Al Capone Does My Shirts (11 page)

“Moose! Moose! Guess what?” Scout calls as he runs through the cafeteria. “You got your Tuesday game! I traded baby-sitting with this kid in my neighborhood. Stanford can’t make it. But everybody else is on!”

I thump my chest like an ape and smile so big, it feels like my face is splitting in two. “If you were a girl, I’d give you a big sloppy kiss,” I say.

“Did my best, guy. I like to please the folks who bunk with criminals.”

“Do you mind?” Piper barks. “I’m conducting business here.”

“You get your shirt back, Scout?” I ask.

“Yep.” He nods to me as Piper hands a neatly folded shirt to the fat kid, Deekman.

“Hey,” Deekman says. “This is just clean.”

“Yeah, so?” Piper says.

“No blood spatters. No bullet holes. Nothing?” another kid asks.

“Al Capone laundered that shirt,” Piper says. “It’s a collector’s item.”

“How do we know that?” Deekman asks.

A girl blows air out of her mouth. “It sure doesn’t look like it!” she says.

“What did you expect?” Piper asks. She snatches the shirt out of her hands and holds it up so everyone can see. “Al Capone’s fingerprints are on that sleeve! The sweat of his brow dropped on this pocket.”

Piper’s clearly gone too far . . . now she’s selling Al’s sweat?

The girl inspects the shirt again. She shakes her head, her eye twitching.

“I didn’t pay a nickel to have my blouse
washed,
” says another girl, who had made Piper promise her blouse wouldn’t come back with one single drop of blood on it.

“Yes, you did,” I say.

Del cuts in front of the line. Nobody minds. In fact, they seem relieved, like they were waiting for him to take a stand. He plants his feet. “How do we know you didn’t have your mom wash these?”

“Hey!” Scout says. “Don’t talk to her that way. She told you Capone washed them, Capone washed them.”

Piper beams at Scout.

“Here’s your ticket. That’s your proof,” Piper says.

Del grabs the ticket. He reads it out loud. “Alcatraz Laundry Number 015032.” Then he shows it to all of us. “That could have come off anything,” he announces. “You could have picked it up off the ground!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t,” Piper says.

“Yeah, but you could have,” Del says.

“Take it easy, Del,” Scout says.

This seems to get Del’s attention. He looks at Scout, then back at Piper. “I want my money back,” he tells her.

“Sorry, no refunds,” Piper says.

“I’m not doing this again, Piper,” Del says. He’s got the bulk of his big self in Piper’s face. “I got better things to do with my nickels.”

“Lucky thing too, because that was the one and only opportunity you’ll ever have in your whole entire lifetime. You can tell your grandchildren about it,” Piper says.

“Yeah, right,” Del mutters. “I’ll tell them about a brown-haired girl who took our whole seventh-grade class to the cleaners.”

 

 

When my mom gets home that night, I don’t mention Scout changed the day. I hate when she says “I told you so.”

While I’m helping her clear the dishes after supper, Mrs. Caconi knocks on our door. “Phone call for you, Helen,” Mrs. Caconi says.

“Who was it?” I ask when my mom gets back.

“The Beckers. They want to switch to Tuesdays now. Cotillion class has moved to Monday.”

My stomach drops. I think I must have heard wrong. “So you told them you couldn’t, right?”

“I did no such thing.”

“I’ve got baseball Tuesday.”

“I thought Monday was baseball day.”

“It was, but then you said I had to change it, remember?”

“You didn’t tell me Scout changed it. You said he’d try. I haven’t heard one word about it since then.”

This can’t be happening. It can’t be. “Can’t you call them back?”

She shakes her head.

“But you said . . .”

“I’m sorry. I said I would if I could, but now I can’t.”

“Mom, you have to!”

“We need the money, Moose. If I get students, I have to take them. . . . Can’t you play baseball here?”

“Can’t someone else watch Natalie?”

“And pay for a baby-sitter? Even if we did have the money, how would we find someone who could handle her? We all have to help out, Moose. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

I go to my room and slam the door. But then I come out again. I’m not giving up.

“Mom, please.”

She shakes her head no.

I go back to my room and sit on my squeaky bed, stewing and reading but mostly stewing. But being mad makes me hungry. I wait until I hear my mom go in the bathroom. Then, I make a dash for the kitchen to raid the icebox. My mom finishes up sooner than I expect and catches me with five slices of bread, a hunk of bologna and an entire package of cheese, plus one jar of mayo I’m holding with my chin.

“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding, but Bea Trixle said she’s seen you playing catch with Annie. She said you two have a lot of fun. Can’t you play with her?”

“That’s different. It’s not a game,” I mutter.

“What about Natalie? You haven’t tried playing ball with her in a long time. Maybe she’ll surprise you,” she says.

“And maybe chickens will sing and dance the polka,” I mutter, pushing open the door of my room with my elbow.

“What did you say?”

I dump my load on the bed. “When’s Dad coming home, anyway?”

“Midnight.”

“He works all the time now,” I say.

“I don’t like it any better than you do.”

“Baseball’s just one day a week, Mom. Couldn’t we work out something for
one day?
”

My mother doesn’t answer. She goes in her room and closes the door.

 

 

Next morning Scout catches up to me before I even get to school.

“Hey, Moose, I’ve got six and six for sure, but I’m hoping for seven and seven.” He talks like he can’t get the words out fast enough. “There’s a kid in eighth maybe, he’s gonna try. He’s pretty good, I played with him before. Where is your glove? If you didn’t bring it, you can borrow mine,” he says before I even have time to answer.

I look up at the blue sky and pray for a sudden storm or a big earthquake.

“Did your old team have uniforms? Hey, wouldn’t that be something? Uniforms and everything, but how do we pay for them?”

I open my mouth to tell him, then I close it again. All day long I try, but the words won’t come out. By the time the last bell rings, I still haven’t managed to say anything. Maybe I just won’t show up. Tell Scout I came down with a sudden case of the chicken pox. But that’s a rotten thing to do. I’m not a liar and I’m not a rat.

Now Scout’s outside of his French class, talking to Piper. Since when does he talk to Piper?

“Hey, Moose,” Piper says. “Scout here has just been telling me you’re quite the baseball player. He says you’re a lot more coordinated than you look.”

“That’s not what I said,” Scout says.

“That’s what you meant, though.” Piper’s long hair hangs in her slanty eyes. Her sweater is buttoned at the top and she has her gloves on.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“What do
I
want? Nothing. We were just chatting. Right, Scout?”

Scout nods. He smiles at her, then looks at me, then back at Piper. He shrugs. “She was telling me about those convict baseballs.”

“Exactly.” Piper smiles, pleased with herself. “By the way”—she lowers her voice—“we’re divvying up the earnings at the dock tomorrow and you are getting exactly nothing.”

“ ’Bout time you gave Jimmy and Annie their cut. What you been doing with the money, anyway . . . laundering it?”

“Very funny,” she says.

“I gotta go,” Scout says. “Bye, Piper. Meet you there, Moose.” He starts running, which is how he gets everywhere. I don’t think he knows how to walk.

“Actually, I can’t come today,” I finally blurt out, my voice barely breaking a whisper.

Scout stops. He turns around. “What?” he asks.

“I can’t exactly come today,” I mutter.

Scout stares at me. Piper does too.

“Why not?”

“I gotta look after my sister.”

“So? Get someone else to watch her. That’s what I did.”

I shake my head.

“Piper,” Scout says, “will you watch Moose’s little sister?”

Piper snorts. “Not hardly.”

“Why not?”

Piper looks at me. She seems to be thinking what to say. “Because.” She answers as if this explains it.

“Well, get somebody. I changed all of this for you, you know.”

“I know,” I squeak.

Scout makes a sound like he’s in pain. “What about next Tuesday?”

“Can’t then either.” I stare out at the field where a line of girls are practicing archery in their white blouses and long plaid skirts.

“When can you play?”

“Lunch.” The word croaks out of me. I can’t look him in the eye.

“Lunch?” Scout shakes his head. He slams his book on the ground. Picks it up and slams it down again. “What am I supposed to tell everyone?”

“That I’m sorry.”

“That you’re sorry?”
His mouth hangs open. He waits for me to say something.

There’s nothing to say.

He picks up his book. “Fine. But don’t expect to play on my team again.”

 

I go home like I’m supposed to, but the second my mom leaves, I let Natalie get her buttons and I give her as much lemon cake as she wants. I’m not sorry about it either.

 

 

The next day at school Scout treats me like a post made of cement. At lunch I don’t even bother going to the cafeteria. I head for the library and eat by myself. Scout’s the only real friend I’ve made so far and apparently I’ve lost him already.

When I get home, I write a letter to Pete. I’m searching for an envelope when Theresa knocks on the door. “Come on,” she says, “Piper’s giving out the money!”

“I’m not getting any,” I tell her.

“Yeah, but we’ll get candy.”

“Candy?” Natalie asks.

“Annie will buy some at the store. And for sure she’ll give us some. Now, come on. You can bring your buttons, Nat,” Theresa says.

What else am I going to do . . . sit inside with Natalie all afternoon?

When we get down to the dock, Jimmy, Annie and Piper are already there. Nat gets right to work matching buttons to feathers to stones like this is her assignment.

“Natalie,” Piper calls.

Deep in button mode, Natalie doesn’t answer.

“Natalie,” Piper tries again.

“What do you want with her?” I ask, sticking my face in Piper’s face.

“Simmer down, buster. I’m just asking her to help me count.”

“I don’t think she’s—” I start to say.

“Numbers Nat, we need you!” Theresa interrupts.

Natalie looks up.

Piper hands Nat the money, rolled up in a handkerchief. “Three dollars and twenty cents split four—excuse me.” Piper looks at me. “Three ways.”

“One dollar six cents, two cents left over.” Natalie rocks with pleasure.

“Extra two cents goes to me,” Piper says as Natalie counts out each share.

Annie and Jimmy discuss what they’ll do with the money. A dollar and six cents buys a whole Italian dinner in North Beach plus a double feature at the movies or a month of swims at Fleishhaker’s Pool or a bunch of rides on the streetcars—the dinkies, as Annie calls them.

I’m just wondering how much they get for Seals tickets when Mr. Trixle appears out of nowhere. Everyone freezes. Piper’s money is put away. Annie’s and Jimmy’s piles are still out.

“Piper, Moose, Jimmy and Annie,” he barks, “the warden wants to see you in his library.”

Me? I didn’t do anything. I form the words with my lips, but keep the sound inside.

Theresa takes off her roller skates, but then begins to cry because she can’t find her shoes. Jimmy starts hollering at Theresa to shut up. A group of moms and toddlers who have overheard Mr. Trixle’s command stare at us, their mouths hanging open. Annie clutches her homework against her chest. She looks even paler than usual.

“You don’t have to come,” I tell Theresa. “He didn’t call you.”

“I have to come. Who’s going to get you out of trouble?” Theresa says, walking in her two sock feet.

“I’m not in trouble. I didn’t do anything,” I say.

“He called your name,” Theresa says, her whole face scrunched up. “Come on, Nat.” She stoops down to Nat’s level. “Moose’s in trouble. We gotta go.”

Natalie in the warden’s office. My mom is going to love this!

“Leave your buttons,” I tell Nat. She has most of them out now. If I wait for her to put them back, it will take hours.

“Yeah, Nat, we need you,” Theresa says.

“Natalie help. One dollar, six cents. Two cents left.” Nat nods to herself, following us. I shake my head in wonder. It’s almost as if Nat’s a part of our group.

We hike up the steep switchback road in silence. The wind blows the eucalyptus trees, a buoy clangs, a boat horn toots, Natalie drags her toes.

We climb the steps in Piper’s house and file into the warden’s library. The warden stares at each of us as we sit down. He says nothing for the longest time. The silence presses down on me. I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me, I want to yell.

When he finally speaks, his voice is very low. “I am so disappointed. I can’t even begin to tell you how disappointed I am.”

Outside, the gulls are arguing. They sound loud, even through the window. I glance down at Natalie, who is sitting on the floor, running her hand over the spines of the books.