If you're enjoying these stories, consider leaving a comment, review, or vote.
You can also visit the Pat** on at: belamy20
In the afternoon, the sun made a rare appearance, driving away the gloom over Chicago.
Shane stood inside the tattoo parlor, a satisfied look on his face.
He had just finished haggling with the miserable-looking owner. They agreed that Shane would handle the cleanup of the shattered debris and trashed furniture (in America, this saved the owner a significant disposal fee).
In return, Shane was responsible for all subsequent wall and floor repairs and basic renovations. There was one other condition: a minimum three-year lease.
Three years. Shane agreed without much hesitation.
Six months was more than enough time for him to turn this place into a stable base of operations, whether he used it to sell food or something else.
And for this location—right near the subway—at this price? It was an absolute steal.
Shane set up a time with the owner to come back with Fiona and sign the contract. For the next three years, this shop would belong to the Gallaghers.
"Done." Shane stepped out of the shop.
Outside, Karen was leaning against the wall, sending a course link to an inquiry in the DMs.
As soon as she saw him, she practically glued herself to him, hugging his arm, her face beaming.
"Alright, you promised," she said, looking up at him.
"The shop is settled. Time to make good on your word. First, take me shopping. You completely vanished on Saturday and Sunday—if you weren't at the warehouse, you were glued to your laptop. This afternoon is finally mine, right?"
Seeing her act cute, Shane genuinely felt a twang of guilt.
He really had been working non-stop these past few days. Online courses, training Danny, looking for a shop... his time with Karen had been squeezed down to just a little intimacy at night. Calling it a date was a stretch; it was more like a release of physical needs.
Plus, she had unknowingly taken over replying to online inquiries and handling course issues for him.
Sometimes Shane even had to ask her where they were at with a certain client.
Karen was basically his part-time customer service rep, secretary, and PR security guard—all unpaid.
Shane nodded. "Of course. Let me just head back to the warehouse, snap another set of comparison photos to rile up the trolls and the people wanting to buy courses, and then we'll go wherever you want. How's that? You're the boss this afternoon."
He figured it was time to make it up to his little girlfriend.
The two headed to the Alibi Room.
Since it was Monday, even though it was the afternoon, the bar was pretty empty.
Kevin was bored, leaning over the bar, counting beer bottle caps and muttering to himself.
"Hey, Kevin," Shane called out.
Kevin looked up and forced a smile. "Hey, busy guy. How did the shop hunting go?"
"Locked it in. Two streets down from the subway, the old tattoo parlor. The rent is a steal."
"Whoa, you really scored. That owner really does have shit luck. Opens a tattoo parlor and gets smashed up every other week. But honestly, he had it coming. His tattoo skills were basically dogshit."
Shane walked up to the bar. "What about you? I wasn't there to supervise you today. Did you train on your own?"
"I trained. Absolutely trained!" Kevin immediately puffed out his chest. Even though his gut was still substantial, his overall energy was completely different.
"I feel great right now. Those movements are practically carved into my DNA. Seriously, Shane, give it a little more time and I don't think you'll even need to watch me every day. I can definitely hit the reps on time by myself!"
"Good to hear!" Shane smiled. "Once you've got it down, I'll have you help train Danny. Who knows, if you ever quit the bar business, you could be a personal trainer."
Kevin chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Then I'll make my own account, just like you told me, and in the bio I'll put: 'Mentor: Shane Gallagher.'"
"Oh, right, Kevin. Since you're getting the hang of the internet, come on, let's go in back and shoot some new comparison material. Stir up my account and get some more followers. Those fans of mine love seeing you."
Kevin laughed a couple of times and was about to answer when—
Ring, ring, ring.
The landline next to the bar rang abruptly, shattering the afternoon quiet.
"Who the fuck is calling the bar at this hour?" Kevin muttered, picking up the receiver. "Alibi Room, who is this?"
A woman's voice came through the line. "Hello, this is the Chicago Department of Public Health. This morning, while conducting an inspection in the area near the Central Park Subway Station, we impounded and towed a white van suspected of operating an unlicensed business. The license plate is... We are contacting this number because it was found on the bottom right corner of the vehicle, and according to registration records, the vehicle is registered under the Alibi Room."
"This serves as formal notification that the vehicle has been relocated to the South Suburbs Vehicle Impound Lot."
"What?" Kevin jerked upright, his voice spiking with disbelief.
"What did you say? Towed? Who the fuck towed my van?"
The woman on the other end wasn't swayed by Kevin's outburst and simply repeated herself. "Sir, please remain calm. To confirm, the white van with license plate is currently under administrative impound for regulatory violations. A formal written notice and detailed citation will be mailed to the vehicle's registered address. If you wish to retrieve the vehicle or file an appeal, the owner or an authorized representative must bring valid identification and the vehicle registration to the impound lot to process the paperwork."
"No, no, no, you've got it wrong. That van is... that van is..."
Kevin was panicking so much he couldn't form a sentence. The information had overloaded his brain.
His face flushed red as he tried to argue, but he didn't even know where to begin.
Just then, a hand reached over and took the receiver from Kevin.
It was Shane.
"Hi, sorry to interrupt. Could you please repeat the situation? A little slower. Which department did you say you were with? And could you provide the reference number for this incident?"
The woman paused for a second before continuing, "Certainly. This is... At 9 AM this morning, in the vicinity of the Central Park Subway Station, we executed an impound on the vehicle with license plate... The impound reference number is... The vehicle is currently located at the designated impound lot in the South Suburbs. The owner or representative must present proof of identity and vehicle registration documents on-site to process the release."
Shane rubbed his forehead, utterly speechless.
He didn't even have to guess. Fiona and Lip were definitely behind this.
Thinking about how he had practically begged them not to run the stall out of the food truck...
Anger flared in Shane's chest, but his mind quickly caught up.
"OK, I understand. But I need to clarify and correct one thing: that van was stolen a few days ago. It is not being used by the registered owner or an authorized user, and it certainly isn't being used for any business activities. The vehicle you've impounded is, in fact, stolen property."
"...Sir, I understand your claim, but I have no knowledge of whether the vehicle was stolen. For specifics regarding that, you will need to contact the police or dial 311 for further information."
Shane kept probing. "So, if we report it stolen to the police right now—since we thought we might be able to find it ourselves over the last few days—will the impound lot be notified? Or could you possibly add a note to your system indicating an ownership dispute regarding the vehicle?"
"I apologize, but we cannot modify the case status or add notes over the phone. Reporting a crime is a process between you and the police, and handling the impound is a process between you and the impound lot. Our obligation to notify has been fulfilled."
"Alright, understood. I'll inform the registered owner to bring the documents and handle this as soon as possible. Thank you for the notification."
"You're welcome. Goodbye."