Chapter 101: The Party
The South District was a slum where properties were dirt cheap—even storefronts.
The Alibi Bar, despite being a commercial property and a bar, wasn't worth much. You could probably buy it for just tens of thousands of dollars.
That was the same amount Joseph casually gifted Kevin and Veronica as a wedding present.
Buying the Alibi Bar was as easy for Joseph as buying an ice cream cone.
"This—" Joseph made it sound simple, but everyone around him was stunned, especially Kevin.
"I'm thinking of buying the bar," Joseph said casually, "and giving it to you, Kevin."
"Huh?!" Kevin and Veronica were both completely dumbfounded.
"Hahaha! I'm a man who remembers favors. You looked out for me, and I never forgot it. I've decided to give you the bar," Joseph said, laughing as he clapped Kevin on the shoulder.
Joseph used to be a drunk. When he had no money for drinks, Kevin would often give him a few beers on the house.
In fact, Kevin treated all regular drunks that way—it wasn't a big deal to give away a cheap beer now and then. But Joseph remembered Kevin's kindness.
"I—I can't accept this. Besides, what about Old Stan? Where would he go if the bar's sold?" Kevin quickly responded, snapping out of his shock.
"Old Stan's already at the point where he can barely take care of himself. Selling the bar would give him enough money to stay in a proper care facility. He'd be better off with professional care than you looking after him."
"Besides, you're like a son to him. He wouldn't object to you taking over the bar. So that's settled," Joseph declared, making the decision final.
Kevin wanted to say more, but felt a sharp pinch at his waist—Veronica had secretly pinched him and was glaring.
A big shot like Joseph is giving you a bar and even remembers your past kindness—just take it! she was clearly saying with her eyes. If you keep refusing and offend him, he might change his mind!
To Joseph, buying and gifting a bar was a trivial matter—he didn't even give it a second thought. While chatting with old friends, he turned and spotted someone sitting alone in the corner—Frank, quietly drinking.
Frank hadn't rushed over like everyone else to cozy up to Joseph.
He had actually stood up instinctively at first but sat right back down, even grabbing his drink and distancing himself from the crowd.
He didn't care about Joseph's money, so there was no need to grovel like a sycophant.
In the past, maybe he would've tried to latch onto someone powerful. But now? He just didn't have the heart for it.
"Hey, isn't that Frank?" Joseph wasn't going to ignore him. He walked right over and threw an arm around Frank's shoulders.
"I was in a rush last time I came back, didn't get to see many of my old buddies. I really thought I'd run into you. Turns out I missed you then. Heard you've changed a lot lately," Joseph said with a smile.
"I'm alright," Frank replied, a bit half-heartedly.
"Don't be so cold! I still remember the time we had that drinking contest. You sent me to the hospital, remember? I was nearly killed from alcohol poisoning—just for fifty bucks!"
"But if it hadn't been for that hospital trip, I wouldn't be where I am today," Joseph added, his voice suddenly quieter. Even Frank, sitting right next to him, couldn't quite catch what he said next.
"Seriously, I owe you one. And I mean it—you really have changed. If your face hadn't stayed the same, I wouldn't have recognized you at all," Joseph said, studying Frank carefully.
Knowing the old Frank, he would've jumped at the chance to cozy up to someone as wealthy as Joseph. But this new Frank? Totally different.
There were plenty of people in the bar trying to curry favor with Joseph, so naturally, he couldn't chat with Frank for long.
"When the party's over, let's have a real talk—just the two of us," Joseph said, patting Frank on the shoulder.
"Tonight, I'm staying. Nobody goes home sober!" Joseph declared loudly, prompting a round of cheers across the bar.
Last time Joseph visited, he was in and out. He had business in Chicago and stopped by the South District on a whim. That visit to the bar lasted barely ten minutes.
But this time? He came specifically for this.
Joseph clapped his hands, and the bar doors opened. Outside, a long Lincoln limousine was waiting. From it stepped out a stream of stunning, sexy women.
"That's a famous model! I've seen her on TV!!" someone shouted, and the bar immediately erupted in excitement.
These weren't like the cheap girls Kevin hired for his bachelor party. These were real models and celebrities.
Normally, they'd never step foot in a place like this—a run-down dive filled with grimy old men. They'd be disgusted just to glance inside.
But Joseph had money. Serious money. So all the women smiled radiantly, charming and cheerful as they mingled with the kind of men they'd normally never even look at.
The men, however, suddenly got nervous. If it were just regular girls, they'd already be cracking dirty jokes and getting handsy. But these were models. Celebrities. They recognized many of them from TV and magazines. Now they didn't even dare breathe too loud.
"Hahaha! Don't be shy!" Joseph laughed, his arms around two girls, encouraging the hesitant crowd.
After a few rounds of hard liquor, the men let loose. The party's energy soared and lasted late into the night.
"Agh, I gotta go. Got work at the construction site tomorrow. Can't drink anymore," said chubby Tommy, stumbling out the door.
"My girlfriend Cynthia moved in with me—she doesn't let me stay out overnight," another guy, Mikey, explained gloomily. "She already threw away my collection of 19th-century illustrated books—so heartless. Then she tossed my vintage Atari game cartridges—even colder. But hey, she's my last shot at happiness, and more important than video games or jerking off, so I gotta go too."
Back in the day, Frank would've gone home too—he never stayed out overnight. But ever since the falling-out with his family, he had nowhere to be. He could party as long as he wanted.
The celebration continued for an entire day and night. In the end, pretty much everyone passed out—including Frank.
"Damn, blacked out again," was the first thought that popped into Frank's head as his consciousness returned.
Then—
"Wait, what the…?"
When Frank opened his eyes, he wasn't staring at the cracked, grimy ceiling of the Alibi Bar. Instead, it was a lavish, unfamiliar ceiling.
And under him… wasn't the hard floor he expected.
It was soft. Cushioned. Like a Simmons mattress.