Al Capone Does My Homework (14 page)

“What did you do with it?”

“I put it back. It wasn’t what I was looking for.” The warden takes off his glasses
and puts his big forehead in his hands. He closes his eyes.

“Did anyone know you had that laundry bag?” he asks.

“Just Natalie. I didn’t know it was counterfeit. I didn’t know anything. I just thought
it was an awful lot of money for Mrs. Caconi to forget in her pocket.”

“I didn’t know it was counterfeit either,” Piper squeaks.

“You.” His hands fly up as if to block her. “Do not say one word.” His voice trembles.

But Piper can’t shut up.

“I thought I was lucky,” she mumbles.

“We got a depression going. People don’t have a pot to pee in and you’re rich as Croesus
from
luck
?” The warden’s voice is thick.

“All right,” he says. “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. Moose, keep
your nose out of cell house business. Annie, you keep him out of trouble. Piper . . .”
His eyes move quickly across her as if he has been belted in the gut and can no longer
breathe. He puts his head in his hands and closes his eyes.

Sunday, February 2, 1936

Annie and I head back down to 64. We are both in shock. Our Piper, involved in a counterfeit
scheme?

“How could she be that stupid?” Annie says.

“You put in one dollar and two come back. There’s something pretty exciting about
that.”

“Yeah, I know. I could see trying it a second time . . . just to see if it worked.
But at what point do you ask yourself what is really going on here? She isn’t six
years old.”

“She used the money to help people. She knows the Mattamans never have enough. Paying
Theresa was a good thing and so was that dress Mrs. Mattaman got. That had to have
been Piper,” I say.

“Yeah, but why do you think she didn’t tell anyone?” Annie asks.

“She knew we would tell her to stop,” I say.

“I feel bad for her, but I’m kind of mad at her too. She knows better than this,”
Annie says as we walk down the stairs to the Mattamans’.

Through the window we see Theresa clanking pot lids together, followed by Rocky with
a big smile on his face, a pan on his head, and a muffin tin in each hand.

“Piperz otty,” Rocky says.

“Naughty,” Theresa corrects.

“Otty, otty, otty,” Rocky shouts. “Piperz otty!”

“News travels fast,” I say.

Theresa sees us and puts her pot lids down. “What happened?” she asks.

When we tell Mrs. Mattaman and Theresa, Theresa’s mouth falls open. “I didn’t know!
Am I a criminal too? Mooooommmeeeeeeee!”

“No, sweetie.” Mrs. Mattaman smoothes her hair. “We’ll get all the money she paid
you and we’ll pay it back—”

“I don’t have it anymore. Not all of it!” Theresa sobs as she runs into her room and
comes out with a mason jar, which has a few dollars and some coins.

“I spent some,” Theresa cries.

“This isn’t your fault, Theresa. You didn’t know,” Mrs. Mattaman says.

“What’s going to happen to Piper?” Annie asks.

“Her dad will take care of it, like he always does,” I say.

Mrs. Mattaman shakes her head. “You can’t protect a person who breaks laws.”

“She has plenty of money,” Annie says. “She didn’t need to do this.”

“That girl has her head screwed on backward,” Mrs. Mattaman says. “She had to have
known she’d be caught. I hope she learns from this is all I can say.”

Part of me is glad Piper finally got caught. As long as I’ve known her, she’s always
gotten away with things. I just wish it was for something little.

Thank goodness she didn’t pull me into this scheme. I’ve been a sucker for Piper plenty
of times. My head hurts just thinking about it. I need fresh air.

“You want to play ball?” I ask Annie.

“Now?” Annie asks like I’ve suggested swimming with sharks.

“Why not?”

“Probably the best thing for you,” Mrs. Mattaman agrees.

Annie heads out to get her baseball gear with me on her heels.

I look out at the sun, low on the water. “C’mon, let’s go,” I say. “We don’t have
much baseball time left.”

But even as we walk up to the parade grounds, more pieces start to fall into place.
“Piper pretended she got a gift from a secret admirer. But I don’t think there was
a secret admirer.”

Annie nods. “She wanted to make you jealous.”

“I guess so. The thing that’s strange is she never seemed to care if I was her boyfriend
or not.”

“Until you weren’t,” Annie offers. “I was always supposed to be her best friend. I
could never have another best friend even though she really didn’t want to spend time
with me.”

“I guess she just wanted you as a pinch hitter—always ready just in case,” I say.

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll pitch,” Annie says. “You hit.”

She winds one up and sends a soft pitch my way. My timing is off. I can’t hit the
ball to save my life.

“Shape up, Moose,” Annie barks.

I set my bat down. “Do you still like her?” I ask.

Annie sighs. “Golly, I don’t know. I suppose I like her sometimes. What about you?”
Annie’s face flushes like she wishes she hadn’t asked this.

“Not as a girlfriend,” I say. “I can’t trust her, but I feel like I should have . . .
I don’t know, stopped her from doing this.”

“How could you stop her when you didn’t know what she was doing?”

“I couldn’t,” I agree. The gulls are closer now. They know we aren’t playing ball
anymore.

“Moose, you can’t be responsible for everyone.”

“I guess not.”

“Promise me you’ll never do anything stupid like that,” she says.

“I don’t need to promise, I never would.”

“Sometimes you get a little, I don’t know . . . desperate about Natalie,” Annie observes.

“You try being Natalie’s brother,” I say.

“It must be hard,” Annie concedes, her brow furrowed. “But if I were Natalie, you’re
the guy I’d want for my brother.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“You’re welcome.” She tries to shrug this off, but her face is red again.

We start tossing the baseball back and forth, but neither of us seems to be able to
concentrate. The ball has become just a round object. Not everything it usually is
to me.

We sit down on the hill that faces San Francisco to watch the sun set. The sky is
pink, the water orange. The windows of the buildings in the city glint like tiny mirrors
in the setting sun.

“Annie,” I say. “You look different.”

“No, I don’t,” she mumbles.

Now my face is flushed too. And then out of nowhere, I’m leaning toward Annie. I’m
not thinking. I’m too tired and worn out to think. I’m inches away from her now. She
smells like baby powder and mint.

She freezes. Her face is stiff, her eyes too large. And then the tiny Annie smile
flashes across her lips and I know she wants to kiss me too.

Her lips feel springy, her breath smells like spearmint, her hair is as soft as puppy
fur. Who knew kissing Annie Bomini would feel so nice? We sit there for a minute,
my arm warm against hers. The sun is down now, but it isn’t night yet. One time is
gone and the other has not yet begun.

We get up and start walking back to 64. “Forget we did that,” I say.

“I’ve already forgotten,” she says.

But I’m still holding her hand and I won’t let go.

Saturday, February 8, 1936

A week later, I still haven’t made sense of the changes happening all around me. I
mean, I kissed Annie Bomini! How did that happen? And the weirdest thing about it
is . . . I wouldn’t mind doing it again. It’s different when you kiss someone you
really care about. It’s like when you’re there in person at a baseball game instead
of just hearing it on the radio.

Jimmy and me are outside the canteen when we hear the task force report is finally
released. “It’s Donny Caconi.” Annie runs down the steps to tell us.

“I knew all along,” Bea Trixle informs Annie as she puts the empty soda bottles in
the wood tray.

I’m eating an apple and it’s all I can do to keep from spitting it out. “How could
she have forgotten she blamed Natalie?” I whisper to Jimmy.

“She remembers what she wants to remember,” Jimmy tells me.

“Did she give you your job back?”

“Yep, I start tomorrow. Brought the pie up this morning.”

“They think Donny was the guy who brought in the counterfeit money for the Count too,”
Annie says.

“That’s not a surprise,” I say.

“Annie told me you figured out the note in the downspout was the locker number and
combination. That was smart, Moose,” Jimmy says.

“I didn’t tell you guys about the money I found in Mrs. Caconi’s pocket, though.”

“What were you doing looking in Mrs. Caconi’s pocket?” Jimmy asks.

My face gets hot. I can’t look at either one of them. “I wondered if Donny rigged
the bottle cap contest. I was looking to see if I could find any, you know, evidence,”
I mumble, hoping they won’t think I have a fat head.

“He rigged it,” Jimmy says. “The question is why?”

“Yeah, why cheat a bunch of kids out of a dollar and change,” I ask.

“He needed money,” Annie says. “He owes a bunch of money to a loan shark. My dad says
he was in way over his head. And when you owe money to a loan shark, they’ll beat
you up if you don’t pay it back.”

“He needed big money. That was little money,” Jimmy says.

“Not to me,” I say.

“Could be he just wanted to practice on us,” Jimmy says.

“Know what else I heard?” Annie says. “The Count picked Piper as the target for the
counterfeiting because she’s the warden’s daughter.”

“Well, she also left the dollar in her pocket. Maybe that gave him the idea.”

“Good point,” Jimmy says.

“But wait, why would Donny set fire to our place? That’s the part I don’t get.”

“Me neither,” Jimmy agrees.

“Did he think there was money at our house?”

“Must have.”

“Maybe he stole it and then he burned the house so nobody would know.”

• • •

In the afternoon, I wait for Annie on the balcony. My mom and Natalie are at the swing
set. Dad is down at the dock. He’s talking to Officer Trixle, who is directing the
cons as they unload bags of laundry from the Angel Island ferry and put them in the
back of the truck to shuttle up the hill to the laundry building. Annie is taking
a long time to come out. Her mom says she’ll just be a minute, but it is the world’s
longest minute. I toss the ball low. If it hits the balcony ceiling, Darby will hear
and then he’ll chew me out.

Down below, the dock cons have filled the back of the truck, and Darby is barking
directions. Mr. Mattaman is behind the wheel. Two of the cons hop in the truck. The
truck door slams shut and Mr. Mattaman guns forward.

Indiana and Lizard are standing around down at the dock, like always. The Count isn’t
around. They probably tossed him in the Hole. I don’t think there’s even toilet paper
in the Hole. Bet he’ll wish he had his counterfeit money then.

The bell rings and all the cons form a line. “One, two, three . . .” They count off
for Darby. Darby writes the count on his clipboard and saunters over to the guard
tower. He stuffs a cigarette in his mouth, then yanks the guy-wire pulley—the signal
for the dock tower guard to send down the clip. I toss my ball a little too hard and
it bonks the ceiling. Luckily, Darby doesn’t hear it.

“Annie?” I call, but I don’t want to knock on her door and get Mrs. Bomini, again.
Talking to Mrs. Bomini is like eating too many sugar donuts. Every other word is
dearie
or
sweetie
or
honey love
.

My eyes flicker back down to the dock. Lizard moves his head toward Indiana like he’s
telling him something. I’m still tossing the ball, still catching it, but I’m thinking
about the cons’ points game.

Indiana—the guy with no eyebrows—and Lizard, who should probably be named Cockroach
now, are hanging back. With Darby looking the other way they come together like schoolgirl
friends. But they’re moving differently. Not relaxed and easy, but short and jerky.
My baseball is moving through the air in slow motion. I catch it solidly as words
float through my head.

Indiana. That’s his name, but it’s a state.
State problem
. That was the note on my homework. I thought it was about the thesis. Why would Capone
care about my thesis?

Then I see it. A flicker of silver glistens. My throat closes. I can’t breathe.

“Dad.” I gasp for air, but my lungs are jammed flat. I feel the roundness of the ball
in my glove. “Dad,” I manage to whisper, the fear crushing my chest.

The glint of the knife flashes in Indiana’s hand. The ball is in my palm. I aim for
the knife, aim with everything I’ve got. My fingers release, the ball slices through
the air. It hits Indiana’s head as his knife hand thrusts toward my dad.

The ball slams his ear. His knife hand jerks back.

My voice busts out of my chest. “Dad!” I shout. But it’s too late.

My father is down.

Time has stopped. I’m half running, half flying. I can’t feel my feet, but I hear
the pounding sound of my footsteps. Down the stairs, skipping steps, sailing past
the landing.
Please, please let him be all right.
I breathe in small panicky bursts. The dock tower guard trains his Browning automatic
on Indiana, who dives into the bay. The gunfire cracks, the water splatters.

“Dad!” I cry. Mr. Mattaman and another guard are bending over him now. Holding him
up. His skin is the color of onions, transparent and white.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. And then I see the blood.

They rip off his jacket. His shirt has a dark red splotch. The stain is spreading.

Word has gone up for Doc Ollie. He is on the way.

“Moose, are you okay?” somebody asks. I’m shaking hard, my teeth are chattering.

“Where is Doc Ollie?” someone else wants to know.

What is taking Ollie so long? My face is sweating. My skin is hot, then cold as stone.
I can’t tell if one minute has passed or twenty.

My mother has her arms around my father. Mrs. Mattaman pulls me away. But I twist
out of her arms. “Dad! Dad!”

“It’s going to be okay, Moose,” Mrs. Mattaman keeps saying over and over again, but
each word is an envelope with nothing inside.