Chapter 132 – Frank! Time to Take Customers!
"Liam's exactly where he's supposed to be. Now stop bothering me," Frank snapped impatiently at Debbie.
Money was all he could think about now.
"What's this? Baby formula?" Carl picked up a can and examined it.
"Oh, my young offspring," Frank said solemnly, still busy packing his fake goods,
"this is Dr. Frank Gallagher's Path to Wealth Powder."
"Oregano?" Carl asked, puzzled.
"No, child—this is counterfeit! My never-failing Summer ATM!"
You really had to admire the Gallaghers.
The father sold fake drugs.
The son sold the real stuff.
After venting his rage, Lip still ended up teaming with Kevin to sell marijuana.
A small truck—on the surface, just a mobile convenience store.
In reality, it also offered sports betting, alcohol, weed, cigarettes—everything that was still illegal.
Why was Lip still dealing weed when he was already involved in weapons sales?
Simple.
No one ever complains about having too much money.
Especially since William had vanished for half a year. Once the last of William's Bitcoin cash ran out, that income stream dried up completely.
Money had to come from somewhere.
---
"So the restaurant's basically ready to operate—just missing a business license?"
William sat on the couch, Svetlana across from him.
"Correct," she nodded.
"Given the risks, I suggest we register it under a local prostitute's name."
"If something goes wrong, we cut ties. They know what happens if they betray us—so they're safer to use."
William rubbed his chin.
"Have you assessed the arrest risk?" he asked—not because he feared money laundering, but because he was wondering if this could be used to set Fiona up.
After all, Fiona who'd never been through jail wasn't quite the full Fiona.
"The risk is low," Svetlana replied.
"This scale doesn't attract the FBI. As long as taxes are paid and no one reports us, we're fine."
She smiled thinly.
"This is America—the land of dreams."
The irony wasn't lost—but William wasn't the patriotic type anyway.
"Leave the legal owner to me," William said, standing.
"I've got the perfect candidate. You handle hiring—chef, servers, all of it."
"Understood, boss."
---
Elsewhere, Frank was shamelessly hawking his fake drugs on the street.
The problem?
Everyone in the South Side knew him.
Most junkies just told him to fuck off. He'd pulled this scam too many times already.
The newer scams at least mixed in rat poison—dangerous, sure, but profitable.
Frank's version? One-time sales only.
After being chased by cops once and driven off at gunpoint by a gang, Frank finally gave up.
"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"
In the bathroom at 2119, Frank screamed at his reflection.
Fiona wasn't home, so the younger kids couldn't stop him from using the bathroom.
He changed into clean clothes, sprayed on some cologne, and took a deep breath—like a man heading to execution.
"God damn it…"
It's not like Sheila hadn't pegged me before, he thought grimly.
Just pretend it's a colonoscopy.
With that, Frank marched out.
Straight into a gay bar in the South Side.
At the counter, he forced a grin.
"Hugo! How've you been?"
"Get the fuck out, Frank."
Any sane South Side resident knew better—
Once Frank Gallagher noticed you, nothing good followed.
Facing Hugo's icy hostility, Frank didn't take it to heart. He leaned in and asked quietly,
"Is Mr. Todd here tonight?"
"I said get out," Hugo replied coldly.
"I'm in trouble."
"You're always in trouble," Hugo snapped.
Frank needing money wasn't surprising in the slightest.
An unemployed Irish drunk with no cash—when was he not broke?
"Come on, Hugo. You know me. If I weren't completely out of options, I wouldn't be here. Right?"
Frank's voice dropped.
"It's my kid. I need money."
Tears welled in his eyes—perfectly timed, perfectly pathetic.
At the mention of a child, Hugo finally looked up.
"Which one?"
"Liam."
"The mixed kid?"
"Yes."
And since Liam really was being held by a gang at that moment, Frank's expression didn't look fake at all.
"So… you're not lying this time?"
"I'm not," Frank shook his head.
Hugo hesitated, then glanced toward an elderly white man sitting off to the side.
Frank understood immediately and walked over.
No words were exchanged.
He just stood there, struck an obscenely suggestive pose, and locked eyes with the old man.
The man didn't get it at first—but after one look at Frank's shameless expression, realization hit.
---
In the bathroom, Frank stared at himself in the mirror, taking deep breaths—he'd lost count how many.
Then, like a man heading to his execution, he stepped into the stall.
Half an hour later.
Frank emerged, trembling slightly, preparing to leave—
When Hugo shouted from behind the bar,
"Hey, Frank! Wait! You've got more customers!"
Frank turned around.
A group of elderly men were smiling at him.
For a moment, he didn't know whether to refuse or not.
In the end, money won.
He was dragged back into the bathroom by a heavyset old man in a tank top.
---
While Frank endured his personal hell, Fiona—dressed lightly after her shift—was walking home.
Thinking about cooking dinner for the kids, then heading right back out to work again, Fiona felt like she was on the verge of collapse.
She was exhausted.
And it was only getting worse.