Eddie Noodleman Novels & Stories

For a second, I thought I had dialed the wrong number, until the man spoke with a casual, annoying familiarity and called out my name. "You're Zackary Pratt, aren't you? I'm Nolan Page. Edna's in the kitchen cooking for me, but hang on. I'll have her call you back." In the background, I could hear Edna humming lightly and the clatter of a spatula against a pot. That was the first time I learned of Nolan's existence. At first, I assumed he was her relative, but she told me that Nolan was a neighbor she had grown up with. He had been studying abroad and recently returned after graduating from college.

I have to get back to Don Lucas' office. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Stevenson." He said. "I followed your advice to wander the streets. And it so happened that I met this old man selling street foods but he confessed that he hadn't had any sales since this morning." "You are here for an interview, Mr.-?" Uncle Romnick asked. "Lockman, sir," he uttered. Rhondel Lockman. There was nothing more to share about him apart from that his resume says he is forty-eight years old. He owned a small house and was living with his granddaughter and grandson.

Someone familiar, this time. As I recognized the face of the interceptor, I took a precautionary step backwards, my back colliding against a hard wall I soon realized to be Edward’s chest. “What are you doing here?” Edward boomed out from behind me, and my heart skipped. He recognized him too. “Hey, please,” Adam, Nate’s friend and business associate said, lifting his arms in surrender, “I’m not here as Nathaniel’s friend,” he clarified, “neither do I work with him anymore.”