Film Noir

A Con Man Story

A/N Picture idea shamelessly stolen from Nathan Fillion's tweet. Thanks Captain.

"Jack do you believe it?" Wray moaned. "More than half the bathrooms in this place are out of commission. The lines for the ones that are left are almost as long as the ones for your autograph."

"The ones in the green room work, don't they?" Jack asked, feeling the power of suggestion exerting sudden pressure in his lower regions."

"Those are working," Wray assured him, "but it doesn't help the fans any. Some of them are grumbling about going home. It may not make any difference to you but this is a significant part of my income stream."

"Don't be ridiculous Wray. Of course I care about the fans or I wouldn't be here. But what can we do? We're not plumbers."

"How about another venue?" Wray proposed.

"Seriously?" Jack asked incredulously. "Wray you don't just pick up and move a con. These people have been working on this one ever since the their last one. There are a million details."

"Well obviously they screwed up a big one," Wray retorted. "maybe we just move part of it, find a place for the Speckies, do something cool, up close and personal."

Jack stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "I think I might just know where. You know that old theatre we got for almost nothing to show the ninety minute un-aired pilot for the kids' charities tomorrow night? It's empty, but the heat and utilities are on. When we scouted it, the bathrooms worked. We could move the panels and Q & A's there, maybe do special signings. You know, we could even set up a corner to look like a bar and take pictures of Speckies hanging out with us, maybe black and white like film noir."

"So how do we get the fans over there Jack?" Wray wondered.

"Same way they were going to get over there anyway, we get a bus for anyone who doesn't have a car or can't ride share. We can use the same company we're using for the showing," Jack offered, his enthusiasm growing. "This could be really shimmery Wray."

Jack fussed over every detail of the bar scene. By chance he spotted a scarred wood table and chairs outside a junk store and snapped it up together with some old bottles he filled with tea. Cocktail napkins and a bowl of peanuts helped to complete the illusion. Wray and Jack wore their Spectrum uniforms and allowed most of a day's growth of beard to lend an air of disrepute. Speckies joyfully lined up to memorialize a hang with their idols.

Jack and Wray did a panel with the other members of the Spectrum crew, giving signed bric-a-brac to all the questioners. Wray and Jack both gave Q & A's, the sessions lasting well into the evening. After a final sing-a-long, the Speckies boarded their bus, still lustily belting out the Spectrum theme.

Wray and Jack watched the bus go. "We did good, didn't we Jack?" Wray asked with a satisfied grin.

"Yeah, Buddy," Jack nodded, "this was one battle Spectrum actually won. You wanna get a beer?"

"Right behind you," Wray agreed," hurriedly adding, "you're paying."

Wray ran past the burly security men to Jack's booth, holding up a copy of the Daily Dish. "Jack have you seen this?"

Jack looked up from the autograph he was signing. The picture occupying most of the front page showed Wray and Jack, their arms around two young fans at the bar scene table. "Nice picture Wray."

"Read the headline, Jack," Wray instructed, pushing the paper in front of his friend's face.

"Moore and Nerely caught taking advantage of underage Speckies at booze soaked gathering," Jack read. "What the fuck, Wray?" The fan in front of Jack flinched and quickly grabbed her autograph. "Sorry," Jack called after her. "Wray look, everyone who was there last night knows what was really going on. This is just media bullshit."

"Of course it is Jack, but by now you've got to know it's all over Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, and God knows where else." Wray scrubbed his hands over his face. "It doesn't matter what the truth is. We're going to look like a couple of child molesters. And the more we deny it, the more the story will grow. We're so fucked."

"Look Wray, my line reaches almost into the parking lot. I've gotta finish this, but we'll get together later and figure out a way to fix this," Jack promised signing another autograph.

"Jack," Wray pressed.

Jack raised his hand in the Spectrum salute. "I swear by PJ Haarsma creator of all rings. Later Wray."

"Okay Jack," Wray demanded as they met in the Green Room. "What's your plan to fight the story."

Jack looked up smugly. "We don't fight it."

Wray's voice rose an octave. "What do you mean we don't fight it? The world will think we're a couple of pervs."

Jack grinned. "No we're going to get some help from the Speckies at the showing tonight and we run with it."

Wray and Jack lounged in cushy chairs on the stage their crotches prominent in the focus of the camera. Piles of plastic packets with round centers were stacked on tables next to them as well as multiple colors of Sharpies®, A young fan stood up. "Mr. Moore, what's your favorite animal?"

Jack leered. "A snake." Jack signed a packet and threw it to the boy who happily displayed it to a perturbed looking parent.

"A girl in the costume of the ship's nurturer stood up. "Wray, what's your favorite destination?"

"The dark hole," Wray replied, signing another packet and tossing it to the questioner.

Another fan dressed as a mercenary took the microphone. "Jack, do you remember your line when pilot tried to steal your dessert?"

"Of course, Jack answered, enticingly running his fingers through his famous hair. "You can't take my pie from me."

Another signed packet was tossed.

"Wray," yet another fan asked. "What's your favorite thing to eat?"

Wray licked his lips, lust burning in his eyes. He picked up a packet, rubbing it between his fingers. "Round, rich, luscious - chocolate, the darker the better. Like this." Wray ripped open the packet and popped the chocolate coin inside into his mouth.

An adult fan, dressed as the captain took the microphone. "Jack, who are the stupidest inhabitants of the known systems?"

Jack held up the offending tabloid. "Venomous squawkers of the third planet who dwell in the muck - and can't tell tea from whiskey."

The Speckie audience stood and applauded as all the questioners joined Wray and Jack on the stage to take a bow.

"So how many hits have we got now, Jack?" Wray asked over lunch.

Jack checked his phone. "Over two million and I just tweeted the link to my followers an hour ago. We should pick up a couple of million more before the day is out."

Wray held up his own phone. "This is even better. Look at the headline on Entertainment Daily. 'Spectrum Fans Expose Daily Dish Ran the Worst Story in the 'Verse.'"

Wray and Jack clinked glasses of iced tea.