Chapter 253: A Righteous Gentleman
"If this were the year 1930 during Prohibition, drinking alcohol would be illegal. But now? Perfectly legal. I wonder what else might become legal in the future—like weed," Walter said, raising his glass.
"Yeah, even superheroes are illegal now," Frank cut in, changing the subject. "Speaking of which, did you guys watch that hearing with Iron Man—you know, that billionaire playboy? Hilarious stuff."
Walter seemed a little too tipsy and was starting to veer into risky topics.
"Oh yeah, I saw the live stream," Hank chimed in. "They tried to claim Iron Man was a weapon and demanded he surrender his suit for free. Those damn politicians are so shameless."
"Still, the senator got totally played," Hank continued, laughing. "Stark exposed their secret attempts to replicate the Iron Man tech—it was a total circus. But man, that suit? Badass."
As the three continued discussing Iron Man, Frank noticed Marie standing by the window with a drink in hand, staring at him.
"I've had a bit too much to drink. Gonna hit the bathroom," Frank excused himself.
"What, already?" Hank teased. "You barely drank anything."
"I drank too much water before I came. I'll be back soon—let's see who passes out first." Frank grinned as he walked off toward the house.
No one noticed Frank slip away. As he reached the bathroom, Marie suddenly yanked him inside.
"Marie, I wanted to say… we really shouldn't—" Frank began.
Since coming back to Chicago, Frank had realized how deeply the 'other' Frank's persona had merged with him. He had been doing things under that influence—not truly his own will. His relationship with Marie? That wasn't really him. He wanted to come clean, to end this messy, inappropriate entanglement. After all, he prided himself on being a righteous man.
"Kiss me," Marie interrupted, her lips pressing against his, her hands roaming freely.
At that point, Frank—being a normal man—couldn't resist. No one could.
"Screw being a righteous man," he growled, lifting Marie and pinning her against the wall as their passionate encounter ignited.
It was hard to say whether Hank just wasn't satisfying Marie, or if they'd simply lacked chemistry, but she was ravenous—so much so that even Frank had trouble keeping up.
Fortunately, the music outside was loud enough to mask their noise. Otherwise, Frank feared they'd be caught red-handed.
When Frank finally emerged from the bathroom, he could barely walk straight—his lower back sore not from exhaustion, but from being crushed by Marie's long, powerful legs.
"Hey, Frank, where've you been? We were waiting forever!" Hank slurred as Frank returned. Both Hank and Walter were visibly drunk.
"My kid called. We chatted for a bit. Sorry about that," Frank replied.
"Oh right, you were back in Chicago to see your kid," Hank said, nodding.
The birthday party went on for most of the day, and by dusk, everyone had gone home.
Frank stumbled back to his rented house, still slightly dazed. He grabbed a tall glass of water and downed it in one go—lately, even small amounts of alcohol left him feeling parched.
"Did you get everything we needed?" he asked, hearing Jesse come in.
"Still missing something called methyl-whatever. It'll be a couple days before it arrives," Jesse said, collapsing onto the couch.
"Alright. I'm going to bed. Don't bother me unless it's important," Frank muttered, heading into the bedroom.
—
Meanwhile, at Walter's home, he and Skyler were in bed after getting ready for the night.
"Marie gave us a platinum baby tiara as a gift. That kind of thing? Only Gertrude's boutique carries something that expensive around here. Do you think she really bought it from there?" Skyler asked while rubbing lotion on her feet.
"Who knows," Walter replied distractedly, his eyes on the laptop.
"I mean, that tiara must've cost a fortune—platinum and diamonds? Did you see the gem on it? Must be several carats. Easily worth five or six hundred dollars. I think… maybe we should return it," Skyler suggested cautiously.
Walter had a hidden stash of over $200,000 in illicit cash. But since it was all dirty money, the family had no idea. On the surface, the Whites were still drowning in debt—nearly $90,000 from Walter's medical treatments.
Skyler had been doing everything possible to keep the family afloat: managing bills, selling anything unnecessary online, and trying to earn extra wherever she could. If she wasn't so far along in her pregnancy, she would've gone back to work.
To her, a baby tiara worth several hundred dollars was outrageous. The family didn't need something so frivolous—they needed diapers and formula. Turning it into cash could provide some relief.
But since it was a gift, returning it felt awkward. Skyler didn't want to offend Marie—or her prideful husband—so she gently tested the waters.
"Are you sure?" Walter responded vaguely. "She'll notice."
"I'll explain," Skyler said. "We need diapers more than platinum baby jewelry. She'll understand."
Seeing Walter didn't object, Skyler relaxed a bit.
"Do whatever you think's best," Walter said. "By the way, I've been thinking about what you told Dr. Delcavoli—about alternative therapies. Maybe it's worth trying."
"Really?" Skyler looked surprised.
Walter had always shown resistance toward treatment—maybe due to the cost, or the brutal side effects of chemo. But now he was bringing it up himself?
"Check this out," Walter said, turning the laptop toward her. "There's this Native American sweat lodge out in Farmington. It's supposed to have health benefits for the lungs. Of course, I don't really believe it, but it might be worth trying—who knows, maybe it helps."
"You're serious? You want to go to a sweat lodge?" Skyler asked, smiling for the first time in a while.
"Yeah. I'm thinking of driving out Friday and coming back Sunday. If you're okay with it," Walter said.
"Of course I'm okay with it! That's great. I love you," Skyler said, kissing him.
"I love you too," Walter replied, wrapping his arms around her, eyes flickering with calculation.
A sweat lodge? Please. He had no intention of going to any spiritual healing ceremony. It was just a cover.