Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. The lyrics featured are from the Saliva song, "Always", and are used to tie in to the ficlet.
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Impostor
(Fradeur)
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I hear a voice say "Don't be so blind…"
It's telling me all these things
that you would probably hide
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I. IL EST UNE FRAUDE
(HE IS A FRAUD)
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Spot Conlon.
Those three syllables alone are enough to strike fear into any kid out there living on the street. Being a somewhat quiet and shy person by nature myself, you think I would be afraid.
I'm not.
Spot Conlon is a fraud. A fake. An impostor.
I remember…
I remember the first time I ever met Spot Conlon. I admit, I'd been so nervous, I thought that it might just be a better idea to run back across the Brooklyn Bridge instead of entering his territory. None of the guys had volunteered to invite Spot into our budding alliance—it only followed that the boy must be some sort of monster.
It was such a relief to see that the famed Conlon was actually shorter than I was. Jack, however, was not fooled by his appearance and kept his wits about him; he proceeded with caution when addressing the boy. Even he seemed to fear him. More than once I heard Jack mumble his thanks that the meeting went well; I often wondered why.
Oh, I heard the tales. Though small, Spot had command of the entire borough. If Jack Kelly stood for all things that were Manhattan, then Spot Conlon was Brooklyn. And Brooklyn was known for being tough.
No one really knew why or how but everyone knew this: Spot Conlon was King.
I remember…
I remember when I found out that Spot wasn't what he pretend to be, that he was nothing more than a two-bit fraud who hid behind a name. That he was, simply put, an impostor…
But first—
It was a calm summer night and the smells from the streets outside were not as nearly unpleasant as they had been during the heat wave the week before. Jack had followed me home for supper; he had the knack of doing that as often as possible, both to see my sister as well as getting a free meal. Not that my parents minded—too much. They thought Jack's streetwise manners suited Sarah's naivety perfectly. That is, as long as they were there to supervise the pair. Which they always were.
I remember…
I remember that I entered the apartment first and kissed my mother's fair cheek when I met her at the door.
"Evening, Mama," I greeted her and waved to Sarah. She smiled from her place at the stove but I knew that it wasn't meant for me. The grin went over my head and was directed straight at Jack. He hurriedly removed his cowboy hat from his head.
Supper wasn't ready yet that night. Mama shooed me and Jack away from our path; we had been heading straight to the kitchen.
"Your father is still out with Les," she said and gestured for us to wait at the table. "Supper will be ready for their return."
We nodded and left the women to their work. I made to sit down but Jack had other plans. He motioned to the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. It had been quite a while since that first time I followed him out there, back when we first met, that it took me a minute to realize that he wanted me to follow him out there.
I moved up beside Jack as we overlooked the city. My family's apartment may not be much but it had a great view of the streets below.
Jack had already removed a cigarette from inside his vest pocket and was lighting it when my elbow brushed his. He took a long drag from his smoke and breathed it out slowly, letting the pale wisps hang in the air over our heads.
"Nice night, ain't it, Dave?" he murmured, his voice low and heavy. He sounded preoccupied.
I nodded. It was actually a nice night and all but I knew that wasn't what Jack was getting at. What, then, was on his mind?
Jack looked sideways at me and I knew he knew that I knew. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it between two of his fingers. "We got a problem, Dave."
I did know it. I just wished I hadn't.
"What kind of problem, Jack?" I asked, almost resigned.
It had to be a big one if he was coming to me, after all. We were friends, yes, but a man's pride was worth three friends. And Jack Kelly didn't have that much pride to begin with.
"The Brooklyn kind."
Spot Conlon.
He sighed then and I knew that "problem" was understating the situation. "Oh."
Jack turned around and made sure that the window was closed. After the first time that I had followed Jack out on the fire escape for one of his "talks", I learned that it was to be kept between us. Of course I had shut the window behind me.
"Goddammit, Dave," he snapped all of a sudden and I stepped down one stair in surprise. I was not expecting Jack to lose his temper like that. He saw my reaction and lowered his voice considerably. "I just—I didn't know who to turn to about this. Spot… he's threatening to move in on Manhattan. He doesn't want just Brooklyn no more."
I retook my place next to his side but kept my expression straight. "Are you sure, Jack?" He nodded briefly. "Well, then there's nothing to do."
"'Nothing to do', Dave? What do you mean, 'nothing to do'? Open your eyes and don't be so blind! Of course we've gotta do something about this. You've got the brains here, Davey. What should we do?"
He turned his face to meet mine. Jack's brown eyes were lost but narrowed in determination. He intended to do something about Spot's advance, that much was obvious.
But what could we do? This was Spot Conlon, after all. I said as much to Jack: "But what can we do? We can't take on Brooklyn— we can't go up against Spot."
He let out a short laugh that made me feel as if I were no more than three years old. Silly old, Davey, never knows what he's talking about.
"I ain't afraid of Spot, Dave. He ain't nothing but a phony—a fraud. I don't know why any of the guys think that he's so special but he's not gettin' rid of me, I'll tell ya. He may talk big and all but, without his goons, he's the one with nothing."
Jack paused and shook his head when he noticed that, as he spoke, his cigarette had nearly burnt to the ends. "That kid thinks he can just take anything he wants but I ain't gonna let him. I know a thing or two about Spot and he ain't nothing more than a goddamn impostor."
He was angry—so very angry—and I didn't know what to say for a minute.
"But, Jack, this is Spot Conlon we're talking about, right? No one can go up against him and Brooklyn."
I admit, I was curious and confused about the whole situation. A whole year had passed since the strike last summer and this was the first time any of the fellas had mentioned Brooklyn and the ill-tempered newsie who ruled there. I may sell papers with the rest of them but I knew that I could never really be one of them. Jack was my only true tie to their world; all of the information I received was through him.
"What do you know about Spot that I don't?"
Jack shivered despite the warm summer air. He threw his spent cigarette over the railing and pulled his cowboy hat up to cover his head. I could tell that he was wondering whether or not he should answer—anything he told me would surely get back to Sarah and he didn't want that—but, before he said anything more, Sarah lifted the window open and stuck her pretty face outside.
"Jack? David? Supper's ready."
Looking extremely grateful for the interruption, Jack hurriedly climbed through the window and followed Sarah back into the apartment. I was left alone on the fire escape, my own wonderings left insatiate.
Jack never did tell me how he knew all that about Spot Conlon. In the week or two that followed, he announced to me that Spot had just been joking about turning his gaze onto Manhattan. I tried countless times before and after his pronouncement to bring up the subject of Spot again but he refused to tell me anymore about it. He would wave his hands about and mumble that he didn't want to talk about Spot anymore. He told me to forget all about our nighttime chat and to stay clear of Brooklyn—"to be on the safe side"; after all, we didn't want to tempt fate and give Spot any real ideas. I tried to listen to him, I really did. But curiosity killed the cat—or, better yet, the Cowboy.
Spot Conlon is not just an impostor, as I found out. Spot Conlon is also a murderer.
Spot Conlon killed Jack.
Author's note: Wow. I was so surprised over my sense of accomplishment at the close of Her Broken Heart that I decided to begin a second III part story. Like its predecessor, Impostor (formerly known as Fraudeur) is an angst-ridden piece but it will not have a happy conclusion. Just thought I'd warn you now.
Anywho, I feel like I truly love to torture the Jacobs' family: first Sarah, now David. With this piece I aim to go one step farther than Her Broken Heart, but within the same amount of chapters. In this story we discover what would happen if Spot was not who we expected him to be—and David was the one to find this out.
Here it is, Impostor, my interpretation in three parts. Again.
-- stress, revised 05.03.08.