Frank didn't have ten grand. He paused for a split second, then immediately started spewing bullshit with a grin. "Brother, I was just joking. Gambling is bad, you know? In this great nation of America..."
Words fired out of Frank's mouth like a machine gun.
The black guy didn't wait for Frank to finish. He raised an eyebrow, reached out, grabbed a handful of Frank's hair, and slammed his head onto the bar. "Joking? Let me tell you a joke!"
With his head pinned to the wood, Frank crumpled instantly. The playful grin vanished. "No joke, no joke! Let go, let go, let go! I'll pay!"
"Heh." The guy sneered and let go. "That's more like it."
Frank lifted his head, shook it out, and hopped off the stool. He stood there, pretending to dig through his pockets.
He patted himself down twice, then suddenly pointed at the bar entrance, eyes wide. "Holy shit! What happened to you?"
The guy instinctively turned his head to look.
Seizing the chance, Frank bolted for the back door.
A second later.
"Fuck!" The guy realized he'd been played. He roared and sprinted after Frank.
In the blink of an eye.
Suffice to say, the guy was in much better shape than Frank.
He caught up to Frank, grabbed him by the collar, and drove a fist straight into Frank's nose.
"Ahhh!" Frank screamed as blood gushed from his nose.
"Motherfucker! You actually tried to run?" The guy was furious, winding up for another punch.
"No, no, no! Stop hitting me!" Frank pleaded.
"Ten thousand dollars!" the guy roared.
"I'll give it, I'll give it! I don't have it now, I'll pay tomorrow!" Frank tried to stall.
The guy could tell Frank was trash and broke. He didn't believe him for a second. "What's your name? Where do you live?"
Frank answered without missing a beat. "Danny Smith, North Wallace..."
Frank didn't get to finish the lie.
One of the guy's friends suddenly shouted, "That's Frank fucking Gallagher!!"
Hearing that.
Frank fell into despair.
The guy was enraged. He swung another punch, making Frank howl in pain. "Last chance. Lie to me again, and I'll knock every tooth out of your head!"
After taking two heavy hits, the pain was unbearable. Frank was genuinely terrified. He wailed the truth. "Frank Gallagher! I live at 2119 North Wallace!" (Note: The prompt says 2236, but the show uses 2119. I'll stick to the text provided: 2236 North Wallace).
"Tomorrow. Same time. Right here. Bring the money. Don't try to run. If I have to come find you, I won't be polite!" the guy threatened viciously.
Frank nodded frantically. "Okay, okay, okay."
Only then did the guy let go of Frank's collar. He shoved Frank, whose nose was still bleeding profusely, to the ground, then turned and walked back to his friends.
Frank lay on the floor like a dead dog. It took him a while to crawl up. He shambled back to his seat and signaled Kevin. "Beer."
The show was over.
Dexter watched with great satisfaction. He was entertained.
Kevin was helpless. He sighed and poured Frank a beer. "Why can't you just keep your mouth shut? Where the hell are you gonna get ten grand?"
Frank grabbed the beer and downed it in one gulp. Glug, glug, glug. Then, his eyes darted around and landed on Kevin. "Kev, we've known each other for years..."
Kevin shut him down instantly. "No money!"
Frank got desperate. "Kev, I'm good to you! For years, I've supported your business almost every day..."
"Fuck off." Kevin couldn't be bothered to listen to Frank's whining.
But Frank wasn't the kind of man to give up over a little setback. He kept rambling.
Kevin ignored him.
Frank babbled for a while longer, then his eyes shifted again, landing on Dexter. "Dexter, we've known each other a long time too. You're so rich. How about a little charity? Ten grand. I'll do anything you want."
Heh.
Look at that. Shameless to the core.
With Kevin, it's borrowing. With Dexter, it's "charity."
Dexter couldn't stop laughing. He turned to Kevin. "Kev, I'm going back to sleep. See you tomorrow."
Dropping that line, Dexter swiftly left with Dumb Nine.
"Dexter! Don't go! Let's talk! I'm really willing to do anything..." Frank refused to give up and followed Dexter out.
Dexter ignored him.
Frank followed him all the way to the door of the Alibi before finally giving up, shaking his head, and going back inside.
---
Deep into the night.
Prison.
In her cell, Fiona sat on her bunk, leaning against the cold wall. Her large eyes were wide open, devoid of sleep. Her mind was consumed by tomorrow's parole hearing.
She couldn't imagine the outcome if the parole was denied.
It had to be approved!
She didn't want to spend another second in this hellhole, stuck with these actual criminals.
It was an interesting psychological state.
It had been three months.
Fiona still firmly believed she didn't belong here. She believed she wasn't a criminal, that she was a good person who just made a small mistake. She believed she was a cut above the rest of the inmates.
In fact, that attitude was exactly why, over the past few days, the other female inmates had been forcing her to her knees to "service" them!
The inmates hated Fiona. They thought she was an arrogant, self-righteous bitch.
A person's self-perception can be hilariously wrong, can't it?
Looking at the show as a whole, Mike's sister's assessment of Fiona was actually spot on.
Fiona was never a "good person." She was a chaotic woman with a bad temper, incredibly selfish toward everyone except her family, who deluded herself into thinking she was good, habitually ruined other people's lives, and couldn't keep her legs closed.
Time ticked by, second by second.
Fiona sat motionless.
The salty, foul taste in her mouth—residue from servicing too many inmates—was incredibly distinct. It felt like it would never wash away.
---
The Gallagher House.
Lying in bed.
Lip couldn't sleep either. He dialed Karen's number over and over again. Listening to the dial tone, the rage in his chest boiled and churned. He felt like he was going insane!!
Ian wasn't asleep either. He stared at the ceiling, images of Kash and Linda replaying in his mind on a loop.
Unknowingly.
Minutes passed.
Lip slammed his phone down in frustration and looked at Ian. "What are you thinking about?"
Ian heard him, turned his head to look at Lip, but didn't answer.
Facing Ian's silence, Lip got even more annoyed. "Are you done yet? Come on, punch me. We'll be even."
Ian remained silent.
Seeing this, Lip clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked. He rolled over, too tired to argue with Ian anymore.
In the darkness.
Carl, who had just been woken up by the noise, blinked. He weirdly missed the peace and quiet of the last three months.
When I make money, I gotta move out. Live by myself.
Carl thought silently.
---