Al Capone Does My Homework (12 page)

Saturday, February 1, and Sunday, February 2, 1936

That evening when my father comes home, my parents go out to watch the sunset, and
I get my chance to talk to Nat.

Nat is rolled up in her blanket. “Nat,” I whisper. “Every time you look in my eyes,
you get a point. The points will add up. You can count them. You can keep track of
the score,” I say.

She digs her chin into her collarbone and turns her head away from me. But the picture
of Darby Trixle ignoring Natalie even after what she did is fresh in my mind. It’s
late now, but tomorrow I’m going to talk to Annie and Jimmy, Theresa and Piper about
this. We have to get everyone to help. We can’t do this alone.

When my father is done talking to my mother, I get my turn.

“I can’t believe Donny Caconi is a cheater.”

He sighs. “I was surprised too. I’m going to have to talk to him.”

“Could I come along?”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Is it because I’m thirteen? Because that’s not a good reason. I’m old enough. I’ve
earned the right.”

He smiles at this. “You have, have you?” he says. “Well, what if I say that I don’t
want you carrying too much responsibility on your shoulders. What if I say I want
you to be a kid while you still can.”

“I’d say you’re wrong.”

“Moose”—he holds my gaze with his—“I’m not wrong.”

• • •

The next day, on the switchback outside the Chudleys’, I see Mrs. Mattaman holding
Baby Rocky’s hand.

“Bird,” she says as she points to a gull. “House.” She waves his hand in the direction
of the Chudleys’.

“Toody.” He points at the ground.

“Ground,” she says.

He squats, then bursts up to a standing position. “Toody-toody.” He gets all excited
now.

Mrs. Mattaman shakes her head like she doesn’t understand.

“Toody-toody.” He jerks his pointer finger all around.

“Turdy. Bird turdy,” I translate.

Mrs. Mattaman laughs. “Leave it to you to figure that out.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Mrs. Mattaman?” I ask as she chases Rocky, who is
trying to catch a seagull, his pudgy arms wide open like he’s going to hug it to death.

“Course, Moose,” she says, scooping Rocky up, his fist full of feathers.

I tell her about the new idea for helping Natalie. I think she’ll be pleased, but
she clicks her tongue the way she does when a cake falls. “Did you talk to your mother
about this?”

Uh-oh. My mom must have talked to her. She must have chewed her out.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

She smoothes Rocky’s hair out of his face. “I’m afraid I’ve overstepped my place.”
She sets Rocky down again. “Maybe I better talk to your mom about this.”

“All you have to do is ask Natalie ‘What’s the count?’ She’s keeping track herself.
Then if she looks at you, you say add one more.”

“You’re
sure
your mom’s okay with this?”

“Yes,” I say.

“All righty then,” she says. Her voice is reluctant. She twists the ring on her finger.

• • •

The clock is ticking. It’s almost past time to meet Piper. We have to get in the shed
before they show up. Piper is expecting just me, but suddenly I want Annie there,
too.

I take off down the switchback to 64 building. I’m panting like a dog when she opens
the door of #3H.

“I’m so glad you’re not at church.” I lean over breathing hard from the run.

She shakes her head. “My mom had a headache.”

“C’mon, you should be there when they question Capone.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“In case I miss something.” I look out toward the big hulk of Angel Island. “Because
I want you to,” I admit.

She wrinkles her nose, takes an uneasy breath. “Okay,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say. It’s just one word, but boy do I mean it right now.

She nods. The corner of her mouth twitches, like it’s thinking about smiling. She
grabs her coat and follows me.

• • •

When we get to Piper’s, it’s ten minutes after eleven and she’s waiting on her step.

“You’re late.” She looks at me, then at Annie. “What’s she doing here?” she asks.

“Another pair of ears,” I offer.

“No room in the shed.”

“We have to take stuff out anyway,” I say.

“You sure you want to do this, Annie? You know you’ll get in trouble if you’re caught.”
Piper’s eyes are hard.

Annie has a cross on her necklace. She winds the chain around her finger. Her eyes
dart toward me. “We have to find out how the fire started,” she says.

“We?” Piper asks.

Annie nods.

Piper clamps her mouth shut and hops off the steps.

We follow as she cuts through the side yard between Doc Ollie’s home and hers. At
the shed, we begin pulling out the brooms, buckets, and ladders and stacking them
next to the gardening shack to make space inside. Piper says we should do this out
in the open, since our story is that Doc Ollie’s sister has given us a job. Two officers
walk by on the road. They don’t give us a second glance, but Annie’s arms are trembling,
one hand holds her cross.

When we have enough stuff out of the shed, we slip inside. It’s dark. It’s stinky,
and it’s awkward. Being locked in a shed with a girl you once kissed and your best
friend who happens to be a girl is not exactly relaxing. I crack open the door, to
get a little air.

Annie suggests we play rock, paper, scissors—Alcatraz style. The rock, the newspaper,
and the shiv, which is what they call a prisoner-made knife. The shiv stabs the newspaper.
The rock smashes the knife. The newspaper covers the rock. I never used to understand
that part of the game. I mean, how could a paper be stronger than a rock? But with
Bea Trixle threatening to go to the newspaper and what might have happened if she
had, it makes perfect sense. One stupid newspaper article could ruin your whole life.

We’ve just decided they must have changed the schedule and they aren’t going to interrogate
Al today, when we hear commotion at the front door. I pull the shed door closed and
stand in the back with Annie. Piper stands in front. I suck my gut in and rock back
into the rakes, so no part of me brushes either of them. But I can’t stop thinking
about where I am and where they are. At school they say once you’ve had a crush on
someone, it never totally goes away. That explains Piper. I don’t want to think about
why I also feel weird around Annie.

People are coming into Doc Ollie’s kitchen, moving chairs around. From the sound of
their voices, I identify Trixle, my dad, and Bo Bomini.

“Uh-oh,” Annie whispers. “My father.”

“I’ll handle the questions, sir,” Trixle barks.

“No, you won’t,” my father informs him in a commanding voice that surprises me.

A chair scrapes the floor. There are more footsteps.

Then I hear Capone. “I’m in the hot seat?”

“That was Capone,” I whisper to Piper and Annie. I know what he sounds like because
I’ve met him before.

“Lotta rigmarole for a few questions,” Capone says.

“You got a pressing engagement we’re keeping you from?” my dad asks.

Capone laughs. “Funny, boss,” he says.

“Nothing funny about this, 85,” Trixle says in his Double Tough voice.

“You know my memory ain’t so good lately,” Capone says. “Might want to pour me a high
ball—get the gears turning.”

“This look like Cook County to you?” Trixle snorts.

“No reason we can’t be civilized, now, is there?” Capone mutters.

“Let’s get down to business,” my father says as I try not to breathe in the manure-smelling
air or bump into Piper or Annie. “What do you know about the fire?”

Annie trembles. I have a sudden urge to take her hand, but of course I don’t.

“Heard the bell, saw the smoke . . .” Capone says. “That’s it.”

“What’s the word around the cell house about how it started?”

“Dunno.”

“Who would know?” my father drills in.

“Can’t see how the boys in the big house could have been involved with setting a fire
in 64 after lockdown. Just using my noggin for that one,” Capone says.

“Who is involved, then?” my father asks.

“Couldn’t tell you. Look boys, I keep my nose clean. I’m gonna do my time real nice,
then head back home. It isn’t me you should be worrying about. Some of them guys up
there got a long reach.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darby asks.

“I ain’t speaking Latin, Double Tough. You can figure it out,” Capone says.

“I’ve had enough of your lip.” Darby again.

“Take it easy, Darby,” my father tells him. “How about the money?”

“What money?” Capone wants to know.

“A lot of money floating around, and gifts. One of your trademarks, isn’t it?” my
father asks.

Piper moves from one foot to the other, bumping against my arm. I pull away, but she
keeps jiggling back and forth, like she can’t stop herself.

“I like nice things. Who doesn’t?” Capone replies.

“We’re talking specifically about gifts,” my father says.

Annie gulps. Piper bumps against the shed door.

“Don’t know nothing about that,” Capone answers.

“It’s common knowledge you’re the man with the money.”

Capone laughs. “Not in here, boss. Course, I have my subscription list. Somebody’s
a friend, they get my magazines when I’m done. They’re not so friendly, I scratch
’em off.”

“Nobody cares about your magazines. We want to know where the money is coming from,”
Trixle demands.

“Beats me,” Capone says. “Look, I dunno anything about that fire or any gifts. Got
something else I can help you with?”

“You got nothing on the fire?” my father asks.

“Ain’t God, you know, fellas. Anything bad happens and you haul
me
in. The sun don’t shine . . . you blame me.”

“Told you this was a waste of time,” Darby snaps. “Cam, can I talk to you outside?”

“Yeah, all right. Bo, keep an eye on him,” my father says.

“Don’t let him push you around, boss,” Capone advises. “You’re the Big Man. Officer
Trixle ain’t too happy he got passed over. He’s not going to stand there and take
it.”

“Shut your clapper,” Trixle explodes.

“C’mon,” my dad tells him as Doc Ollie’s kitchen door flings open. Their voices are
suddenly louder. They’re right outside our shed.

Piper breathes in sharply. Annie is so quiet, it’s like she’s disappeared.

“He’s playing with you, Cam,” Darby says. “Can’t you see it?”

“We all have our own interpretations,” my dad tells him.

“It’s a big joke the way he calls you boss. You don’t hear him pulling that with me.
We need to beat the beejeezus out of him. Then maybe we’ll get something.”

“That’s against regs and you know it.”

“Regs?” Trixle snorts. “This look like Sunday school to you, Cam?”

“It isn’t the Dark Ages either. I’m handling this my way, so behave yourself.”

“Behave
myself
?” Trixle’s words are full of acid. “Don’t let me get—”

“That’s right.” My father cuts him off. We hear the kitchen door open.

“Lunchtime,” Capone announces. “Don’t suppose you could make me a sandwich?”

“This ain’t no picnic, 85,” Darby tells him.

“Man needs nutrition. Memory aid.”

“Don’t see the harm, Darby. He’s gonna miss the cell house gruel,” my father says.

“Oh for Chrissake,” Darby mutters. “Bo, make him a sandwich.”

The icebox opens and closes. Bo seems to be moving around the kitchen. Something clinks,
there’s the squeak of a jar opening.

“Make you one too, boss? Double Tough ain’t hungry, I’m guessing,” Capone says.

“You got that right,” Darby spits.

“Just being a gentleman is all. World needs better manners,” Capone says.

“Spare us,” Darby growls.

“What do you know about the point system?” my father asks.

“Don’t want nuthin’ to do with that,” Capone says. “They got
me
on that list same as you and the warden. I’m worth one thing if they spit on me,
another if I’m jumped, double if they rub me out. Why would I fund that?”

“Who is behind it, then?”

“Drawing a blank here, boss.”

“Seems to me you’ll be a whole lot safer if we can find these guys.” My father’s voice
is kind and reasonable.

“I’m not following,” Capone says.

“I think you are,” my father says.

“Not everybody gets along real good up there,” Capone says. “Don’t know if you noticed
that. Got a few gorillas should be in the zoo. Got ’em on both sides of the bars,
if you ask me.”

“Which means . . .”

“I said my piece. That’s all I know.” Capone’s voice is softer now.

Darby snorts.

“Knife disappeared from the kitchen,” my father says.

“Butcher knife,” Capone adds.

“That’s right, a butcher knife. What can you tell us about that?” my father asks.

“Got a good system with them silhouettes in the kitchen. You can see real clear when
one of them ain’t there,” Capone says.

“When did it disappear?” Trixle asks.

“I can’t say for sure,” Capone says.

“Who took it?” my father asks.

“I dunno.”

“Who has it?” My father again.

“Dunno that either.”

“Why’d they take it?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

“C’mon, 85, don’t give us the runaround,” Darby says.

“I dunno anything about that knife.” Capone again.

“You sure?” my father asks.

“Have I always been square with you?”

“No,” Darby snorts.

“I ain’t asking you, Double Tough.”

My father sighs. “All right then, thank you, Al. Doc Ollie will get you fixed up,”
my father says.

“’Preciate it, boss.”

We listen as a chair drags across the floor. The silverware clinks on the plate. The
icebox door shuts and then the footsteps fade away.

My neck is sore, my back is cramped, and the horse crap smell has given me a headache.
I push open the shed door and climb out.