because i was appalled at the utterlack of james cagney fanfiction on the site, i took it upon myself to write the first (as far as i know) "Angels With Dirty Faces" fanfic here. let me know what you think!
Father Connelly hated lying. Being a good Christian, he had always made a point to lie only when it was absolutely, positively necessary. Unfortunately, it was necessary now. The fate of six young delinquents depended on a lie he was about to tell them; the biggest lie he had ever told in his life. He walked slowly and reluctantly down the empty sidewalk, going over in his head just how exactly he would say it. How would he tell them? He quickly looked around, then decided that he was, indeed, alone.
"Well, boys," he practiced aloud, "It's done."
"He didn't squeal, did he?" they might ask.
Connelly's feet shuffled to a stop on the oily, grit covered sidewalk and, taking off his hat, he raised his face to the grey sky. He stood completely still like for a moment.
"No," he whispered to himself, rather than to his hypothetical companions, "He didn't squeal."
Clearing his throat, Connelly pulled the hat back over his head and began walking again.
Rocky Sullivan was the bravest, most reckless, most idiotic man that Connelly had ever had the pleasure to know. He was the priest's best friend. Connelly grinned ruefully; a criminal and a man of faith. What an offbeat combination they had been. Connelly's halfhearted chastisement towards Rocky's lawless actions was only an act of conscience that he had felt was needed. After all, he was the local priest. What would people say if he didn't do something about Rocky? What would people say…
Connelly sighed. What will they say? Those poor kids. Rocky was their one role model, their one hero…and they expected him to be cynical and uncaring to the very end. He was Rocky Sullivan! He wasn't afraid of anything! Not even the Chair. The toughest of men had screamed and cried like babies as they were being dragged to the Chair, their husky visages stripped away from them by the thought of death. Everyone knew they were afraid. God, they were always so afraid!
But not Rocky. Never Rocky. Sure, he bawled and shrieked as they strapped him in, but Connelly knew just how brave he was. He was a good man, the best man; noblest man that Connelly had known.
At first, Connelly was afraid that Rocky wouldn't go through with it. He had walked down that aisle to the chair with a solemn look, his head back, his chin out, looking like the stubborn kid that he had been all his rough life. Connelly watched him sadly, disappointed in him for being so pigheaded, and disappointed in himself for trying to make Rocky humiliate himself in his last moments of life. Connelly would never forget that last look Rocky gave him. His eyes were narrow, his brow tense, but he had smiled so kindly. It was then that Connelly knew: he was losing the only true friend he ever had. Rocky's steps grew uneven after that smile, his fists unclenched, his face contorted with misery, and he let it all out. Everything that he had had bottled up in his heart all his life came out in a flood of counterfeit fear. And then, with the flip of a switch, it was over. When Rocky's screams halted abruptly, it was as though a hand had gripped Connelly's heart and refused to let go. He didn't move, didn't even breathe, for at least a minute; it was all he could do to keep from falling apart completely. What was the use, though? He had already fallen apart on the inside, who cared what happened now?
Father Connelly stopped in front of a stoop leading to a splintered door with rusty hinges. The kids cared, and he cared about their future. They had to know that they couldn't grow up to be Rocky. It's not fair! Connelly thought as he descended the disused stairs behind the front door. To tell a child that he can't be who he wants to be is ridiculous!
He heard voices and saw a light at the bottom of the stairs. Then I'm just about the most ridiculous man I know.
The six boys looked up simultaneously when Father Connelly came in. They remained completely silent as the priest cleared his throat.
"Well, boys," he said quietly, "It's done."