Chapter 14: Carl's Shadow
Carl Gallagher was waiting outside Ben's garage when he arrived at 7 AM.
"You're late," Carl announced.
"It's seven in the morning."
"Exactly. Late. I've been here since six-thirty."
"Why?"
Carl shrugged, the gesture containing approximately zero genuine information. "Stuff to learn. Come on, open up."
Ben unlocked the door, and Carl followed him inside like he owned the place. The kid immediately began reorganizing Ben's tool collection, creating a system that appeared to be organized by "things that could break windows" versus "things that couldn't."
"Carl," Ben said. "What are you doing?"
"Helping. I'm your apprentice now."
"I never agreed to that."
"Didn't have to. It's implied." Carl held up a ball-peen hammer, examining it critically. "Could this break a car window?"
"Yes."
"What about safety glass?"
"With enough force, yes."
"Cool." Carl set the hammer in the "could break windows" pile. "What about a crowbar? Could that—"
"Carl. Why are you really here?"
The kid paused, his chaotic energy settling for a moment. "Fiona says I need to find something constructive to do after school. Instead of, you know, the other stuff."
"What other stuff?"
"Stuff." Carl resumed organizing. "And Debbie said you're good at fixing things and not judging people. So I figured I'd learn from you."
"Learn what?"
"How to fix stuff. Build stuff. Break stuff." Carl's grin was pure mischief. "All of it."
For the next two hours, Carl asked approximately ten thousand questions.
"Why does that wrench fit that bolt but not that one?"
"What happens if you overtighten something?"
"Could you make a pipe bomb with stuff from under the sink?"
"Carl—"
"What? It's a legitimate question. Chemistry's important."
Ben's MacGyver Mind showed him the dangerous brilliance in Carl's curiosity. The kid didn't just want to know how things worked—he wanted to know how to exploit them. Every repair demonstration became a lesson in potential destruction. Every tool explanation turned into weaponization discussion.
"Could you use this socket wrench as a weapon?"
"Technically yes, but—"
"How much force would you need to break someone's kneecap?"
"I'm not answering that."
"But you know, right? You could figure it out?"
"Carl, I'm trying to teach you legitimate repair skills."
"Yeah, but knowing how to break things helps you fix them, right? Like, if you understand weak points, you can strengthen them." Carl's logic was sound, which made it worse. "That's just good engineering."
It was like training an enthusiastic, violent golden retriever. A golden retriever who understood mechanical principles instinctively and immediately applied them to crime.
When Carl suggested "fixing" parking meters to dispense incorrect change, Ben had to stop him.
"That's illegal."
"So's fencing stolen goods with Frank."
Ben froze. "How do you know about that?"
"I'm not stupid. I see Frank bringing you stuff. See you working on things that don't need fixing." Carl's expression was matter-of-fact. "It's cool. I'm not telling anyone. But you can't lecture me about crime when you're literally doing crime."
Out of the mouths of ten-year-olds.
Debbie arrived at 4 PM, her expression suggesting she'd been expecting this.
"Carl. Time to go."
"In a minute. Ben's teaching me about torque."
"He's teaching you how to break into cars."
"Same thing!"
"It's literally not." Debbie looked at Ben with apologetic exasperation. "Sorry. He does this. Finds someone he likes and won't leave them alone."
"I'm not bothering him," Carl protested. "I'm being helpful. I organized his tools."
"You organized them by potential destructiveness."
"That's a valid system!"
Ben watched them argue with the practiced rhythm of siblings who'd perfected this dance. Debbie represented order, morality, structure. Carl represented chaos, curiosity, and violent creativity. They fought like it was their job, but underneath was genuine care.
"Look," Ben interrupted. "Carl can keep coming here. But—" he looked at Carl seriously, "—you have to promise me something."
"What?"
"Whatever I teach you, you only use it for legal purposes. Until you're eighteen, at least."
Carl's eyes narrowed. "That's like, eight years."
"Then you'll have eight years of legitimate practice before you decide to go criminal."
"Sixteen," Carl countered. "I promise legal until sixteen. That's only six years."
"Carl—"
"Take it or I find someone else to teach me. And they'll probably be way less careful about the ethical stuff."
Debbie rolled her eyes. "He's got you there."
Ben considered. Carl was going to learn this stuff somewhere. Better from someone who'd at least try to instill some ethics, even if the kid ignored half of it.
"Fine. Sixteen. But you follow my rules while you're here. No stealing, no breaking things without permission, no experimenting with dangerous stuff unsupervised."
"Deal." Carl extended his hand with the solemnity of a mob pact.
They shook. Ben felt like he'd just made either the best or worst decision of his life.
"Finally," Debbie said. "Can we go now? I have homework."
"You always have homework."
"Because I care about my education, unlike some people."
"School's for losers."
"You're ten. How would you know?"
They bickered their way out of the garage, Carl promising to return tomorrow, Debbie muttering about "bad influences" loud enough for Ben to hear.
Ben watched them go, then checked his tool inventory.
Three screwdrivers missing. A socket set. The ball-peen hammer Carl had been so interested in.
The kid had stolen them during their handshake.
Ben laughed despite himself. Carl had tested him, confirmed Ben wouldn't actually notice or would let it slide, establishing boundaries through petty theft. It was genius and infuriating in equal measure.
He's going to grow up to be either a criminal mastermind or completely feral. Possibly both.
Ben added the stolen tools to his mental list of "Carl crimes" and acknowledged a truth he'd been avoiding: his relationship with the Gallagher kids had crossed a line. He wasn't just the helpful neighbor anymore. He was becoming something more dangerous.
Family. Surrogate family, anyway. The kind you choose, the kind that chooses you, the kind that makes you complicit in their chaos because you care too much to walk away.
Ben thought about Carl's casual observation—that Ben was doing crime with Frank while lecturing about morality. The kid wasn't wrong. Ben had compromised his ethics, justified fraud through desperation, and was now teaching mechanical skills to a child who'd absolutely use them for illegal purposes.
This is what integration looks like, Ben thought. Not standing apart and helping from a distance. Actually being part of the mess, making it messier, caring about people who'll drag you down while you try to lift them up.
He went back to work, already planning tomorrow's lessons. Maybe he could steer Carl toward engineering, toward building instead of destroying. Or maybe Carl was who Carl was, and Ben's job was just to make sure the kid had options when the time came.
Either way, he'd made a deal. And in South Side, deals mattered more than morals.
Even when they were made with ten-year-olds who stole your tools during handshakes.
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