The morning on the South Side never started soft. Cars rattled down cracked pavement, a siren whined somewhere in the distance, and the smell of fried grease from Patsy's carried on the air. The Gallagher house was chaos as usual—Debbie tying her shoes while balancing toast in her mouth, Liam fussing because Fiona couldn't find his jacket, and Carl stomping around with his BB gun like he was going off to war instead of third grade.
Francis stepped onto the porch first, cigarette tucked behind his ear, car keys in hand. He paused.
The car across the street was still there. Same two men. Same hard faces staring out from the windshield. They hadn't moved all night.
Francis didn't give them a word, didn't even nod. He just opened the Gallagher van, got it running, and started loading his siblings in one by one.
"Move it," he muttered, holding the door while Debbie pushed Liam up onto the seat.
Carl hung back, staring at the car with a crooked grin. "They're still here."
"I see 'em," Francis said flat. "Get in."
Carl smirked like he was proud of it, but climbed inside anyway. Fiona came out last, arms full with Liam's bag and her own purse. She glanced at the car, frowning hard, but Francis gave her a look—don't. She sighed, said nothing, and slid in.
Francis drove. The car across the street didn't follow, but he could feel their eyes on the back of his head until he turned the corner.
---
The school drop-off was always a mess. Parents lined up bumper-to-bumper, teachers waving signs telling people to pull forward, kids darting across the lot like they were invincible. Francis eased the van into place, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes squinting through the morning sun.
"Alright. Out," he said.
Debbie hopped down first, Liam in tow. "Don't forget you promised to pick us up!" she called.
Francis nodded. "I'll be here."
Carl dragged his feet last, BB gun still strapped across his back. "Can I bring this inside? Just in case?"
"No," Fiona snapped instantly.
Carl groaned but handed it over, scowling like someone had stripped him of armor.
As the kids scattered into the school, Francis put the van in park. He was about to pull away when a sharp knock hit his window.
He turned.
The principal. Round glasses, suit too tight at the buttons, clipboard clutched to his chest like a shield.
"Mr. Gallagher?" he asked, voice polite but tense.
Francis lowered the window, smoke curling out. "Yeah?"
"I'll need a word. About Carl."
Fiona, in the passenger seat, groaned. "Of course you do."
The principal's eyes flicked toward her, then back to Francis. "Perhaps we could step inside? This isn't a conversation for the parking lot."
Francis put the van back in park, handed Fiona the keys. "Stay with Liam. I'll handle it."
---
The office smelled of stale coffee and chalk dust. The principal sat behind his desk, motioning for Francis to take the chair opposite. Francis dropped into it, leaning back, cigarette now tucked behind his ear again.
"Carl is a bright boy," the principal started.
Francis smirked faint. "Always love when a bad story starts with a compliment."
The principal cleared his throat. "But he's… disruptive. There have been multiple reports. Bullying younger children, stealing lunches, instigating fights on the playground." He paused, folding his hands. "Yesterday, he locked three boys in the equipment shed. For an hour."
Francis raised a brow. "Resourceful."
The principal frowned. "Dangerous."
"And?" Francis asked.
"And," the principal said, tone tightening, "this behavior can't continue. We've issued warnings. We've spoken with Fiona before. But it seems nothing changes. If it continues, expulsion will be the only option."
Francis tapped the desk with two fingers, thinking. "You're telling me you want to kick him out for being… Carl."
"This isn't about personality," the principal snapped. "It's about safety. Other parents are complaining. Their children are frightened."
Francis leaned forward now, eyes sharp, voice calm but cutting. "Let me explain something. Carl doesn't scare easy. That's not a flaw. That's survival. He's nine years old and already tougher than half the men you'll ever meet. So yeah, maybe he roughs up a few kids. Maybe he pushes too far. But that does not warrant an expulsion. That's a boy learning how to hold his ground."
The principal blinked, unsettled. "That's not how schools work."
Francis smirked faint. "Maybe not yours." He leaned back again, stretching his arms over the chair. "But let's make this simple. You don't expel him. You let him stay, keep your numbers steady, keep your funding safe. And in return, I make sure Carl tones it down enough so no one ends up in the ER. Fair?"
The principal's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't answer right away. Finally, he sighed. "We'll give him one more chance. But this is the last warning."
Francis stood, nodding once. "That's all I needed."
He walked out, lighting his cigarette before he even hit the parking lot.
---
Back at the van, Fiona leaned against the hood, arms crossed tight. "Well?"
Francis exhaled smoke. "Carl's on his last chance. One more stunt, and he's gone."
Fiona groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Goddammit. I can't deal with this right now."
Francis smirked faintly. "Relax. He's fine. I'll talk to him."
"You'll talk to him?" she asked, skeptical.
"Yeah." Francis slid back into the driver's seat, engine rumbling to life. "Kid listens to me."
Fiona sighed, climbing in after him. "He better. Because if he gets expelled, I swear to God…"
Francis smirked, eyes on the road as he pulled out of the lot. "Don't worry. I've got it handled."
But outside, across the street, he noticed another car parked just a little too still. Not the same one from the house, but similar—two men inside, watching.
Francis didn't mention it. He just kept driving.
Because in the South Side, trouble never came one piece at a time. It came in waves.
And Francis already knew the next one was rolling in.