500 Miles - Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Chorus:
This a way...
This a way...
This a way...
This a way...
Lord I can’t go back home this away...
The girl ended up dropping him just outside of Albany, her friends in the outskirts of the state. He had thanked her for the food and ride, receiving a kiss from her for being company. She left him with a smile as he used the little money she’d offered him to grab a bus ticket to New York. He felt badly taking advantage of her but apparently she had found him cute enough to give money to. Something started to click in his head but he was still too tired to think of anything much as he slept on the bus. He woke up when he heard the other people getting up, stretching some as his row became empty and finally standing to exit the vehicle. They asked if he had luggage but he shook his head saying it had been a day trip to see friends. The driver nodded, talking to the next passenger who passed and seemed looking for their backpack. Neal walked into the depot, a huge sprawling building with old architecture and beautiful lines. The artist in him loved it and knew he was in the right place. All he needed was money and some clothes if not a place to stay.
It was a few hours later that Neal not only had clothes but money, a credit card and a few other necessities like a phone and music player in his possession. Someone had left their backpack outside a stall and he casually picked it up, nobody any wiser as he left the bathroom and waited until he was far enough away to open it up. He had lucked out, the owner apparently someone male and around his size. Lucky thing he was tall and skinny. Almost everything fit him. Neal glanced at the ID and memorized the name: Jack Walker. He didn’t feel like a Jack but heck, all he needed was to change the picture on the ID and he was good. He made a quick stop down the road to a photo booth and took a picture like you did in the DMV, pasting it over the other one and smiling at the results. Then he saw the autograph and practiced writing it a few times. He’d learned how to do that pretty early on when he didn’t want his Mother to know about some of the things he did like getting the gun permit. Susan hadn’t known about that but they had lied to him, what were a few white lies?
Now he was in New York City, the bustling metropolis even at 7AM. He might be able to get some cash then find a hotel to stay at. He’d never been out of St. Louis but for a few field trips in state but this was definitely exciting. He was like a new person, reinventing himself. He could change for the better although he’d already committed quite a few misdemeanors at best. Neal was familiar with the law and at 18 he could be justifiably put in jail but that’s only if they could catch him. Right now all he wanted to think about was getting cash and going to sleep. He found a reasonable hotel for the night knowing he wouldn’t be able to get away with Mr. Walker’s stash for long. Neal just needed a hot shower, comfortable bed and food for the night then he would gladly send Mr. Walker his stuff back.
Neal had a great night in a comfortable room, even ordering room service and tipping heavily. The staff had been most happy with that considering he looked like an ordinary tourist. Jack Walker had some nice clothes in the pack but mostly it was just jeans, shorts and tees if not a few casual button up shirts. They weren’t cheap clothes either, Neal happy to have clean clothes as he showered, shaved and was on his way before 9 AM. He left the ID and other items he didn’t need in the room in a drawer as if they’d been forgotten. Mr. Walker would have them in no time, his image removed. Now he had enough cash to get around for a day or so but he would have to find a way to make more. He thought about doing something artsy but that always took time, his mind lost in the beautiful lines and architecture of the city he was now thinking could be his new home. For a moment he forgot about the fight with Susan or running away. He was just another tourist in the city that never slept.
That first month in New York was the hardest. It was winter time and Neal was low on funds. He started watching people in the park, seeing some pickpocketing on the side and something in him became curious. He had never tried his hand at the skill but he had a feeling it might be something he could conquer. His first few attempts failed miserably but after a time he got better, even doing it while seemingly giving young women and old their bags back they had dropped. Small clutches were best for that because with all their woolen coats and bags, they often didn’t notice if they had dropped it or he had pulled it away.
His third month he was still pretty miserable, homesickness hitting him hard as he tried not to think about the cold or his warm bed and room back in St. Louis. That place was dead to him and his past. He was no longer Nathan Connelly but Neal George Caffrey. He put his father’s name in to remind him of why he was here and what had made him leave. He did miss his mother and Susan but pride and the feeling he had been betrayed by their lies made him stay away. It was all he could do to keep from calling but the occasional random dial to see they were still there. He wondered if they had looked for him or not but when he looked in the papers for news from St. Louis or the net he was shocked to find they thought he was dead.
Local boy’s bike found smashed under train tracks.
The body of an unidentified male has been named as Nathan Connelly, 18. He had been missing since the day of his birthday. Nobody is certain why he was at the train tracks but the body had been heavily decomposed and fit the size and age of the young man.
Funeral arrangements have been scheduled.
He put his face in his hands and wept quietly in the back of the cyber cafe, wondering how this could have happened. He had only meant to... to make them understand how angry he was. He could call but then they’d know where he was and that he wasn’t dead. If he was dead that meant he was free to be his own person and do what he wanted. Maybe he could change himself to a different person. He already had a new name. Why not? The young man liked the idea a weight off his shoulders. He was no longer who he had been. He was no one. No one at all. He’d evaded most prying eyes and the law. He was still working on making friends, the occasional card or pool game leading to a person he could trust for a while to flop at their place or get a job doing some small larceny. He learned quite a bit just from the library when he had a chance and from a small band of pickpockets there. It was just like school only the homework actually was fun. It was as if he were on stage playing a role everyday. Neal had fun with it but he really was alone. Few of the people he met were trustworthy for long and he had yet to find a place he could feel secure enough about to call home. New York was his city now but he had to survive in order to stay.
Neal was now 21, three birthdays passed since he had been on his own in New York. He had gotten by with his wits and art skills if not some pool sharking here and there. It kept him in a small apartment and people hired him on minor jobs here and there where he’d get more cash. He wasn’t rich but he was getting by. He had kept up on his art, his current project more for fun since the creator of a large company had claimed his bond was unforgeable. Neal was always up for the challenge when someone said something was impossible. He was his father’s child wasn’t he? He had also managed to walk out of a house with a very valuable set of jewelry and some old books that got him a pretty penny. He just hoped he could do more and get his lifestyle up a bit. For now he was merely surviving.
Neal had continued to call Susan and his Mother a few times over the years but never talked to them. Mostly he waited for times they wouldn’t be at home but once Susan had picked up and he almost spoke to her. It was good to hear her voice if only for a moment but the memory of those words from her about his father had made him hang up. He had intended going home that first year but things never turned out the way he wanted. He lived on the streets for a bit before card and pool sharking got him enough to be in a cheap hotel room here and there. He started saving money, finding places around the city nobody would go to that he could stash things away. It had worked out so far. Two years went by before he had enough saved up for rent on an apartment, some minor theft involved in paying for that. He had an eye for art works and sometimes he heard enough near the museums and other high end galleries about new displays. He stole a piece here and there mostly keeping a few for his own pleasure but realized that once he could copy them he really didn’t have a need for the original. He liked pretty shiny objects, always had but he couldn’t carry the stuff around in the beginning so he would find fences and get rid of them anonymously. He had a knack for getting in and out even with people around. Neal had that kind of skill and it had been developed as he continued to hustle on the street. This was his new career path and so far, he was good. Really good at it.
He was on the way home one day when he saw a three card monte table in the park. A little guy with a bad toupee and goatee was harking in front as he walked up like he was another sucker and smiled. The man looked to be happier than him, hiding it well enough but obviously certain he’d win. Neal had been watching them for a few days, seeing their game and knowing the man dealing the cards wasn’t as good as he claimed. He had a red queen up his sleeve, waiting as he watched the man flip and shuffle the cards. Finally he replaced one with his own and nobody knew the difference. He’d won the hand, leaving quietly as he headed home. It had been a nice stash too, at least $500 he thought as he locked the door and went for a book on the shelf. He already had a nice little stash, opening it up and pushing the bills into the space inside, making a quick visual accounting of what he had bankrolled. Right about then someone knocked and he froze, putting the book back where it wasn’t obvious before walking to the door. He peeked through and saw the little guy there. Crap!
They got drunk that night. The man was odd, strange and eccentric at best but he seemed to have quite a reputation for someone who had stayed under the radar. The man was a ghost and yet he was able to survive as a con and make a pretty good life for what he wanted. The man simply called himself Mozzie. Neal could live with that. He understood the need for aliases in their line of work.
They talked about themselves after they’d known each other a bit, Neal revealing some of his past to the other con man. He learned that Mozzie had grown up in foster care, something that had made him feel a need to fight the man and rebel as much as possible. Mozz talked about the man who’d helped raised him and his introduction to cons when he was a just a kid. Neal talked about his father and briefly about Susan and his mother. Mozzie seemed rather sympathetic but also curious why he didn’t just talk to them. It seemed odd that the paranoid man with the fake hair and vintage glasses would suggest such a thing.
“They lied to me. I had the perfect life but my plans... It doesn’t matter.”
He took another swig of wine and smiled, the vintage just right the more he drank and learned about how to drink what he had once found uninteresting. Susan had taught him some subtleties of liquor but there had been little wine in her collection. The library had been useful for that, Neal going with Mozzie to the reading room and filling his mind with all sorts of things useful to a con man. Neal wanted to numb his mind, forget his past and move on. Whatever wrong he did, it was obviously in his blood. He wasn’t going back home... ever. Mozzie nodded at his words although he sensed a little jealousy at the fact he had a family looking for him. Still he was technically dead, who would think to look for him here?
“Good for you. You escaped the Suits! Let’s toast to your freedom, kid.”
Neal nodded, a sad expression on his face for his lost past but he was free now to do what he wanted. He was his father’s son, wasn’t he? Maybe this was what he was meant to do.
“A toast to freedom and marks.”
Mozzie smiled at the last part, sitting up despite looking far more drunk than normal.
“Speaking of marks... I have a great long con if you’re interested, kid. How do you like suits?”
Verse:
If you miss the train I’m on
You will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow
A hundred miles...
Author’s Note: I heard this song by the Kingston Trio (one I’ve liked for a while now) and thought that maybe it would be best at describing Neal’s run when he was a teen. We only know the little bit told from Ellen and himself during the Season 3 finale but it was enough to get me interested in the why and how. Shorter story but funnily enough I’ve been trying to think how to incorporate this song into that storyline. I just wanted to put in a taste of what he went through to explain a few things. Also someone said I should write something like this after the fact. :) Guess we think alike. I hope you enjoyed it!
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4