The police car stopped rocking.
In the back seat, a wish he'd harbored for god knows how many years had finally come true. Tony was so emotional he wanted to cry. He fought hard to hold it back. "Thank you."
Fiona gave a faint smile as she put her clothes back on, her tone casual. "You're welcome. Take me back."
In moments like this, Fiona was Tony's god. He didn't dare utter a single objection. He moved immediately, starting the car.
It didn't take long.
The police car pulled up in front of the Gallagher house. Tony, having hesitated the entire way, mustered the courage to ask again, "Are you and Steve...?"
Fiona, now only five notches away from her "Kill 100 Men" achievement, replied with a smile as she opened the door and got out. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Tony said with a beaming smile, even though he didn't get an answer.
Fiona didn't look back as she walked into the house.
Tony sat in the car until Fiona disappeared from view before driving away.
The Gallagher House.
Fiona walked inside, greeting Debbie and the others as if nothing had happened, then ducked into the kitchen to make dinner.
While she was busy.
Steve walked in carrying bags of groceries. He came up behind Fiona with a smile, put the bags down, and hugged her. "Sorry, busy day. Just got free. How did the job hunt go?"
"It was okay. I just wasn't satisfied with the offers. I'll look again tomorrow for something better," Fiona lied without skipping a beat.
Yup. No problem.
What's a little lie like that?
Tony's DNA was literally still inside her body.
Unaware, Steve offered thoughtful encouragement. "Don't worry. I'm here. I can take care of you."
Fiona smiled. "Start by helping with dinner."
And just like that.
Two people with hidden agendas got busy in the kitchen.
They ate dinner, watched a little TV.
Steve and Fiona went upstairs and, quite naturally, went to war in bed.
Steve suspected nothing.
Fiona acted as if nothing had happened.
Perfect.
---
Outside Karen's House.
Lip, rejected yet again, looked up at Karen's window and roared, "Karen!! You fucking bitch!!"
Karen wasn't polite either. She opened the window and shouted down at Lip, "Fuck YOU!!"
They went back and forth, cursing at each other intensely.
After a while.
"I don't believe you can stay in there forever!" Lip shouted, smoking furiously.
Karen closed the window, lay back on her bed, giggling happily, and texted Dexter to update him on the situation.
---
Dexter saw it but didn't reply.
Because Bianca had sent a message: [Why are you still sending flowers? It's a waste of money.]
[How can it be a waste?] Dexter replied.
[My apartment is running out of space.]
[I don't believe you.]
[Really.]
[Then I'll send a smaller bouquet tomorrow.]
[... Can't deal with you. I have to work. Bye.]
[Bye.]
Hospital.
Taking a break from the busyness, Bianca put away her phone, the corners of her mouth curling up involuntarily.
Her female colleague next to her saw it and immediately leaned in, whispering mischievously, "Tsk, tsk. You've changed so much I barely recognize you!"
Hearing this, Bianca quickly straightened her face and looked stern. "What nonsense are you talking about? I haven't."
"Who are you kidding?" the colleague laughed. "So, going to Dex's Restaurant for dinner again tomorrow night? Your treat, of course."
Bianca raised an eyebrow slightly. "Not going. Too busy."
The colleague's eyes darted, realizing something. "Right, not going. You went last time. This time, he should come to find you."
Bianca: "...That's not what I meant."
"Sure, sure. I get it," the colleague laughed, dropping the subject and turning back to work.
Nights in the South Side of Chicago were always busy for hospitals.
No choice.
This hellhole was full of homeless people, drunks, junkies, and people who loved to fight... all kinds of characters.
Seeing her colleague stop teasing, Bianca let out a sigh of relief. The corner of her mouth ticked up again as she got back to work.
---
The Alibi Room.
Business was good tonight, as usual.
More importantly, the rich folks from other neighborhoods had seen the announcement about the "Priority Meal Cards." They were buying drinks aggressively, trying to hit the spending threshold to get a card.
Those rich people bought a ton of alcohol but barely drank any of it, which was a windfall for the regulars.
The barflies got free drinks and were happy.
Kevin made more money and was happy.
Basically, everyone was happy. The atmosphere was harmonious.
"Kev, how much do you think these cards could sell for?" Tommy's brain was fairly active; watching the rich folks scramble gave him an idea.
Kevin thought for a moment and shook his head. "Hard to say. But fifteen, twenty bucks shouldn't be a problem. Those rich people throw money around."
Hearing this, Tommy glanced at the sign.
The sign read: Spend $75, get one Priority Meal Card.
A second later.
Tommy, who had indeed made some good money recently, didn't hesitate. He pulled out a hundred and fifty dollars and slapped it on the bar. "Here. Put this on my tab. Give me two cards. I'm gonna try to see how much I can sell them for tomorrow."
Tommy had calculated it clearly.
He was going to drink anyway. This hundred and fifty was just prepaying for his booze. The two meal cards were basically freebies. Whatever he sold them for was pure profit.
It was a win-win.
Seeing the cash, Kevin grinned, snatched the money, pulled out his ledger to credit Tommy, and then handed over two meal cards. "Remember, don't open the envelope. If it's opened, Dexter won't honor it."
"So many rules," Tommy laughed.
Next to him, Kermit was puzzled and asked Tommy, "Can you really sell these?"
Tommy grinned. "Won't lose money anyway. If I can't sell them, I'll just use them myself to eat. Same difference."
Kermit nodded. "True. Haven't eaten there in a while. I miss it."
Saying that, Kermit gritted his teeth and also pulled out a hundred and fifty dollars, handing it to Kevin. "Kev, give me two as well."
Making three hundred bucks in one go, Kevin was grinning ear to ear. "You got it! Kermit, didn't know you were holding out on us."
"Saved it up," Kermit replied.
And just like that.
In no time, several other barflies prepaid for their drinks and bought one or two meal cards.
In less than half an hour.
Kevin had completely sold out of the twenty cards he had received yesterday and today, harvesting a nice little profit.
---
Twitter.
Predictably.
Some of the wealthy patrons who got the cards shared photos of them.
[#DexsRestaurant Got this Priority Meal Card. Next time I go, I don't have to worry about missing out. Happy!]
[@DexsRestaurant Boss, you should have done this sooner. I drove over several times and couldn't get in, had to watch others eat.]
[Fuck, where did you guys get those? Why don't I have one!]
[Selling? I'm buying! Took a girl there last time, couldn't get in, she got mad and left!]
[Haha, same here. Buying!!]
Rich people—especially young rich people—who could afford to eat at Dex's Restaurant whenever they wanted, thought differently from ordinary or poor people.
For these young, wealthy folks, a card like this represented more than just an extra meal. It represented a lot of things.
Like getting laid.
Like status.
And so.
Quite reasonably, the priority meal cards from Dex's Restaurant started gaining traction on Twitter.
---