Gennifer Choldenko - Al Capone Shines My Shoes

“Piper told us,” Willy One Arm replies.

“You did?” I ask her.

Piper rolls her eyes. “God, Moose. Of course. How else would he know?”

Scout is looking at his brownie like he’s dying to take a bite, only he isn’t quite sure it’s safe. He gives me a sheepish smile.

“That’s poison. It’s a poison brownie. You better give it to me,” I whisper, snatching the brownie right out of his hand.

Scout laughs, grabs it back, and takes a bite.

“He’s cute when he eats,” Piper declares, her eyes on Scout. “He’s cute when he isn’t eating too.”

“Gee thanks, doll,” Scout says, a little grin on his face.

Piper takes a step toward him. “ You wouldn’t keep secrets from me, would you?”

“I don’t know any secrets. But if I find out any you’ll be the first doll I’ll tell.” Scout turns to me. “C’mon, let’s find that Jimmy guy and play ball.”

I can hear Piper laugh as we thunder down the switchback.

“Thanks a lot, Scout,” I tell him.

“What?” he asks over the sound of our pounding feet.

“Do you have to be so chummy with her?”

“The girl’s got murderers and madmen living in her house. I’m telling her whatever the heck she wants to hear.” Scout is panting as we slow down.

“They aren’t living there.”

“Close enough, Moose, close enough.”

Same day-Monday, August 5, 1935

Scout and I head straight for the Mattamans’ apartment, which smells warm and cinnamony. Big band music plays on the radio as we walk through the living room to Theresa and Jimmy’s room. Jimmy has divided the room in half with a curtain he’s made out of bottle caps. He collected a billion of them, then threaded string through holes he punctured in the caps. But even without the dividing line, it’s easy to see what is Jimmy’s and what is Theresa’s. Jimmy’s side is loaded up with extra parts from a crystal set he’s constructing out of a Quaker oats box, a big pile of paper airplanes all folded together in one neat stack, and a rock-shooting machine he hasn’t gotten to work yet. His head is bent over a book about flies.

On her side, Theresa has two life-size paper men shot up with bullet holes from the firing range, newspaper articles about Al Capone, Bonnie and Clyde, and Baby Face Nelson, and a collection of cat toys she’s knitted just in case the warden changes his mind and says she can get a cat. Theresa is busy writing in her notebook of strange convict occurrences. She keeps a list of stuff she thinks are suspect. She has some odd things on the list too, like a full moon. We can’t seem to get her to understand that full moons happen no matter where you live. Theresa has quite the imagination.

“Hey.” Jimmy smiles up at us. “Want to know the best way to breed flies?”

“Sure,” Scout says.

“They like garbage, feces, cadavers, and carcasses,” Jimmy tells us proudly.

“Cadavers? What are cadavers?” Scout asks.

“Dead bodies,” I explain.

Scout looks at me sideways. “Where do you keep the dead people?” he whispers.

“We don’t have any.” I pull a long face. “There’s a morgue, but it’s empty. I’m very sorry, Scout.”

Scout grins and snaps his fingers. “Darn,” he says.

Jimmy doesn’t smile. He adjusts his glasses. “We need more flies, because so many don’t survive the training,” he explains.

“Fly training?” Scout asks incredulously.

“Uh-huh.” Jimmy’s eyes get bright, but before he can start explaining, Scout jumps up, full of his usual enthusiasm. “You play ball, right, Jim? C’mon, buddy, let’s go.”

Jimmy pushes a clump of dark curly hair off his forehead. He looks at me like he’s expecting me to throw him a life preserver.

“You want to play, Jim?” I ask.

Scout squinches his lips. “Why wouldn’t he want to play?”

Jim ignores this. “Where’s Annie?” he asks.

“She’s mad,” I tell him.

Theresa looks up from her notebook. “Why’s Annie mad?” she asks from behind the bottle cap curtain.

Scout nods toward Theresa’s side of the room. “Does she play? Because I’ve taught my sisters pretty good. In a pinch they can play outfield. You know, if there aren’t enough fellas.”

Theresa’s head pops through the bottle caps, making them clatter like tiny galloping horses. She waves her arm all around, like she’s raising her hand at school. “Can I? What about me?”

Scout parts the curtain to get a better look. “How old are you?”

“Eight.”“

“She’s seven,” I tell him.

Theresa juts her chin out. “Almost eight, in a couple of days.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “A hundred is a couple?”

Scout ignores Jimmy. “You gonna do what we tell you?” he asks.

Theresa’s mouth presses into a hard thinking line. “I’ll get Annie,” she decides.

I’m happy to hear this. If anyone can convince Annie to play, it’s Theresa. “Yeah,” I say, “you do that.”

By the time Jimmy, Scout, and I get to the parade grounds, Annie and Theresa are already there. Annie has her gear too!

“I’m gonna play,” she announces.

“Swell!” I practically shout. I have no idea why she changed her mind, but I never question the peculiar logic of girls.

“You’re on the bench .” She snatches my glove out of my hand and pokes me in the chest.

“Me?” She can’t mean me.

“Yeah, you! Mr. Okey-dokey,” she whispers, her voice scratching like a match against flint.

“What are you… out of your mind? Course I’m playing.”

Annie stretches her arm across her body to warm up her arm muscles. “No, you’re not, Humpty Dumpty, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Humpty Dumpty?” Scout’s lips shake like he’s trying not to laugh. “Is that what she calls you?”

“Nice try. Scout is my friend. He came to play with me.” I tap my glove against my chest.

Scout clears his throat. He’ll come to my defense, of course he will. He’s not going to play without me. What does Annie think?

“Moose is playing,” Scout says.

Really, the gall of that girl, thinking she can kick me out of my own game.

“But maybe you could sit out just, you know, the first few pitches. I gotta see if this girl can strike me out. Moose, you understand,” Scout whispers. “Jimmy,” he yells. “First base or catcher?”

My mouth is hanging open. I can’t believe this.

“First,” Annie answers for Jimmy.

“Hey, that’s my position.”

Annie glares at me. “Jimmy does all right.” She scowls. “He just needs practice.”

“You gotta use me. You don’t have enough players without me,” I tell Scout.

Annie throws him the ball, and he catches it.

Back and forth, back and forth it goes. I might as well be a crack in the cement. I climb on top of a wooden crate we call the bench. It won’t be long to wait, I tell myself. Scout will hit and then I’ll play.

“We’ll play with one base. Theresa, you’re batter up,” Annie commands.

“No wait. It has to be Scout,” I insist.

“Nope, Scout’s second. I got to warm up.”

“Forget it, Annie. I’m not going to-”

“She has to warm up her arm, buddy,” Scout shouts. “Otherwise she’ll say it wasn’t fair.”

What is this? How long am I going to have to sit here and just watch?

Theresa is batter up. She’s facing the wrong way and holding the bat cross-handed. Scout calls a halt to the play and runs up to her for coaching.

When he’s finished, Annie spins one to her. Looks like a strike, but it’s a ball.

“Ball one,” I shout. I may be on the bench, but I’m sure as heck going to ref.