Carl didn't run off to cause trouble outside, nor did he try to set the house on fire. Instead, he poured all his "creativity" into upgrading the "Ho Defense System."
The twenty dollars Shane gave him were burning a hole in his pocket—figuratively, for once.
Carl dismantled his crude shock device and, using the "huge sum" Shane provided, sohow acquired an old car battery, several rolls of wire, and a laser pointer that emitted a scary red light (which he considered a laser weapon) from a junkyard.
He taped and tied these dangerous items together, hiding them around the porch and inside the windows.
His concept was simple:
Anyone entering without his permission would be hit with a double whammy of "high-voltage shock" and "laser burns."
Now, it was just a matter of seeing who the first lucky contestant would be.
anwhile, Fiona was enduring harassnt at the restaurant where she worked.
The manager, a balding middle-aged white guy, called Fiona into the hallway by the walk-in freezer under the pretext of discussing her schedule.
"Listen, Fiona," he started hypocritically, leaning in way too close. Fiona could sll the stale beer on his breath.
"I appreciate your hard work, but business has been slow lately, and the budget is tight... If you want to keep this job, maybe we can talk 'privately' after your shift tonight. Discuss your... 'performance.'"
The manager put his greasy hand on Fiona's waist and started to grope her inappropriately.
Disgust and rage shot straight to the top of Fiona's head.
In the past, for the sake of the paycheck, she would have gritted her teeth, dodged, and tried to talk her way out of it stiffly.
But now, for so reason—Shane's unusual behavior over the past few days, the ergency money he provided, and that certain light in his eyes that was different from his usual silence...
These anomalies birthed an unprecedented courage in Fiona's heart, which had been suppressed by stress and compromise for years.
"Get your dirty hands off !"
Fiona swung her arm violently, slapping the manager's hand away hard enough to make him stumble.
The manager was stunned by the sudden resistance, then turned angry from embarrassnt. He threatened Fiona:
"What the fck did you say? You want to get fired? You can forget about this month's pay!"
"Then you fcking try !"
Fiona straightened her back, her voice loud and full of that specific Gallagher ferocity.
"Fck you! You dare withhold my pay? Try it! Give my money for this month right now! NOW!"
Her voice was crisp and piercing, cutting through the noise of the kitchen. Several staff mbers and a few custors in the dining area poked their heads in curiously.
The manager's face turned the color of a pig's liver. Under the scrutiny of those curious eyes, he looked even worse.
He wanted to maintain his authority but was terrified of making a scene.
"Fine! Fine! Take it! Just take it!"
He yelled in frustration, trying to save face as he threatened her again:
"But rember this, Fiona Gallagher. I will never hire you again! I know all the owners on this street. Don't think you'll get hired anywhere else! You'll regret this!"
The manager stord into the office, counted out a stack of cash, and slamd it onto the prep counter.
Fiona stepped forward, looked him straight in the eye without fear, snatched her wages, and counted them quickly. Correct.
"Go fck yourself!"
She spat on the floor, her face a mix of contempt and anger.
"I don't need this trash job anyway! Harassed by a fat pig for peanuts!"
Fiona ripped off her apron and the uniform jacket with the restaurant logo, balled them up, and threw them on the floor.
Then, without looking back, she strode out of the restaurant under the complex gazes of everyone behind her.
Phew~
The chilly afternoon air of Chicago hit her, blowing away the sll of grease and cooling her flushed cheeks.
The panic of losing a job flickered briefly, but it was quickly replaced by a thrilling sense of relief.
She took a deep breath of cold air, feeling her heart beat powerfully in her chest.
Maybe life wouldn't always be this shitty.
Now she needed to hurry ho and get ready for the party. And suddenly, she really wanted to see Shane's face, with that mysterious expression he'd been wearing lately.
...
Shane walked Karen to her door, and they lingered for a while before parting.
He turned and headed ho, savoring the date and thinking about his future plans.
He pushed the front door open and habitually started to walk in.
Bzzzt—Beep beep beep!
An electric hum sounded. Several red laser dots locked onto his chest and forehead. Two wires were strung across the entryway floor, leading to a greasy car battery.
Shane froze mid-step.
He looked up. Carl was sitting on a ladder on the second floor landing, holding a crude controller, looking smug and waiting for praise.
"Carl!"
Carl held up a "controller" taped together with batteries and switches, introducing it to Shane excitedly:
"Look! Intruder Alert System 2.0! Now with real lasers!"
"How many tis do I have to tell you?! Turn that damn thing off! Right now! Or I'm going to co up there and tan your hide!"
Shane felt his temples throbbing. "Also, are you trying to make the first Gallagher to be electrocuted to death by his own brother on his own doorstep?"
Carl pouted, climbed down the ladder, and reluctantly started dismantling his setup, still defending his invention:
"I was testing its deterrent effect..."
"Testing it with your brother's life?"
Shane cut him off grumpily. Then he rembered Fiona grabbing his arm before she left:
"Shane, the food and drinks for the party are on you. You know what to buy. And watch Carl. Don't let him burn the house down while he's alone."
He took a deep breath, suppressing his anger. To Carl, who was bending over to untie the wires, he said:
"Finish taking that apart, then co with to buy stuff for the party."
...
The afternoon sun coated the dilapidated South Side streets in a layer of fake warmth.
Shane, dragging Carl along, walked into the familiar Pete's Fresh Market.
"Listen, Carl..." Shane pushed a squeaky shopping cart, starting his "educational" duties.
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