7PM, on a Sunday

Charlie joined the rest of the gang in Paddy's Pub, trying as they had the day before to acapella Tarzan Man. Dennis put an acute emphasis into his hand when trying to conduct the other three to singing behind him. Otherwise, Charlie was just happy to be there, sipping his Brockman, singing and dozing off while his friends chatted around him. "Dammit Dee," Dennis said, "We're not getting it because you're still stuck on singing the lead yourself."

"At least I can hit their lead vocal's range," Deandra said back, "so I'm stepping up."

"You can't! You can't act, you can't sing, and you certainly can't sing lead! Hear this." Dennis blocked one ear with a finger. "Ha! HA! Ha! Ha! Ho!" Did you hear that scale, that crescendo? That's what Tarzan Boy plays in. B-flat."

"You sound like you belong in a little boy Catholic choir. And crescendo? B-flat? Are you just saying these random things to make it look like you know what you're talking about?"

Mac held up his hands. "I just want to go on record, and say that I do not take any side in this argument."

"It's not an argument if one side's already an imbecile," said Deandra. "Dennis, do you even know why you were sticking your finger in your ear?"

At the mention of what he did Dennis wiped his finger on Charlie's sleeve. "Of course I do… It has to do with the echo in the room. It gets rid of it. That's why singers in studios wear headphones in one ear."

"I don't think you actually know! You just saw a clip of Nickelback do it. If anything, Charlie knows more than any of us about music."

"Charlie doesn't know shit about vocal talent."

"He's right," said Charlie between drinks. "Hey, maybe we're not doing good is because we're only four voices. Maybe we need Frank."

Deandra scoffed. "There's a reason why we didn't invite him with us to that competition when the flu hit. Guy can't sing for shit. Like, worse than all of us." That got everyone to nod approvingly.

"I haven't heard his gremlin-mouth all day," said Dennis.

"Actually, where is Frank?" asked Mac.

Suddenly everyone turned to Charlie for answers. "Beats me." It was true for the most part. Starting a few days prior, the small man did not run around with the gang, but somewhere else doing his own escapade. Something about kids and pizzas. "Unbelieveable how you guys don't even notice until just now."

"Charlie, you would be the best person to know, you sleep with him."

"I do not! I just sleep in the same bed as him!"

As if on cue the door to Paddy's swung inward, and out of the bright midday light stepped in Frank Reynolds himself. He was wearing an unusual getup with a brightly colored tie and suspenders, a style Charlie only saw once before when the two worked in Frank's old corporation. "Hey-o, bitches!"

"There he is! Frank, tell them that we don't sleep together."

"Frank, tell us that you can't sing."

"Why are you dressed like a rundown circus ring leader?"

He waved that all away. "Yeah, I don't care. I need you guys to listen to me for a second, check this out." From his pocket he unfolded a big laminated poster with anthropomorphic animals on it. "This chain is growing seriously fast, and there's one opening up right here in Philly."

"Like, competition with Paddy's? Lemme see that." Mac snatched the poster from his hand. "'Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, where fantasy and fun come to life'?"

Frank cackled madly. "Yes! I donno how, but these high-middle income families are paying tons to get these animatronics to babysit their kids."

"Sure," Dennis groaned out, "but why are you prowling around this knockoff Chuck-E-Cheese?"

The patriarch to the Reynolds family, and the owner of Paddy's Pub, both the same man, continued to cackle. The rest of the gang furrowed their brows at him. "Oh, I think you mean to say, my knockoff Chuck-E-Cheese?"

"Frank Buys Out Freddy Fazbear's"