Al Capone Does My Homework (10 page)

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.

On the way back to her house, I bring up Annie’s concerns.

“Annie’s a worrywart,” Piper tells me, yanking a vine of tiny yellow flowers from
the trellis and ripping off every blossom.

“She says you’re . . . acting strangely.”

Piper’s dark eyes take stock of my face. “I got her a baseball and that’s the thanks
I get.”

“She thinks something is upsetting you, that’s all.”

Piper snorts. “Annie doesn’t know the half of it,” she mumbles.

“Do you need help?” I ask as gently as I can.

“Look.” She glares at me. “Did I say I wanted to talk to you about this? You’re always
trying to help everyone, Moose. Do you know how annoying that is? And tell Annie to
mind her own business.” She turns on her heels and stalks off.

“See you on Sunday,” I say.

I don’t know if she hears me or not.

Thursday, January 30, and Friday, January 31, 1936

I have just taped two new numbers above my eyebrows, and my mother is beaming at me
like I have superhuman powers. Who knows, maybe everything will work out all right.
My dad says the task force is going to announce its findings next week. He says we
have nothing to worry about, but then, my father is not the worrier in the family.
My mother is.

I’m headed upstairs to find Nat when my father comes into the kitchen to pour himself
his first cup of coffee of the day. The kitchen in #2E still isn’t operational so
he has to wait until he comes up here to make coffee. “Look, you two, I want us to
put the fire behind us.”

“Won’t that be easier once the task force report is out?” I ask.

“There’s no time like the present to start building trust again,” my father says.

“Pretty hard to do when there are so many unanswered questions,” my mother says. “I
don’t know about you, but I can’t look Bea in the eye.”

“Bea made a mistake, that’s all. You’ve never made a mistake?” my father asks.

“The problem is Bea doesn’t think she made a mistake.”

“She will. She just doesn’t see it yet. Give her time.”

My mother is about to object, but before she can say anything, my dad rushes on.

“We can’t be holding grudges. This island is too small for that.”

My mom sighs, her attention absorbed in her teacup. “I know it,” she admits.

“The changes have to start with us.”

I nod, waiting for my father to go on.

“Moose. I want you to go out of your way to include Janet Trixle. She sometimes gets
left out because—”

“We don’t like her parents,” I finish for him.

“That’s right,” my father says. “And Helen, you’ve been keeping to yourself. I want
you to start having coffee at Mrs. Caconi’s and playing bridge with the gals again,
exchanging recipes, getting your hair done at Bea’s, all that hen business.

“And I’m throwing a poker party.”

This gets my mother’s attention. “A what?”

“A poker party, tomorrow night. You three are going to have to make yourselves scarce.”

My mom clenches her jaw. “The medicine is worse than the disease, Cam,” she grumbles.

“Now, Helen,” my father sighs. He tips his head and raises his eyebrows at her.

“All right, all right, I need to visit Great-Aunt Lydia and Uncle Lester anyway. Moose,
could you keep an eye on Natalie during your father’s game?” she asks.

“Sure, Mom,” I say, like I always do. Who else is going to take care of Natalie?

• • •

The next night, my mom leaves on the five o’clock boat. She still hasn’t jumped back
into the “hen business,” as my father calls it, but she gets off the island so my
father can have his poker party.

I help my dad drag the card table and the folding chairs from the storage room in
64 up to the Chudleys’ house. While I clean the thick layer of dust off the seats,
my father puts a pot of unpopped corn on the stove. I can tell from the extra bounce
in his step that he’s excited about the evening. My father loves to play games. He
isn’t one to hold a grudge either. He’s kind of amazing that way. He’s actually looking
forward to this.

Soon the Chudley house is filled with the smell of freshly popped corn. I’m hoping
my dad will let me stick around. Natalie could go to the Mattamans’. Theresa would
watch her. This would work fine.

But as soon as the popcorn and nuts are on the table, Dad tells me it’s time to go.

I open my mouth to plead my case, but he’s already shaking his head. “Sorry, Moose.
This is grown-up stuff.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’re not an adult either.”

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“I need you to keep an eye on Natalie.”

“Theresa will do that.”

He shakes his head.

“Wait . . . Mr. Mattaman and Darby Trixle are playing . . . what about Bo Bomini?”

“You know how the Bominis are about gambling.”

“Warden Williams?”

“He said he’d stop by.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Nope.”

“Won’t you need a fourth, then?”

My father smiles. “Nice try. Donny is playing,” he says, holding the door open for
me and Natalie to leave.

At the Mattamans’, Mrs. Mattaman is slamming around the kitchen, mad as a cat in a
bathtub. “I don’t see why you need to go,” she hisses at Mr. Mattaman.

“Let up, honey. It’s one evening.” Mr. Mattaman looks young for a dad. In civilian
clothes, he could pass for eighteen.

“We don’t have money to burn, Riv. You know that as well as I do.”

“Nobody has money to burn. It’s penny-ante.”

“Cam’s been promoted. Trixle’s got Bea’s canteen bringing in money, plus he only has
the one child.”

Riv gives his shoes a last buff. “Don’t take it all so seriously, muffin. I’m not
going to lose money. This is all in good fun.”

She bangs the oven closed.

“Moose, Natalie, good to see you two,” Riv says, his eyes on Mrs. Mattaman as he walks
out the door.

“Wait!” Mrs. Mattaman trots after him, banana bread in her hand. “You can’t go to
a party empty-handed,” she scolds him.

I can’t help smiling at this. Mrs. Mattaman will die with bread in her hands. Her
last words will be
Want seconds?

Mrs. Mattaman’s cheeks flush when she comes back inside. “You guys have dinner?”

“Sort of,” I say.

She opens the oven, pulls out a pan, and skillfully maneuvers her spatula under two
fat manicottis. The smell of her tomato sauce has me salivating. I sink my teeth into
the cheesy pasta busting with butter and garlic.

Nat settles down with her favorite Mattaman book. It’s full of maps of the states.
She traces the routes to the places she knows and adds up the miles so she’ll know
how far away it is.

Theresa is busy playing school with Rocky as her student. He does nothing she wants
with a big grin on his face. “Itty-don,” he babbles, which means sit down. Theresa
scolds him with her finger. Rocky scolds back as Bea and Janet Trixle knock on the
open front door.

I know my father said we have to reach out to everyone, but Bea Trixle? I study the
electrical outlet as she walks past me to the kitchen to chat with Mrs. Mattaman.

I would go find Jimmy, but I’m hoping for seconds on the manicotti. For once Mrs.
Mattaman doesn’t notice my empty plate. She’s deep in conversation with Bea.

“Do you want to see?” Mrs. Mattaman asks.

“You bet,” Bea says.

Mrs. Mattaman slips past me and comes back a minute later with a white gift box. “Look.”
She lifts the lid. Inside is a blue dress.

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Anna Maria,” Bea says. “That’s beautiful. Somebody wants to
give you a gift, you take it and run. You lost every bit of your baby weight. Who
says you shouldn’t show off your figure?”

“But who gave it to me, Bea?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it matters, and besides that, what will Riv say?”

“It does a man good to think his wife can still turn heads. Besides, you can’t give
it back. You don’t even know who it’s from.”

The worry crease between Mrs. Mattaman’s eyebrows deepens. “You sure you don’t know
anything about this?” Mrs. Mattaman asks as Theresa and Janet thunder into the kitchen.

“If I were to guess, I’d say Donny Caconi. He’s the only man on the island got that
kind of style.”

“Donny? Why in heaven’s name would he be getting me a gift?”

“You’ve made him cookies, you know you have.”

“I’ve made everybody on this island cookies, Bea.”

Bea laughs. “And what is the problem with having someone appreciative for once? Just
enjoy it. He wanted to sign his name, he would have.”

Mrs. Mattaman puts the lid back on the box and returns her attention to the dishes.
She’s forgotten all about me. I’m not getting seconds.

Where is Jimmy, anyway? The door of his and Theresa’s room is closed. He’s been working
on something in there. He won’t tell me what it is, and Theresa has been sworn to
secrecy, though I’m guessing it has something to do with bottle caps and Donny Caconi.
Jimmy didn’t even see Donny throw, but he’s sure I threw better than Donny.

When I finish eating, I head for Jimmy and Theresa’s room and knock on the door. Jimmy
answers with the Parcheesi game in his hand. We settle into an epic Parcheesi match,
which lasts until ten thirty, when Mrs. Mattaman comes in. “All right you two, time
for Moose to head home. It’s way past Theresa’s bedtime.”

It would have been smart to bring our pajamas so we didn’t have to go all the way
up to the Chudleys’ and then back down to #2E again. Living at the Chudleys’, everything
you need is always somewhere else.

“I’d have you stay the night, but . . .” Mrs. Mattaman’s face hardens. “I’d just as
soon you broke up their little poker party.”

“Sure, Mrs. Mattaman,” I say as I collect Nat and we trudge out into the cold misty
air. The wind cuts through my sweater. The water laps at the dock, the foghorn booms
like God is playing the tuba.

Up top, the Chudleys’ house is brightly lit, but when I open the door, the air is
stale and smoky. An ashtray overflows with cigarette butts. Empty glasses clutter
the side table. Nothing but greasy old maids are left in the popcorn bowl. Mr. Mattaman
is rocking back on his chair. Donny has his jacket off, his shirtsleeves rolled up,
his feet on a milk crate.

Darby and my dad each have one pile of chips. Mr. Mattaman has a half a pile. Donny’s
got three huge stacks.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who is winning.

“FDR is a poker player. Why’d you think he called it the New Deal,” Donny says.

“Roosevelt . . . don’t let me get started on him. He’s a one-term president if I ever
saw one,” Darby says.

Nat and I wait a full minute but still no one notices us.

“Say hello,” Nat blurts out.

My dad’s startled smile shines on her. “Hello, sweet pea, you’re home early. What
time is it, anyway?”

“Ten thirty.”

He squints out at the night. “Couldn’t be.”

Mr. Mattaman glances at his small pile of chips. His face blanches white around the
lips. He’s clearly lost money. I don’t envy him facing Mrs. Mattaman with that information.

Natalie settles in behind my dad, eyeing the cards in his hand. Dad motions with his
head like we should get out of here.

“Nat,” I whisper. “Come on.”

But Nat’s feet are planted. Her attention is on the game.

“Nat,” I try again, “you’d better check on my toothbrush.”

But Natalie’s not going anywhere.

Darby Trixle takes a deep drag from his cigarette.

“Nat.” I tug on her sleeve. She shakes me off like a mosquito. I look over at my father
for help.

Nat’s quiet now—she might pitch a fit if we force her to go. My father’s eyes take
this all in and he nods like we can stay.

They play three hands of something—I don’t know what. With each deal Donny Caconi
adds more chips to his pile at the expense of Darby. Darby’s down to three chips.
Mr. Mattaman has held steady. Darby pushes his three last chips into the ante.

“Second black jack,” Natalie says. “Second one.
Second
one.”

Darby glances up at her, then back down at his hand. “Get her out of here, Cam,” he
mumbles, the cigarette dangling between his teeth, dropping ash on the table. “She’s
telling everyone your cards.”

“No, she isn’t,” my dad says.

“Second black jack. Two jacks,” Nat repeats.

“You’re right, sweet pea . . . there are two black jacks,” my dad explains. “A jack
of spades and a jack of clubs.”

“
Clubs
. Second black jack of
clubs,
” Nat shouts.

“Cam, GET HER OUT OF HERE!” Darby bellows. He has a big mouth even without his bullhorn.

Riv Mattaman looks up. His eyes track Nat. He knows what she’s capable of. “What’s
she talking about, Cam?”

“She don’t belong here,” Darby barks.

Donny smiles kindly at Natalie, but his eyes are blinking twice as fast as normal.
“Things never go well when there’s a dame in the room.”

But then suddenly Donny throwing the bottle caps flashes through my mind. Who would
take a kid’s money forty-eight hours after his apartment burned down? “You’re playing
with one deck, right?” I ask.

“Course,” Dad says, picking a card out of his hand.

Donny glances at his watch. “Look at the time. Better call it a night.” He stands
up from the table.

“For Chrissake,” Darby snaps. “Can’t stop now.”

“Two black jack of clubs,” Natalie says.

“It’s late,” Donny says. “We should stop. My mama’s gonna be coming up in her nightclothes,
wagging her finger at me. ‘
It’s bedtime, Donny.’”
He does a perfect imitation of Mrs. Caconi’s old-lady voice. He laughs as his hand
creeps to the discard pile, but mine is faster. I curl my fingers around the messy
stack and hand it to my dad.

My hands are trembling; sweat drips down my face. This is Donny Caconi. Everybody
likes Donny Caconi. The room is so stuffy, I can hardly breathe. “See if there are
two jacks of clubs in there,” I whisper.

My dad’s eyes warn me I’ve overstepped my place, but he knows Natalie as well as I
do.

“One jack of clubs.” He flips card after card onto the table, until we see it . . .
the grim face of the second jack of clubs. “And here’s the second one,” my father
whispers.

All eyes fly to Donny and his stacks of chips. “Somebody’s fixing the game—” Donny
announces loudly.

But he doesn’t finish the sentence before Darby jumps him from the back, one arm around
his neck. Donny shakes him off, sending the table flying and the chairs clanking down.
Darby’s feet hit the ground, but his left arm shoots back around Donny’s neck. “You
sneaky piece of crap!” Darby bellows.

“Get Nat out of here,” Dad shouts to me as he tries to jump between them.

Natalie rocks from one foot to the other, her back against the wall.