Franky Doyle Novels & Stories

Dylan was silent for a moment, then finally smiled wryly: "Franky, I know you were a person with no money or status at that time. My parents, I can't completely break up with them. After all, you're just an outsider." Franky James waved his hand and slapped Dylan. He almost cursed at this man. “Damn it!” Franky James angrily shouted: “Dylan, I was already messing with the roof. What the fuck is the cut-off? I'm like an idiot, always thinking of a way to keep him from getting hurt. In the end, he quietly left!"

She left. As soon as she was out of sight, I went towards the couple. "What happened here?" I demanded. Jake looked me up from my head, down to my toes. What a rude shit face. "And who are you?" Miss Froggy spoke in her croaky voice. "I'm Drake Orion, manager and new owner of Dolph Store, which happens to be the same place you both are standing in right now." That was probably the longest answer I've given anyone in my entire life. Shit face Jake and his little Froggy got so much on my nerves that I spoke more than usual.

Kinglsely cuts in. "Who paid you to kill me? Frank, you are my best friend. Tell me, you don't have to join in these" Frank is pale skin with blonde hair and green eyes. His face decorated with guilt of some one who was sweet talked into joining the raid. Tears falls from his eyes and he speaks.

Eddie Doyle was a sixty-three-year-old man in a brown jacket. That was the first sentence I composed about him, and the sentence is the one I have kept, because the sentence is the truest description I am able to give. There was nothing visually remarkable about him. He was a man in a brown jacket of the kind a man in his sixties wears when he has stopped being interested in what a jacket looks like. His hair was grey and going. His eyes were a pale, unhurried color I could not, in the moment, have named.

Spencer let out a soft growl but he didn’t say anything. Pushing away from the wall, I walked into the kitchen. A man with wavy dark hair stood beside the barstools where Spencer and I’d had breakfast this morning. Frankie was tall, his dark hair hung around his shoulders in soft looking waves. He was watching me with eyes that were dark pools with hints of blue in their depths. His skin was pale, like he spent too much time indoors and not enough time in the sunlight. A black shirt was stretched over his chest and his legs were encased in ripped blue jeans.