The next morning, at the Gallagher family dining table.
Breakfast lacked its usual chaotic noise; instead, the room was thick with oppressive low pressure.
Shane sat in his seat, silently cutting his bacon. The soft clinking of his knife and fork against the plate was the only sound. The dark aura radiating from him completely enveloped everyone else at the table.
Fiona sat across from him, head bowed, taking tiny sips of coffee, her eyes daring only to rest on the toast in front of her.
Lip looked like he was trying to bury his head in his cereal bowl. His curly hair fell forward, completely hiding his face, leaving only one hand moving rhythmically to shovel food into his mouth.
Ian watched the scene with utter confusion. He looked back and forth between them before finally asking, "Did you guys get into a fight last night?"
No one answered.
Under the table, Debbie gave him a light kick and whispered, "The van... the van got impounded." With that, she immediately ducked her head and pretended to focus intensely on her breakfast.
Ian shrank his neck and opened his mouth to say something.
"Shh!"
Debbie kicked him again, shooting a nervous glance at Shane. But Shane didn't seem to notice their little exchange; he just kept eating in silence.
The entire breakfast passed in this suffocating quiet.
Once they finished eating, Fiona practically jumped up to clear the plates and retreated to the kitchen to wash them.
Lip grabbed his backpack and hurriedly muttered, "I gotta go take my makeup exam," before bolting out the door.
Since he hadn't shown up for the standardized test yesterday, he had used the excuse of his "sister getting into a car accident" to secure a spot in today's makeup exam with the other chronic skippers and troublemakers.
Debbie left carrying Liam and dragging Carl, and Ian slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed out too. The house instantly felt empty.
In the kitchen, Fiona finished washing the dishes and dried her hands. She stood frozen for a few seconds.
She could feel Shane still in the living room. Maybe he was looking at his phone, maybe he was just sitting there.
But she didn't dare go out. She was terrified Shane would ask for more details, terrified her composure would finally shatter.
Finally, she seized a moment to quickly walk upstairs and shut her bedroom door behind her.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Shane, let's go!"
Shane opened the door to find Kevin standing there.
He was wearing an old, slightly tight jacket, and a beat-up old Ford was parked behind him.
"Borrowed Tommy's car. Had to promise to cover his beer for the whole day before he'd let me take it. The gas pedal on this piece of junk wheezes like it's got asthma," Kevin complained, turning and walking toward the faded, aging Ford.
They got in and headed toward the impound lot.
Kevin cursed the entire drive. He cursed the soaring gas prices, cursed the pothole-filled, garbage roads of the South Side, cursed the bureaucrats at City Hall, and saved his most creative cursing for the bastard who reported them.
"What kind of son of a bitch has that much free time to stare at a shitty van selling breakfast? Gotta be those hot dog vendors who can't handle losing a little business—"
Shane sat in the passenger seat, completely tuning out Kevin's complaints. His mind was busy replaying the sequence of events that led to the van getting impounded.
First, it was definitely reported by the other vendors.
The brick-and-mortar shops didn't open until after 8:30, and practically none of them sold breakfast anyway. There was no conflict in customer base. The only people with a motive were the older street vendors.
Lip had parked the van back in the alley by 8:30. For the city workers to track it down so precisely... unless it was a highly targeted complaint, there was no logical reason for them to march straight into that specific alley and tow the van.
While Fiona and Lip's utterly brain-dead stunt was the root cause of this mess, Shane wasn't about to just sit back and take the hit from those vendors.
Once he finished dealing with the immediate crisis, he absolutely had to hit back.
Motherfuckers. You won't let my people run a stall? Then none of you get to run one. You want my family targeted and fined? Then you better fucking prepare yourselves!
Gradually, the car left the dilapidated residential streets and entered a much more desolate area. The scenery shifted to endless stretches of warehouses and rusted chain-link fences.
A little while later, a sign came into view in the distance. The paint was mostly peeled off, leaning sideways, but the words "City Vehicle Impound" were barely legible.
Kevin turned down a sloped road. The area looked like a basin, surrounded by chaotic piles of scrap and small dirt mounds. The ramps of several elevated highways crisscrossed overhead, casting massive shadows over the area.
On a slope opposite them stood a massive electrical transformer box.
The entire vehicle impound lot was nestled at the bottom of this pit, encircled by a corroded chain-link fence.
Kevin parked in an empty dirt lot, and the two of them got out.
They walked toward the impound lot. The main office was a drab, single-story concrete building.
Before they even got close, they saw two security guards dragging a scrawny Black man out the front doors. The man's feet were off the ground, and he was yelling, "I don't have the money, but I need my car back! How am I supposed to work without my car? My whole family relies on—"
Thud! The two guards swung him hard, tossing him onto the gravel ground.
He struggled to get up, but one of the guards already had his hand resting on his belt.
"Piss off. Come back when you can pay."
The man clearly saw the guard's movement. All he could do was lie on the ground, pounding his fists into the dirt. "I can't fucking survive! Give me my car back!"
Kevin paused his steps, muttering under his breath, "Oh, Jesus. This is looking bad."
Shane's expression didn't change. He just reminded Kevin one more time, "Remember: the van was stolen. We reported it. Anything else they ask, you don't know shit."
"I got it, I got it," Kevin nodded.
Pushing open the glass doors, they found the lobby packed with people, yet eerily quiet.
Most people had hollow eyes, staring blankly at the floor or the walls.
Occasionally, someone would let out a groan of despair upon seeing their ticket, but the sound was quickly swallowed by the silence.
They got in line. After about twenty minutes, it was their turn.
Behind the glass was a female clerk. She didn't look up, her fingers clacking loudly on the keyboard. "License plate number, registration, and ID."
Kevin rattled off the plate number and shoved the vehicle registration and his ID through the slot at the bottom of the window.
The clerk grabbed the documents, glanced at them, checked Kevin's info, and typed a few more keys on her computer.
An ancient printer next to her started screeching, eventually spitting out a long strip of perforated white paper.
She ripped the stack of paper off and slapped it onto the counter with a loud smack.
"Here is your impound record and citations. The itemized fee breakdown is on the back. Payment is due within two weeks," she rattled off at lightning speed.
"Next!"
Kevin picked up the stack of papers and flipped to the last page. One look at the total and his face instantly turned green.
The final number at the bottom read: $1,847.
"Hey, I get the towing fee, the storage fee, and the fine for the stall, but what about all this?" Kevin pointed at several line items. "These are fucking parking tickets from God knows when, and a speeding ticket! What does that have to do with my van getting impounded right now?!"
The clerk finally looked up. "During a vehicle impound, the system automatically links all outstanding citations registered under the owner's name. It's standard procedure."
"But the van was stolen!" Kevin pressed his face closer to the glass.
"We called the cops! Some thief stole our van to sell breakfast. How the hell does that fall on me?!"
"Theft cases are handled by the police department," the clerk's voice was completely flat.
"Vehicle impounds and debt collection are handled by the city's finance department. They are two entirely separate procedures."
She paused, then added, "Furthermore, for your claim of theft to be validated, the police must issue a report and flag it in the system. As of right now, we have no such record on file."
Kevin opened his mouth, trying to argue further.
Shane stepped up from behind, placing a hand on Kevin's shoulder and gently pulling him back.
"Alright, thank you for clarifying that for us." Shane smiled politely at the clerk and nodded.
"We just want to confirm one thing: what condition is the van in right now? Could we possibly go take a look at it? I mean, there's always a chance the thief just swapped the plates or something, right?"