. “That one's going to lock all of the exterior doors. Little one next to it opens the bar, if you need it. The one beside that, with the little knobby handle, unlocks the door to the basement. You shouldn't need that, but if there's a maintenance problem, Mickey might want you to open it up for him. I think that about covers it.”
Ulrich looked at the keys carefully, going through them one-by-one and committing their uses to memory. “Got it.”
“I'll be leaving early in the morning. Flight's at five, so if you don't have any other questions, I'm going to get out of here and leave you be. Got some packing to do.”
Ulrich shook his head. “No, I suppose that's it.” He followed Jamieson all the way to the winding stone staircase, the edges of the mural visible in the sparse flickers of daylight that still drifted in through the massive stained-glass window above the stairs.
“Excellent,” replied Jamieson, shaking the investigator's hand with gusto. “Thanks a bunch for doing this, Harlan. I'll see you in about a week. You feel free to give me a call if you have any questions, and make yourself at home.” Walking down the stairs, Jamieson gave a nod and disappeared into the lower stories.
With the keys to the castle in hand, Ulrich found himself free to wander where he pleased. Turning back towards his room, he pocketed the keyring and looked across the living room at the spectacular view outside the windows. Shutting the door behind him, he dropped into a plush chair and stretched out, pawing at the leather armrests and sighing.
“A week living in this place? Suits me just fine,” he uttered, cracking a grin. He leaned back, closing his eyes, and loosed a great yawn.
When next he opened his eyes, looking out across the dusk-lit room, he noticed the cat sitting before the window, staring at him curiously.
“Hungry?” he asked, leaning forward.
The cat didn't move, but continued to stare at him.
For another minute Ulrich watched the animal, vaguely unsettled at his relentless staring. Finally standing up, he stretched and turned his back on Sparkles. “I think I need a little fresh air. I'll be back.” Ambling to the door, he fished the keys from his pocket and prepared to lock up. As he went to close the door, he found that the cat was still staring at him intently.
He couldn't say why, but it made him damn uncomfortable.
Chapter 5
The sun had fully set by the time Ulrich finished carrying his things inside. He carefully placed his clothing in the spacious closet, arranged his coffee-brewing equipment on the kitchen counter and placed his sack of high-altitude Venezuelan beans in the pantry. Carefully portioning out a bowl's worth of cat food, he filled the vessels at the top of the winding concrete stair with food and water and then spent some time looking through the windows at the twinkling lights of downtown Toledo.
A light rain had begun to fall, seemingly out of nowhere, and the mist clinging to the windows served to distort the scenery. Thinking it a good time for a coffee, Ulrich set up his electric grinder and, when it was plugged in, loaded a few tablespoons of beans into it. Here, at least, no one would complain if he made too much noise grinding coffee late at night. The roar of the grinder resonated off of the walls, sounding throughout the vast living room as though it were a gunshot. When the thing ceased, the resultant silence was almost too much to bear, and Ulrich found himself whistling a tune to fill the space. He'd brought along his electric kettle, and when he'd filled it up, he set the water to boil while setting up his new pour-over system. He'd sprung for an exceptional metal filter that would keep the grounds out of his finished product while still allowing the coffee oils through. It was an extremely fine mesh, and was at least part gold; a professional-grade filter.
And that, of course, was but one of many reasons why his rent check had bounced and he'd very nearly ended up on the streets.
He pursed his lips, pacing about the kitchen while waiting for his water to boil, and thought about his finances. The few hundred dollars he still had would cover food and gas for a month or two, if he was careful, but little else. In order to put a down payment on a new place and to afford simple luxuries, like a new bed or sofa, he'd have to save a fair bit and start working as soon as possible.
Jamieson seemed willing to help him out where rent was concerned, but he surely wasn't going to gift him all of the model apartment's swanky furnishings.
As he often did when things got tight, Ulrich wondered if a change in career wasn't in order. Even during the best of times, detective work wasn't the most stable profession. He could probably have scratched out a more consistent living if he were only willing to take whatever came his way, but being notoriously picky about his clients, Ulrich often lived hand to mouth. The allure of a stable office job, of something banal and predictable, was not entirely lost on him. He considered leafing through the newspaper, seeing if any local businesses were hiring low-level employees. A job, even a part-time position, would help out enormously when the rent came due.
Though unsure whether there was any wifi in the building, Ulrich broke out his ancient laptop and powered it up. The creaky thing belched discordantly as the fans within came to life, and he waited for some minutes before the home screen materialized. He'd do a search for local job openings and send out a few applications, perhaps. The private investigator thing would be waiting for him if this failed, but at that moment Ulrich craved stability.
He grimaced a little as he logged into his computer. A stable income would be nice, though, it wouldn't do him a whole lot of good if he didn't curtail his spending. That was the real problem here, even if he didn't want to admit it. Until he could control himself and avoid going on unnecessary shopping sprees whenever times were good, poverty would be his default.
The kettle clicked off and he gingerly inserted a thermometer into the opening. When it'd cooled to just a few degrees off of boiling, he began to dampen the grounds carefully. Once the kettle was spent, he set it aside and wat
ched excitedly while the brewing apparatus, a glass carafe with a metal filter mounted atop its curved opening, began to fill with fresh brew.
The dripping of coffee ceased some minutes later and, pouring himself a generous cup, Ulrich sniffed it with a grin. “Then again,” he told himself, slurping up a great mouthful, “I'd gladly live on the streets if I could enjoy coffee of this caliber every day.”
Polishing off his first cup in record time, Ulrich poured himself another and then fussed over his computer. A search of some few moments revealed that there was no wifi for him to draw off of, however. “Damn,” he muttered into his mug, checking the time and wondering if there wasn't a fast food restaurant nearby whose signal he could leech.
Just then, there arose a commotion in the hallway. A thud, as if something hefty had been dropped-- and afterward, a rapid, scrambling sort of noise, as of hurried crawling.
Ulrich was startled, but wrote off the noise at once. “It's the cat,” he muttered assuredly. “He's probably just messing around out there.” Still, the sudden burst of noise issuing from somewhere in the building where he should have been separated from the nearest human presence by three complete stories was unsettling. Had Callum, the bartender, come up to the fifth floor for something? It was doubtful; the bar was still open. He was likely down there tending to customers.
Gritting his teeth, he set down his mug on the edge of the counter and slowly walked from the kitchen towards the door. Appraising the solid thing, he found it lacked a peephole. This was a serious design flaw, as far as he was concerned.
Placing one hand against the door and carefully bringing an ear to it, he listened for another disturbance. If it really had been the cat, then he'd doubtless hear it meowing or scampering across the carpeting outside.
Though he stood there for some moments however, the investigator heard nothing. A ponderous quiet settled over the place where only moments ago the membranous silence had been pierced. The new silence felt deliberate. Someone had made noise in the hall and was now staying quiet, lest Ulrich come out and have a look.
Medicine For The Dead: An Occult Thriller (The Ulrich Files Book 2) Page 3