Chapter 10: The Bar
"Hey! Frank, long time no see~" As Frank followed Mikey into the bar, several patrons greeted him warmly.
Frank was in a terrible mood after uncovering the mess with Ginger and the credit cards. He had no interest in scavenging today—he just needed a drink. So, when Mikey dragged him along to the bar, he didn't resist.
The old Frank had been a regular here, especially at the Alibi Bar. He basically lived in the place, always the last one to leave after closing time—often drinking whatever was left in other people's glasses.
Frank was essentially a fixture of this bar, and most of the regulars knew him well.
"This one's on the house," said Kevin, the buff bartender who looked like a bodybuilder, as he poured Frank a drink.
"Thanks, Kevin," Frank said with a nod after recognizing him.
"I heard from Fiona that you were in the hospital and had amnesia. You got your memory back?" asked a curvy Black woman in a flashy dress, drying glasses behind the bar.
"Sort of. Vee, what are you doing here? Where's Jessie?" Frank replied.
"Jessie's out seeing a doctor—I'm just covering for the day," Veronica replied.
"Hey Frank, Disability Day's over. Time to settle your tab—same deal as always." Kevin tapped the counter.
"Uh…" Frank paused, remembering the arrangement.
"Here." Frank reluctantly handed over Ginger's social security check.
"This covers last month's tab," Kevin said, giving back the change—barely $300.
And that was only because Frank had been in the hospital for a week. If not, there might not have been even $100 left.
"Fiona said she took your disability check when you had amnesia. How are you still handing out checks?" Vee asked, surprised.
Veronica—full name Veronica Fisher—was Kevin's girlfriend, and the two lived next door to Frank's family. The neighbors had always been close. Kevin and Vee had often helped out when Frank's family was struggling, acting almost like extended family.
Veronica and Fiona were especially tight—more like sisters than friends. They went clubbing, worked jobs together, and leaned on each other during hard times.
The reason Frank (the old one) always drank at this bar wasn't just because it was cheap—it was because Kevin worked here and let him keep a tab.
Frank also took advantage of Kevin's poor math skills to avoid paying properly. And, of course, most other bars had already banned Frank for being a nightmare customer.
Even so, Frank's bar tab often ran over $700 a month, blowing through his entire disability check. Add in cigarettes and pills, and he was always broke.
For context, the weekly living budget for Frank's entire family was only $120. If Frank had any shred of responsibility—even as a hopeless loser—he could've at least scraped by for the family.
But that was the old Frank's mess. Now this Frank was stuck cleaning it all up.
Truthfully, he already regretted coming to the bar with Mikey. If he hadn't, he could've avoided paying that tab. Now most of the check was gone before he could even hold onto it.
But then he remembered the $7,500 in credit card debt still looming, and he couldn't help but sigh. That check money was a drop in the ocean.
"Kevin, any way to make $7,500 fast?" Frank asked.
"Seven and a half grand? You couldn't make that selling coke. What, you planning to sell a kidney on the black market?" Kevin laughed—but he wasn't exactly joking. Small-time dealing wouldn't bring in that kind of cash.
"I'm serious—preferably something legal," Frank said.
"Then I've got no clue. But if you find something like that, let me know—I could use it too," Kevin replied.
"$7,500? You couldn't get that for selling me," added Veronica with a snort.
"Screw it, give me another—no, never mind." Frank sighed, instinctively asked for another drink, then caught himself and waved it off, leaving the bar with a heavy heart.
"What's up with him? I've never seen him like this before," Veronica said, watching Frank's retreating back in surprise.
The Frank they knew had always been shameless. Even when things went south, he'd be swearing up a storm, blaming the system or life itself—never quiet, never reflective. This sighing, brooding Frank was something new.
Back at home, Frank found the family's only laptop in Lip's room.
It was an old, outdated model—sluggish and barely able to load web pages. But it worked.
Frank pulled out a scrap of paper and typed in the email address written on it. He was contacting a project manager to pick up some translation work.
He looked through the available jobs and accepted several. Each task was small and paid very little, but if he did enough of them, maybe it would add up. Every dollar counted now.
Frank settled on the couch and began translating, typing away with full focus. He didn't even notice when someone came home.
"You can read Chinese?" a voice said beside him, startling him.
"Lip—you're back from school?" Frank looked up, surprised to see Lip leaning over the couch.
"You're translating?" Lip asked, eyeing the screen with shock. He instantly recognized what Frank was doing.
Lip, whose full name was Phillip, was the second-oldest in the family. But because of how his name was pronounced, everyone—friends and family alike—just called him Lip.
He was the smartest one in the family, a straight-up genius.
How smart? Lip had already started making money off his brains—not from scholarships, but from writing term papers and taking exams for others. Even as a high school junior, he was helping college seniors with their theses and guaranteeing scores high enough to get into their dream schools—even MIT or Stanford—if the price was right.
College admissions were no joke. Getting into MIT or Stanford made getting into Tsinghua or Peking University in China look easy.
Lip had started ghostwriting and doing freelance exam-taking back in his freshman year. Homework, essays, you name it—he did it.
Graduation season was always his money-making peak. Sometimes, he earned more than Fiona.
What's more impressive? He never got caught. Not once. His work was always just good enough—barely past the admissions threshold—so no one ever suspected anything.