Al Capone Shines My Shoes

“Zero,” Nat mutters.

Seven Fingers crushes my windpipe. “Shut her up, I said.”

“Shhhh,” Buddy Boy hisses, and Seven Fingers eases his hold just slightly as we tramp down the silent path by the parade grounds and around 64 building.

We’re walking where guards are supposed to be. No hiding, no skulking, we’re out in the open. Hiding in plain sight.

I try to think clearly about what is happening, but the gun in my back makes my mind slip and slide all around.

Buddy Boy impersonated Jimmy, hoping one of us would come out. They needed hostages. They weren’t counting on Natalie and the baby. Their biggest problem now is time. At 4:30 they’re due back at the cell house. What time is it now?

I have no idea. How can I slow them down?

I don’t know that either.

It’s so foggy we can hardly see. People can’t see us either. Part of the reason they chose today to make a break. The other reason was the party. Nobody is thinking about the cons right now and they know it.

The cons have guns wrapped in shirts pointed in our backs. But they’re walking close and holding them low. It doesn’t look suspicious. Seven Fingers is whistling the same stupid tune Trixle always whistles. Buddy has toothpicks in his mouth and my father’s jiggy step. To all of Alcatraz it looks like a couple of families out for a stroll.

How close do you have to be to see this isn’t my dad? In this fog, extremely close.

My heart beats so loud in my ears I can hardly think. We need to run into someone smart, but everyone smart is at the party.

There must be a way out of this. The buck sergeant will know. He has to pull each card before we get on the boat. He’ll see.

“Zero,” Nat says again.

“Shut… her… up,” Seven Fingers says with breathy, hate-filled pauses between his words.

“A little conversation”-my voice is so high and tight it doesn’t even sound like mine-“is natural.”

“Shut it,” Buddy Boy says, but quieter this time, like he’s agreeing with me.

I won one. For a second this calms me. Maybe I can win another. But what do I do? All I can think about is Nat’s counting. She doesn’t count nothing. She only counts something.

Zero. Zero what? What has she been saying?

Guns.

There are three guns. They each have one. I can feel Seven Fingers’s gun in my back. Even Willy One Arm has an elbow around Nat’s neck and a gun in his one hand. I try to get a better look at one of them in the dark, foggy afternoon. Buddy Boy has his gun pointed in Piper’s back, but it’s hidden. Why’s he hiding the gun? In case someone walks by, he doesn’t want them to see the gun, right?

If I can’t see, how could Natalie see? How could she know there aren’t any guns?

She doesn’t know.

I can’t take Natalie’s word for this. What am I, crazy?

I try to get a better look at the gun in Nat’s back, but she’s behind me.

“Head forward.” Seven Fingers grinds my heel.

This hurts but I can hardly feel it.

How could they get three guns?

What if they aren’t guns? Wood could be shaped like a gun in the carpentry shop when a guard wasn’t looking. Wood would get through the metal detector without setting it off.

But they have a key. A key is metal too. How’d they get that through the snitch box?

No guns. Zero.

The guard tower is above me. When we pass down by the dock, they have the best view of us. They’ve eased up on our throats now. If Mr. Mattaman thinks they’re guards, he’ll wave us on board. But he’ll know. Of course he will. When I look up at the tower, I can barely see it. The fog is so thick, it has almost completely obscured the glass cage.

We’re coming up to the boat. Buddy Boy does the wave. A perfect imitation of my father: the bent arm, the toothpicks in his mouth.

Where is the buck sergeant? The buck sergeant is always here. Mr. Mattaman, please stop us.

Mr. Mattaman doesn’t stop us. How could he? He can’t see.

We start across the gangplank. Once we’re on the boat, Willy One Arm has the key. That is what Buddy was talking about. He won’t have to wait for the buck sergeant to pull our cards. He won’t have to wait for anything.

The gangplank sways. It’s so foggy we can barely see the water right below us. I’m walking carefully, quietly, just as Seven Fingers and Buddy Boy want me to do. I’m a good prisoner. I’m doing everything exactly right.

It’s safer just to go along, easier to do what they want me to do. Two steps on. Three. Four. Five. If I’m wrong, we could die.

But Natalie’s never wrong. Not about counting. Not ever.

Why am I doing what they want?

“No!” I cry. My hand shoots up. I open my mouth and a voice booms out from the deepest part of my chest. “HELP!”

33. OUTSIDE THE WARDEN’S HOUSE

Same day-Friday, September 13, 1935

Something cracks, a sound like splitting wood. The world spins, the boat deck is slipping out from under me. My legs buckle, a sharp pain rips my skull. But I try to hold on to myself. I can’t lose consciousness. Can’t go away. Nat needs me. Piper needs me.

The bright spotlight shines on us, blood floats out, warm blood I taste in my mouth.

The air is suddenly black with flies, swarms of them buzzing everywhere. Janet Trixle’s voice booms through the bullhorn. “Stop!”

“They don’t have guns!” I shout as loud as I can.

The second strike is harder. My knees buckle, the alarm bell blares, splitting my ears in two.

Then suddenly Seven Fingers is gone. I sway from the abrupt release of his hold on my neck. I try to keep from going down. Buddy Boy, Willy One Arm, and Seven Fingers scatter, leaping over us as the boat sputters to a start.

Out of the fog comes the clatter of Janet Trixle holding the bullhorn, running with Theresa. I hear the clip of something being thrown and then I see Annie tossing stones; one after the other she clobbers Seven Fingers right in the Adam’s apple, Buddy in the back. Guards are everywhere. More guards. Real guards. Rifle shots from the guard tower pelt the bay. Seven Fingers jumps the buck sergeant. Trixle thunders down the road waving his billy. Next thing I know Nat’s shouting to Trixle, “No gun!”

Trixle squints at her, unsure whether to believe her or not.

“She’s right. It’s not a gun!” I shout as loud as I can and Darby vaults on Seven Fingers, who has the buck sergeant in a headlock. “Let go. Mother of God! Let go!” he shouts, his feet and arms pummeling Seven Fingers.

Seven Fingers lets go and Darby wrestles him to the ground, flattens him, holds his neck in a pincher grip.

The boat strains against the rope, bucking and roaring as Buddy Boy guns the engine, trying to pull the cleat out of the dock. Buddy Boy and Willy One Arm are barricaded in the captain’s compartment. The boat roars, the dock creaks, Mr. Bomini jumps on top of the captain’s compartment and bangs his billy, shattering the glass. Buddy Boy grabs Bomini’s hand and tries to twist the billy out of it. More shots splatter down from the guard tower, causing little explosions in the water. Annie pelts more stones. And then Buddy Boy comes out, waving a hummingbird handkerchief in the air, but hiding his head in his guard jacket, his smiling mouth finally still.

One Arm tries to bolt. He heads straight for the side of the boat like his plan is to jump overboard, but Bomini is too fast for him. He grabs him and slams him to the deck so hard, it knocks him out cold.

“C’mon,” my father says, his arm hovering above Natalie’s shoulders as he pushes me and Piper across the gangplank.

Tears stream down Nat’s face. “No guns,” she whispers.

My father’s face is white as a flash of lightning in the dark sky as he herds Theresa and Janet, Jimmy and Annie, Piper and me into the canteen. Piper is ranting, her words slur. She grabs hold of my dad. “He’s my brother. I have to find him.”

“It’s okay now, sweetheart.” My father makes his voice as soft as fur, propping Piper up with his arm.

“You don’t understand!” Piper shouts. “They took the baby!”

“What?” My father’s neck snaps and then he sees me. “Moose, you’re bleeding!” He’s next to me now, his finger probing my head. He rips the sleeve of his shirt and dabs at the blood with it. “We got to get you to Doc Ollie.”

“My brother!” Piper begs. She hangs on my father’s jacket. “Please, please, the baby.”

Janet Trixle still has the bullhorn and a look of stunned exhilaration on her face. She and Theresa are holding hands as they huddle together with Annie and Jimmy.

“I’m okay, Dad,” I tell him, “but Willy took the baby.”

“On the boat?”

“No, up top,” I say.

Piper’s face is just inches from my father’s. “You have to help me.”

My dad points to me. “Exactly where did you last see the baby?”