Al Capone Does My Homework

by Gennifer Choldenko

  “Another pair of ears,” I offer.

  “No room in the shed.”

  “We have to take stuff out anyway,” I say.

  “You sure you want to do this, Annie? You know you’ll get in trouble if you’re caught.” Piper’s eyes are hard.

  Annie has a cross on her necklace. She winds the chain around her finger. Her eyes dart toward me. “We have to find out how the fire started,” she says.

  “We?” Piper asks.

  Annie nods.

  Piper clamps her mouth shut and hops off the steps.

  We follow as she cuts through the side yard between Doc Ollie’s home and hers. At the shed, we begin pulling out the brooms, buckets, and ladders and stacking them next to the gardening shack to make space inside. Piper says we should do this out in the open, since our story is that Doc Ollie’s sister has given us a job. Two officers walk by on the road. They don’t give us a second glance, but Annie’s arms are trembling, one hand holds her cross.

  When we have enough stuff out of the shed, we slip inside. It’s dark. It’s stinky, and it’s awkward. Being locked in a shed with a girl you once kissed and your best friend who happens to be a girl is not exactly relaxing. I crack open the door, to get a little air.

  Annie suggests we play rock, paper, scissors—Alcatraz style. The rock, the newspaper, and the shiv, which is what they call a prisoner-made knife. The shiv stabs the newspaper. The rock smashes the knife. The newspaper covers the rock. I never used to understand that part of the game. I mean, how could a paper be stronger than a rock? But with Bea Trixle threatening to go to the newspaper and what might have happened if she had, it makes perfect sense. One stupid newspaper article could ruin your whole life.

  We’ve just decided they must have changed the schedule and they aren’t going to interrogate Al today, when we hear commotion at the front door. I pull the shed door closed and stand in the back with Annie. Piper stands in front. I suck my gut in and rock back into the rakes, so no part of me brushes either of them. But I can’t stop thinking about where I am and where they are. At school they say once you’ve had a crush on someone, it never totally goes away. That explains Piper. I don’t want to think about why I also feel weird around Annie.

  People are coming into Doc Ollie’s kitchen, moving chairs around. From the sound of their voices, I identify Trixle, my dad, and Bo Bomini.

  “Uh-oh,” Annie whispers. “My father.”

  “I’ll handle the questions, sir,” Trixle barks.

  “No, you won’t,” my father informs him in a commanding voice that surprises me.

  A chair scrapes the floor. There are more footsteps.

  Then I hear Capone. “I’m in the hot seat?”

  “That was Capone,” I whisper to Piper and Annie. I know what he sounds like because I’ve met him before.

  “Lotta rigmarole for a few questions,” Capone says.

  “You got a pressing engagement we’re keeping you from?” my dad asks.

  Capone laughs. “Funny, boss,” he says.

  “Nothing funny about this, 85,” Trixle says in his Double Tough voice.

  “You know my memory ain’t so good lately,” Capone says. “Might want to pour me a high ball—get the gears turning.”

  “This look like Cook County to you?” Trixle snorts.

  “No reason we can’t be civilized, now, is there?” Capone mutters.

  “Let’s get down to business,” my father says as I try not to breathe in the manure-smelling air or bump into Piper or Annie. “What do you know about the fire?”

  Annie trembles. I have a sudden urge to take her hand, but of course I don’t.

  “Heard the bell, saw the smoke . . .” Capone says. “That’s it.”

  “What’s the word around the cell house about how it started?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Who would know?” my father drills in.

  “Can’t see how the boys in the big house could have been involved with setting a fire in 64 after lockdown. Just using my noggin for that one,” Capone says.

  “Who is involved, then?” my father asks.

  “Couldn’t tell you. Look boys, I keep my nose clean. I’m gonna do my time real nice, then head back home. It isn’t me you should be worrying about. Some of them guys up there got a long reach.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Darby asks.

  “I ain’t speaking Latin, Double Tough. You can figure it out,” Capone says.

  “I’ve had enough of your lip.” Darby again.

  “Take it easy, Darby,” my father tells him. “How about the money?”

  “What money?” Capone wants to know.

  “A lot of money floating around, and gifts. One of your trademarks, isn’t it?” my father asks.

  Piper moves from one foot to the other, bumping against my arm. I pull away, but she keeps jiggling back and forth, like she can’t stop herself.

  “I like nice things. Who doesn’t?” Capone replies.

  “We’re talking specifically about gifts,” my father says.

  Annie gulps. Piper bumps against the shed door.

  “Don’t know nothing about that,” Capone answers.

  “It’s common knowledge you’re the man with the money.”

  Capone laughs. “Not in here, boss. Course, I have my subscription list. Somebody’s a friend, they get my magazines when I’m done. They’re not so friendly, I scratch ’em off.”

  “Nobody cares about your magazines. We want to know where the money is coming from,” Trixle demands.

  “Beats me,” Capone says. “Look, I dunno anything about that fire or any gifts. Got something else I can help you with?”

  “You got nothing on the fire?” my father asks.

  “Ain’t God, you know, fellas. Anything bad happens and you haul me in. The sun don’t shine . . . you blame me.”

  “Told you this was a waste of time,” Darby snaps. “Cam, can I talk to you outside?”

  “Yeah, all right. Bo, keep an eye on him,” my father says.

  “Don’t let him push you around, boss,” Capone advises. “You’re the Big Man. Officer Trixle ain’t too happy he got passed over. He’s not going to stand there and take it.”

  “Shut your clapper,” Trixle explodes.

  “C’mon,” my dad tells him as Doc Ollie’s kitchen door flings open. Their voices are suddenly louder. They’re right outside our shed.

  Piper breathes in sharply. Annie is so quiet, it’s like she’s disappeared.

  “He’s playing with you, Cam,” Darby says. “Can’t you see it?”

  “We all have our own interpretations,” my dad tells him.

  “It’s a big joke the way he calls you boss. You don’t hear him pulling that with me. We need to beat the beejeezus out of him. Then maybe we’ll get something.”

  “That’s against regs and you know it.”

  “Regs?” Trixle snorts. “This look like Sunday school to you, Cam?”

  “It isn’t the Dark Ages either. I’m handling this my way, so behave yourself.”

  “Behave myself?” Trixle’s words are full of acid. “Don’t let me get—”

  “That’s right.” My father cuts him off. We hear the kitchen door open.

  “Lunchtime,” Capone announces. “Don’t suppose you could make me a sandwich?”

  “This ain’t no picnic, 85,” Darby tells him.

  “Man needs nutrition. Memory aid.”

  “Don’t see the harm, Darby. He’s gonna miss the cell house gruel,” my father says.

  “Oh for Chrissake,” Darby mutters. “Bo, make him a sandwich.”

  The icebox opens and closes. Bo seems to be moving around the kitchen. Something clinks, there’s the squeak of a ja
r opening.

  “Make you one too, boss? Double Tough ain’t hungry, I’m guessing,” Capone says.

  “You got that right,” Darby spits.

  “Just being a gentleman is all. World needs better manners,” Capone says.

  “Spare us,” Darby growls.

  “What do you know about the point system?” my father asks.

  “Don’t want nuthin’ to do with that,” Capone says. “They got me on that list same as you and the warden. I’m worth one thing if they spit on me, another if I’m jumped, double if they rub me out. Why would I fund that?”

  “Who is behind it, then?”

  “Drawing a blank here, boss.”

  “Seems to me you’ll be a whole lot safer if we can find these guys.” My father’s voice is kind and reasonable.

  “I’m not following,” Capone says.

  “I think you are,” my father says.

  “Not everybody gets along real good up there,” Capone says. “Don’t know if you noticed that. Got a few gorillas should be in the zoo. Got ’em on both sides of the bars, if you ask me.”

  “Which means . . .”

  “I said my piece. That’s all I know.” Capone’s voice is softer now.

  Darby snorts.

  “Knife disappeared from the kitchen,” my father says.

  “Butcher knife,” Capone adds.

  “That’s right, a butcher knife. What can you tell us about that?” my father asks.

  “Got a good system with them silhouettes in the kitchen. You can see real clear when one of them ain’t there,” Capone says.

  “When did it disappear?” Trixle asks.

  “I can’t say for sure,” Capone says.

  “Who took it?” my father asks.

  “I dunno.”

  “Who has it?” My father again.

  “Dunno that either.”

  “Why’d they take it?”

  “Couldn’t tell you.”

  “C’mon, 85, don’t give us the runaround,” Darby says.

  “I dunno anything about that knife.” Capone again.

  “You sure?” my father asks.

  “Have I always been square with you?”

  “No,” Darby snorts.

  “I ain’t asking you, Double Tough.”

  My father sighs. “All right then, thank you, Al. Doc Ollie will get you fixed up,” my father says.

  “’Preciate it, boss.”

  We listen as a chair drags across the floor. The silverware clinks on the plate. The icebox door shuts and then the footsteps fade away.

  My neck is sore, my back is cramped, and the horse crap smell has given me a headache. I push open the shed door and climb out.

  Piper shoves past us and takes off down the back stairs we hardly ever use.

  Annie watches her, her eyes wide. I know she’s surprised they questioned Capone about the gifts. I am too.

  “That gift thing . . . Piper’s trying to model herself after Capone, that’s all,” I say.

  Annie takes a wobbly breath.

  “C’mon. Let’s go talk to her,” I say as I take off after Piper.

  22. The Queen Falls

  Sunday, February 2, 1936

  I have no idea where Piper is going. I’m guessing maybe the secret passageway, but the passageway door is closed up tight, the screws securely in the hinges.

  “The Mattamans’?” Annie suggests. Piper likes Mrs. Mattaman a lot. If she’s upset, she may go there.

  But the Mattamans aren’t back from church yet.

  “Wait, is she going to my apartment?” Annie points up to the door that leads to her place.

  Annie and I look at each other. “She was just trying to get away from us,” I say.

  “She doesn’t know what to do,” Annie says.

  When we get to Annie’s, Piper is sitting on the doormat. Annie opens her door and Piper charges for the kitchen and pulls out a seat at the Bominis’ kitchen table, a card table with an embroidered tablecloth.

  Piper looks around suspiciously, the table rocking as she sits down. “No one’s here, right?”

  “Mom’s lying down. She’s not feeling well. That’s why we missed church. You want something to eat?” Annie asks, opening the bread box and peering inside.

  Piper squirms in her chair, like she’s ready to jump out of it. “No,” she says, but I’m already nodding my head.

  Annie stacks store-bought graham crackers on a dish.

  Piper unwraps three sticks of gum and stuffs them in her mouth. She dips her hand in her pocket and pulls out a handful of gum and tosses it on the table. Her jaws move like a bone-crushing machine.

  “Annie,” she says. “Are you going to church tomorrow?”

  “Uh-uh. Tuesday nights we go,” Annie says.

  “Can I come?” Piper asks.

  Annie’s eyes dart to mine. “Of course,” she says.

  Piper tracks the look that flies between Annie and me. Her legs are swinging back and forth under the table. “Don’t look at me like that. I used to go when I was little.”

  “I’m glad to have the company,” Annie soothes.

  Piper chomps her gum. “Annie?” she asks. “Could I spend the night like I used to?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can we go to the Mattamans’ for supper and then play Old Maid?” She unwraps another piece of gum and stuffs it in her already packed mouth.

  “Whatever you want, Piper,” Annie says.

  Piper’s eyes flick to the Bominis’ newspaper, which sits on the side table. She snatches it and heads for the bathroom. The lock turns.

  Annie chews at her lip.

  “The gift thing could be nothing,” I say weakly.

  “Then why is she acting like this?”

  “I dunno,” I mumble. “We have to find out, though. We can’t help her if we don’t know what’s going on.”

  Annie’s lips bunch to one side. She taps her fist against them, thinking.

  She heads for the bathroom door, then knocks gently. “Piper, are you okay?”

  No answer.

  Annie motions to me. “You try.”

  I knock on the door. “Piper? Let’s talk, okay? Whatever the problem is, I can . . . we can help,” I say, but boy does that sound lame. Still nothing.

  Annie and I stare at each other.

  “We may need an adult,” Annie suggests.

  “Piper, we’re going to go get someone,” I call.

  This gets a muffled response.

  “What?” I ask.

  Annie puts her ear to the door. “She says she wants to talk to you.”

  “Me?” I ask.

  I knock on the door, half hoping she’ll tell me to go away.

  “Come in,” she says.

  She’s sitting on the bathtub rim, her face blotchy like she’s been crying, a mess of newspaper by her shoe.

  “You don’t like me anymore,” she says.

  Have I caused all this? “Is that what this is about?”

  She shakes her head. Her shoulders are hunched over the trash can like she’s going to puke.

  “You sick?”

  “I did something I shouldn’t have,” she whispers.

  “What?”

  Piper doesn’t answer. Something is really wrong. She never acts like this.

  She closes her eyes as tight as they will go, then whispers in a strangled voice, “You have to promise you’ll help me.”

  “Of course I will. Annie and I both will,” I say.

  “Promise?” She’s speaking in a low voice, but the air is full of pressure like before a lightning storm.

  “Yes, if I can,” I say.

 
; “The money didn’t come from my grandma.”

  My stomach tightens into a ball.

  “Where did it come from?” I ask.

  “It was magic,” she whispers, her voice so low, I can barely hear her.

  “Come on, Piper.”

  “It was.” Tears flow down her cheeks. “I put in a dollar and two came back.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The laundry. My grandma gave me pin money. I forgot it was in my pocket and I put it in the laundry bag and it went out.

  “First thing I did when the laundry came back was check it. I was hoping it would still be there—that it just got washed, but when I dug in the pocket, there were two there.”

  “Two what?”

  “Dollars. I put another dollar in the next week. Two came back just like the last time. And it kept going like that.”

  “That’s how you got the money?”

  She nods.

  “Was there a note? You know, from a con? Or anything else in the pocket?”

  “Nope. Just money. Double every time. I didn’t want to think about it.”

  “But you must have thought about it . . .” I say. Piper is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.

  She nods, her face buried in her hands.

  “Is it okay if Annie comes in?” I ask.

  She hesitates for a moment, then nods again. A movement as small as the blink of an eye.

  “Annie.” I open the door and Annie slips inside.

  “Lock it,” Piper barks.

  Only Mrs. Bomini is out there, but we lock it anyway. “Don’t tell her,” Piper whispers.

  Annie and I look at each other. A piece of the newspaper has been torn out and crumpled up. Annie un-crumples it.

  “COUNTERFEIT MONEY FLOWS INTO SAN FRANCISCO,” Annie reads.

  “Oh no.” I shut my eyes.

  “What?” Annie whispers.

  “You have to go tell your dad right now,” I say.

  “You said you were going to help me with this,” Piper whines. Her face is buried back in her hands. “That’s what you said. You help Natalie. You’d help Annie or Jimmy if it were them. Why won’t you help me?”

  “Annie and Jimmy would never do this and neither would Natalie.”