Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

The service office sits behind the docks like a bad alibi, all peeling paint, wet concrete, and a buzzing yellow light over the door. Rain needles the alley, and the harbor machinery thumps somewhere beyond the chain-link fence.

Dallas Fontaine and Jackson Temple close in on the lock as the maintenance stamp on the slip matches the brass plate by the handle. The place smells of salt, oil, and old coffee gone sour.

Dallas slips the key into the lock and works it open. The door gives a dry click, then a thin line of warm light spills across the wet pavement from inside.

Dallas slides along the wall instead of through the doorway, letting Jackson take the sightline. The rain hisses on the threshold while the guard inside keeps staring at the opening, trying to place the shape in the glare.

He slips in low, coat brushing wet concrete, boots finding the soft edge of the room. The guard never sees him coming until Dallas is already behind the man, one hand clamped over his mouth, the other driving him into silence.

The guard drops hard against the desk, chair legs shrieking once. Jackson is in the doorway an instant later, covering the hall while Dallas keeps the man folded and quiet.

On the desk, a brass key ring and a folded maintenance slip sit beside a cheap radio, its red light still blinking. Beyond the room, somewhere deeper inside the office, a door latch clicks once.