Gennifer Choldenko: Al Capone Shines My Shoes

“I can’t play with you until you tell,” Annie announces.

“About the note?”

Annie rolls her eyes. “What do you think, Moose? Of course about the note.”

“For the one hundredth time, Annie, I can’t do that.”

Annie’s arms tighten around herself. “Then I won’t play.”

“What do you mean you won’t play?”

She frowns and shrugs her shoulders, just a little, as if the movement pains her.

“But Annie,” I whisper. “Don’t you see? I can’t wreck everything for Natalie. She’s my sister.”

Annie shakes her head. “Capone’s a gangster. A mob boss. He could kill you. You want to get shot? Jeez, Moose, do I have to explain everything to you?”

“First off, he can’t shoot me. He’s locked up. And in the second place-”

“He doesn’t do it himself, idiot. He has one of his gorillas do it for him.”

“And in the second place,” I steamroller on, “it’s a little late now. I already asked for his help. He already gave it.”

“It’s not too late. You could explain it all. You could explain everything.”

“To the warden?” I snort. “Look Annie, Capone didn’t ask for anything.”

“He will, though. You know he will.”

“And I won’t do it.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

It feels suddenly hot and stuffy in her apartment. “Look, Annie, this isn’t your problem, okay?”

Annie’s blue eyes are extra round, like the pressure inside her head is pushing them out of her skull. “I thought you were like me. I thought you didn’t like to get in trouble either.”

“I am like you. But this is my family, okay? I’m not going to mess this up for Natalie. You wouldn’t either, if you were me.” I hadn’t really decided what I was going to do about all of this, but suddenly this much is clear.

Annie shakes her big square head. “My mom says a school can’t make Natalie normal anyway. My mom says everybody knows that… except you.”

“Annie, shut up, okay? Just shut up!” I squeeze out the door and heave the screen closed. I’m looking for a big slamming noise, but all I get is a flimsy, tinny clap.

Scout squints, looking up at me. I take big, fast steps to get us as far away from Annie as possible.

“She won’t play,” I mutter as we head for the stairwell.

Scout hops on one foot, takes off his shoe, and dumps out a trickling of sand. “Can’t imagine she’s any good anyway.”

“Oh she’s good, all right. She could strike you out.”

“Excuse me?” He pokes me in the ribs with his bat. “No girl could strike me out.”

Annie shoves open the door behind us. “This girl could,” she calls after us.

“Then prove it,” Scout shouts back. “Put your glove where your mouth is, sweetheart.”

“It’s Moose’s fault I can’t play. Blame him ,” Annie shouts as we round the corner to the stairwell.

Scout snorts. “Dames, they’re all the same. Nothing is ever their fault.”

Upset as I am, I can’t help laughing at this. Scout sounds like somebody’s dad when he talks this way.

“Actually”-Scout smiles a little like he’s proud of himself for getting me out of my mood-“there are three types of girls in the world: lookers, okey-dokeys, and aunties. Lookers are beautiful. Okey-dokeys are not pretty, but not ugly either, and aunties are… they’re the other kind. That Annie doll, she’s an auntie.”

Mad as I am at Annie, I can’t let Scout talk this way about her. “Annie’s different. She can play ball, I swear she can.”

“Whatever you say, buddy, but that girl’s an auntie if I ever saw one.”

“Nah, she’s an okey-dokey,” I tell him. Up ahead are the parade grounds. Scout speeds up. I haven’t said that’s where we play, but he already seems to know.

“Auntie.” He drops his bat.

“Okey-dokey.” I toss my ball in the air.

Scout catches it with his bare left hand. We throw the ball back and forth, gloveless left to gloveless left.

“Pop flies,” I call, and Scout throws one up almost as high as the basement on the warden’s house, which sits on the top tier of the island. But I catch it, of course I do.

It’s impossible to stay upset when you’re with Scout.

“How come Annie doesn’t go to school with us?” Scout asks.

“She goes to Catholic school-St. Bridgette’s.”

“Any kid besides Piper live here? Anybody who can play? I thought you said there was another kid? Or you know, a stray murderer or something.” Scout’s eyes light up. “The kind with blood.”

“Everybody has blood, Scout.”

“On their hands, I mean.”

“It’s probably been washed off by now. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to wear blood to court.” I raise my hand like I’m pledging. “I’m not guilty, Your Honor, don’t mind this blood or anything.”

Scout laughs, a little burst that comes out his nose. He throws me a fastball.

“And besides, the blood will get my ball messy,” I call to him.

“And slippery too,” Scout shouts back.

Convict baseballs are collector’s items on Alcatraz. The convicts play baseball in the rec yard, but the way they play, if they hit the ball over the wall, it’s an automatic out, so they’re pretty rare.

“Piper got you a convict baseball, remember? What did you do with it?”

“Put it to good use. Can’t you get me one?” Scout gives me his aw-shucks look. “I mean if a girl could do it…”“

I snort. “I actually got you the one Piper gave you. And no, I can’t get you another. Maybe we could meet a con though.”

“That’ll do,” Scout agrees.

“It’s not trash pickup or laundry day, so we can’t run into a con that way,” I say.

“Al Capone ever pick up your trash?”

“Nope, never met the guy.” I know Scout would be impressed if I told him about the notes from Al, but then he’d tell everyone at school. This I don’t need. “There’s a thief and a con man who work in Piper’s house. Let’s go say hello,” I say as if I do this every day.

Scout whistles long and low. “A con man, a thief, and a looker… what are we waiting for?”

“Piper’s not a looker,” I snap.

Scout grins out of one side of his mouth. “Don’t get all worked up now, Moose. I just said she was a looker. I didn’t say I was looking, now did I?”

“If you weren’t looking, how’d you know she was a looker?”

“Ahh, Moose.” Scout sighs. “You’re pretty far gone,” he declares as we walk up the switchback into the shadow of the cell house, a cement building big as a football field with three floors of prisoners inside. Scout, normally the fastest walker in the world, begins to slow his pace. “That’s where they keep ’em?” he whispers, pointing to the looming fortress.

“Yep, that’s the cell house.”

Scout looks around like he’s expecting snipers on the rooftops. “And you just walk out here like this?”

“Unless we run.”

Scout doesn’t smile. He’s all business now. “When I meet the con man and the thief, what do I say? I mean, do I shake hands?”

“Don’t shake his stump. I don’t think it’s polite to shake a stump.”

Scout’s eyes dart all around as he leans in to whisper, “Do I need a weapon?”

“Uh-huh, they issue machine guns right at the door,” I tell him.

“Right, Moose,” he says, but even his sarcasm is watered down as we perch on the doorstep of the warden’s twenty-two-room mansion, which stands directly opposite the cell house. Even after living here for six months, the cell house still gives me the creeps. It’s the bars and the sounds I sometimes hear. Hollers, curse words, and metal cups clanking against the bars. The cons aren’t supposed to talk, much less yell, but sometimes all heck breaks loose. That’s when it gets scary. Still, when we face Piper’s house, it feels like we’re on some fancy street in San Francisco.