Chapter 131: Frank's Brilliant Little Scheme
"Hey—when are you bringing Liam back?"
Debbie still tossed that line out.
That way, when Fiona came asking later, Debbie could say Frank didn't listen to her.
Perfect.
"I'll bring him back when it's time," Frank snapped aggressively.
With that, he grabbed a baby carrier from the side and marched out of 2119.
Just like that, Frank successfully kidnapped Liam.
Far away at the laundromat, Fiona had no idea that while she was working, Frank had already pulled a home invasion.
If she knew, she'd probably lose her mind.
But honestly, Debbie wasn't afraid of Fiona getting angry at all.
Otherwise, in the original timeline, she wouldn't have ignored Fiona's objections and insisted on having Franny.
---
On the other side of town, after informing Svetlana about Margot, William finally remembered why he'd come here in the first place.
Business.
He went down to the basement and checked the weapons inventory.
Most of the handguns were already gone.
What remained were the heavier pieces—and plenty of them.
After all, this was America, not Iraq.
There simply wasn't that much demand for fully automatic weapons.
If he had a way to move this stuff into the Middle East, though, it'd sell like wildfire.
"Boss," Svetlana said, cigarette between her lips,
"as you can see, we're almost out of pistols. When are you restocking?
And don't bring more M4s. They don't sell here in the South Side."
She exhaled smoke.
"Even the cops don't carry that level of firepower."
"Got it," William replied.
"I'll arrange another shipment."
With that, he left.
He had no intention of spending the night in the red-light district.
---
Meanwhile, Frank was shambling along the roadside like a diseased ghoul.
Liam was strapped to his back.
In one hand, Frank held a cardboard sign.
In the other, a paper cup.
The sign read:
"A disabled homeless man trying to buy food for his hungry child."
At a red light, Frank started with the first car.
The driver didn't recognize him and happened to be soft-hearted, dropping a few coins into the cup.
"God bless you," Frank said gratefully.
He shuffled to the next car.
More coins.
"Jesus bless you," Frank added.
He limped onward—but this time, luck ran out.
The driver clearly knew him.
"Get the fuck outta here, Frank!"
The man flipped him off and slowly rolled up the window.
Frank returned the gesture without hesitation, then flipped his sign around.
Now it read:
"FUCK YOU!!!"
Right then, a sleek-looking Cadillac pulled up behind that car.
Frank's eyes lit up.
Big fish.
He rushed over.
"God bless—"
The words died in his throat.
Inside the car sat a Black man.
Not just any man.
His creditor.
"Holy shit," Frank blurted out.
The man didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Where's my money?"
He was connected.
Before Frank could answer, the man yanked a hood over Frank's head and dragged him into the car.
When Frank finally managed to see again, he found himself inside a dark, grimy house.
"Where the fuck is my money?"
He was strapped to a chair, restrained by two gang members.
"Heh, heh… last night was such a beautiful night. We were all so happy—"
Frank started running his mouth.
The Black man wasn't amused.
He reached into Frank's pockets and pulled out all the cash.
"Are you fucking serious, man?" Frank said quickly.
"If I'd won, I never would've made you pay!"
Frank was still trying to bullshit his way out.
"Get the bolt cutters," the man said calmly to one of his guys.
A moment later, the bolt cutters were handed over.
The man pointed them straight at Frank.
"Listen carefully.
If I don't get my money, I'm going to cut off your toes—
one by one—
and throw them into the fire."
"You already took my money!" Frank protested.
The man laughed, genuinely amused.
"This is sixty bucks."
"I've only been begging for forty-five minutes!" Frank shot back.
The man paused, thought for a second—then glanced at Liam, locked inside a cage behind them.
"Alright. Here's how this works.
The kid stays here as collateral.
You go get the money.
When you bring it back, you get the kid."
"No—no—no," Frank said immediately, shaking his head hard.
"I'll get the money, but the kid can't stay here."
If Liam stayed, Fiona would probably show up with a knife.
"Listen—we'll fix this. I swear.
But Liam can't stay here."
Frank struggled to stand, only to get punched straight back into the chair.
"Light it. Hold him down."
One guy fired up a blowtorch.
Two others pinned Frank's arms while another grabbed both his feet.
They were absolutely serious.
That's when Frank finally understood—these people were not bluffing.
"Okay! Okay! Leave Liam! Leave Liam!"
Between getting butchered alive and getting murdered by Fiona later, Frank knew how to pick his poison.
They let him go.
---
Walking down the street, Frank scratched his head.
Then suddenly—
An idea hit him.
He picked up the pace.
After half a year, his leg injury had fully healed.
He still limped—but it didn't hurt anymore.
And if he used a certain hopping stride, he could even jog.
Cockroach genes, through and through.
---
Half an hour later, Frank was back at 2119.
This time, he needed supplies.
Baby formula.
Dried oregano.
He poured the formula into tiny plastic bags—one by one.
The oregano got bagged too.
At a glance, it looked exactly like drugs.
Which was the point.
Most people couldn't tell fake from real anyway.
Once everything was ready, Frank grabbed a random kid's backpack—no idea whose—and dumped the contents onto the floor.
Then he stuffed all the fake "product" inside.
"Heeey—what are you doing?" Debbie finally asked.
"And where's Liam?"
She figured now was a good time to ask—
so it looked like she cared.
After all, Carl was watching.
And Fiona would definitely ask Carl what happened later.