Al Capone Does My Homework (6 page)

Tuesday, January 21, 1936

If the first day my dad starts his job, they burn our apartment down, I don’t want
to consider what’s next. Luckily I was so tired last night, I couldn’t think about
anything.

We slept at the Chudleys’, and from the ragged way my dad looks this morning, I can
tell Natalie didn’t sleep. Which means my parents took turns staying up with her,
because you never know with Natalie if she’ll decide to take a midnight swim in the
bay or flush the toilet until it overflows or take a walk and never come back.

“Hey, Dad,” I say as my father boosts himself up onto the counter and starts rummaging
through the shelves looking for coffee.

“Do you need help with Natalie today?” I’m angling to stay home. I want to figure
out how the fire started while the “crime scene” is still fresh.

“Yes, but it’s more important that you go to school,” he answers. He jumps off the
counter, no coffee in hand.

“My homework was due yesterday and now it’s gone. That paper I spent so much time
on, remember? The one on President Roosevelt.”

“Our apartment burned down, Moose. Your teacher will understand.”

“What if she makes me do it over again?”

“Then you’ll do it over again. If that’s the only bad thing that comes of this, we
should consider ourselves lucky.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help with Natalie?” I ask as he slides his arm into his
jacket.

“Moose.” He rubs his chin, and makes a face like he’s surprised to feel whiskers there.

“Okay, okay,” I sigh, then grab my glove. May as well head for the dock now. It’s
early, but I’m ready to leave, and there’s usually a few guys playing ball on South
field before the first bell rings.

The air is damp and the sky is so packed with fog, you can’t even see Angel Island.
Only a few patches of blue sky peek through overhead. When I get to the dock, Theresa
is hopping down the 64 building stairs, banging her lunch pail against her legs.

“You’re taking the early boat?” I ask.

“Piper needs her messenger.” She nods toward Piper, who is just coming through the
sally port.

“Why are you on the early boat?” I ask when she’s in hearing range.

“Leadership,” she answers with a smug smile.

“Leadership, huh? You teaching them the Al Capone model for influencing people?”

“Very funny.”

“No really . . . maybe you could write a book.”

“Donny!” Theresa says the name like it’s everybody’s favorite song.

“Hey Moose.” He tips his hat at me as the foghorn booms so loud, you can feel the
vibrations in your feet. “How are you doing this morning, buddy?”

“Okay,” I say.

He nods. “Early for school, isn’t it?”

“I’m gonna play a little ball before the bell,” I say.

“I heard you play first base.” Donny speaks just to me.

How did he know?

“So are you good?” he asks.

The blood rises to my face. “I’m decent.”

He nods like he’s a judge deciding on this, then smiles, his dimples deepening. “Thought
you might be able to give me a few pointers.”

Donny Caconi wants pointers from me. I know he’s trying to pump me up after my place
burned down and everything, but still.

“Sure,” I say.

He and Piper and Theresa are all watching me now.

Donny puts his hand in his pants pocket, then takes it out again. When his fingers
open, I’m expecting something dazzling and miraculous, but all he has are bottle caps.

He jingles them in his hand. “Think you could throw one of these puppies past that
barrel?” He points at a red drum barrel halfway across the dock.

“Course, but could we use a baseball?” I’m itching to show him how well I throw. Nobody
can throw a bottle cap as well as a baseball.

“You have one?” he asks.

“Sure. Oh. No. All I have is my glove.”

“Baseball in your old place?”

I nod.

“Too bad, buddy. For now let’s just use these.” He jingles the bottle caps again.
“They’ll do in a pinch. Okay with you?” He waits for my nod.

The drum isn’t that far away. I don’t see how either of us could miss. “I got two
bucks says I can throw one of these puppies past the barrel from right here.” His
shiny toe taps the ground.

“Two
bucks?” I mumble. Who has that kind of money?

“How much, then?” he asks.

My face heats up. “Um, uhhh.”

Piper moves in. She’s dressed in her best Leadership clothes. A white blouse and dark
bow that matches her skirt. “I can chip in.”

“Me too! I have money! Me!” Theresa raises her arm and swings it wildly. She hands
Donny a dime.

“Will you look at that.” Donny includes everyone in his dimpled smile. “You got fans.”

I wiggle my hand in my pocket and find the nickel I’ve had there since Piper first
told me she needed flowers.

“Come on, Moose, don’t be a chicken.” Piper gives Donny a dollar. A dollar? That’s
a lot, even for her.

“I guess your girlfriend here thinks you can do it.” Donny nods toward Piper.

Piper’s cheeks get pink as cotton candy. “I’m not his girlfriend,” she mutters.

Donny laughs. “She’s not your girlfriend,” he whispers to me, eyeing her all the while.

“I only have a nickel,” I say.

“No problem, we’ll work with what you got. I’ll match your bet.” Donny raises his
hands in surrender. “Got two bucks, thirty cents says you can get this cap past the
barrel and I can’t.”

“What if we both make it?” I ask.

“You’ll get the whole kitty: two bucks, thirty cents.”

“So wait. I get all the money if we both get it past? That doesn’t seem fair.”

Donny nods. “Be worth it to see how you do things. Your arm in action. Be an education.”

Theresa frowns. “Moose could show you without a bet.”

“Sure,” I say, the pressure in my chest easing.

Donny shakes his head. “You should be paid for your time. Make it worth your while,”
he tells me like he’s my coach.

“Hey, thanks,” I say, standing up a little straighter. He’s probably just doing this
on account of he feels bad for me, but I like it anyway.

“It’s not that far,” Piper adds, eyeing the drum. “Even I could make it.”

“I don’t think so, boss,” Theresa tells her.

Donny nods to Piper, talking to her as if she’s somebody too. “You want to bet on
Moose or on yourself?”

“Moose,” Theresa answers for her.

Donny’s eyes don’t leave Piper’s face. “I asked Piper.”

“Moose,” Piper says.

“Looks like she’s your girlfriend to me,” Donny whispers. “All right then.” He takes
a small piece of white chalk out of his pocket and marks an X on the dock boards.
“You go first.”

Donny sinks back on his heels. “Call me a fool. I mean, you guys play all the time,
but I’m gonna give it a shot.” He smiles. “You first, Moose. Got to see what I’m up
against.”

I put my feet on the X, take a bottle cap from his cool palm, and pitch it hard and
fast in a direct line. It hits the wood, bounces once, then stops next to the drum.
Not a bad throw. Not bad at all.

“Made it,” I say.

“Nice,” Donny says. “But it didn’t go past.”

“It’s even with it. Not past it,” Theresa agrees.

My stomach sinks. First I fall asleep when I’m supposed to be babysitting, then I
can’t execute a simple throw. What’s the matter with me? A warden’s kid is supposed
to be better than this. Still, if I can’t do it, I doubt Donny will be able to either.

Donny takes his hat off, smoothes his hair back. “Might as well face the music here.”
He fingers the bottle cap.

Donny looks carefully at the drum, winds up, but doesn’t let go, winds up again and
lets it fly. I’m pretty sure from the way his arm moves, I’ve got him beat, but the
bottle cap cuts through the air like a skipping stone. It arcs higher than mine and
lands a good five feet farther. Clearly beyond the drum.

“Would you look at that? You really are a good teacher! Then again, probably just
dumb luck,” Donny says. “What say we try again? Double or nothing.”

I shake my head a firm no.

“You sure?” Donny asks. “You almost had me. I got lucky is all. Bottle caps threw
you off your game. Takes a time or two to get used to them is all. We’ll try your
baseball next time.” He shoves his hand in his pocket and jingles the change in there.
“I’m not going to keep your money. We’ll chalk it up to practice.”

“It’s only fair. We had a bet. Moose
lost,
” Piper says.

I wish she would keep her mouth shut. Maybe she’s got money to burn, but the rest
of us don’t.

“He’s going to be a man about it too. Honor his bets. Moose is a stand-up guy.” Donny
smiles at me.

“Don’t you want some more tips from him?” Theresa asks.

“Sure thing.” Donny pulls the brim of his hat down low. “But we got to get on the
boat here, missy,” he says.

We all look out to where the bow of the
Coxe
is cutting through the fog toward us.

This was all just a distraction to make me feel better and we both know it. He’ll
return our money. Course he will. But when the ferry puts down the gangplank, he gets
on without looking back.

Tuesday, January 21, 1936

By the time I get to school, Piper has told every last person about the fire. The
trouble is, nobody believes it was an accident. Every kid is sure it was Al Capone
who burned our place down. We didn’t do what he said. We didn’t treat him right. We
didn’t buy him cigars or silk underwear or cannolis and he got mad.

The rumors are out of hand. By the end of the day, Piper has everyone believing the
fire consumed all of Alcatraz, and the prisoners are on a boat floating in the bay—waiting
to attack the city.

Even Mrs. Twiggs is impressed. But when I tell her what really happened, she lets
me know how sorry she is, then tells me I will need to redo my paper and turn it in
next week. Piper, on the other hand, gets a free ride and her house was nowhere near
the fire. “Every student is different. Some are more fragile than others. Piper is
quite sensitive,” Mrs. Twiggs explains when I take it up with her.

Piper . . . sensitive? I think I’m going to be sick.

On the ferry home, I tell Jimmy all about what happened with school and then about
Donny and the bottle caps.

“So he outthrew you?” Jimmy asks.

“Pretty much,” I say.

“With bottle caps?”

“I wanted to use a ball, but I didn’t have one.”

“And he kept the money?”

I look out at the water, green as seaweed today. “I’m sure he’ll give it back next
time we see him. He’s not going to take money from us.”

Jimmy nods uncertainly. “I’ve seen you throw a million times. I can’t imagine he can
throw better than you can.”

It’s true. Donny’s throw wasn’t that great, but I’m not going to say this out loud.
Even to Jimmy. It makes me sound like I’m full of myself.

Instead, I change the subject. “When are we going to try the cockroaches?” I ask.

“I got Saturday off. We can do it then.” Jimmy works really hard. He doesn’t get money,
either, just credit for the Mattamans’ groceries. Even so, the Mattamans seem to have
less money than anyone else.

I’m not wild about waiting until Saturday, and I’m concerned about pinning all of
my hopes on a few scummy bugs. “Could you get a day off before then?”

“Did you forget who I work for?” he asks.

I can’t even imagine having Bea Trixle for a boss. She’s almost as bad as Darby. Bea
and Darby Trixle deserve each other.

Once the boat docks, I say goodbye to Jimmy and head up the switchback. I’d like to
work a bit more on the Janet angle. I know Janet is a good kid, she would never have
started a fire on purpose; but it could have happened accidentally.

It won’t be so easy to run into Janet now, though. I’m not going to knock on her door
and risk coming face-to-face with Bea or Darby. When we lived in 64 building, I saw
Janet more, but now that we’re parked at the Chudleys’ I probably won’t.

I don’t like living at the Chudley house. When I want to play ball, I have to walk
all the way down to 64 to get Annie, then back up to the parade grounds to play. Plus,
it’s lonely up there. We have the same mournful gulls, the same lonely foghorn, but
it all seems creepier when you’re catawampus to the cell house.

My father says the task force is still inspecting #2E. He says it will be at least
two weeks until we can move back even with the crew of convict carpenters working
overtime. I don’t like to think about felons pawing through my stuff, but I’ll deal
with it if that’s how we’ll get back home.

The big question is will Nat ever be able to sleep up here. With no sleep, she gets
touchy—almost explosive, and everybody treats her like she’s made of cut paper. Then
my parents start dragging around like they haven’t slept since last Thanksgiving.

It doesn’t help that we don’t have our stuff at the Chudleys’. Our whole kitchen was
lost in the fire. Any time we need something, it’ll mean another trip down to 64 building
to borrow pans, spatulas, colanders, and serving spoons. And guess who’s going to
make all those trips.

Yours truly, pack animal.

Before I even walk in the door, my mother hands me a grocery list: salt, sugar, tea,
spaghetti, and tomato sauce. I’ve managed to steer clear of Bea since Sunday night.
But when I get down to the canteen, there she is, shelving soup cans.

I stall, peering in the window, wishing Jimmy would show up. I’m ready to hunt him
down, when Annie and her mom arrive.

“What are you doing?” Annie asks me as her mom opens the canteen door, the bell tinkling
her arrival.

“I have to get stuff for supper.”

Annie looks through the window at Bea Trixle, then back at me. “Want me to?”

I hand her the list. “Thanks,” I say.

She pushes open the door. Bea is talking to Mrs. Bomini, but her eyes flash in my
direction. “That Flanagan girl burns the place down and nobody does squat.”

I should ignore this and wait outside for Annie, but I can’t stop myself from going
in. “Natalie didn’t have anything to do with the fire, Mrs. Trixle, ma’am,” I say
as politely as a person who wants to slug another person can possibly manage.

“Apparently the fire started by its own self.” Bea’s voice is thick with sarcasm.

Mrs. Bomini opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

“The task force hasn’t released their report.”

“I don’t need a task force to know what I know,” she says, her face red as a rash.
“What’s more, I don’t appreciate you accusing my Janet.”

Annie has my arm. She’s trying to pull me out the door, but my stubborn feet won’t
budge. “Moose, c’mon.”

My voice shakes with the effort of keeping my temper in check. “It’s not fair to blame
Natalie.”

“Tell you what’s not fair,” Bea tells Mrs. Bomini. “Being stuck up there with no fire
escape. And your husband burning his hand because of a girl who should be locked up.”

“Now, now,” Mrs. Bomini says. “That was an accident.”

“But it wouldn’t have happened if that Flanagan girl hadn’t started the blaze. That’s
my point,” Bea says.

“You have no proof it was Natalie,” I tell her.

“You have no proof it wasn’t. Darby has told me all about it,” Bea counters. “We should
go to the
newspapers
. That’s what we should do, and we ought to call that school of hers. I couldn’t live
with myself if I thought those poor little children might be in danger because of
her.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Bea,” Mrs. Bomini says. “Is that really necessary?”

“I’m suggesting what any upstanding citizen ought to do.”

“Can’t you wait for the report?” I insist.

She snorts. “No one has the guts to blame the associate warden’s daughter and that’s
the truth.”

“Ma’am.” My chest strains like it might pop.

“Calm down,” Annie whispers.

“She’s spreading lies,” I say.

“
I’m
spreading lies?” Bea is fit to be tied.

“She needs someone to blame,” Annie whispers, her mouth pressed tight against my ear.
She takes my hand and pulls me out the door. The second we get outside, she drops
my hand and shoves her hands in her pockets.

“Natalie’s an easy target, that’s all. My dad says Bea’s scared. 64 doesn’t have fire
escapes and it should. That’s one good thing that’s come out of this. They’re looking
at building some now.” Annie’s face is flushed. She doesn’t look at me directly when
she says this.

“Annie, your parents don’t think Natalie . . .”

Annie shakes her head. “Nope. Bea’s just plain mean. That’s all.”

“The task force will clear Natalie.” I say this like I’m absolutely positive of it.
But once the words are out, they seem flimsy, like I could knock them down with my
finger.