Al Capone Does My Homework

  It takes me by surprise that smile . . . how beautiful it is.

  On my way across the balcony, I do some thinking. What if whoever is expecting to find the note looks for it and it isn’t there? Will he get suspicious and change the drop location? That would be bad for us because we wouldn’t know the new location.

  I should put the note back now, but I doubt I’ll be able to get Natalie to go down there again. I can only put off her swing time for so long.

  “Nat,” I say when we get to the stairwell. “Let’s go the long way to the parade grounds.”

  “Short way,” Nat says.

  “If we go the long way, we can check on your birds,” I say.

  “No bread,” Nat says.

  “I know, but still. The long way. Just this once?”

  “Two hours,” she says.

  “It doesn’t take two hours. It’s an extra five minutes, that’s all.”

  “Two hours at the swings,” she says.

  “Two hours!” I laugh. She’s got me over a barrel and she knows it.

  “Okay.” I put my hands up. “Two hours.”

  I have to put the note back, but the cons are still in #2E. I stall until I see Darby march them back up the hill to the cell house. Then we bypass the second floor and go directly to the dock again, where I follow the same trick tying my shoe by the downspout. Only this time I return the folded note to its original hiding place.

  Now all I have to do is watch.

  Except first I have to give Natalie her swing time at the parade grounds or there’s going to be big trouble.

  Natalie walks faster and faster the closer we get. But when we come around the bend and have a clear view of the swings, we see Nat’s favorite swing is occupied by Janet Trixle.

  “Nat, take the other swing. It’s much better. I’ve tried it,” I say, though even as the words come out of my mouth, I know this is futile. Natalie only likes the one swing. She’ll wait hours for it to be free.

  Sure enough, when we get there, Nat lines up behind Janet waiting for her turn.

  “Nat.” I jiggle the chains on the open swing. “You can swing here until your swing is available.”

  But Nat won’t fall for this. I’ve tried it before.

  “Janet,” I say. “Would you mind switching? Natalie really likes the swing you’re on.”

  Janet digs her toe in the sand to stop herself. She stands up holding tight to the swing chains. “I can’t,” she says.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “My mom.” She frowns, nodding in the direction of Bea Trixle, who is headed our way.

  Oh, great . . . now I want to get out of here, but there’s no way to persuade Natalie. I promised her two hours. It’s amazing she let me put her off as much as I have already. Nat rocks, hovering behind Janet’s swing. She waits to pounce the second Janet lets it go.

  Blickety-blackety. Bea’s high heels make a dull sound on the cement. “What did Daddy tell you about standing your ground, Janet,” Bea Trixle asks, clutching her fur-trimmed sweater. “You can’t let big kids push you around.”

  Janet scoots back on her swing. “Sorry,” she tells me.

  “Janet Lily Trixle.” Bea scowls. “Why are you apologizing? The Flanagan girl has no business here. We should post a sign. These swings are meant for children ten and under.”

  “No business here.” Natalie wedges the sand between her feet.

  “You have to be tough in this world, Janet, or people will take advantage of you,” Bea rattles on.

  Janet inspects her feet. “The pixies find things in the sand. Valuable things like jewels,” she whispers.

  “Not the pixies again,” Bea snaps.

  “I mean me. I find things in the sand,” Janet corrects herself.

  “Janet Trixle,” Darby’s bullhorn booms across the parade grounds. “Attention!”

  Janet jumps out of her swing, then stands up straight as a ship’s mast.

  “Do you have your bullhorn, Lieutenant?” Darby asks.

  “Yes, sir,” Janet says, pulling a Janet-size bullhorn out of her pixie bag. She holds it in her right hand, like Darby does, and follows in lockstep behind him. Bea glares at me, dumps the sand from her high heels, and blickety-blacks after them.

  With Janet gone, Nat slides into her favorite swing. It’s started to drizzle now. In a few minutes, it’s really raining, but even if it starts to pour, I have to let Nat swing the full two hours. A promise is a promise.

  The rain gains force, pelting our heads. The wind stings our faces, but Nat continues swinging happily. She doesn’t care that she’s soaking wet.

  The water has begun to drip off my nose by the time it occurs to me that a paper note in the downspout won’t last long in rain like this.

  18. Flickering Lights

  Thursday, January 30, 1936

  The next day I’m on the late ferry after my baseball game when I see Mr. Mattaman and Mr. Bomini come up the gangway. Normally I wouldn’t eavesdrop, but I don’t have any leads on the fire, and even if the note was somehow involved, it’s washed away now. I walk all the way around the ferry to the other side, where I can hear their conversation without them knowing I’m there. It will probably be nothing, but you never can tell.

  I hold on to the railings as the boat picks up speed. I’m only half paying attention when Mr. Mattaman says:

  “How’s that hand healing anyway?”

  “Doin’ fine. Probably have some scarring, but it’s not like I’m all that pretty anyway.” Bomini laughs.

  “Task force sure is taking their sweet time,” Mattaman says.

  “Bureaucracy in action.”

  “Been nearly two weeks, hasn’t it? When’s it supposed to come out?”

  “I have no idea,” Mr. Bomini says.

  “Having it up in the air like this isn’t helping matters.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Trixle’s dead sure it was Natalie and he’s got a lot of folks nodding their heads right alongside him. Bit of a witch hunt, it seems to me,” Mattaman says.

  “I know it’s possible, but I sure hope it isn’t true.”

  “Sure puts Cam in a bad spot. And Trixle is milking that for all it’s worth.”

  “People pointing fingers . . . it’s bound to get ugly,” Mr. Mattaman says.

  “I heard they’re going to haul Capone in there. Give him the third degree.”

  “They give him too much credit. He thinks he knows everything as it is.”

  “It does make them seem desperate,” Bomini says.

  “Reports for the bureau always got to have all the i ’s dotted and the t ’s crossed.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Mr. Bomini says as the ferry pitches in the wake of a steamer ship.

  “Had an incident in the laundry yesterday that was mighty curious. I caught the Count giving Lizard five bucks.”

  “Five bucks. How’d he get that?”

  “Beats me. But when I called him on it—”

  “Don’t tell me . . . he swallowed it.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “That guy will eat anything. I’ve seen him eat a book. Cover and all.”

  “You don’t think he’s going to be watching for the fiver out the other end . . . do you?”

  “Not much else to do in those cells.” Bo Bomini laughs as the Coxe approaches the dock, cutting across the white foam, which looks like a giant glob of spit on the water.

  “Probably something simple started that fire. A busted circuit maybe. We get the task force report, everything will settle down.”

  “I dunno,” Mattaman says as the bosun wraps the line around the cleat. “Something doesn’t smell right and it’s not only this fire business.”

  My
shoulders hunch forward, the good mood drained right out of me. I keep trying to push the idea that Nat could have started the fire out of my mind and it keeps coming back again.

  I wait until Bomini and Mattaman are off the boat before I cross the swaying gangplank. Annie is waiting on the other side. She takes one look at me and knows something’s wrong. “What’s up?” she asks.

  “People still think it was Natalie that started the fire.”

  She waggles her head around in a way that says Well yeah, of course. “But Moose, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. C’mon, let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

  “Up by the eucalyptus trees?”

  Annie nods and we hike around the south end of the island and then up the hill to the small grove of eucalyptus trees.

  We sit down on the side of the hill, which looks across to Treasure Island and the city. “Tell me again what happened that night,” Annie says.

  “Do I have to?”

  She nods.

  “Natalie was in my room. I made a bed for her on the floor, like I always do when I babysit.”

  “When you woke up, was she asleep?”

  I dig a rock out of the hillside and toss it in the water. “I don’t know.”

  Annie nods. “Was the light on?” she asks.

  “In my room?”

  “Or anywhere else?”

  “The light was on in my room because I didn’t mean to fall asleep. But everywhere else the lights were off. My dad is a stickler about that. He can’t stand when we waste electricity.”

  “So the light in the kitchen wasn’t on? You’re sure?” Annie asks.

  “I’m the son of an electrician. I don’t leave the lights on.”

  “Wouldn’t Natalie have to turn the light on to see the stove?” Annie persists.

  “I guess so . . . Oh my God. Annie!” I jump up, sending a landslide of dirt down the hill.

  She nods, a smile spreading across her face.

  “Once Nat starts with the lights, she doesn’t stop. She’d stand there all night flicking them off and on. Off and on. She wouldn’t have gone to the stove. She’d never have made it there.” Relief shoots through me like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks.

  “It wasn’t Natalie,” I say. I almost hug Annie then. I can’t believe she thought of this.

  “Now we know for sure,” Annie says. She stands up and brushes her skirt off.

  “Let’s go find Jimmy. We got to tell him about this.

  “Annie?” I say as we tromp back down the path and around to 64 again.

  “Yes?” She glances back at me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure,” she mumbles, crossing her arms in front of her chest and holding them tight.

  • • •

  At the Mattamans’, Jimmy is in his room. We knock and he comes out, closing the door behind him as if whatever he’s working on in there, he doesn’t want us to see.

  He looks from me to Annie and back again. “You know something,” he guesses.

  “Yeah.” I smile big as the Golden Gate.

  Annie fills him in on the details.

  “No kidding,” he says. “That’s great news.”

  Then I let them know what I heard their dads talking about on the boat.

  “I wish we could know what’s on the task force report before the results are announced,” Jimmy says.

  “They’re going to question Capone. Maybe we can hear what he says,” I suggest.

  “If it’s in the cell house, we wouldn’t stand a chance of getting in,” Jimmy says.

  “It’s not going to be the cell house,” I say.

  “Why not?” Annie asks.

  “It would make him a target. If the other cons know he’s being questioned, then somebody gets accused, they’ll think he’s a snitch and beat the crap out of him,” I say.

  “Nobody’s going to think Al Capone is a snitch,” Annie says.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “Because he’s Al Capone,” Annie says.

  “I’m not sure they care,” I say. “In fact, it might make him a bigger target.”

  “No matter what, Piper’s the person to talk to. She’ll know what the plan is,” Jimmy says.

  “When you talk to her, will you find out what’s up? She’s been acting strange,” Annie says.

  “When I talk to her?” I say.

  Jimmy and Annie are both nodding now. “You know she likes you best. Although she did buy Annie a brand-new baseball. I saw her leave a gift for Donny, too.”

  “What’s with all the gifts?”

  “I dunno. She told me I was a good friend and she wanted me to know it,” Annie chimes in. “She’s never said I was a good friend before. She’s never said I was a friend at all. And then she got choked up.”

  “She was faking,” I say.

  “Seemed real to me,” Annie says.

  “Plus Theresa made three dollars last week!” Jimmy says. “It takes me a month to earn three bucks worth of grocery credit. And that’s a real job.”

  “Piper’s grandma,” I say. “She has money.”

  “But she’s never had money like this before,” Annie says.

  I look at Annie. “See, you have information I don’t. You should come with me.”

  Annie shakes her head.

  “C’mon. She didn’t give me a baseball.”

  “I already tried talking to her, but I didn’t get anywhere,” Annie says.

  “Okay, okay, but then you guys are in charge of the downspout. We have to find out who is using that as a drop.”

  “Don’t worry Moose, we’ve been watching,” Jimmy says.

  • • •

  When I get to the warden’s house and ring the bell, he answers the door himself.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” I say.

  “Young Mr. Flanagan . . . to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

  See, this is the problem with the warden right here. Is this sarcasm or not?

  “I wanted to say hello to Piper,” I say.

  “You do, do you?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say.

  “Well, go on up, then,” he tells me, and I make a beeline for Piper’s room.

  “Yeah. Come in,” Piper mumbles when I knock. I open the door and look around her room. A few stuffed animals on the bed. A large jewelry box on her dresser. A checkers board on the desk.

  My hands feel funny at my sides. I cross them, fold them, then let them drop back down again. “Hey Piper, I’m just wondering. Are you okay?” I ask.

  She gnaws at her cuticle. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay, second question. Any idea what the task force findings are going to be?”

  She squints at me. “I don’t think they’ve finished yet. I did hear one thing . . . don’t know if I should tell you about it, though. Can you keep your mouth shut? This isn’t something Jimmy or Annie or Scout or Theresa should know about.”

  “Of course,” I say, though it bugs me the way she insists everything she tells me is just between us.

  She motions for me to move closer. I lean in. She smells of peanut butter. “A knife disappeared the night of the fire.”

  “A knife? From where?”

  “The silhouette board in the cell house kitchen. You know, that board painted with the shapes of all the knives in black paint so they can tell in an instant if a knife is missing.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “I was in the window seat of my dad’s office. When the drapes are pulled, he doesn’t know I’m there. He was talking on the phone to his boss, the head of the Bureau of Prisons.”

  My head begins to tingle and I start scratching all over. If the cons have a knife,
things have really gotten out of hand.

  “I heard they’re questioning Capone. Think that will come up?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where are they questioning him and when?”

  “This Sunday at Doc Ollie’s. They’re taking him to Ollie’s to pretend to get his knee taken care of. Gonna bandage him up like he’s popped out his knee cap or something. It’s a ploy so the cons in the cell house won’t suspect he’s being questioned. I’m pretty sure you can hear what goes on in Ollie’s kitchen from the utility shed outside should you be interested.”

  I look out the window to the cell house across the way. “Think we can get in there without getting caught?”

  “We?” she asks.

  I shrug. “We’re still friends, right?”

  She winds her ponytail around her hand. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Who would know?”

  “You, idiot.”

  “We’re friends as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Then come on,” she says, but her voice is flat like it’s been run over a few times.

  “Now?” I ask.

  “We have to scope it out. Why? You got something better to do?”

  “No. Of course not,” I say.

  • • •

  Doc Ollie is always in his cell house office and his sister works long hours as a nurse in San Francisco, so his house is the quietest one on Officers’ Row.

  The location of the utility closet on Doc’s back porch is perfect, but it’s jam-packed full of brooms, buckets, rakes, shovels, a burlap bag full of horse manure, a wheelbarrow, and straw gardening hats.

  “What a mess,” I say.

  “Stinks in here, too.”

  “You got a plan?”

  She nods. “We’ll come early on Sunday. Tell everyone Doc Ollie’s sister hired us to clean the shed,” she says as a gust of wind whips her hair across her face.

  “What if Doc Ollie’s sister is here?”

  “She won’t be.” Piper pushes her hair out of her eyes. “They wouldn’t bring Capone here if she were.”

  “That’s probably right,” I say.

  “Probably?” she asks.

  “Okay, it’s exactly right,” I tell her, and she smiles.