Chapter 342: Job Hunting
The bar had always been a front for laundering money.
Whether business was good or bad didn't really matter. As long as the books looked clean, the numbers made sense, and no one could dig up anything suspicious, that was enough.
So Anfisa had never cared much about customer service.
Her attitude was simple:
Drink if you want. If not, get lost. Don't waste my time.
Ironically, that very attitude made the place popular.
It became part of the bar's "brand."
Online, people were actively recommending it—talking about the hot, barely dressed Russian beauty with the foul mouth and icy stare.
After years working the streets, Anfisa had picked up habits that didn't quite fit polite society. She dressed lightly when it was hot. Often skipped a bra. Carried herself with a careless, provocative air and that unmistakable edge of danger.
Plenty of customers came specifically for that.
Some even showed up hoping to be insulted.
Frank didn't care about any of it. As long as the bar ran smoothly and didn't cause trouble, that was all he needed.
---
That night, Jimmy came home—with Castle still tailing him.
It was already late. Everyone else had gone to sleep. Jimmy stood by the window and saw Castle's car parked down the street.
Still there.
Like a 24-hour surveillance unit.
Over the next few days, Jimmy tried everything.
Back doors. Climbing fences. Cutting through other people's yards.
Castle always found him.
Jimmy even hired a group of guys to block Castle.
All of them got dropped.
By one man.
He tried sneaking out at two or three in the morning.
Castle followed.
Relentless. Tireless. As if the man never slept.
At one point, Jimmy genuinely wondered if Castle had planted a tracking device on him.
After days of failed maneuvers, Jimmy finally admitted defeat.
If force didn't work, maybe money would.
He walked up to Castle's parked car and knocked on the window.
The glass rolled down.
"What?" Castle asked flatly.
"How much is Frank paying you to watch me? I'll give you double."
Castle stared at him without expression.
Then pressed the window button.
The glass slid up.
Conversation over.
"You gotta be kidding me…" Jimmy muttered, biting back a string of curses.
He was truly stuck.
And broke.
After days of playing cat-and-mouse, the little money he had left was gone. He didn't even have spare cash for drinks or coffee anymore.
Seeing how miserable he looked, Fiona gave him some money.
Frank transferred a monthly allowance into Fiona's account. She didn't spend recklessly. Growing up poor had taught her to save. Over time, she'd accumulated tens of thousands.
In the South Side, that made her practically well-off.
Back when the family had nothing, Jimmy had been the generous one—bringing coffee in the mornings, buying appliances like washing machines, always finding ways to help.
Fiona had refused to take his money out of pride. Even when she borrowed some in emergencies, she always paid him back.
Now the roles were reversed.
He was living off her.
Like a kept man.
The taste of it was bitter.
"Maybe… you should just get a job," Fiona said gently, sitting beside him with a beer. She nudged his shoulder. "I'll help you look."
Jimmy exhaled.
"…Fine."
---
"Alright, everyone! We're helping Jimmy find a job!" Fiona announced.
"I'm in!" Debbie was the first to volunteer.
It had been a long time since the family had mobilized like this.
Back in the old days, whenever a problem arose that one person couldn't solve, everyone pitched in. They brainstormed. Worked together.
Like that time Debbie accidentally kidnapped a little boy—they'd all united to fix it.
But life had improved.
Things weren't as desperate as before.
And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new.
Or at least, something less illegal.
It had been a long time since the family had faced a problem big enough to require everyone's full effort.
Those kinds of crises were always messy. Complicated. Exhausting.
But every time they pulled through one together, it strengthened the bond between them.
That bond was the reason this family had never completely fallen apart.
---
"What about this one? Plumber's apprentice. I think I could do that," Jimmy said, scanning the newspaper.
"Do you have any experience?" Debbie asked bluntly.
"Hey, I fixed our toilet, didn't I?" Jimmy protested.
"Oh please," Debbie scoffed. "You just twisted the handle. You didn't actually fix anything."
Jimmy's domestic skill level was… low.
He'd grown up in a wealthy household. His father and older brother were both doctors. As the youngest—and the most pampered—he'd never done chores. If something broke, his family paid someone to fix it.
It wasn't until he started living with Fiona that he began learning basic household tasks.
Trying to turn that into a career?
That was wishful thinking.
---
"Wait," Lip said from the couch, newspaper in hand. "Didn't you graduate high school and go to college? Even if you're not enrolled right now, why not apply to actual companies? Why are you looking at temp jobs?"
The listings Jimmy had circled were all low-level labor positions—temporary gigs, hourly work, daily pay. Waiter. Internet café attendant. Babysitter. Jobs that didn't require credentials.
People with degrees usually sent résumés to real companies.
They didn't do this.
"It's not dropping out," Jimmy corrected. "Technically, it's a leave of absence. I already finished two years. One more year and I'd graduate."
If he hadn't walked away from school—if he hadn't spent his time stealing cars and living recklessly—he would've graduated medical school by now.
He could've been Dr. Jimmy.
Licensed. Interning. Respected.
Instead…
"I can't use my real identity to apply for jobs," he added. "Not under 'Jimmy.' If my dad or my brother find out, it'll blow up."
His family still lived in Chicago. His father, brother, sister-in-law—they were all there.
Not to mention relatives, family friends, professional connections.
Too many people knew him.
If he applied somewhere under his real name and someone happened to recognize it—or worse, casually called his father—
"Hey, isn't your son in med school? Why is he applying here?"
That would be the end of it.
Game over.
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