Frank's "condemnation" lasted less than three seconds.
Lip rolled his eyes hard, looking like he was used to this clown show, turned around, and cranked the music up louder.
Ian didn't care at all, continuing to sneak glances at Shane's muscles.
Fiona put her hands on her hips, disgust plain on her face, but mostly fatigue—a look that said, "Here we go again with this old bastard."
V and Kevin stood aside, looking like they were watching a show; they were no strangers to Gallagher family drama.
Only young Debbie still held onto some fantasy about Frank.
She looked at her older siblings, then at the lonely "father" figure at the door, and finally trotted over.
"Daddy..." Debbie called softly. She picked up a few slices of untouched bread and a sausage from the table, grabbed an open beer, and handed them to him.
"Here... have something to eat."
Frank snatched the food and beer. There was zero gratitude in his eyes. Instead, it was like he found a foothold to be even more self-righteous.
Stuffing bread into his mouth wolfishly, he cursed with his mouth full:
"See that? Only my little angel Debbie... only she still has room in her heart for her father! The rest of you... burp... are ungrateful wolves!"
As he ate, Frank's brain was already spinning other gears.
Tonight, he was supposed to get wasted at the Alibi Room. He had just cashed Aunt Ginger's Social Security check a couple of days ago, after all.
Of course, mooching some free drinks would have been even better.
But unexpectedly, Kev and V weren't at the bar tonight. Instead, it was that difficult waitress, Jessie, behind the counter. Not only did she give him attitude, but she also said sarcastically:
"Yo, Frank, you have time to come here? Isn't your house throwing a huge party right now? What, they didn't invite the 'head of the household'?"
Party? The Gallaghers are having a party tonight?
Frank was stunned for a second, but that didn't stop him from rushing home immediately.
Walking back, he thought, Dammit, where did those little brats get the money to throw a party in the middle of winter? The Gallaghers were never rich in winter.
Fiona's meager wages? Lip's petty scams? Something wasn't right.
Those kids must have found a revenue stream he didn't know about.
Looks like I need to find a time when they're all out and turn the house upside down again. Maybe one of them hid a stash in a crack in the wall.
Back in the living room, Frank took a huge swig of beer to wash down the dry bread. His gaze landed on the most conspicuous figure in the center of the room.
His half-Asian son, Shane, was shirtless, revealing a body of... holy sht, muscles comparable to a bodybuilder?
Holy sht. Looks like the 'problem' is with this kid.
Frank narrowed his drunken eyes, walked up, and looked Shane up and down. That look wasn't a father looking at a son; it was more like a miser assessing a valuable item that had suddenly appeared.
He swallowed the food in his mouth hurriedly, cracked a grin, and put on a "proud father" expression:
"Well, well... look who it is? My son, Shane?"
Frank dragged out his voice, swaying as he took two steps closer. "Look at these beautiful muscles... not bad at all. How much did this cost? How much protein powder did you eat? Hmm?"
He circled Shane, trying to reach out and poke Shane's chest with a filthy finger, but Shane dodged effortlessly.
"Looks sturdy! Nice, very nice!" He breathed alcohol fumes, feigning appreciation.
"Keep it up, son! With a build like this, you could make two hundred bucks a day carrying bags at the docks! Or..."
Frank lowered his voice deliberately, creating a conspiratorial vibe, and said seductively to Shane:
"I know a few rich ladies (or old men) on the South Side who love a fit, exotic young man like you. I can introduce you for just a 30% cut! How about it? Way faster money than doing homework!"
Shane sneered at Frank's pitch, letting out a short, cold snort through his nose before mocking him directly:
"Save it, Frank. Stuff your 'I'm doing this for your own good' bullsht. The last time your 'good intentions' showed up, you stole Lip's hidden stash to buy drugs. Need me to help you remember? Or should we talk about the time before that when you broke open Debbie's piggy bank?"
"Exactly!" Lip shouted without turning around. "His 'good ideas' either end up in his stomach or in his veins."
Actually, while Frank was talking to him, Shane's mind flashed back to some fragments—
He was very young then. Frank, rarely not completely wasted, looked at him with a kind of "fatherly love," patted Shane's head, and said:
"Listen, kid, I found a good place for you. A kind couple, they love quiet kids with an Eastern look like you. They'll give you new clothes, let you live in a big house."
Frank's eyes had a glint that Shane only understood later—the glint of dollar signs.
"I'm just temporarily 'adopting' you out to get a 'placement fee.' Daddy will find a chance to pick you up later, and we'll split it 50-50... no, 60-40, you two, me eight!"
Frank did this kind of thing a lot back then.
But one time, Shane was taken to a house that was suspiciously clean.
The way the man of the house looked at him... Shane was too familiar with that look. In the chaotic environment of the South Side, not knowing certain things could be dangerous.
He panicked instantly, looking to Frank for help. But Frank just patted his back and whispered quickly:
"It'll be fine. Tonight. I'll pick you up tonight."
The result?
That afternoon, Frank took the generous "placement fee" and drank himself into oblivion at the Alibi Room.
Little Shane, relying on survival instincts, pretended to have a stomachache during dinner to use the bathroom, then climbed out the window.
In the freezing Chicago night, relying on vague memories, he ran all the way home crying.
When he appeared at the door, filthy and shivering, Fiona screamed in terror. If he hadn't been smart, or ran a little slower... he didn't dare imagine the consequences.
And Frank? He didn't stumble back until noon the next day, not even remembering he had "deposited" a son somewhere. When reminded, he just mumbled indifferently, "Kid got lucky."
Incidents like this were countless in Shane's memory. Besides Shane, Lip and Ian had suffered similar fates.