Chapter 211 — Frank Reports the Gallagher Family
Frank Gallagher slammed back the vodka in one gulp.
The liquor burned like fire down his throat—
but he didn't care.
The scorching pain helped him forget, if only for a moment, the humiliation of seeing Monica Gallagher locked away in a psychiatric hospital… and the cold, accusing looks from his ungrateful children.
Behind the bar, Kevin lazily polished a glass while watching him.
"You look like absolute shit, Frank," Kev said casually. "This about Monica?"
Frank shot him a glare and rapped his knuckles against the bar for another drink.
"Shut the hell up, Kev. You don't know shit."
"Those little bastards threw my wife into a cage—and used my money to do it!"
"My money!"
"That bitch Fiona thinks owning one crappy restaurant makes her queen of the South Side now."
"And Lip and Ian? Those two little assholes just nodded along."
"Fuck all of them."
Kev snorted and poured the second drink anyway.
As for Frank calling it his money?
Not even a turtle would believe that nonsense.
"Hey, Frank, your family drama isn't my business," Kev muttered. "But if you start smashing stuff in here, I'm throwing you out."
Frank ignored him.
His mind was already spinning.
—
Monica was gone.
He was alone again, wandering the streets like a stray dog.
Home?
2119 wasn't a home anymore.
It was a dump.
Cigarette butts on the floor.
Beer cans everywhere.
Stacks of dirty dishes rotting in the kitchen sink.
The toilet clogged for weeks with no one bothering to fix it.
And the kids?
Debbie Gallagher, Carl Gallagher, Liam Gallagher…
Still growing up in that pigsty.
As for Ian Gallagher and Lip Gallagher?
Hmph.
Two little punks who probably needed to be locked up themselves.
Then suddenly—
an idea hit him like lightning.
Child Protective Services.
Those bureaucratic vultures loved poking their noses into poor South Side families.
Especially places like theirs.
All he had to do was report the house.
Tell them it was filthy. Unsafe for children.
And they'd swarm in like flies on garbage.
Fiona would lose her mind.
The kids would get taken away.
The family would fall apart.
Perfect revenge.
Let them experience abandonment for once—
just like they'd abandoned Monica.
Frank slowly grinned.
The grin of a lunatic.
"Kev," he muttered, tapping the counter again, "another drink. I've got a plan."
Kev frowned.
"Don't start shit, Frank. Your house is already enough of a disaster."
Frank downed the liquor and slapped the counter.
"Disaster?"
"Heh."
"You haven't seen anything yet."
—
A few minutes later, Frank staggered toward the public phone inside The Alibi Room.
He dialed Child Protective Services.
When the operator answered, his voice instantly changed into something pitiful and trembling.
"Yes, ma'am… I'd like to report child neglect."
"Address is 2119 North Wallace, South Side Chicago."
"That place is filthy. Worse than a landfill."
"The kids eat garbage. Sleep on the floor."
"The legal guardian? Frank Gallagher's a drunk. Their mother Monica's locked up in a mental hospital."
"And now some woman named Fiona Gallagher's pretending to run the place, but she doesn't care about the kids at all. She's too busy fooling around."
"Those children are gonna die in there if someone doesn't step in."
"You need to send someone. Fast."
—
The operator asked several follow-up questions.
Frank happily embellished everything.
Carl almost burning the house down with fire.
Liam getting sick from expired food.
Debbie not having clean clothes.
By the time he hung up, the story sounded like a horror documentary.
Frank spat onto the floor.
"Fuck all of 'em."
—
Two days later, sunlight spilled across the battered streets of the South Side.
Fiona Gallagher walked home from work carrying groceries in both hands.
Lately, things had finally begun calming down.
The hospital reported Monica's condition had stabilized.
Frank had mostly stayed drunk at the bar instead of causing problems.
For the first time in a long while…
it almost felt like the house could breathe again.
She pushed open the door to 2119—
and immediately smelled the familiar scent of mold and stale air.
The living room was a disaster.
Clothes were tossed across the couch.
Dirty dishes overflowed from the kitchen sink.
Lip Gallagher lounged on the sofa scrolling through his phone.
Upstairs, Ian Gallagher was yelling at Debbie Gallagher to stop making noise.
Out back, Carl Gallagher was digging some kind of hole.
And little Liam Gallagher crawled across the floor chewing on a filthy toy.
"Fuck… this place seriously needs cleaning," Fiona Gallagher muttered as she dropped the groceries onto the table.
"Lip, take the trash out."
"Ian, get downstairs and help me!"
Lip lazily looked up from his phone.
"Fiona, here we go again. I already did the dishes last night."
Right then—
three heavy knocks sounded at the front door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Fiona frowned and walked over to open it.
Outside stood two women.
One middle-aged, holding a clipboard.
The other younger, wearing glasses and looking exactly like a stereotypical social worker.
Behind them sat an unmarked sedan.
"Are you Fiona Gallagher?" the older woman asked in a voice so professional it sounded robotic.
"We're with Child Protective Services. We received a report and need to conduct an investigation."
Fiona's heart instantly sank.
"A report? What fucking report? Who the hell reported us?"
The social worker ignored the swearing and handed her a document.
"We received an anonymous complaint stating that this residence may be unsafe for children and that there are signs of neglect and possible abuse."
"We'll need to inspect the home and speak with the children."
Lip immediately jumped off the couch.
"Fuck! Which asshole reported us?!"
Hearing the commotion, Ian came downstairs.
Debbie followed behind him carrying Liam.
Carl slipped in through the back door, dirt smeared all over his face.
The two social workers stepped inside.
Both subtly wrinkled their noses.
The older woman began taking notes:
Stained floors.
Unsanitary kitchen conditions.
Cluttered living room.
Blocked toilet.
Then came the questions.
"Do you eat regularly?"
"Do you have clean clothes?"
"Are your parents usually home?"
Debbie answered innocently:
"Fiona takes care of us… but Mom and Dad aren't around much."
Carl puffed up proudly.
"I take care of myself!"
Liam only babbled incoherently.
Fiona quickly tried to explain.
"We're poor, okay? But we love these kids!"
"This is the South Side—every family lives like this!"
"Monica's in a psychiatric hospital getting treatment. Frank's just… a useless drunk."
"But I take care of everything!"
The older social worker slowly shook her head.
"Miss Gallagher, based on our assessment, this environment does not meet acceptable standards."
"The children are at risk."
"We'll need to take immediate action."
The younger social worker added calmly:
"Debbie, Carl, and Liam will be placed into temporary foster care until living conditions improve."
"As for Ian and Lip—you're both minors. Due to the family history and current circumstances, we'll be requesting a court order to place you into juvenile supervision housing for counseling and monitoring."
Fiona's face went completely pale.
"What?!"
"You can't take them!"
"This is my home! They're my family!"
Lip exploded.
"Fuck you! We're not going anywhere! This is bullshit!"
Ian grabbed him before things escalated further, his face equally pale.
"Fiona… what do we do?"
The social workers had already called for police backup.
Two officers entered the house to maintain order.
The scene instantly descended into chaos.
Debbie clung to Fiona's leg crying hysterically.
Carl kicked at one officer's shin while struggling.
Liam wailed at the top of his lungs.
"Everyone calm down!" the older social worker shouted.
"This is for the children's safety."
"Miss Gallagher, you may appeal the decision later. But for now, this removal must proceed."
Fiona collapsed weakly onto the couch.
Tears streamed down her face.
She watched Debbie get carried outside.
Watched Carl dragged toward the car.
Watched Liam get coaxed away by a social worker.
Then she saw Ian and Lip—
handcuffed to prevent them from running—
being shoved into another vehicle.
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