The Drew makes a couple of quick phone calls and turns to you with a nod. "He's at work. I know a boy out at Sterling Tires. Said he could get us a few minutes with I Am the Walraven."
You nod back, appreciative of a rather inventive nickname.
Sterling Tires is a coughing wart of a factory on an otherwise expansive acreage of woods just of the Interstate corridor running roughly between Ruddy Creek and Texarkana. It's nothing more than a series of warehouses and garage-looking structures, with smoke stacks jutting up into the sky to spit a steady stream of white puffs to float over the highway. The land it occupies has more parking space than building, and damn near every pickup in town looks to be taking up space when you and The Drew pull up.
You drive to a front office and park in a space marked for visitors. The Drew's friend has obviously been watching for you, because a man is walking out and waving before you even get out of the truck.
"Drew," he shouts. "How the hell's it hanging?"
The Drew shakes his hand and gives him a half hug. "Little to the left but lower than yours, you old son of bitch."
You endure a few more exchanges like this while the man, who you have learned is named something which earns him the nicknames "Philibuster," "The Philsbury Dough Boy," and "Phildo." Your guess is Phil, but it remains unconfirmed. Regardless, Maybe Phil takes you to a break room down a hallway of offices and asks you to wait there while he gets Jason Walraven.
Before he returns, The Drew turns to you and says, "Hey, Rookie. I know how guys like Quoth the Walraven tick. What do you say I fly solo on this one?"
You nod back, appreciative of a rather inventive nickname.
Sterling Tires is a coughing wart of a factory on an otherwise expansive acreage of woods just of the Interstate corridor running roughly between Ruddy Creek and Texarkana. It's nothing more than a series of warehouses and garage-looking structures, with smoke stacks jutting up into the sky to spit a steady stream of white puffs to float over the highway. The land it occupies has more parking space than building, and damn near every pickup in town looks to be taking up space when you and The Drew pull up.
You drive to a front office and park in a space marked for visitors. The Drew's friend has obviously been watching for you, because a man is walking out and waving before you even get out of the truck.
"Drew," he shouts. "How the hell's it hanging?"
The Drew shakes his hand and gives him a half hug. "Little to the left but lower than yours, you old son of bitch."
You endure a few more exchanges like this while the man, who you have learned is named something which earns him the nicknames "Philibuster," "The Philsbury Dough Boy," and "Phildo." Your guess is Phil, but it remains unconfirmed. Regardless, Maybe Phil takes you to a break room down a hallway of offices and asks you to wait there while he gets Jason Walraven.
Before he returns, The Drew turns to you and says, "Hey, Rookie. I know how guys like Quoth the Walraven tick. What do you say I fly solo on this one?"