The heavy metal hip-hop beat was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to crack your ribs. Jack still hadn't shown up, but the warehouse was already jammed with over a hundred people—Alibi Room drunks, nosy neighbors, Facebook weirdos who'd seen the posts and actually grown a pair, plus a couple of creepy old bastards chugging beer and staring at Veronica's tits like they were on the menu.
Honestly, the turnout was kinda light. Shane's posts had nearly ten thousand likes, but the South Side's reputation did a hell of a job keeping most people away. Takes real balls to drive into this neighborhood on purpose.
Still, the crowd kept growing, slow and steady.
The whole place—the warehouse and the bar next door—had been turned into one giant, shameless cash grab by the Gallaghers.
"Two bucks! Just two dollars a spin!" Debbie yelled from behind the giant colorful prize wheel, Liam perched on her hip. The kid was dressed in the rattiest clothes they could find, looking like some sad African charity poster child. "For the kids who can't get clean water—and to see if you're God's favorite or just another unlucky bastard!"
A donation bucket sat beside her with a big "UNICEF" sticker slapped on it.
A cocky young white guy shoved his way forward. "That five-hundred-dollar spot is mine. Watch and learn, you pussies."
He dropped two singles in the can, grabbed a dart, and squinted like he was about to perform brain surgery.
"See this wrist action? That's real skill, baby."
He threw. The dart flew straight—then jerked sideways at the last second like it got slapped by an invisible hand and stuck hard in a gray "Thanks for Playing" section.
"Aw, so close!" Debbie said, already moving fast. She grabbed a cheap mint from a glass jar and shoved it at him. "Thanks for supporting UNICEF. God bless your prostate!"
The guy looked ready to flip the whole wheel.
"Bullshit! I aimed perfect!"
"Next!" Debbie shouted, already waving the next sucker up.
Over at the bar, Kevin was working the crowd like a used-car salesman on meth.
"South Side Devil's Brew!" he barked, holding up a cup of suspiciously blue liquid. "Packed with elite electrolytes. Schwarzenegger used to chug this shit. Three bucks a cup—drink it and you'll feel like you can bench a goddamn car. Second cup's half price!"
A couple of college-age guys glanced at each other, shrugged, and threw down six bucks.
Veronica was moving T-shirts like they were crack. "Wear this 'I Know Who's the Pussy' shirt and you're the hottest motherfucker in Chicago," she told a guy, stuffing his cash straight down her bra.
Frank was slinking through the crowd, eyes locked on the donation bucket. He started reaching for it when Fiona's hand came down like a hammer.
Smack.
"Hands off, Frank," she hissed. "Your job is to stand outside and drag more suckers in here. You don't pull in at least twenty more people, you're sleeping on the sidewalk tonight."
Frank gave her his best wounded-puppy look. "I need operating capital for the charity—"
"Go," Fiona said, voice flat.
Outside, a loud screech of tires cut through the music, followed by the roar of modified engines. Someone inside yelled, "They're here!"
The crowd split like the Red Sea.
A tricked-out Ford Raptor with World Gym decals all over it pulled up right in front of the warehouse. Two guys with cameras jumped out and started filming everything like they were shooting a documentary.
Then the passenger door opened and Jack climbed out—sunglasses on, tank top under a jacket, looking at the greasy warehouse like it personally offended him.
He took off the shades, scanned the scene, and spoke loud enough for the cameras to catch it.
"This is the famous South Side Iron Gym? Looks like a fucking junkyard."
He turned toward the open warehouse doors and shouted inside, "Shane Gallagher! You hiding in there like a bitch?"
Inside, Shane was at a table handing out cheap iron medals to people who'd actually bought his courses. Danny stood next to him, keeping the line moving.
"You paid for the full plan? Good." Shane hung a medal around a guy's neck and clapped his shoulder. "Warrior badge. On the house."
A random dude tried to grab one. Shane didn't even look up.
"You didn't buy shit. Ten bucks in the bucket if you want the faith medal."
He finally glanced toward the doors where Jack's voice was still echoing.
Showtime.