Chapter 88: Birthday Gift
Ever since Frank learned that Karen's birthday was on Friday, he'd been racking his brain trying to figure out what to get her.
Eventually, he remembered the promise he made to Karen during the father-daughter purity ball—to buy her a car.
Buying a car in the U.S. isn't terribly expensive, especially if it's used. Still, a car is a car. Frank had some savings, enough to get a beater, but he wasn't about to blow it all in one go.
Frank had always believed in spending money where it counts—he wasn't the type to waste it on something flashy.
So he decided to sell Officer Eddie's car.
Most of Eddie's estate had already been settled and handed over to Karen and Sheila. But one vehicle under Eddie's name remained.
Karen despised Eddie with every fiber of her being. She had thrown out everything that reminded her of him. She didn't even want the car he used to drive.
Coincidentally, Frank had been following Jimmy around a while back. He initially borrowed Kevin's car for that, but Kevin needed it for deliveries and couldn't lend it out forever.
So Frank took Eddie's car. After all, there were only two people in Sheila's house. Sheila herself was housebound, and Karen didn't have a license to drive—not that she wanted to drive Eddie's car anyway. Since Frank needed it, he took it.
Karen even told him, "I don't care if you sell it or crash it. I never want to see that car again."
Frank wasn't about to keep Eddie's car for himself.
But Karen had always wanted a car of her own. So Frank found a middle ground: he sold Eddie's car.
Of course, everyone knows that used cars like that don't go for much. And if you're selling, you're not getting anything close to what a similar car would cost to buy.
But that wasn't a problem for Frank—he had connections. Jimmy had stolen enough cars to afford a house outright. He knew everything about used cars, hot cars, and black market vehicles.
After a "friendly" chat with Jimmy, Frank sold Eddie's car for a few thousand dollars.
Then, after picking out a target on the street and making a visit to a certain garage, Jimmy worked his magic. Before long, Frank had his hands on a practically new, fully legal used car—with a fresh paint job to boot. Most of the money from selling Eddie's car went toward cleaning up the title and handling the paperwork.
Frank didn't lie about it either. He told Karen the truth—he sold Eddie's car and used the money to buy this one.
Karen was thrilled with the "regifted" birthday present. She couldn't stop smiling.
---
When school let out, Lip came to pick Karen up for a concert and was stunned when he saw the car.
"This car?" he asked, standing there for a few seconds.
"Nice, right? Get in," Karen said, flashing the keys.
"Where'd you steal this from?" Lip asked as he got in, still curious.
"Steal? This is mine. Frank got it for me—for my birthday," Karen said proudly.
"Frank gave you a car? Are you sure he didn't steal it? We're not gonna get arrested or something?" Lip asked, half-joking, half-concerned.
"He sold that bastard's car and got me this one," Karen said, her smile fading slightly.
"He traded that car for this one?" Lip raised a skeptical eyebrow.
He wasn't blind. This car was easily worth tens of thousands brand new. Even used, it would cost over ten grand. Eddie's old junker wouldn't sell for more than four or five thousand at best.
But seeing Karen's mood, Lip didn't push the issue. It was her birthday, after all.
---
While Lip and Karen were out at the concert, Frank made his way to a street corner shop in the South Side. A sign over the door read "Sasha's House." He pushed the door open and walked inside.
"Blow, hand, or full service? Or you can check the wall for combo deals," a man at the bar counter said without looking up from his newspaper, reacting only to the sound of the doorbell.
"I'm here to see someone," Frank replied.
"Oh? Who you looking for?" the man asked, finally raising his head.
"Svetlana," Frank said.
"Going straight for the name, huh? She's busy right now. Someone booked the full ride. She'll be done in about half an hour. You can pick another girl in the meantime," the man offered.
"No, I'll wait for her. I want to take her out," Frank said.
"Takeout? By the hour or overnight?" the man asked.
"By the hour," Frank answered.
"There's a couch over there. You can wait until she's done," the man said, pointing across the room.
On the couch sat two other men, probably in their 40s or 50s, unkempt and smelling a bit ripe. They were flipping through adult magazines provided by the house. When they noticed Frank, they glanced over, then went back to their reading.
"Mm… ahh~" The sounds of women moaning filled the air as Frank sat down—not touching the magazines (some with suspicious stains)—but instead pulled out a Bible.
Svetlana was a Russian escort, and this place, Sasha's House, was her workplace. Naturally, it was a brothel.
Sasha's House was infamous in the South Side: cheap, "quality," and well-known.
The place was large—probably several thousand square feet—but had been divided into many tiny rooms where the girls worked. Soundproofing was minimal, as the voices made clear.
Soon, a door opened. A man came out, followed by a woman who muttered something. The man at the counter shouted back, and the woman swore as she went back into her room.
Frank couldn't understand them, but from the sound of it, they were speaking Russian.
"You're up," the man behind the counter said to the guy sitting on Frank's left.
The man jumped up eagerly and went into the room. From the lack of noise, it was unclear if he chose a blow or a hand.
Frank waited close to thirty minutes, watching customers come and go.
It was still morning—a quiet time for business. Things really picked up in the afternoon and evening. Even so, there were a steady stream of visitors, a testament to the place's popularity.
Prices were incredibly low. A blowjob or handjob was only a few dozen bucks. And the Russian girls were generally more appealing than the local Mexican or Latina workers—at least by the neighborhood's standards.
During his wait, a few girls came out to smoke. One of them, spotting Frank in the lounge area, gave him a flirtatious finger curl.