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Sam sighed melodramatically, and sat heavily against the roof of the building. He’s not sure why he was making a show of it— the only person to see him was Mr. Jenkins, and Mr. Jenkins had been there when Guy said… what he said.
“You don’t fit anybody— not even your own mother.”
Low blow, dude.
Sam I Am was an adult, so even if he took about thirty years to actually say “Oh, yeah, by the way, my mom ditched me as a kid and since then nobody has ever really wanted me around” to another living thing? He was still able to say those things to himself. He could still admit how much it hurt, and, more importantly, admit that he was really, really upset by what Guy said.
Not angry, though. Guy hadn’t even believed him when he’d said he would actually help Mr. Jenkins. If he’d actually come, Guy would’ve been able to watch with his own eyes as Sam did the right thing, but, like, whatever.
Sam stripped off his jumpsuit and shoved it under his hat. There was no reason to be going undercover anymore— Guy clearly didn’t need to be broken out, and the Girooster was already painted and safely tucked away into a suitcase. Sam wasn’t a master con for no reason. When he needed to be slick, he could more than comply. Mr. Jenkins was to wait here while Sam gave Snerz the Girooster, and then it would be off to the Cold Air Balloons.
Alone.
In the meantime, though, Sam let himself bask in the moment. A cool night, the city lit up in anticipation for Snerzday. And, for the first time in his life, Sam was actively choosing to do the right thing.
It would’ve been a lot easier if it hadn’t come at the cost of his first and only friend, though.
And so, on that nice night, where the weather didn’t know about poor Sam’s broken heart, he did the only natural thing.
“Mr. Jenkins?”
The chickeraffe in question turned his head over and warbled in question. Sam laid on his back, and stared up to the sky. “He still thought I was gonna sell you after all that stuff with my mom.”
Jenkins walked over and sat down next to Sam, cocking his head.
Sam plowed on. “Y’know, if the whole smuggling thing had come up out of the blue, I’d understand. But I—“ he groaned. “I told him about my mom leaving me. About him being my first friend. And he still said all that stuff.”
Mr. Jenkins, ever the perceptive creature, laid his head sadly on Sam’s stomach. “Yeah, I know, big fella. You’re gonna be with your mom soon, even if our Guy doesn’t believe us.”
Sam absentmindedly pet his hand through Mr Jenkins’ feathers. “You know I wouldn’t be able to sell you.”
Most of the time, when traveling with Guy and Mr. Jenkins, Sam had simply put the end goal out of his mind. It was almost a routine, in some ways: Lie about anything and everything regarding why he was doing something, and then collect the money and avoid law enforcement.
Most of his routines didn’t include a soft-hearted Knox and a Chickeraffe with a scarily relatable origin story, though.
So Sam had done what any self-respecting 30-something year old with abandonment issues would have done. He immediately became overly attached to the first people who willingly stayed in his presence for more than a handful of hours, and forgot completely about the fact that he was supposed to sell Mr. Jenkins by Snerzday.
Had it really been less than a week since he broke into the zoo with no more than a kite, pole vault, snorkel and paper airplane?
Hardly a handful of days ago, Sam had flirted with a grouchy rejected inventor and eventually been forced to flee the scene, expecting to be done with the job before the BADGUYS had even figured out which name of the week he was using. Now, he had gained and lost three friends, and was swapping the animal he was supposed to sell with a bean-craving lookalike because his adventure had just been a little too fun.
Sam couldn’t exactly pinpoint when Mr. Jenkins turned from “the chickeraffe that I’m supposed to sell to Snerz” to- well- Mr. Jenkins. Sam couldn’t tell whether his constant belligering of Guy was an effort to annoy him out of his life (because everyone left eventually) or an effort to actually befriend him (because dilligins, it felt incredible to just have someone else’s presence on the journey). He’d guess it was probably really early on— far too early for a con artist, like, episode three or four, he was getting sloppy.
Well, sloppy didn’t matter, in the end, because this was going to be his last job anyways.
The final nail on the coffin was definitely what EB said on the boat. Sam had more or less been coping by doing everything he could to actively avoid thinking about his goal, but his guilt was bound to catch up with him one way or another.
Immediately after his conversation with Guy in the tent, Sam’s attitude was closest to “Hurry up and finish things as soon as possible because wow, all of my guilt is catching up to me,” but it was safe to say it quickly melted to “Wow, I am totally doing the wrong thing.” Come on, Sam, you teared up while the Narrator discussed Mr. Jenkins being separated from his mom not even halfway through the season. He really should have realized by then that there was no way Mr. Jenkins was going to end up anywhere but Chickeraffe Island.
Sam really wished Guy was here right now. He’d probably be able to invent something to get them to the island and back that would only explode after they’d delivered Mr. Jenkins. They were lucky together like that.
Sam’s luck had seemed to run out, though, because Guy didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Instead, he was moping in an interrogation chamber, acting like just because Sam had lied about a few things, he was able to make an extremely fair point about how nobody ever wanted Sam in their life and that he was going to live and die alone. People always talked about having a face only a mother could love, but Sam didn’t even have that.
So, with a heavy sigh to match his heavy heart, Sam sat up, giving Mr. Jenkins an appreciative pat on the head. “You ready, bud?”
Mr. Jenkins gave one excited leap around Sam, before eagerly climbing into the briefcase. Sam laughed humorlessly, and with a click, Jenkins was secure.
Sam took a deep breath, and grabbed the briefcase holding the Girooster.
His final con was waiting for him just a few streets down.