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Afternoon at the Gallagher house. The dining table was covered with a hand-drawn blueprint of the old tattoo parlor.
Shane leaned over it, pencil scratching across the paper as he marked out sections. "Shelves here for household stuff and hardware. Front entrance gets the bargain bin to pull people in. Cash register goes against this wall."
Carl had his chin planted on the edge of the table, eyes tracking every pencil stroke. "Shane, you drawing a new military base?"
"Store," Shane answered without looking up. "Our store."
Debbie shuffled over, doll tucked under one arm. "Like the corner store? Can I help?"
"Smaller than that, but everything's gonna be cheaper." Shane finally set the pencil down. "Think dollar store, except we won't only sell dollar stuff. Pots, pans, tools—shit you usually have to drive to Walmart or Family Dollar for. We'll have it all."
Carl's eyes went wide. "Toys too? The ones that light up and make noise?"
"Maybe someday." Shane was already back to the layout. "Right now it's household basics and hardware. Food, creams, makeup—that stuff gets inspected too hard. One complaint and the health department's crawling up our ass."
Carl immediately lost interest. "Boring. I thought we were opening an armory. Can you even fight with a bowl?"
Debbie was more practical. "Will there be cute hair ties and notebooks? I can organize the shelves!"
"Definitely. And they'll be dirt cheap." Shane smiled at her. "Debbie can pick whatever hair ties she wants. Carl—" He caught the sudden spark in the kid's eyes. "Carl can pick the toughest steel bowl and test if it works as a helmet."
"Really? I want the thick one! Green, army style!" Carl was bouncing again.
Shane ignored him and went back to the sketch. His plan was simple: hit up closing or clearance sales at real stores, buy legit stock cheap, get real invoices. Then mix in the cheap Pinduoduo knockoffs that looked close enough. A washbasin that cost five bucks for twenty back home could sell here for a dollar each and still feel like a steal. The heavy-duty version? Cost a buck, sell for $2.99—profit through the roof. A crappy superhero backpack bought by the pound? Slap a $7.99 tag on it.
Two months to get the paperwork and shelves ready. By then Ian would probably be official with Mickey. Ian could watch the store, Mickey could play bouncer, Fiona runs the floor. No street vending, close early, who the hell could touch them? And if anyone came sniffing, he had real invoices.
"Shane," Debbie tugged his sleeve. "What's the store gonna be called?"
He paused. "Haven't decided. South Side General maybe?"
"Too boring!" Carl yelled. "Should be Marshal Carl's Military Supply Depot!"
---
Upstairs, Fiona's bedroom door was locked tight.
Lip laid everything out on the bed like he was prepping for war: two black hoodies, thick work gloves, two ski-mask cutouts from knit caps, pliers, flashlights, random electronic gadgets, and a bunch of other sketchy tools.
"Do we really need masks?" Fiona whispered. "We're just grabbing the laptop, not robbing a bank."
"What if a camera actually works that night?" Lip kept his voice low too. "Most of them are busted, but if one isn't, our faces are evidence."
"But wearing these makes us look more suspicious!" Fiona argued. "If we get caught, mask versus no mask could be the difference between juvie and real prison!"
"The point is not getting caught, Fiona. Not. Getting. Caught." Lip was getting twitchy. He picked up the pliers. "And we might need these to widen the gap—"
"You said last night it was already big enough!"
"Just in case!" Lip almost shouted before catching himself. "What if they patched it during the day? What if new trash is piled up? We have to be ready for everything!"
Fiona stared at the pathetic pile of gear and felt dizzy. This was their master plan—some black clothes, stolen tools, and a half-assed scheme.
"Plus we have twenty minutes max. I already got the rough location from Kevin."
Fiona nodded, fingers twisting together. She thought about Tony, about that phone call she'd made. If this went wrong, if they got caught… what would Tony think?
Never mind. Tony probably wouldn't get the chance to think anything.
Knock knock knock.
Both of them jumped like they'd been tasered.
Lip swept everything into a cardboard box and kicked it under the bed. Fiona grabbed an old magazine and pretended to read, hands shaking.
"Who is it?"
"Me, Carl!" The voice was way too loud. "Shane says come downstairs! He's talking about the store!"
Fiona and Lip locked eyes—both of them terrified.
"Coming!" Fiona forced her voice to sound normal. "Right now!"
They waited until Carl's footsteps thumped back downstairs before exhaling.
Lip dragged the box out, stuffed everything into a backpack, zipped it, and shoved the whole thing deep in the closet.
---
Downstairs, Shane's sketch was almost finished.
"Perfect timing." He waved them over. "Layout's basically done, but we need new wiring and more outlets. Lip, you know circuits better than me—tell me if this routing makes sense. Fiona, you've got the experience—check the shelf spacing and aisle width."
Shane's tone was completely casual, like the van disaster and yesterday's blow-up had never happened.
Fiona forced herself to the table and pointed out a couple tight spots. Lip leaned in and gave two quick wiring fixes.
"Good. Once it's stable we can expand. Store's small, but the location's gold—right by the subway. Foot traffic's guaranteed."
Lip and Fiona just nodded stiffly, barely hearing him.
"What do you guys think?" Shane looked at them.
"Uh… sounds good," Fiona managed a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Yeah," Lip muttered. "Solid."
"Need me to design a flyer or something later?"
"Eventually, but not yet. First we handle the fines and the van, then we start the paperwork."
"Got it," Fiona said quickly. "Whatever you say."
---
At dinner Shane officially laid out the store plan for everyone.
The table actually felt warm for once.
"So we're really getting our own shop?" Debbie's eyes sparkled.
"Yep. You can help stock shelves. I'll even pay you."
"I'm head of security!" Carl waved his fork like a baton. "Anyone steals, I'll tase 'em!" He realized what he'd said, clamped his mouth shut, and shoveled food in like nothing happened.
Ian grinned. "Count me in for heavy lifting or painting. But next week my training ramps up—coach thinks I might actually get into military school!"
"Really?" Fiona's first real smile in days broke through. "That's amazing, Ian."
"Still early," Ian said, blushing. "We'll see."
Shane nodded. "Need any gear or supplements, just say the word."
The only one quiet was Lip. He kept his head down, pushing food around his plate, forcing a smile whenever someone looked at him. Fiona wasn't much better—her laughs sounded fake as hell.
Shane noticed both of them. In his head it was simple: guilt. Good. Let it hurt. Maybe they'd actually learn this time.
"Anyway," Shane raised his cup. "Van thing's done. Eyes forward. We open the store, take it step by step, and finally get some real stability."
"Cheers!"
Carl raised his milk. "Cheers!"
Debbie and Ian joined in. Fiona and Lip lifted their cups too. Glass clinked.
---
After dinner Shane spent over an hour in the basement finishing the new course. When it was done he grabbed the USB and headed upstairs, knocking on Lip's door.
Lip opened it. Fiona was sitting on the bed.
"Shane?" Lip stood up fast. "What's up?"
Shane wiggled the USB. "New course is ready to upload. Plus the site needs a couple new features—call it part of your penance package."
The air in the room turned to ice.
Lip's voice cracked. "R-right now?"
He pointed at the old laptop on the desk. "Use this one for now. New one's… at the shop getting fixed."
"You broke it already?" Shane raised an eyebrow. "Watching porn on it or what?"
Fiona's fingers dug into the bedsheet so hard her knuckles went white.
Lip stood frozen, eyes flicking from Shane's face to Fiona's deathly pale one and back.
"Lip?" Shane's voice carried a hint of suspicion now.
"I—" Lip's mouth opened, but the words came out tiny. "The laptop… isn't here."
Shane's eyes narrowed. "Then where is it?"