Fiona cried for a long ti. She cried herself to sleep. Now she was awake.
When she opened her eyes, they hurt. She reached up and touched them—swollen.
She gave a bitter smile and shook her head. Thinking back on everything that had happened, she glanced over at the spot where Steve had been lying beside her. Her mind went blank.
After a long mont—
Fiona raised her hand and wiped her eyes hard, got out of bed, and kept going. Life had to go on.
But making life go on was anything but easy.
Earlier, because she was planning to work a Dex restaurant, she'd quit all her side gigs. She took a few days off in between, and even though she later picked those jobs back up, one thing after another kept getting in the way. The result was that she hadn't actually worked much at all these past few days—and she'd even lost one of her part-ti jobs.
Long story short, by today, she was completely broke.
Dead broke.
She had nothing but a handful of loose change in her pockets.
And the Gallagher house? Most of the daily necessities were gone. The food was gone too.
She had to go shopping today, or life at ho simply wouldn't function.
Facing that brutal reality, Fiona felt like she was on the verge of a total collapse. She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to pull it together.
A little later.
She found a cigarette, lit it, and headed downstairs.
Everything they'd stolen from Lobetta's house the night before was hidden there.
She needed to sell so of it, get a little cash, and buy groceries.
Frank was drinking and watching TV. He glanced at Fiona and said casually, "Don't go to the pawn shops. Go find Ogg. He won't ask any questions."
Fiona knew who Ogg was. She ignored Frank, picked out a few items, threw on her jacket, and got ready to leave.
"Hey! It's already noon! Grab sothing to eat—I'm starving!" Frank shouted.
Fiona hesitated. In the end, she couldn't bring herself to be completely heartless. She stopped and replied, "There's nothing left in the house. I'll get sothing when I'm back."
"Hurry up," Frank urged.
Fiona didn't respond. She stepped outside, took a deep breath, and walked toward the comrcial strip.
When she passed Veronica's place, she slowed down and looked over.
The doors and windows were shut tight. No sign of life inside.
It hadn't been like this before.
Before, Veronica was ho most of the ti. Fiona could drop by whenever she wanted. When things got this bad—when she was completely broke—she could even borrow a little money to get through.
Now, everything had changed.
Kevin was the owner of the Alibi now. A legit business owner, about to renovate the place and get everything on track.
Veronica was working at Dex restaurant, making a few hundred bucks a day. Two als covered, plenty of free ti…
And then there was herself.
Nothing had changed. Actually, it was worse—she wasn't even standing still, she was sliding backward.
How depressing.
Fiona let out a bitter smile, sniffed hard, pulled her gaze away, and kept walking.
When she reached the comrcial street—
She passed by the Alibi bar first. Then she spotted the sign for Dex restaurant and instinctively changed direction, crossing the street to walk on the opposite side.
Even so, when she reached the spot directly across from the restaurant, she couldn't help but stop and look inside.
Through the window, she saw Dexter, Kevin, Veronica, and Carol sitting together at a table, eating fruit and chatting, laughing easily.
They looked happy.
Instantly, Fiona felt crushed. Her mood, already at rock bottom, dropped straight through the floor and sank even lower.
After about thirty seconds, she forced herself to look away, clenched her teeth, and walked on.
At the corner—
A storefront ca into view. It was already taking shape, clearly recognizable as a fruit shop.
Fiona stopped and took a closer look, rembering what Kevin had said that morning.
Inside, busy at work, was Svetlana—obviously Russian.
That confird it.
This was the fruit shop Dexter had invested in, about to open. And that Russian woman? She was one of the lucky ones, soone who'd escaped a hard life just like that.
"Fxxk."
Standing across the street, staring at Svetlana, Fiona finally snapped and cursed under her breath.
After that, she moved on, her steps noticeably heavier.
About five minutes later—
Fiona pushed open the door to a pawn shop. She walked up to the counter, pulled the items from her pocket, and laid them out. "How much can I get for these?"
The pawn shop owner looked Fiona up and down, then glanced at the items. Instead of answering, he asked, "Got receipts?"
Fiona shook her head. "Lost them."
The owner smiled faintly.
In the South Side, pawning items with receipts versus without receipts was a completely different story.
No receipts ant one thing: stolen goods.
Of course, he'd still buy them—but the price was another matter.
"Alright, let take a look," the owner said, finally picking them up.
After examining everything for ten minutes or so, he gave a number.
"One hundred and twenty dollars."
That was about one-tenth of their actual value.
Fiona couldn't accept it. "Co on, these are worth at least a thousand dollars. That price is way too low."
The owner grinned. "No receipts. One twenty."
Fiona felt like crying. She tried to push for a little more.
It was useless.
The owner wouldn't budge—one hundred and twenty dollars, not a cent more.
Go sowhere else?
Fiona had lived here for over twenty years. She knew this pawn shop was already one of the more decent ones.
In the end—
She had no choice.
She took the $120 and walked out.
The mont she stepped outside—
In the cold wind—
Tears welled up in Fiona's eyes.
—
At the hospital, inside a patient room.
Monica was sobbing uncontrollably, tears pouring down her face.
Lobetta was dead. Just like that… gone.
Monica was devastated. She couldn't erase that scene from her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
Tony and his partner, who had co by earlier to ask questions, were completely at a loss watching her like this.
"Try to calm down," Tony's partner said after waiting a while, clearly losing patience. "Did you see the shooter?"
Monica couldn't stop crying. Through blurry, tear-filled eyes, she nodded. "I… I saw him…"
"Did you recognize the shooter?" he asked again.
"No…" Monica sobbed.
"Then describe what he looked like," Tony's partner said.
Monica tried to think.
And froze.
"I—I can't rember anything at all. How is that possible? Why can't I rember…?"
Tony and his partner exchanged a look.
Neither of them looked surprised.
Why?
Because all morning long, they'd heard the exact sa answer over and over again.
No matter who they asked, no one could rember.
It was creepy as hell.
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