Debbie dragged Carl along, not just running around South Side Chicago like a headless chicken. Her little brain, aside from worrying, was actually analyzing things for once.
"Frank hasn't shown up in so long. Not at Alibi, not at his usual spots," Debbie muttered.
Carl walked beside her, listening to her rambling analysis with total impatience.
"Either Frank really left South Side (which is impossible—even if all cockroaches left South Side, Frank wouldn't), or he found a new bloodbag and is sleeping comfortably in someone else's house."
Carl heard unfamiliar term, looking confused: "Bloodbag?"
"People who let him eat and stay for free. That's what Frank calls them anyway," Debbie explained.
"But Frank definitely won't stay long. He'll absolutely steal their stuff to sell for booze or whatever. He only goes to a few places to fence things."
Aside from Alibi, she remembered a shady thrift store on edge of South Side that took anything. It was one of Frank's old spots for fencing stolen goods.
Siblings caught a bus. Getting off, they cut through a few alleys and arrived near that junk-filled thrift store. Debbie pulled Carl behind a dumpster, giving them clear view of storefront and adjacent alley.
Wait wasn't long. About half an hour later, a familiar figure sneaked out of opposite alley.
It was Frank. Wearing a suit jacket he lifted from Clive's place, carrying an old canvas bag. He looked around shiftily before heading toward thrift store's back door.
Debbie breathed a sigh of relief. Just as Frank reached to open back door, she pulled Carl and jumped out from behind dumpster.
"Hey! Frank!" Carl yelled first, voice full of excitement about getting taser.
His shout made Frank violently flinch, almost dropping bag.
He whipped his head around, saw Debbie and Carl, and his expression instantly switched from sheer terror to exaggerated surprise.
"Oh, Jesus! My little sweethearts, what—what are you doing here?"
Frank opened his arms wanting to hug them, but afraid if he put stolen goods down someone would snatch them, his movement froze halfway, looking ridiculous.
Debbie already ran over. She hugged Frank's waist tight, burying her face in his jacket that smelled like unfamiliar laundry detergent.
"We—I was worried about you. Where did you go?" Debbie's voice carried a hint of sorrow.
Frank's body stiffened, but he immediately used his free hand to pat Debbie's back, tone full of fatherly love: "Oh, really? My little princess, Daddy missed you too."
His eyes darted around, brain spinning rapidly.
Talk about perfect timing! Lately Clive's looks were getting more explicit, getting handsy way more often.
Frank figured his cozy little setup wouldn't last much longer (he wasn't ready to sell his ass yet). He needed to find his next mark, or see if he could shamelessly crash at home for a bit.
Didn't expect Debbie and Carl to deliver themselves right to him.
He let go of Debbie, crouching down, trying hard to make his smile look concerned and trustworthy.
"So, my babies, how are Fiona and others doing? Especially Shane. Is Shane doing okay? Is house welcoming occasional visitors right now?"
He was fishing for crucial info from kids—specifically, how high barrier to entry back home was, especially getting past Shane.
Debbie and Carl started talking over each other. Just usual stuff: Fiona busy with breakfast stall, Lip glued to computer, Shane training at warehouse and apparently making money, Ian being Ian...
Kids' thoughts jumped around, info scattered, but Frank listened extremely closely.
"Oh..." Frank nodded thoughtfully, mental gears grinding loudly.
Sounds like everything at home is normal, maybe even financially better? Shane busy with his own shit—maybe this is his chance!?
"Alright, alright, my little angels. Wait here for Daddy." Frank stood up, weighing canvas bag in his hand.
"Let me go inside and show old Tom these treasures, get some pocket change, then Daddy will buy you something good to eat!"
He walked straight through back door. Came out a bit later clutching a few crumpled bills.
He acted uncharacteristically generous, taking Debbie and Carl to a food cart on corner. Bought two cheapest donuts, frosting already dry and cracked.
"Here, my babies." He handed donuts over with loving face, though pain in his eyes over spending money was practically spilling out.
Debbie and Carl took donuts, eating them in small bites.
Frank crouched right in front of them, rubbing his hands together. Pulled corners of his mouth down, sagging his cheeks, putting on pitiful face.
"Listen, my babies," he lowered his voice, like sharing a massive secret.
"Daddy really wants to come home. Every single day. Every night when I go to sleep, I wonder if you guys are doing okay... I know I might have made some mistakes, made Shane unhappy. But God as my witness," Frank held up three fingers. "I know I was wrong. Really."
He blinked hard, trying to squeeze out a couple tears.
"Daddy... Daddy just needs a little time. Needs family to give me one more chance. Can you do Daddy a small favor? When you go back... well, feel out Shane for me. Or put in a good word with Fiona. Daddy promises, if I can come back, I'll absolutely make it up to you. Be a better dad."
Frank shamelessly made these totally empty promises, then looked expectantly at Debbie.
Carl was just an extra. He knew most important one right now was Debbie, because her heart was soft. She was his way in.
Debbie looked at her father's sincere, pathetic state. Her desire for a complete family and lingering feelings for her dad started acting up again.
She nodded: "Okay, Frank. I'll try to ask. But you promise—"
"I promise! I swear on Gallagher name!" Frank cut in eagerly, acting like he had truly turned over a new leaf.
When leaving, Debbie hugged Frank again. This time her heart felt much lighter.
At least she knew Frank was alive, and seemingly doing fine. Most importantly, Frank said he knew he messed up, that he would change.
Kids are always willing to believe parents, even lowest-probability promises of reform.
On ride back, Carl had long finished his donut. His mind immediately shifted back to thing he cared about most.
He yanked hard on Debbie's sleeve: "Hey, Debbie. We found Frank. Time to hand over taser. A deal's a deal."
Carl yanked Debbie out of her complicated emotions. Seeing Carl acting like an anxious monkey, she let out a helpless sigh.
She checked her surroundings carefully first. Making sure nobody was paying them any mind, she pulled taser from her pocket and placed it in Carl's hand.
"Take it. Only two days, like we agreed!" Debbie warned him seriously. "And absolutely do not let Shane know. If he finds out you have this, you know consequences."
Second Carl got taser, he immediately wanted to catch a cat or dog to test it on.
But hearing Shane's name, he shrank his neck. Remembering Shane's heavy slaps that could bust a person's ass wide open, he couldn't help but shiver.
Carl still couldn't figure out why Shane's slaps always hurt him so damn much.
"OK, OK. I absolutely won't let Shane know." Carl hid taser in his jacket, patting his chest guaranteeing it, wearing an "I'm super reliable right now" expression.