Later that night at Molly's Bar.
After dinner, they didn't waste any time. Ethan drove straight to the bar; he already knew that if they showed up late, they'd never hear the end of it.
As soon as they parked, they saw Alvin Olinsky patting Jay Halstead on the shoulder as they pushed open Molly's door. From inside came the noise of music and clinking glasses.
They walked in.
At their usual corner, a wooden table was already taken: Olinsky, Halstead… and Antonio. Three half-finished beers and a lively conversation.
—Look who finally decided to show up! —Halstead called out.
—Guys, you didn't even wait for me! —Ethan replied, walking over with a smile.
He gave Antonio a light shove on the shoulder and dropped into the empty chair. Then he turned toward the bar and raised his hand.
—Hey, Cruz! A round of whiskey for this table.
Laughter broke out immediately.
Antonio didn't even wait for the drinks to settle; he held out his hand with a victorious grin.
—Come on, guys… time to pay up. Don't be shy.
A couple of them complained through laughter as they reached into their pockets.
—No way… —one muttered—
Bills started changing hands amid jokes and playful shoves, while the round hadn't even been served yet.
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
—What?
Halstead shook his head, amused.
—We made a bet. On what you'd order.
—I said beer —Olinsky added, pulling out a ten-dollar bill.
—I went with a Manhattan —Halstead said, placing his on the table.
—And I won —Antonio finished, calmly collecting the money—
Ethan let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
—Your fault for being late —Antonio replied, pocketing the bills—
—Alright —Ethan said, leaning back— then everyone pays for their own round.
—Hey! —Erin cut in, raising her hand from her seat— I didn't bet anything, don't drag me into this.
—Too late —Halstead said— you're at the table, you're in.
—That's not fair.
—It never is —Olinsky muttered, lifting his beer.
At that moment, the bartender arrived with the drinks, setting glasses in front of each of them.
Antonio raised his first, and this time his expression shifted—more serious.
—Alright… —he said— jokes aside.
The others looked at him.
—We made it home in one piece today —he said, raising his glass— after a rough day… and that shootout, we're still here. Good work, everyone.
The mood settled a bit.
Ethan didn't respond right away. He just picked up his glass, turning it slightly between his fingers.
—To stay alive —Erin said.
—To that —the others echoed.
The glasses clinked with a sharp sound.
And this time, no one complained about the bourbon.
—Cheers!
Just as they exhaled the burn of the alcohol, Ruzek walked quickly toward them.
—Hey, guys!
—Why didn't you tell me?
—Your place isn't here —Olinsky said, pointing with his empty glass toward the other side— that's the sergeant from the Magnificent Mile district. I hear he's looking for a patrol officer. I think you'd be a good fit.
The rest stayed silent, looking indifferent.
Seeing their faces, Ruzek's expression stiffened, and he forced a small smile.
—Alright… if you think that's best for me, I'll talk to the sergeant tomorrow.
—Pfft!
Halstead couldn't hold it in and spat the beer he'd just taken into his mouth onto the table.
—Oh!!!
—That's disgusting.
—Hahaha!
Gasps and laughter broke out around the table.
In that instant, all their expressions came back to life.
—Sit down —Ethan said, wiping the table with a napkin and nudging Ruzek— he's just messing with you!
Olinsky set his glass down and smiled.
—You scared me to death.
—Don't let me catch you showing off in front of your buddies again, got it? —Olinsky said, pulling out a straw and biting on it—
—Got it. Won't happen again.
Seeing two people walk in through the door, Ethan raised his hand in greeting, but he didn't stay at the table long. With his glass already empty, he stood up and headed straight to the bar.
He leaned one forearm on the wood and raised his voice just enough to be heard.
—Hey, Cruz… another round of whiskey for everyone.
Behind the bar, Joe Cruz looked up while drying a glass with a cloth. When he recognized him, his expression shifted into a friendly smile.
—Well, well… —he said, stepping closer— good to see you, Detective. Looks like you had a long day.
Ethan gave a half-smile.
—Trying not to die on duty… You know how it is, firefighter.
Cruz let out a short laugh.
He grabbed a good bottle of whiskey and began pouring with quick, precise movements.
—On your tab, Detective? —he asked, tilting his head slightly toward the corner where the others sat.
—Yeah, put it all on my tab and charge it to my credit card —Ethan replied, gesturing over his shoulder.
Cruz followed his glance and nodded.
—Wish I had a partner like you at the station.
He set several glasses on a tray, pouring generously before handing them off to a waitress.
Along with the whiskey, Atwater and Burgess arrived.
Ethan shifted inward; Erin followed, making space for Burgess. As for Atwater, he had no choice but to remain standing.
—Atwater.
Antonio raised his glass again.
—You did well today!
The large, dark-skinned man smiled a little shyly.
—When there's a shootout, there are two rules you should never forget.
Antonio's face was flushed from the alcohol; he was a bit more talkative than usual.
He set his glass down and adopted a serious expression… a bit too serious for the situation, making several people start to smile.
—Alright, listen up… —he said, looking around— basic rules in a shootout.
He raised one finger.
—Rule number one: bring your gun.
Silence… one second.
Then, pounding on the table, restrained laughter.
—Great advice!
Antonio raised a second finger, keeping the same tone.
—Rule number two: if for some stupid reason you didn't bring it…
—…call someone who did.
Everyone nodded, smiling.
They all knew they had work the next day, so no one drank too much. After a couple of hours, one by one, they stood up and left.
The gathering at Molly's ended quickly.
Ethan and Erin left separately. He told her he had something to do, so they said goodbye without making much of it.
It was still early, and Ethan, a little drunk, wandered through the streets of Chicago.
He remembered something, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He liked the firefighters' bar, but it wasn't really his style, so he decided to have a bit more to drink… at Kev's bar.
—Clang!
The iron bell rang as the door opened, a sharp chime lost in the murmur of the bar. Inside, everything was just as it always was.
With a cigarette between his lips, Ethan walked in and made his way to the bar, dropping onto a stool.
Behind the counter, a young woman stood on tiptoe trying to reach a bottle on the top shelf. Her shirt lifted slightly as she stretched, revealing her waist just enough to draw more than a few looks.
Around her, several men didn't bother hiding it.
Then, from the back, a rough voice cut through the room:
—Hey! If anyone keeps staring at my woman, I'll gouge your eyes out with a damn spoon, got it?
The noise dropped a notch.
A man stepped out from the side, drying his hands with a rag: Kevin. His gaze swept the room with irritation before landing on the bar.
—Get your damn eyes off her.
The girl shifted a bit more.
Only then did Ethan realize it was Veronica, Kevin's girlfriend and Fiona's friend.
He awkwardly looked away and greeted Kevin.
—Hey, Kev.
—Damn, it's been a while. What's it been, two weeks? —Kevin bumped fists with him— Where've you been? You don't need to hide from Frank that long.
After speaking, he winked at Ethan.
—Work's been keeping me busy lately. How'd the last thing go? —Ethan chuckled— Did Frank give you trouble?
—That drunk bastard? Not trouble, but he's a pain in the ass —Kevin shook his head— wouldn't stop until I bought him a couple beers so he'd leave me alone. What'll you have?
—A beer —Ethan smiled, shaking his head—
Hearing Kevin speak so familiarly, Veronica turned, curious.
When she recognized him, her eyes widened slightly.
—It's you…! Ethan, right?
Ethan gave a slight smile, leaning on the bar.
—In the flesh.
—Sorry, I've got something to take care of. Give me a second.
She nodded to Ethan, smacked Kevin lightly on the backside, and walked quickly off to grab the phone hanging on the wall.
—Beer's up!
Kevin didn't mind; he already knew what she was doing. He poured a glass of beer and set it on the bar.
Ethan knew the rules here: no tabs.
He placed the money on the counter and picked up the glass without a word.
—Our old friend still hasn't shown up?
—No —Kevin replied, tossing the towel onto the counter while glancing at the clock— still early. You know how he is… always late.
—Better that way.
Veronica hung up and came back quickly, leaning on the bar with a playful smile.
Ethan smiled and took a sip of his beer.
Kevin nodded and poured a couple more drinks.
The three of them drank calmly at the bar, while on the other side, a group of customers crowded around the TV in the corner. Cheers and applause erupted every so often.
—What are they watching? —Ethan asked, setting his glass down with curiosity.
—UFC —Kevin replied, leaning on the bar with both hands— they all pitched in to buy that new TV. They've been waiting for this for days.
Veronica soon went back to work, moving easily between bottles and glasses, while Ethan and Kevin kept talking without hurry. There was something about Kevin's direct, relaxed manner that Ethan liked—maybe it reminded him of old Sugar.
Kevin wiped the bar, looking at Ethan in disbelief.
—No way… —he said, shaking his head— you really fought a UFC fighter?
Ethan took a sip of his beer, completely calm.
—Yeah, I busted the bastard up… never mess with Banshee deputies.
Kevin let out a disbelieving laugh.
—His name was Damian Sánchez.
Kevin froze.
—…You serious?
—Look it up on YouTube —Ethan said, resting his elbow on the bar— someone probably uploaded it. The guy beat a poor girl nearly to death. When we went to arrest him, he refused to get out of the ring, so I had to take him down myself.
Kevin grabbed his phone and started typing quickly.
—Let's see… "Damian Sánchez Banshee fight"… —he muttered.
A few seconds passed.
Then he froze.
—No… no way.
He turned the screen toward Ethan.
—That's you?
On the video, it was clear: a circle of shouting people, bets being made… and in the middle, a huge man trading blows with someone in a police uniform.
—That's me.
Kevin hit play.
The punches sounded dull, brutal. No showmanship.
—That guy's a pro fighter… —Kevin muttered— look at his size…
In the video, Damian landed a punch that made Ethan stagger back.
Kevin winced.
—Oof… that had to hurt…
But seconds later, Ethan slipped, countered… and ended up taking him down and cuffing him.
Silence.
Kevin slowly paused the video.
Then looked up.
—You beat him… —he murmured, still staring at the screen as if he needed to confirm it again— you beat a damn UFC fighter…
Ethan shrugged, bringing the beer to his lips with total calm.
—Guess it wasn't his night.
Kevin let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
—No, man… —he said, setting the phone down— the one who never had another good night was him.
Kevin shook his head, smiling, picked up his glass, and refilled it.
—This one's on the house… but only because I don't get someone who beat up a UFC fighter at my bar every day.
They were just debating when to go watch a Bulls game when hurried footsteps broke the rhythm as the iron bell rang again.
Kevin reacted immediately: he stepped back a couple of steps, raising his hands with a half-smile.
—Man, you're on your own. —he muttered, as if stepping away from trouble before it exploded.