Chapter 206: You're Still Alive?
Frank and Pinkman kept some cash on hand and stashed the rest in a locker at the train station.
"Are you sure this won't get stolen?" Pinkman asked nervously, clutching the locker ticket, glancing back at it every few steps.
"Walk properly! You look shady as hell," Frank said, giving Pinkman a light smack on the back of the head.
"Relax. It's safer here than in a bank vault," Frank added confidently—this was the kind of street wisdom Frank had picked up over years of surviving on the edge. Hide in plain sight—his favorite tactic.
With the cash secured, Frank took Pinkman to the Milkovich house again.
"I've been waiting for you," said old man Milkovich when he saw Frank.
"Here you go," Frank replied, tossing an envelope over to him.
"Generous, huh? You're really changing my opinion of you," Milkovich said with a grin, flipping through the bills quickly and clearly satisfied.
This was basically the broker's cut. Without Milkovich's backing and connections, that deal wouldn't have gone through so fast or so cleanly.
"Hahaha! Let me know if there's ever more work like this. We hit the jackpot today! Come on, let's hit the bar—drinks are on me!" Milkovich said, throwing an arm around Frank's shoulder and laughing heartily.
They had just made over ten grand in a single morning. Normally, forging alibis and covering tracks only earned Milkovich a couple thousand at best.
"You two should get to know each other better," Frank said as he and Milkovich walked ahead, with Pinkman and Mickey following behind.
"Yo, bro!" Pinkman said awkwardly, holding out his fist for a bump.
"You touch me, and I'll knock your teeth out," Mickey snapped, glaring at Pinkman before spitting on the ground.
"Uh… got it," Pinkman muttered, lowering his hand. He had no intention of provoking someone as clearly unstable as Mickey.
When they reached Alibi Bar, their usual haunt, old Milkovich pushed open the door and shouted, "Boys, look who's back!"
"Frank!?" Everyone in the bar turned toward the entrance, surprised and wide-eyed.
Everyone drinking there knew Frank—or rather, no one in the South Side didn't know Frank.
"Weren't you arrested in New York?"
"I heard you got locked up. How'd you get out?"
"I thought you were dead!"
Everyone crowded around, tossing questions at Frank.
"Dead? Please. You lot could all drop dead before I do. I just went for a little joyride," Frank said dismissively.
"Kevin! Get me a beer—someone else is picking up the tab today," Frank shouted as he slid onto a barstool, waving at the stunned bartender.
"F-Frank? You're really alive?" Kevin said in disbelief, coming out from behind the bar.
"Why the hell is everyone acting like I died? Who started this rumor?" Frank grumbled.
Anyone would be annoyed—leave town for a bit and come back to everyone acting like you're a ghost.
"You're alive. That's really… great," Kevin said, pulling Frank into a big bear hug, tearing up.
"What the hell happened?" Frank was completely baffled.
Though Kevin's explanation was a bit all over the place, Frank got the gist—he'd been gone for a few months and somehow everyone thought he had died. The will he left at Sheila's place had been given to the kids. His cancer diagnosis? Everyone knew.
"Well, I'll explain everything when I get home," Frank muttered.
"Oh, by the way—Monica's back! Did you see her?" Kevin asked suddenly, as if remembering something important.
Pfffft! Frank spat out the beer he'd just sipped. "What the hell did you say? Monica!?"
Kevin nodded and filled Frank in on Monica's return, the child protective services report, and how the kids had been taken by the authorities.
Kevin didn't know all the details—he was busy running the bar. Veronica had been the one staying close to Fiona and knew the whole story.
"From what V said, the custody hearing's this afternoon. Fiona's trying to get custody—huh? Where'd he go?" Kevin turned and realized Frank had already disappeared.
"Frank—wait up!" Pinkman shouted, chasing after him.
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Meanwhile, in the courthouse hallway, Fiona paced nervously in her formal pantsuit, makeup done, everything meticulously prepared to make a good impression on the judge.
"Fiona, we're here for you," said her attorneys, Matt and Foggy. Foggy offered a reassuring smile.
"Thanks," Fiona replied with a weak smile.
"You're early. But even if you camped out overnight, the judge won't side with you," said Roberta smugly as she walked over with Monica—who was holding Liam—and their lawyer in tow.
"Fiona, I…" Monica began, clearly full of guilt.
Fiona ignored her, kneeling to speak to Liam instead. "Did they hurt you?"
"Fiona! Fiona!" Liam squealed, reaching out his little hands for her.
"Bitch, your mother's talking to you—" Roberta stepped forward, trying to provoke her.
Tap! A white cane slid between them. Matt Murdock, with a calm and harmless smile, said gently, "This is a courthouse. We're here to resolve problems, aren't we?"
Roberta gave him a long look, snorted. "This is your lawyer? A blind guy? Ha." She didn't say more, just turned and led Monica into the courtroom.
"You okay?" Foggy asked.
"I'm fine," Fiona said quietly.
"Fiona!" the kids came running over, throwing their arms around her.
"What are you doing here?" Fiona asked, her smile fading slightly when she noticed Jimmy at the back.
"Karen had something to do. I was nearby, so I dropped them off," Jimmy said casually.
"Let's go in," Fiona said, leading the group into the courtroom.
The judge—a heavyset Black man wearing glasses, clearly a seasoned professional—called the session to order. Both sides submitted their paperwork.
"Let's hear from the Department of Family Services first," the judge said.
"Thank you, Your Honor. I'm Brittany Techis from Family Services. We received a report about the Gallagher household…" the agent began.
(To be continued.)
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