Chapter 7: Frank's Gambit
Frank Gallagher arrived at 2 PM carrying a flat-screen TV and wearing a smile that could sell ice to Eskimos.
Ben's Danger Intuition detonated like a grenade in his skull.
The sensation was overwhelming—not the soft pulse of ambient threat, but a full-body alarm that made his vision blur and his hands shake. He dropped the wrench he'd been holding. It clattered against concrete, the sound distant through the ringing in his ears.
"Easy there, son," Frank said, setting the TV down with exaggerated care. "Didn't mean to startle you."
Ben forced himself to breathe. His power was screaming warnings, but not about physical danger. Something else. Something worse than violence.
Frank Gallagher looked exactly like he did on TV—rumpled clothes that might have been slept in, graying hair that needed cutting, a face weathered by decades of alcohol abuse. But in person, there was something else. An intelligence in his eyes that the cameras had never quite captured. A predator's awareness dressed up as bumbling drunk.
"You the fix-it guy?" Frank asked.
"Yeah." Ben's voice came out steadier than he felt.
"Excellent. Got something that needs attention." Frank gestured at the TV. "Found it on the street. Can you believe that? Perfectly good television, just sitting there. Minor issues, nothing you can't handle. I'll pay twenty for the repair, fifty for discretion."
Every word was a lie. Ben's MacGyver Mind activated automatically, analyzing the TV even from across the garage. Samsung, current model year, no visible damage. The power cord was pristine. No scratches, no wear patterns that would indicate street exposure. This thing had been taken from someone's living room within the last twenty-four hours.
And it was working perfectly.
"Street, huh?" Ben said.
"Tragic what people throw away these days." Frank's smile widened. "Wasteful society we live in."
Ben's Danger Intuition pulsed options. Refuse the job, maintain moral high ground, make Frank an enemy. Or play along, see where this led, compromise himself but gain intel.
He's testing me. Seeing if I'm honest or corruptible. Probably already knows the answer.
"Let me take a look," Ben said.
He approached the TV with exaggerated caution, running his hands over the exterior, checking connections. His MacGyver Mind confirmed what he already knew: nothing wrong. The unit was in perfect condition. Frank was running a con, but what kind?
Test for fencing stolen goods? Setup for a bigger scheme? Or just Frank being Frank, seeing what he could get away with?
Ben made a decision.
"This is hot," he said flatly.
Frank's expression didn't change. "Beg pardon?"
"The TV. It's stolen. Recently. Probably from someone you know, given how ballsy you'd have to be to carry it in broad daylight." Ben met his eyes. "And there's nothing wrong with it. You're testing me. Seeing if I'm stupid enough to take obviously stolen property or smart enough to recognize a setup."
For three seconds, Frank just stared. Then he laughed—a genuine, delighted sound that seemed to surprise even him.
"Well shit," Frank said. "You're sharper than you look."
"Most people are."
"Fair point." Frank pulled a flask from his jacket, took a swig, offered it to Ben. Ben shook his head. "So here's the real question: now that you've figured out my clever ruse, what are you going to do about it?"
Ben's Silver Tongue stirred, showing him approaches, angles of persuasion. He let it guide his words without taking over completely.
"I'm going to propose a partnership," Ben said. "You've got access to merchandise that needs cleaning. I've got a repair shop that generates legitimate paperwork. You bring me items, I 'repair' them, create documentation that shows provenance. Take a cut for my trouble."
Frank's eyes lit up with something approaching respect. "You're offering to fence."
"I'm offering to provide a service. What you do with that service is your business."
"And if I'm not interested?"
"Then you leave, we never had this conversation, and I fix cars for minimum wage until I die."
Frank took another drink, studying Ben with new attention. "What's your angle? Why risk prison to help out a stranger?"
"Because I need connections in this neighborhood. You've got them. And because I'm guessing you're going to keep bringing me stolen shit until I either play ball or piss you off. This way we both benefit."
"Smart and practical." Frank extended his hand. "Frank Gallagher. And I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
They shook. Frank's grip was surprisingly firm for a chronic alcoholic.
"One condition," Ben said. "We seal this at the Alibi. Public place, witnesses. Makes it harder for either of us to screw the other without consequences."
Frank's smile became genuine. "You really are sharper than you look. Lead the way."
The Alibi Room smelled like beer, fried food, and decades of cigarette smoke that no amount of cleaning could eliminate.
Kevin Ball stood behind the bar, polishing glasses with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this a million times. His face lit up when he saw Ben, then showed complicated emotions when Frank followed.
"Ben! And... Frank. Together. That's new." Kevin set down the glass. "What can I get you?"
"Two beers," Frank said, settling onto a barstool like he owned the place. "And your discretion, Kevin, as always."
"My discretion costs extra."
"Put it on my tab."
"You don't have a tab. I cut you off six months ago."
"Then put it on Ben's tab." Frank grinned at Ben. "You do have a tab, right?"
"I don't drink here," Ben said.
"Well you're about to start." Frank gestured expansively. "Kevin, my good man, we're celebrating. Ben here has agreed to help me with a business venture."
Kevin pulled two beers with visible reluctance. Set them down, looked at Ben with an expression that clearly said what the hell are you doing?
Ben shrugged. No good way to explain this that wouldn't sound insane.
Frank raised his beer. "To new partnerships and profitable ventures."
They clinked glasses. Ben sipped his beer—cheap, watery, exactly what he'd expected. Frank drank deeply, then launched into what appeared to be rambling conversation but was actually calculated interrogation.
"So, Ben. Where'd you say you were from originally?"
"Didn't."
"Fair enough. Man of mystery. I respect that." Frank took another drink. "But humor me. You've got skills—mechanical, electrical, probably some other trades I haven't discovered yet. Where'd you learn all that?"
"Here and there."
"Here and there. Fascinating places, those. I visited There once. Lovely in the springtime." Frank's eyes were sharp despite the casual tone. "Come on, work with me. I'm trying to get to know my new business partner."
Ben's prepared cover story unfolded automatically. "Grew up in foster care. Moved around a lot. Picked up skills wherever I landed. No formal training, just learned by doing."
"Foster care. Tragic." Frank didn't sound sympathetic, just interested. "That explains the lack of roots. The transient quality. But it doesn't explain why you landed here. South Side Chicago's not exactly a destination, more of a last resort."
"Cheap rent. Work available. Seemed as good as anywhere."
"And the connections you mentioned? The Bridgeport crew?"
Ben felt the trap closing. His Silver Tongue activated smoothly. "Friend of a friend situation. Guy I knew in Joliet mentioned Matty's operation when I was looking for work. Said he might need a mechanic who didn't ask questions. Didn't pan out, but the introduction came with certain... protections."
Every detail was calibrated to sound plausible while being vague enough to resist verification. Joliet was far enough away to be inconvenient to check. "Friend of a friend" was untraceable. Matty's operation was real enough that Frank wouldn't immediately call bullshit.
Frank absorbed this, nodding slowly. "Matty Dembrowski. Heard of him. Runs a tight ship. Doesn't usually extend protection this far north, though."
"Like I said, friend of a friend. One-time courtesy."
"But Marcus thinks you're covered."
"Marcus thinks a lot of things."
Frank laughed again, genuine amusement cutting through the interrogation. "You know what I like about you, Ben? You're either really smart or really stupid, and I'm genuinely interested to see which. Either way, you're entertaining."
They finished their beers. Frank bought another round despite Kevin's protests. The conversation drifted to safer topics—sports, weather, the general decay of the neighborhood. But Ben could feel Frank cataloging every detail, storing inconsistencies for later analysis.
He doesn't believe me. Not completely. But he's intrigued enough to let it play out.
They left the Alibi as the sun was setting, January cold biting through Ben's jacket. Frank clapped him on the shoulder—a gesture that felt almost paternal if you ignored the predatory calculation underneath.
"Bring me something tomorrow," Frank said. "Small electronics, jewelry if you've got it. Let's test this arrangement before we commit to anything larger."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Excellent. Oh, and Ben? If this goes well, there's a lot more where that came from. I've got connections throughout the city. You play this smart, we both make out like bandits."
He wandered off toward the Gallagher house, humming something off-key. Ben watched him go, feeling like he'd just negotiated with the devil and wasn't sure if he'd won or lost.
His Danger Intuition pulsed.
Ben turned to find Marcus across the street again. Same position as before, just watching. The enforcer's presence had become routine—a reminder that Ben's lies about Bridgeport protection wouldn't hold forever.
"He's been asking around."
Ben jumped. Kevin had appeared beside him, materializing like a friendly ghost.
"Jesus, Kevin."
"Sorry. But seriously, Marcus has been digging. Asking people if they know about your connections. Checking with guys who'd actually know if Matty was expanding territory."
"And?"
"And nobody knows shit, which makes you either really well-connected or really full of it." Kevin's expression was sympathetic. "I'm guessing the latter, but I admire the hustle. Just... be careful, man. Marcus doesn't like being played. And Frank?" He gestured toward the Gallagher house. "Frank's chaos in human form. Partnering with him is asking for disaster."
"Noted."
"I'm serious. Frank will use you up and throw you away the second it benefits him. That's what he does. Ask his kids."
"I'll be careful."
Kevin sighed. "Yeah, you will. Until you're not. But hey, at least you're entertaining while it lasts."
He headed back to the Alibi, leaving Ben alone on the street with Marcus's silent observation and the weight of choices that couldn't be unmade.
Ben walked back to his garage, his mind cataloging the evening's developments. He'd gained Frank's conditional trust, established a criminal partnership that would either provide opportunities or destroy him, and confirmed that Marcus was actively investigating his background.
The stolen TV sat on his workbench—evidence of complicity, proof of integration. He wasn't an outsider anymore. Wasn't a passive observer. He was part of the South Side ecosystem now, swimming with sharks and hoping his powers kept him alive.
"Either really smart or really stupid," Frank had said.
Ben was starting to suspect it was both.
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