“Poor little guy, he’s mad as a hornet. I’m gonna give him a little whiskey and milk. Let him sleep it off,” Ollie says as he searches through a glass-faced cabinet.
“Thanks, Ollie.” Mr. Mattaman steals a glance up from his baby son. His voice is steady, but his chin is puckered from all he’s holding back.
Doc Ollie pats my shoulder with his big soft hand. “Good work there, son. Hives didn’t slow you down any I’m glad to see. That salve help?”
I’m too stunned to do much else but nod, although the answer is no.
“ Cam…” Ollie tips his head, like he’s pointing with it out the door. “You reckon this boy of yours deserves a little treat?”
My dad holds the cell door open. “Ollie thinks I should give you a tour.”
“A tour
He half laughs at this. “Not the cell house, no sir. If I took you down Broadway Warden Williams would give me my walking papers.”
Broadway is what they call the center row of the cell house. Even the littlest kid on Alcatraz knows this. Janet Trixle’s fairy prison has a Broadway too.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own little surprise.” My dad smiles now, clearly pleased with himself.
I follow my father down the hospital corridor with cells on one side and cells on the other. Each one is painted mint green with four cots scooted against the walls or side by side in the center. It smells vaguely of shoe polish and bleach and something acid like pee. The cells are all empty at first, then, as we walk deeper into the building, I see men sitting on beds, hanging against the bars, all of them wearing prison blue shirts, all of them watching me.
They’re the ones in prison, but I’m the one being stared at like a zoo animal. I don’t like this.
My father stops near the bars of a cell on the west side. Just one man in this cell, a big beefy guy with dark black hair, dark eyes, a round face, big lips, and the kind of smile that makes you like him without thinking twice about it. He’s got shoe polish and a buffing rag on his bed along with a pair of shiny black guard’s shoes.
The man stands up and sticks his pudgy hand through the bars. In the shadow of his left side a jagged line cuts across his face-a scar. “That your boy, boss?” he asks.
My father nods. “Moose, meet Al Capone.”
I take hold of Capone’s hand. His handshake is firm, solid, trustworthy. I squeeze his hand with more strength than I planned. My mouth opens. “Thank you” pops out. As soon as the words hit my ears, the temperature in my face rises.
Capone smiles his broad, warm smile and chuckles deep in his throat. “He’s thanking me, boss.”
My father frowns. “Say hello, Moose.”
“Hello,” I parrot like I’m Natalie.
Capone angles his chin in the direction of Doc Ollie’s office. “I heard you brought the Mattaman baby in. He doin’ okay?”
“Looks that way.” My father points his toothpick toward the shoes. “Who you doin’ those for?”
“Officer Trixle,” Capone says. “Got me a special touch. You know that.”
My father snorts his disapproval.
“They like to tell people their shoes been shined up all nice by me. Looks like yours need some shining there, boss. Could do your boy’s too.” Capone winks at me.
“No thanks,” my father answers.
Capone seems to take this in. “They gonna give me a roommate in here, boss?”
“Wouldn’t know ’bout that.”
“Just as soon be on my own. One or two guys don’t like me too much.”
“Like I said, I don’t know. Depends on who’s sick,” my father says.
“Is that so?” Capone stares hard at my dad. “Seems to me a man’s got as much power as he can wrap his mind around.”
“Is that how it seems to you?”
“You bet. And I’ve done good for myself. I don’t mind saying.”
“Until now.”
Capone chuckles. “Minor setback. Now your boy here… he don’t know his own strength, but he sure can keep his head on straight when the pressure is on.” He points at me with his big beefy hand. “When I get out, you look me up. I got a job waiting for you.”
“He will do no such thing,” my father snarls.
Al laughs a good long laugh, deep down in his belly. “Don’t you worry, boss. You got yourself a good boy there. Kinda person keeps up his end of a deal.” Al leans in so close the bars press against his face. “I’d be mighty proud if you were my boy,” he says.
“Say goodbye, Moose,” my father barks, stepping between Capone and me.
“Goodbye, Mr. Capone,” I say to Al’s big beaming face. I turn and follow my father down the hallway, the smell of shoe polish strong in my nose.
I’m almost out of Capone’s sight when I hear it. The words drift to me in a whispery voice. “Bye, son,” he says.
10. A DANGEROUS GAME
Same day-Thursday, August 15, 1935
It isn’t until I’m heading down the cell house hospital stairs into the fresh air that it really hits me. I just met Al Capone, the most powerful gangster ever to live. He called me son!
My skin tingles as my mind replays his words. Seems to me a man’s got as much power as he can wrap his mind around. He was talking about my dad. He thought my dad had the power to make sure he didn’t have a cellmate.
And that other bit about a person who keeps up his end of things? That was a message for me. He expects me to get his wife flowers. No doubt about that.
My father looks at me. “It’s a shame he went bad. Could have used somebody like that on our side. Who knows, he might have been mayor, president even.”
“He’d a got my vote,” I admit.
“I noticed that.” My dad motions with his head toward the cell house. “You gotta watch the cons like him-the ones with brains. Starts innocent enough. He shines your shoes. Pretty soon, he wants something for his efforts. A stick of gum maybe. You gonna give it to him? Well, you owe him now…” He sucks his cheek in, watches a pelican fly over our heads. “Maybe you say no and he tells you, get the gum or he’ll make certain the warden finds out he’s been shining your shoes. So you get him his gum. Now he has two things on you. What does he do then? He ups the ante… that’s what.”
I’m shrinking. I have lost eight inches in height and begun to sweat so much my skin is slippery clear down to my shoes. My father has nailed me and he doesn’t even know it.
“Moral of the story?” my father continues. “Shine your own shoes, you don’t have to worry about any of that.” He smiles at me.
“What about Trixle?” I ask in a wobbly voice.
My father cracks his neck. “Doesn’t mean it has to happen that way. Seven Fingers gets his chocolate bars. Trixle gets his shoes shined. It’s a dangerous game is all I’m saying.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
My father’s face registers concern. “Didn’t mean to scare you, son. I won’t let you get in trouble. Don’t you worry.” He pats my back reassuringly, which only makes me feel ten times worse.
I’m not the kid he can protect anymore.
“That was a good thing you did, getting Rocky up there so quick, Moose… you know that?”
I clear my throat, try to get ahold of myself. “Thanks,” I mutter as Theresa comes tearing around the steps that lead to the front entrance of the cell house. “Moose! Mr. Flanagan! Rocky! Is Rocky okay?”
“He’s okay, sweetie. Just fine,” my father calls back. “Don’t you worry. Your dad will be out in a few minutes.”
“Are you sure?” Theresa demands, panting hard when she catches up with us.
My father pats her messy black hair. “I’m sure, little one. I saw him with my own eyes.”
Theresa nods like she’s taking this all in. “And my dad’s coming?” Her voice gets hoarse.
“Yes,” my father answers.
Theresa’s little face screws up with the effort of closing her eyes so tightly. She turns on her heel and runs back down the switchback.
My father frowns as we watch her run past Piper, who is on her way up. “What was that all about?”
“I dunno,” I tell him.
Piper’s taking big angry steps, her hands crossed in front of her. She has a fierce expression like she’s chewing chain link.
“I think you got another problem here, Moose.” My father nods toward Piper. “She’s a wild one. Think I’ll let you handle her on your own. Good luck with it.” He winks at me and pats my arm, barely concealing his grin as he turns and heads down the hill.
“You got to go into the cell house, didn’t you?” Piper asks when my father is gone.
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? You either did or you didn’t.”
There’s no way to keep this from Piper. You can’t pick your teeth on this island without everyone knowing exactly what you dug out.
“C’mon, what did you see?” she demands.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Capone,” I whisper.
“No! NO! I hate you so much! It’s all your fault, too, Jimmy!” Piper shouts down the switchback to Jimmy, who is heading our way.
Jimmy runs the rest of the way up to us. “What’s my fault?” he asks between breaths. He leans over like he has a side ache.
