Fic: No Thanks To Cleveland
Title No Thanks To Cleveland
Fandom Jersey Boys (movie-centric)
Rating PG-13?
Word Count 1679
Disclaimer Jersey Boys, both in its stage production and film production, was created by several people. Stage production was helmed by Bob Gaudio, Bob Crewe, Marshall Brickman and Rick Eliceo. The film has those men to thank plus Clint Eastwood. Ultimately all those men have to thank The Four Seasons for providing the material for both stories! Suffice to say that this little story is far from an original piece of fiction. The basis of this story is from the biopic (non-fiction) but is heavily interspersed with personal creative liberties (fiction).
“This wasn’t the way I wanted to remember Ohio.”
“We’ll get outta this in four hours, tops.”
“If only we could all be as reassured as you. Jail is a vacation to you.”
“I’ll handle this.”
“How? We are being processed!”
He thought he was doing everyone a favour, slotting himself behind Tommy to keep him separated from Frankie and Bob. Frankie was being quiet, for the most part, speaking only to lament his no longer clean record. It was only when Tommy spoke that Bob would raise his voice, making his displeasure obvious for everyone.
Tommy stood impassive for the camera, undaunted by police forces and county jails the country over. The flash still sounded when he was hauled towards the door leading to the cells. Nick waited until Tommy was safely through, not wanting to find Frankie or Bob jumping him. The day had already taken an unexpected turn. He wouldn’t be surprised if anything else out of the ordinary happened.
“Nicholas Macioci - are you waiting for your make-up artist? It’s your turn!”
Nick walked up to the marked spot on the floor, facing the camera straight on. From practice he kept his expression neutral, lips barely moving even though his words came out mostly audible. “So you can’t find a judge to see us today, but you have make-up artists who come in to your station?”
“Smartass.” It might’ve been his imagination but he was fairly certain the button used to snap his photo was pressed down by the middle finger. At last he allowed himself a bit of a smirk. “Next.”
Escorted by the same officer who took Tommy to the cells Nick looked over his shoulder, watching Frankie take his place in front of the camera. It would only be a matter of minutes until they were in with them. There was nothing to worry about.
He came to a full halt, the officer scuffing the back of his shoes with an inadequate lurch of a stop. “Get moving,” the officer ordered, pushing him along with a hand between his shoulders.
Marched past the first cell, Nick twisted his lips together, watching Tommy getting chummy with his cell mate. He was an older man with greying hair who must’ve had playing cards out in plain sight. Tommy was shuffling the cards back and forth, slotting them, flipping them and sliding them back in, all in rapid speed to leave the other man blinking.
In the third cell was a beefy guy, one hell of a bruise on his cheek. He looked otherwise uninjured, which made Nick wonder who was stupid enough to pick a fight with him. If he was the one who wound up in jail than the other guy had to be in traction. He took in the soon to be card game with a hard stare, slowly turning it on him when he realised he was being watched.
Nick’s shoes made a harsh noise as he was spun to a stop, turned to the face the empty cell between the two.
“Can I take my chances with door number three?” Nick asked as coolly as he could manage under the circumstances. Unfortunately he was already figuring out the math. Three cells with two beds each, first one fully occupied with only one cell completely empty didn’t look promising for Frankie or Bob since he was being directed to the second cell.
“Sorry, the reservation desk has been closed for the day,” the officer remarked dryly, unlocking the door and opening it. “You get what you get. And considering your friend couldn’t smooth talk his way out of criminal charges, you won’t be lucky either.”
“There’s no harm in asking,” Nick reasoned, complying when he was pushed into the cell. The door locked behind him without giving him any sense of security or comfort. Not that he was expecting comfort from iron bars for a wall and a two inch thick mattress but he was waiting with baited nerves for Frankie to be brought in next.
Would it be entirely cruel to pray for Frankie to wind up with Beef? He at least knew what not to do with criminals, even if it was when he and Tommy weren’t in jail. With the exception of him and Tommy Bob had never so much caught a whiff of a criminal before. It wasn’t the concern of Bob and Beef in the same living quarters for however long they were stuck. It was wondering what Beef might do to Bob, provoked or not.
The door slamming solidly between their prison and the processing room startled Nick out of his thoughts. Realising he was leaning against the bars, gazing forlornly at the door, he straightened up, walking the short distance towards Tommy’s cell. “Couldn’t you have tried saying anything to the officer? Frankie and Bob don’t deserve to be here,” Nick pointed out.
Tommy and his cell mate looked up from the bed where the cards were laid out in front of Tommy. Apparently neither one of them deemed it necessary to keep their attention on him, refocusing on the game. “I negotiate where I can, not with officers I don’t know,” Tommy explained.
“Or at least not where it’s already failed you,” Nick corrected, shaking his head. Making his way over to the pathetic representation of a bed he sat down, his hand not quite making a fist before landing flat on the sheets. “I really hope Crewe can pull some strings fast.”
“Afraid that the linens are going to stain your best suit?” Tommy snorted to himself, still shuffling. “Don’t tell me that fame has softened you. Scared of your dark and lonely cell?”
“I’m scared of your mouth - wide, gaping and dark for how big it is,” Frankie commented, giving Tommy a side look. While Nick and Tommy had been talking they didn’t hear the door open, Frankie escorted in. Nick tried to not look as wary as he felt, waiting for Frankie to be led to his or Beef’s cell. As misfortune continued its own game Frankie was brought to his cell.
“Do you know how much trouble I’ve kept you out of? This mouth has saved you more times than you know,” Tommy countered, using the few remaining cards in his hand to jab in Frankie’s direction, stepping into the cell to join Nick.
“Remind me to get you a thank you card.” Frankie crossed his arms, sparing a quick look of disgust his way. “When we get out of here.”
“And wrap it up in a nice car while you’re at it.” Chuckling at his joke Tommy made a noise of triumph, all the cards in playing position. “Alright, so first you need to pick a card.”
“First we need to get out of here!” Frankie would’ve glared at Tommy, and Nick did catch a slight twitch of his head, but realising Tommy was more interested in teaching the rules of the game he twisted his head down instead. “We are in the middle of a tour.”
“And we can’t exactly have every tour stop change venue to Cleveland Penitentiary,” Nick added, to which Tommy continued to ignore. “Some people might make jail cells a second home but I’m going to assume that our audience wouldn’t want to set foot within a police station at all.”
“Go to bed Nicky.” Apparently he did get his words through to Tommy, only to result in him brushing him off brusquely. “Sleep it off like you always do.”
Biting the inside of his cheek with a grimace and shake of his head, Nick wished he was already asleep. It would be nothing short of a miracle if this was a bad dream. Thinking that perhaps he could delude himself into believing his lie he settled down onto the bed. When he woke up Tommy wouldn’t be playing cards and Frankie wouldn’t be braced against the cell door.
“I need to make a phone call! I have the right to call a lawyer!”
His eyes remained closed. He was in jail. Bob’s voice couldn’t change facts.
“Settle down Bobby, take a seat.”
“I am not sitting down until I know Bob is doing something about this.”
“It takes time, he can’t just snap his fingers and-”
“I’m not sitting around playing cards waiting for happenstance. I need to do something now.”
“You can’t do anything from the inside of a jail cell.”
“Tommy!”
“Well? Do you have a telephone in your jacket?”
“Bob.” Opening his eyes and turning his head, managing to slant his gaze in the direction of Bob all in one attempt, Nick nodded. “Crewe knows. I had someone phone him. He’ll figure something out, he always does.”
Bob didn’t look placated though his shoulders weren’t as tense.
“Oh, so you listen to Nick but not me?”
“He at least has some common sense.”
“He also talks when he’s sleeping. Look at him! Sleeping again!”
Lips twisting together couldn’t silence his scoff.
“Now if you all would let me finish teaching my card game-”
“So you can swindle someone else?”
Maybe it was for the best that Tommy was in his own cell.
“Are you going to be sweet-talking your roommate in that way?”
Nick opened his eyes again, catching Frankie from the corner of his eye as they both turned to look to Beef. Bob apparently hadn’t noticed that he was sharing his cell with another man, his gaze widening slightly at the silent man. The older man looked briefly amused, no doubt entertained by the conversation, before giving a warning glare to Bob.
Muffling what might’ve been a gulp, making it a murmured but wane greeting of a smile, Bob made himself comfortable within a respectable distance from Beef.
Shifting one hand out from under his head to cover his eyes, Nick laughed humourlessly.
Was it reassuring that he didn’t have to worry about anyone killing Tommy?
Now he would be worrying about Bobby being killed, or put into traction.
Where was a drink when he really needed one?
Fandom Jersey Boys (movie-centric)
Rating PG-13?
Word Count 1679
Disclaimer Jersey Boys, both in its stage production and film production, was created by several people. Stage production was helmed by Bob Gaudio, Bob Crewe, Marshall Brickman and Rick Eliceo. The film has those men to thank plus Clint Eastwood. Ultimately all those men have to thank The Four Seasons for providing the material for both stories! Suffice to say that this little story is far from an original piece of fiction. The basis of this story is from the biopic (non-fiction) but is heavily interspersed with personal creative liberties (fiction).
“This wasn’t the way I wanted to remember Ohio.”
“We’ll get outta this in four hours, tops.”
“If only we could all be as reassured as you. Jail is a vacation to you.”
“I’ll handle this.”
“How? We are being processed!”
He thought he was doing everyone a favour, slotting himself behind Tommy to keep him separated from Frankie and Bob. Frankie was being quiet, for the most part, speaking only to lament his no longer clean record. It was only when Tommy spoke that Bob would raise his voice, making his displeasure obvious for everyone.
Tommy stood impassive for the camera, undaunted by police forces and county jails the country over. The flash still sounded when he was hauled towards the door leading to the cells. Nick waited until Tommy was safely through, not wanting to find Frankie or Bob jumping him. The day had already taken an unexpected turn. He wouldn’t be surprised if anything else out of the ordinary happened.
“Nicholas Macioci - are you waiting for your make-up artist? It’s your turn!”
Nick walked up to the marked spot on the floor, facing the camera straight on. From practice he kept his expression neutral, lips barely moving even though his words came out mostly audible. “So you can’t find a judge to see us today, but you have make-up artists who come in to your station?”
“Smartass.” It might’ve been his imagination but he was fairly certain the button used to snap his photo was pressed down by the middle finger. At last he allowed himself a bit of a smirk. “Next.”
Escorted by the same officer who took Tommy to the cells Nick looked over his shoulder, watching Frankie take his place in front of the camera. It would only be a matter of minutes until they were in with them. There was nothing to worry about.
He came to a full halt, the officer scuffing the back of his shoes with an inadequate lurch of a stop. “Get moving,” the officer ordered, pushing him along with a hand between his shoulders.
Marched past the first cell, Nick twisted his lips together, watching Tommy getting chummy with his cell mate. He was an older man with greying hair who must’ve had playing cards out in plain sight. Tommy was shuffling the cards back and forth, slotting them, flipping them and sliding them back in, all in rapid speed to leave the other man blinking.
In the third cell was a beefy guy, one hell of a bruise on his cheek. He looked otherwise uninjured, which made Nick wonder who was stupid enough to pick a fight with him. If he was the one who wound up in jail than the other guy had to be in traction. He took in the soon to be card game with a hard stare, slowly turning it on him when he realised he was being watched.
Nick’s shoes made a harsh noise as he was spun to a stop, turned to the face the empty cell between the two.
“Can I take my chances with door number three?” Nick asked as coolly as he could manage under the circumstances. Unfortunately he was already figuring out the math. Three cells with two beds each, first one fully occupied with only one cell completely empty didn’t look promising for Frankie or Bob since he was being directed to the second cell.
“Sorry, the reservation desk has been closed for the day,” the officer remarked dryly, unlocking the door and opening it. “You get what you get. And considering your friend couldn’t smooth talk his way out of criminal charges, you won’t be lucky either.”
“There’s no harm in asking,” Nick reasoned, complying when he was pushed into the cell. The door locked behind him without giving him any sense of security or comfort. Not that he was expecting comfort from iron bars for a wall and a two inch thick mattress but he was waiting with baited nerves for Frankie to be brought in next.
Would it be entirely cruel to pray for Frankie to wind up with Beef? He at least knew what not to do with criminals, even if it was when he and Tommy weren’t in jail. With the exception of him and Tommy Bob had never so much caught a whiff of a criminal before. It wasn’t the concern of Bob and Beef in the same living quarters for however long they were stuck. It was wondering what Beef might do to Bob, provoked or not.
The door slamming solidly between their prison and the processing room startled Nick out of his thoughts. Realising he was leaning against the bars, gazing forlornly at the door, he straightened up, walking the short distance towards Tommy’s cell. “Couldn’t you have tried saying anything to the officer? Frankie and Bob don’t deserve to be here,” Nick pointed out.
Tommy and his cell mate looked up from the bed where the cards were laid out in front of Tommy. Apparently neither one of them deemed it necessary to keep their attention on him, refocusing on the game. “I negotiate where I can, not with officers I don’t know,” Tommy explained.
“Or at least not where it’s already failed you,” Nick corrected, shaking his head. Making his way over to the pathetic representation of a bed he sat down, his hand not quite making a fist before landing flat on the sheets. “I really hope Crewe can pull some strings fast.”
“Afraid that the linens are going to stain your best suit?” Tommy snorted to himself, still shuffling. “Don’t tell me that fame has softened you. Scared of your dark and lonely cell?”
“I’m scared of your mouth - wide, gaping and dark for how big it is,” Frankie commented, giving Tommy a side look. While Nick and Tommy had been talking they didn’t hear the door open, Frankie escorted in. Nick tried to not look as wary as he felt, waiting for Frankie to be led to his or Beef’s cell. As misfortune continued its own game Frankie was brought to his cell.
“Do you know how much trouble I’ve kept you out of? This mouth has saved you more times than you know,” Tommy countered, using the few remaining cards in his hand to jab in Frankie’s direction, stepping into the cell to join Nick.
“Remind me to get you a thank you card.” Frankie crossed his arms, sparing a quick look of disgust his way. “When we get out of here.”
“And wrap it up in a nice car while you’re at it.” Chuckling at his joke Tommy made a noise of triumph, all the cards in playing position. “Alright, so first you need to pick a card.”
“First we need to get out of here!” Frankie would’ve glared at Tommy, and Nick did catch a slight twitch of his head, but realising Tommy was more interested in teaching the rules of the game he twisted his head down instead. “We are in the middle of a tour.”
“And we can’t exactly have every tour stop change venue to Cleveland Penitentiary,” Nick added, to which Tommy continued to ignore. “Some people might make jail cells a second home but I’m going to assume that our audience wouldn’t want to set foot within a police station at all.”
“Go to bed Nicky.” Apparently he did get his words through to Tommy, only to result in him brushing him off brusquely. “Sleep it off like you always do.”
Biting the inside of his cheek with a grimace and shake of his head, Nick wished he was already asleep. It would be nothing short of a miracle if this was a bad dream. Thinking that perhaps he could delude himself into believing his lie he settled down onto the bed. When he woke up Tommy wouldn’t be playing cards and Frankie wouldn’t be braced against the cell door.
“I need to make a phone call! I have the right to call a lawyer!”
His eyes remained closed. He was in jail. Bob’s voice couldn’t change facts.
“Settle down Bobby, take a seat.”
“I am not sitting down until I know Bob is doing something about this.”
“It takes time, he can’t just snap his fingers and-”
“I’m not sitting around playing cards waiting for happenstance. I need to do something now.”
“You can’t do anything from the inside of a jail cell.”
“Tommy!”
“Well? Do you have a telephone in your jacket?”
“Bob.” Opening his eyes and turning his head, managing to slant his gaze in the direction of Bob all in one attempt, Nick nodded. “Crewe knows. I had someone phone him. He’ll figure something out, he always does.”
Bob didn’t look placated though his shoulders weren’t as tense.
“Oh, so you listen to Nick but not me?”
“He at least has some common sense.”
“He also talks when he’s sleeping. Look at him! Sleeping again!”
Lips twisting together couldn’t silence his scoff.
“Now if you all would let me finish teaching my card game-”
“So you can swindle someone else?”
Maybe it was for the best that Tommy was in his own cell.
“Are you going to be sweet-talking your roommate in that way?”
Nick opened his eyes again, catching Frankie from the corner of his eye as they both turned to look to Beef. Bob apparently hadn’t noticed that he was sharing his cell with another man, his gaze widening slightly at the silent man. The older man looked briefly amused, no doubt entertained by the conversation, before giving a warning glare to Bob.
Muffling what might’ve been a gulp, making it a murmured but wane greeting of a smile, Bob made himself comfortable within a respectable distance from Beef.
Shifting one hand out from under his head to cover his eyes, Nick laughed humourlessly.
Was it reassuring that he didn’t have to worry about anyone killing Tommy?
Now he would be worrying about Bobby being killed, or put into traction.
Where was a drink when he really needed one?