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Click— The busy signal blared from the disconnected phone.
Kevin remained frozen in his stiff posture, staring blankly at the old landline.
"I... I never should have fucking printed the bar's phone number on the side of that van."
"Sigh."
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated.
Why the fuck can't they just keep their heads down? Do they not listen to a single word I say? He couldn't wrap his head around it.
The situation was painfully clear: Fiona and Lip used the van to sell breakfast, and they either got caught or got reported.
Fucking hell. Just to make a few extra bucks, and now this mess.
Feeling helpless, he turned around and saw Karen standing beside him. She had heard the entire conversation.
The excited anticipation from earlier had completely vanished from her face, replaced by undisguised disappointment.
She looked at Shane, her eyes radiating an irritated "Here we go again."
Shane opened his mouth to speak, but Karen yanked her arm out of his grasp.
"Can't you just—" she snapped, her voice tight with anger.
"Can't you just put this shit on hold and deal with it tonight? Does it have to be right now? We finally get a little time together."
Shane looked at her puffed-up face, but the sliver of guilt he felt was quickly washed away by the urgency of the situation.
He shook his head. "I can't, Karen. I have to go home right now. If I don't go back immediately and ask our two resident geniuses exactly what 'brilliant' scheme they pulled behind my back... by tonight, the situation might be completely out of my control."
Shane stepped forward to hug her, but Karen dodged him.
"I need to go back immediately and figure out exactly what happened. I have to get ahead of this before things get worse—like a massive fine showing up in the mail, or... DCFS knocking on the door. I promise, once I figure out what's going on and handle it, we'll pick right back up with our date, okay? I won't forget."
Karen stared at him. The sting of dashed expectations was bitter. It wasn't just the ruined date that made her angry; it was the realization that lately, Shane could drop everything in a heartbeat for other problems, but never for her.
But she also saw the heavy gravity in his eyes.
She bit her lip and finally let out a reluctant huff. "Fine. Fine. Let's just go quickly. Don't let this turn into some hours-long ordeal where you end up telling me tonight is canceled."
Karen crossed her arms, spun around, and marched out, letting her back do the talking.
Shane patted a still-shellshocked Kevin on the shoulder. "Kevin, don't panic. Don't start making random calls. Wait to hear from me."
With that, he didn't waste another second. He turned and practically power-walked out of the Alibi Room.
The moment he stepped outside, any trace of ease vanished from his face.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Fiona's number.
The second the call connected, he didn't even give her a chance to speak: "Where are you right now?"
Fiona's voice was weak on the other end: "...At home."
"What the fuck happened with the van?" Shane demanded, but instantly cut himself off. "Forget it. We'll talk when I get there. Where's Lip?"
"He... he's here with me."
"Then you two sit tight and wait for me."
...
A short time later, Shane pushed open the front door of the Gallagher house.
Fiona was sitting at the dining table, face pale, picking at a scratch in the wood.
Lip was in the chair next to her, leaning forward. His face was still flushed, making it obvious the two of them had just finished another screaming match.
"The city called Kevin's bar," Shane said as he shut the door. Karen walked over and sat down on the stairs.
"They notified him that his van was impounded in the South Side for operating without a license."
His eyes locked onto the two at the table. "Let me guess: the back of the van is still stuffed with unsold breakfast?"
Fiona looked up, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Shane, listen to me. It's my fault. It's entirely my responsibility. Lip said we could make more money using the van, and I didn't stop him... I didn't think this would—"
"And we did make more, Shane."
Lip cut off Fiona's self-blame, trying to justify his actions with the results.
"We made almost twenty percent more using the van than we did just standing at the fixed stall. That proves the market is there! We just got unlucky. We got reported by those jealous asshole vendors—"
Bang!
Shane slammed his fist onto the dining table, cracking the wood.
Even now, Lip was still making excuses?!
He glared daggers at Lip.
"You don't think I fucking know we could make more money, Lip?! Use that brain of yours—the one you think is the smartest in the South Side—and think for a second. If all I gave a shit about was making money, I would've bought ten fucking food trucks, hired twenty guys, and locked down every single construction site and subway entrance in Chicago! I'd be making a hell of a lot more than I am now! You think I need you calculating an extra twenty percent for me?!"
He stepped forward, getting right in Lip's face, his voice trembling with rage. "I didn't do it because I fucking know it's like smoking a cigarette on top of a powder keg! The city, the health department, the cops, jealous vendors—any single one of them could destroy not just a van, but this entire family! They could wipe out the tiny foundation I've busted my ass to build!"
Lip's face burned even redder. He turned his head, avoiding Shane's direct glare.
"I was careful! I packed up at eight-thirty and drove the van back into the alley! It was those old vendors. They reported me! It's their fault too!"
"'Careful'?" Shane let out a cold laugh.
"Your version of 'careful' was treating the absolute bottom line I repeatedly hammered into your heads like a fucking joke. If you run a stall, the worst they do is confiscate our shit. They won't dig into who we are. But you drove a fucking van out there! They take pictures! They run the plates! They follow the trail right back to our front door!"
Shane gritted his teeth, his face twisted in a mix of fury and bitter disappointment.
"I gave you that van hoping it would be a useful tool, something to make getting started a little easier. Not so you could take it to a casino, gamble it away, and come back giving me that stupid 'I did it for the family' look while telling me the van got fucking impounded!"
Shane turned to Fiona. The disappointment in his eyes cut deeper than the anger. "Fiona, I told you so many times. I thought I was handing this over to someone who understood the stakes."
Seeing the profound disappointment in Shane's eyes, Fiona's lip trembled, and tears spilled down her face.
Her voice shook. "Shane, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. We completely fucked up."
She pushed a stack of cash across the table toward him.
"This is what we made today, plus all my profits from before. I can pay Kevin back. I can pay the fines with this. We promise—"
Shane didn't even glance at the money. His eyes snapped back to Lip. "What about you? Are you okay? Did they get your face on camera? Did they take down your personal info?"
Lip shook his head vigorously, his tone absolute. "No. Definitely not. I ran fast. They didn't catch me, and they didn't get a clear shot of my face. You know that area—the cameras are too shitty to catch faces. Plus, the van is Kevin's, and the address on file is the bar. As long as we don't voluntarily confess, there's no way they can trace it back to this house!"
"So?" Shane listened to Lip's tone—a tone that clearly screamed I'd do it again—and fought the urge to punch him in the face.
"You think it just ends here? Oh, pay the fine, pretend nothing happened, and roll the dice again next time? Is that it?"
"Well, it already happened!" Lip yelled back, losing control.
"What did you want me to do? The city car had me blocked in, and a guy was chasing me! The van is already towed. What, you want me to call the city right now and say, 'Hey, bring our van back,' and they'll just politely drive it over?!"
Shane's chest heaved as he forced down the inferno in his gut. "I want you to get this through your fucking heads right now: stop treating my words like background noise! Stop letting it go in one ear and out the other! From now on, when I say 'no,' you treat it like a 'no.' It's not a suggestion. It's a fucking rule!
"If this family is going to move forward, what I say goes!"
A suffocating silence descended on the living room. The only sound was the ragged breathing of the three of them.
Watching from the sidelines, Karen realized it was time for the "outsider" to step in and defuse the situation. Otherwise, the screaming match would just keep escalating and likely end disastrously.
She didn't want to watch her boy get dragged down and emotionally drained by his family rolling around in the mud, using the excuse of "family" to guilt-trip him.
The impatience she felt earlier had vanished, replaced by an easygoing demeanor.
She stood up, walked over to Shane, and gently took his rigid arm.
"Come on, let's go," she said, trying to break the suffocating tension.
"You said it yourself: there's nothing a good meal can't fix. The money's fine, the people are fine. Let them handle the fallout themselves."
As she spoke, she firmly tugged Shane toward the door, throwing a quick wink at Fiona and Lip over her shoulder.
"Next time you want to make more money, maybe discuss it with Boss Shane first. He always has a plan."
She shot them another glaring look that clearly meant: Hurry up and say something human.
Fiona quickly wiped her tears. "Shane, seriously, there won't be a next time. We'll absolutely handle the fines. We won't let this affect Kevin. As for the shop, whatever you need me to do, I'm here. I'll make sure everyone stays in line from now on."
Lip lowered his head beside her. "We'll handle the van. From now on, whatever you say, that's what we do. Fiona and I will get the shop sorted out. Just... don't worry about this mess right now, okay?"
Shane stared at them for several seconds. He looked at Fiona's red, tear-streaked eyes. He saw the fear, but also that specific, helpless look of pleading the Gallaghers always got when they had ruined everything.
Seeing their expressions didn't extinguish his anger, but a heavy wave of exhaustion crashed over it, pressing it down.
Karen tugged at his arm again right on cue.
Shane took a few deep breaths before finally dropping the news he had originally planned to announce over dinner: "I locked down the shop. I need you guys to just give me a few days of peace and quiet while we get the paperwork sorted. Just for these next few days, do not pull any more fucking stunts. Can you do that?"
Lip pressed his lips together, keeping his head down. "...Understood."
Fiona's voice was choked with emotion. "We will. We understand."
The door clicked shut.
A moment later, the sound of the scooter's engine revved outside the window, slowly fading into the distance.
Fiona walked to the window, pulling back a corner of the curtain. Only after confirming Shane and Karen were truly gone did she let out a massive breath and collapse into a chair.
Her face was a chaotic mix of guilt, lingering fear, and profound relief.
After taking a moment to steady her nerves, Fiona wiped her eyes dry. She walked over to the cabinet next to the dining table, pulled out the old laptop she had hidden earlier, and booted it up.
"Alright. Shane's gone. I generally know where to look: the impound lot website, the city's public notice page, maps of the lots in the South Side, and some local forums. What's the plan? How do you get in? Walk me through your idea one more time."
"I am not going to let Shane down again."