Al Capone Does My Shirts (15 page)

The other place I always go is the gap. Last night I dreamt Scout found the gap. It’s my gap. The thought of Scout worming his way through
my
hole in
my
fence and finding
my
ball makes me nuts.

This afternoon the teachers have a meeting, so we get out of school an hour early. I hope my mother doesn’t know this, but when I get home, I see she does. She has an errand to run in the city. She’s ready to leave just like always.

As soon as she’s gone, I head straight for the gap, with Natalie toe-stubbing along behind me. She’s wearing a green dress with puffed sleeves and some kind of pucker stitching across the top. It’s a dress a ten-year-old should wear. Natalie looks silly in it. She’s too old.

We cut through the parade grounds, where Annie, who had the day off from school, and Theresa are huddled over something. “Hey,” Annie says. “Where’ve you been? Want to toss a ball around?”

“I can’t now,” I say.

“Where are you going?” Theresa glances up from the card she’s working on.
Machine Gun Kelly,
it says.

“Oh, you know . . . looking for a convict ball,” I say.

Annie’s almost-white eyebrows raise. “I thought you didn’t care about that. . . .”

“Well, I don’t. Didn’t. But now I do. Just, you know—kind of,” I say.

“For Piper?” Annie asks, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s fighting a smile.

“For me,” I shoot back at her.

“You’ll never find one over there, but go ahead,” Annie says.

I look hard at her. “Where will I find one?”

“Beats me. All I know is the balls don’t go over very often,” Annie says.

“How’d you get one?” I ask.

“My dad got it for me.”

“Is that how Piper got hers?”

“I dunno,” Annie says.

“Can I come?” Theresa asks.

“I thought you wanted to finish,” Annie says.

Theresa looks at me, then Annie. She chews her bottom lip.

“You can go if you want,” Annie tells her.

Theresa shakes her head. “We have to finish,” she says.

“If you feel like playing later . . .” Annie nods to me.

“Sure,” I say as Natalie and I head down the steps. Above us six or seven birds track her. I swear every bird on the island knows Natalie.

We stop near the greenhouse, below the southwest corner of the rec yard wall. We’ve got this down to a system, Natalie and I. In some ways she is very predictable, more like a clock than a human being. I set her up with a big pile of rocks and she’s fine.

It’s a warm, clear spring day. I feel happy, as if I’m on the verge of something wonderful. No matter what Annie says, I’m going to find a baseball today. I even start whistling “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

When we get to the spot by the west end, I notice the terraces. They are full of new pink, yellow and bright purple garden flowers growing in neat rows. Across the water, I look to see how they’re doing on the Golden Gate Bridge today. Progress is slow. It always looks the same. The Bay Bridge too, though I can’t see it from here.

Natalie breaks her graham cracker sandwiches carefully along the dotted lines, eats half and throws the other half to the birds. Then she gets busy gathering her stones. She’s very diligent about this, like it’s her job. I start up the hill.

When I get to the gap in the fence, I kick more of the hill away first before I try to fit through. Why didn’t I think of this before?

Okay, I’m in. “Let’s be smart, Moose,” I tell myself. I’ll begin at one corner and search every square inch until I get to the other. Slowly, carefully I look under each bush, marking my progress so I don’t get confused about which bushes I’ve checked and which I haven’t. “Take your time,” I say out loud. “Keep your mind on business.”

For a while everything goes okay. But then I start getting discouraged. No baseball. It’s not fair. I’m doing everything right. I look again and again and again. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Maybe there just aren’t any more balls out here, I think for the hundredth time. Maybe this is all a big fat waste of time. I scoot back under the fence, too fast this time, and rip the back of my shirt.

Then I slide back down the shale to the halfway spot. A gull is pecking at the dirt, scouting for leftover graham cracker crumbs. Five piles of stones are neatly sorted by size. But Natalie . . . where is Natalie?

 

 

“Natalie,” my mouth tries to say, but my throat is closed up tight. No sound comes out. I run down, my arms flying helter-skelter, the shale sliding.

She has to be here. Maybe she’s out scouting for more stones. That’s it. I look down by the small rocky beach. A crab scuttles out from under a rock. Men on a nearby ferry are laughing; the sound is eerily loud though the boat is far away. She isn’t there. Over by the red berry bushes. No. Back by the greenhouse. No. Which way do I go?

I stop and listen. A voice . . . sounds. Behind me.

I spin and run toward the voice. “Natalie?” I crash the thicket. And then I see her. Natalie sitting on a rock with someone. A man. He is wearing a denim shirt and denim pants. A con. Natalie is sitting with a con.

The scream is stuck in my throat, choking me. Don’t look away. Don’t blink. Do not blink.

The con is smiling. He’s missing a front tooth. There are dark greased comb marks in his hair. I wonder about this. Inmates aren’t allowed hair pomade. Suddenly this seems very important. Why is he wearing pomade on his hair? Maybe he isn’t a con. Please, God, don’t let him be a con.

I haven’t even looked at Natalie. I’m afraid to take my eyes off the guy in the denim shirt. I think somehow I can protect her this way. But now I watch her too. She’s smiling. Sometimes Nat looks concerned or sad, or raging mad. The best she ever looks is interested. But here is my sister, Natalie Flanagan, looking happy.

“Hey, Moose.” The con’s voice is scratchy and an octave too high, like a girl’s almost. “You want this?” He reaches inside the coat draped over his leg. He has a gun. I can’t breathe. He’s going to shoot. But then I see. Information seeps into my brain. It isn’t a gun.

It’s a baseball.

Suddenly, my throat opens up. “Get a-way. . . . Get the heck away! Go! Go! THAT’S MY SISTER! GET AWAY FROM HER!” I scream as the four o’clock count whistle blows. The con jumps and Natalie’s smile, like some kind of rare bird sighting, slips away.

“Take it easy, fella. I got your baseball, didn’t I?” the con says. He nods at me and turns to Natalie. “Bye, sweetie.” He closes Natalie’s fingers around the baseball and fast walks away.

“DO NOT. DO NOT CALL HER SWEETIE,” I shout. His pace is uneven, like one leg is shorter than the other. Then I see the number stamped on the back of his denim shirt: 105.

 

 

“Nothing happened.” I say this out loud to shut up the voice in my head. My teeth are chattering like I’m cold. They were just sitting there. There’s no law against that. But I can’t stop thinking what the warden told me the first week we came here. “Some of these convicts haven’t seen a woman in ten or fifteen years. I think you’re old enough to understand what that means. . . .” I was only gone two minutes, three minutes, maybe. No more. N-O M-O-R-E. N-O-T-H-I-N-G H-A-P-P-E-N-E-D. The words go round and round in my head like the wheels of a car rolling over the slats of a bridge.

But it was more than three minutes. Way more. I left right after the three o’clock count whistle, I returned before the next. I was probably gone forty-five minutes. NO. I left way after the three o’clock whistle. It was only ten minutes. NO MORE.

Calm down, I tell myself. Nothing happened. My mind flashes on the greasy-haired con holding my sister’s hand, and a sick feeling comes over me. My mouth tastes like curdled milk.

I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there.

I’m so upset, I hardly see where I’m going. Natalie is pulling back, trying to go slow. I tug her along. I don’t care what she wants.

We’re almost to the west stairs now and I’m not even sure how we got here. It’s like I dreamed the distance.

How did he know my name? How did he know what I was looking for? He had that ball with him. He must have known before. 105, that was the number that didn’t make sense. IDIOT. I AM AN IDIOT. Natalie must have said something the last time. THE LAST TIME WE WERE OVER HERE. COULD THAT BE? He must have left before I saw him then. Probably meant to today. But he brought the ball. Insurance, I guess. Figured he could buy me off.

I grip Natalie’s arm so tight, it feels as if I’m holding bone. She tries to twist her arm away, but I’m not about to let go. Ever. She balks. Stops. Refuses to be half-dragged when we both know she follows just fine without this. But I won’t give her even this much freedom. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know the first thing about
anything
?” I scream. “Come on! Can’t you just walk with me for once?”

Almost there, almost there. I’m going to cry and I sure as heck don’t want to do it out here. I pray Theresa isn’t there waiting. I don’t want to find her sitting outside our door. We turn the corner to our landing and my chest falls.

Someone is there. Piper. Oh, man, just what I need!

Piper’s hat is tipped to the side. She’s watching me out of the corners of her eyes.

“You were chewing out Natalie. You were yelling at her,” Piper says.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were! I heard you. You never yell at her. What’s going on?” she demands.

I keep my mouth shut and stare at the doorknob, wishing I could get Piper out of the way.

Piper looks at Natalie. Natalie is rubbing her chin on her shoulder, her chin on her shoulder, faster than normal, as if she’s upset too. Have I done this or was it 105? She seemed happy with that greasy-haired con, so it was probably me.

“Sweet Jesus.” Piper whistles one long note. “You found a ball. That’s one of ours, isn’t it?”

She holds her hand out to Natalie.

Natalie can be very possessive with her things. She would never give anyone a rock or a button. I think Piper will be in for a fight. But no. Natalie plops the ball in Piper’s hand, easy as can be.

“Where did you find it?”

I don’t look Piper in the face. I feel like I held my sister hostage for that stupid baseball. I won’t touch it. It’s dirty. The last thing in the world I want is to tell anyone how we got it. And Piper is ten times worse than just anyone. How could I have let this happen?

“105,” Natalie says.

I say nothing. It feels like all the blood is draining out of my face. I’m light-headed. Please, Piper, be as stupid as I was.

Piper is frowning. She’s trying to understand. Do not figure this out.
Do not figure this out.

“105 what?” Piper asks. She pushes the brim of her hat back, as if to see better. She is staring intently at Natalie.

Natalie says nothing. Good Natalie.

“We gotta go inside.” I touch the door. It feels good, that door. I can almost hear the sound it will make when it slams shut.

“Come on! 105 what? Is that how many places you looked? What?” Piper asks. She’s standing firm between me and the door. Her hands are crossed in front of her and the frilly blouse she wore to school is tucked inside her overalls. Even as upset as I am right now, some part of me registers how cute she is.

“Because I haven’t heard of a ball going over in months. I didn’t think you’d find one,” Piper says.

“Thanks a lot.” I snort. “You could have told me that. You know I’ve been looking.”

“I’m your baby-sitter now too?”

“Pocket,” Natalie says, picking wildly at her shoulder.

“Pocket?” Piper asks me.

Usually I don’t like when people talk to Natalie through me. I’m not a ventriloquist and Natalie isn’t my dummy, but today I want her mute. “She doesn’t mean anything by that,” I lie.

“Yellow buttons,” Natalie says, taking two buttons out of her pocket.

“Natalie’s upset. We need to go inside.” I try to edge Piper out of the way. But Piper isn’t budging.

“Stop, Natalie. You have to tell me.” Piper recrosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s pulling rank. Only Natalie couldn’t care less whose daughter Piper is.

“105,” Natalie says.

“105 buttons?” Piper squints. She looks at Natalie, then me, then Natalie again. A big slow smile pours across her face. “Oh, sweet Jesus, you don’t mean . . .”

I twist the knob and try to knee open our door.

“You got a con to give you a ball, didn’t you? How did you do that? And who the heck is AZ 105? Somebody on the dock? I HAVE TO KNOW!”

I have the door open and I’m trying to pull Natalie inside while keeping Piper out.

“Was it a waiter at the Officers’ Club? Was it?”

“Natalie, come on!”

“Wow, Moose, I never thought you’d do something like this!” She smiles big.

My insides boil up and I barely restrain myself from slugging her. I push Natalie inside our apartment, then I try to get past Piper.

“What did you give him for the ball?” Piper asks.

I’ve got my shoulders in and I’m trying to close the door now. If only I can get Piper’s fingers out of there.

“C’mon. You must’ve given him something,” Piper asks.

“Move your hand! And shut up,” I cry.

“This is amazing!” Piper says, her eyes glowing. I’ve never seen her so excited. “Think maybe he could get autographs too, Moose? Because Al Capone’s signature, that is worth a fortune! This is the beginning, Moose!”

“NO! THIS IS THE END!” I shut the door in her face.