“Hell-lo-o, hon-nies” was a ten-beer greeting if ever there was one.
Chester Franken was what you might define as unremarkable. He sported a square face with unpronounced cheekbones, a weak chin, and a nose best described as lifeless; several veins ran across the tip and it had that bumpy-blotchy look that serious elbow-benders tended to acquire over time. Years of sucking back suds made it difficult to pin down the man"s age; he could have been forty as easily as sixty.
We"d struck out obtaining a number and address for George Franken. Gail hadn"t responded to our VMs or texts, so we"d had to find an alternative means of gaining access to Georgie Porgie. Fortunately, it came in the way of Kent, who"d provided contact information for brother Chester. A quick call and we were on our way t
