Chapter 122: The Vagabond
Though the children had a falling out with Frank, with harsh words and many misunderstandings, it wasn't the first time such things had happened. Similar situations had occurred before, sometimes even more severe.
Frank being kicked out of the house was not a new occurrence. He always managed to find a friend's place to stay until he wore out his welcome and got thrown out again.
Frank had alienated every friend he could stay with, indicating just how many times he had been kicked out.
No matter how strained things got with the kids or how disappointed they were in him, Frank always ended up at the bar. When disability checks came, he'd collect them and, after some time, shamelessly return home for food and shelter.
Over time, the kids grew accustomed to Frank's behavior. Despite their anger, life went on, and their relationship with Frank remained complex.
Nearly a month had passed since that night, and the situation had cooled.
Normally, Frank would reappear at home within a week, shameless as ever.
His prolonged absence made the kids occasionally miss him, especially Debbie and Carl.
The kids were aware Frank went to New York with Joseph, as Fiona was informed by Kevin and Veronica, who were present when the news broke.
Fiona wasn't worried because she knew about the trip.
However, upon hearing Frank was arrested in New York, Fiona sought more information. Despite everything, Frank was still their father.
Fiona, unfamiliar with New York and never having left Chicago, turned to the only person who might have connections to find out about Frank—Officer Tony.
After driving off Jimmy with his "ingenuity," Officer Tony's confidence soared. Without Jimmy as an obstacle, he believed he could win Fiona's heart.
Though Jimmy's departure didn't change Fiona's attitude towards him, Tony, a seasoned standby, never gave up.
When Fiona asked for his help, Tony agreed without hesitation.
Despite the lack of direct connections between the Chicago and New York police, and Tony being just an ordinary officer in the Southside slums, he used all his contacts to find Frank.
Meanwhile, Frank was walking the streets of New York.
"Hey," Frank said, sitting on a bench, speaking to the man at the other end.
The man looked disheveled, like a homeless person, with unkempt hair and beard, but his clothes were designer brands.
Frank recognized the brand from Joseph's wardrobe. Joseph, a nouveau riche billionaire, only bought high-end goods.
If the man's clothes were genuine, not cheap imitations, he was a wealthy man fallen to hard times.
Such sights weren't rare in New York, especially during economic slumps. Many unemployed men, dressed in suits, sat in parks all day, hiding their joblessness from their families.
The man, holding a bottle, drank steadily, spilling alcohol on his beard, further confirming Frank's suspicion.
The man ignored Frank, silently drinking.
Frank wasn't drawn by the man's clothes but by the open box of pizza beside him.
"Not hungry? Mind if I take some? Dust on the street will ruin it soon," Frank asked.
The man remained silent.
"Taking your silence as a yes," Frank said, placing the pizza box on his lap.
The pizza was mostly untouched, save for one slice, and though cold, it was a welcome meal for hungry Frank.
"How long have you been drinking to shake like that? I've been drinking for decades and don't shake like you," Frank said, eating pizza, trying to chat.
The man's hand, holding the bottle, shook uncontrollably—common in heavy drinkers damaging their nerves over time.
Despite Frank's long-term alcoholism, he didn't have this issue.
Though scruffy, the man seemed in his thirties, young to be trembling so severely.
Finally reacting, the man looked at Frank, set down his bottle, and watched his trembling hands.
"Not drinking? Then I won't hold back," Frank said, taking a swig from the bottle, feeling a bit choked.
"You have no idea how rough things have been for me," Frank lamented, eating and drinking.
"Thanks for the meal and drinks. From now on, we're friends!" Frank said, patting the man's shoulder.
"I'm Frank. What's your name?" Frank asked.
Before Frank finished, the man stood and walked away.
"Hey, where are you going? Wait up!" Frank hurried after him, unwilling to lose a potential meal ticket.
The man, seeming a local or at least a local vagabond, could help Frank integrate into New York's homeless circles.
The man slouched into a supermarket, buying a load of beer.
"I'll carry that for you!" Frank offered, taking the beer from the counter.
The man's vacant eyes glanced at Frank but said nothing, leaving the store.