Al Capone Shines My Shoes

Darby peers over the railing, but he can’t see me because I’m getting the baseball gear I stashed in one of the storage rooms. “What you doing down there?” he asks Jimmy.

“Nothing, sir,” Jimmy answers.

“Nothing, huh? Do I look like I was born yesterday, Jimmy?” Darby asks.

“No sir,” Jimmy replies, skedaddling up the stairs. Jimmy doesn’t say anything about me. He knows it’s better if Darby doesn’t see me. Darby hates me on account of I’m Natalie’s brother. Natalie really bugs him.

I stand quietly, waiting for them to leave. When they’re gone, I climb up to apartment 3 H, Annie Bomini’s place. Annie’s the only kid on the whole island who’s any good at baseball. What a shame she’s a girl.

I peer through the screen door, focusing on the wooden table in the Bominis’ living room. It was made by the cons in the furniture shop that Annie’s father runs. The Bominis have a lot of wood stuff plus needlepoint everywhere. Needlepoint pillows, tablecloths, tissue holders, seat covers. Mrs. Bomini has a needlepoint toilet cover for every day of the week. I don’t know why you need a Monday toilet seat cover on Mondays. Is it that important to know what day it is when you do your business?

“Annie, c’mon,” I call, hoping Mrs. Bomini isn’t around. Mrs. Bomini is a one-woman talking machine. Once she gets you cornered you pretty much have to have a heart attack and be carried away on a stretcher before she’ll stop.

Annie’s skin is pale, and her hair is so blond it’s almost white. She looks twelve but kind of old too, like forty-two. She’s squarish from head to foot, like God used a T-square to assemble her.

Annie props open the screen door with her foot. “Moose.” She gulps, her big flat face looking pinched today. “You won’t believe what happened.”

Uh-oh, what if she doesn’t want to play? That’s the trouble with girls. They have to actually feel like playing.

“What happened?” I ask.

“We got the wrong laundry. We got yours,” she whispers.

Laundry… that is the one word I don’t feel like hearing right now. Ever since I got that note from Al Capone, I’ve been very careful to be the first person to get my laundry in case he decides to send another note. My mom has even noticed. “Why, you’re taking care of your own laundry now, Moose, isn’t that nice,” my mom said.

“So? Just give it back.” I try to keep my voice from sounding as panicky as I feel.

“I didn’t realize it was your laundry. I started putting it away and… Moose, there was a note in the pocket of your shirt.”

“A-a note?” My voice breaks high like a girl’s.

My hands shake as she gives me a scrap of paper folded twice. My mind floods with things I don’t want to think about. Al Capone, the warden’s office, Natalie being thrown out of school.

The note is written on the same paper in the same handwriting as the other one. Your turn, it says.

My face feels hot and sweaty, then cold and clammy. I check the back and then the front again for any other words and stuff the note in my pocket.

Annie’s blue eyes bulge. “Your turn? What’s it your turn for, Moose?”

“I dunno,” I mutter, my mind scrambling to make sense of this.

Her eyes won’t let go of me. She seems to sense there’s more to the note than I’m saying. “Who is it from?” she asks, her face pained like she just swallowed a jawbreaker.

I hunker down away from her. “It must be a mistake,” I say, but my voice feels distant, like the words are coming out of a cave in my chest.

“A mistake?” she asks. “That’s what Darby Trixle said when the laundry cons sewed his fly shut.”

“That wasn’t a mistake, but this is,” I say louder than I mean to. “Just like you getting our laundry was a mistake.” I’m proud of myself for making this connection. It sounds so reasonable.

Annie bites her lip. She’s watching me.

“Did you tell anyone?” I ask her.

“Haven’t had time to tell anyone. It just happened.”

I breathe out a big burst of relief. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“Depends.” She squints at me. “Are you gonna level with me?”

“Look, I don’t know that much about this,” I say, but my words sound flimsy, like they need a paperweight to keep from floating away.

Annie is looking at me intently. “I thought we were best friends.”

I stare back at her relentless blue eyes. “We are best friends.”

Annie is tough. She won’t let up.

I bite my lip. “You better swear swear, double swear, hope to die if you lie.”

“C’mon, Moose. You know I keep my word. I always do.” She’s right. She always does. But this is something else again. It’s not like keeping quiet about when we saw Associate Warden Chudley relieve himself in Bea Trixle’s pickle barrel. This could get me kicked off the island. But if I don’t explain what’s happening, she’ll tell for sure. I don’t have much choice here.

“I asked Capone for help to get Natalie into the Esther P. Marinoff School and then she got in and he sent me a note that said Done.” I can’t get the words out fast enough.

“You what?” she snaps, her chin jutting out with the shock of what I’ve just said.

I explain again, slower this time.

“And then what happened? After the note?” Annie demands.

“Nothing happened after the note.”

“So Natalie went to school today because Capone got her in and you never told anyone and then you get this Your turn note. That’s the truth? You swear it?”

“It’s the truth, except somebody else knows a little. Piper. She knows I sent Capone a letter. When Nat got in, she asked me about it but I told her it was because the Esther P. Marinoff opened a school for older kids. That’s what they told my parents. That’s the reason they think she got in too.”

That’s not the only thing Piper knows that I wish she didn’t. She also knows that my sister made friends with convict #105. Having your sister, who isn’t right in the head, befriend a grown man convicted of a terrible crime isn’t my idea of fun. In fact, I’d rather run buck-naked down California Street than have that happen again. But that’s a whole other story I hope never to tell. Alcatraz 105, aka Onion, got sent to Terminal Island and then released, so he’s not on Alcatraz anymore. I don’t have to worry about him ever again.

“But no one knows about Capone’s notes?”

“Nope.”

“You know what he wants, don’t you?” Annie whispers. “Payback.”

“But how would he even know Natalie left today?” I ask weakly.

She frowns. “Cons know everything that happens on this island, you know that.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t he say what he wanted? If it had been me, I would have asked for double chocolate brownies with no nuts, the sports page, the funny papers, vanilla sucking candy, French fries, a cheeseburger, a book on the Babe. He didn’t ask for anything, Annie.”

“He wants to make you sweat,” Annie says. “He’s the cat and you’re the mouse. Back home in Omaha we had a barn cat who would get a mouse, play with it for a few hours, then take it off to a dark corner and eat the head off.”

“So nice of you to put it that way,” I growl.

Annie nods, ignoring my sarcasm. “It’s true and you know it. You sure this is only the second note?”

“Of course I’m sure,” I snap at her.

Her blue eyes have gone watchful now. “This is serious, Moose.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“So what are you going to do? I mean if anyone found out you did a favor for Capone, your dad would be fired”-she snaps her fingers-“like that.”

“Any more good news for me?”

“And you know what else? If Capone got Natalie into the Esther P. Marinoff, he could get her kicked out too.” She crosses her arms. “You’re cooked either way, Moose.”

“Thanks, Annie, that makes me feel just great,” I whisper.

Annie shrugs. “Well it’s true.”

“Look, Annie. This is good news.” I try to make my voice sound as if I believe what I’m saying. “Because really he didn’t ask for anything.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be a fool, Moose. You should have told before. We have to tell now. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“You just said yourself if he got her in, he could get her kicked out.” I’m practically shouting. “It’s Nat’s life we’re talking about. This school is her chance.”

“You’re crazy if you help Al Capone!”

“I’m not helping him.”

She sighs, bites her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have promised not to say anything.”

“Yeah, but you did promise.”

She bugs her eyes out at me. “I know, okay?”

“Look, this isn’t about you. Can’t you just pretend you didn’t find the note?” I’m pleading with her now.

“I’m not good at pretending.”

“You swore, Annie!”

“I know!” Annie growls.

I feel the stitches on the baseball in my hand, and I think back to last year when we lived in Santa Monica and my gram helped us with Natalie. Things were better back then. It’s too hard here with just my mom, my dad… and me.