10.
A DANGEROUS GAME
Same day—Thursday, August 15, 1935
It isn’t until I’m heading down the cell house hospital stairs into the fresh air that it really hits me. I just met Al Capone, the most powerful gangster ever to live. He called me son!
My skin tingles as my mind replays his words. Seems to me a man’s got as much power as he can wrap his mind around. He was talking about my dad. He thought my dad had the power to make sure he didn’t have a cellmate.
And that other bit about a person who keeps up his end of things? That was a message for me. He expects me to get his wife flowers. No doubt about that.
My father looks at me. “It’s a shame he went bad. Could have used somebody like that on our side. Who knows, he might have been mayor, president even.”
“He’d a got my vote,” I admit.
“I noticed that.” My dad motions with his head toward the cell house. “You gotta watch the cons like him—the ones with brains. Starts innocent enough. He shines your shoes. Pretty soon, he wants something for his efforts. A stick of gum maybe. You gonna give it to him? Well, you owe him now . . .” He sucks his cheek in, watches a pelican fly over our heads. “Maybe you say no and he tells you, get the gum or he’ll make certain the warden finds out he’s been shining your shoes. So you get him his gum. Now he has two things on you. What does he do then? He ups the ante . . . that’s what.”
I’m shrinking. I have lost eight inches in height and begun to sweat so much my skin is slippery clear down to my shoes. My father has nailed me and he doesn’t even know it.
“Moral of the story?” my father continues. “Shine your own shoes, you don’t have to worry about any of that.” He smiles at me.
“What about Trixle?” I ask in a wobbly voice.
My father cracks his neck. “Doesn’t mean it has to happen that way. Seven Fingers gets his chocolate bars. Trixle gets his shoes shined. It’s a dangerous game is all I’m saying.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
My father’s face registers concern. “Didn’t mean to scare you, son. I won’t let you get in trouble. Don’t you worry.” He pats my back reassuringly, which only makes me feel ten times worse.
I’m not the kid he can protect anymore.
“That was a good thing you did, getting Rocky up there so quick, Moose . . . you know that?”
I clear my throat, try to get ahold of myself. “Thanks,” I mutter as Theresa comes tearing around the steps that lead to the front entrance of the cell house. “Moose! Mr. Flanagan! Rocky! Is Rocky okay?”
“He’s okay, sweetie. Just fine,” my father calls back. “Don’t you worry. Your dad will be out in a few minutes.”
“Are you sure?” Theresa demands, panting hard when she catches up with us.
My father pats her messy black hair. “I’m sure, little one. I saw him with my own eyes.”
Theresa nods like she’s taking this all in. “And my dad’s coming?” Her voice gets hoarse.
“Yes,” my father answers.
Theresa’s little face screws up with the effort of closing her eyes so tightly. She turns on her heel and runs back down the switchback.
My father frowns as we watch her run past Piper, who is on her way up. “What was that all about?”
“I dunno,” I tell him.
Piper’s taking big angry steps, her hands crossed in front of her. She has a fierce expression like she’s chewing chain link.
“I think you got another problem here, Moose.” My father nods toward Piper. “She’s a wild one. Think I’ll let you handle her on your own. Good luck with it.” He winks at me and pats my arm, barely concealing his grin as he turns and heads down the hill.
“You got to go into the cell house, didn’t you?” Piper asks when my father is gone.
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? You either did or you didn’t.”
There’s no way to keep this from Piper. You can’t pick your teeth on this island without everyone knowing exactly what you dug out.
“C’mon, what did you see?” she demands.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Capone,” I whisper.
“No! NO! I hate you so much! It’s all your fault, too, Jimmy!” Piper shouts down the switchback to Jimmy, who is heading our way.
Jimmy runs the rest of the way up to us. “What’s my fault?” he asks between breaths. He leans over like he has a side ache.
“Moose met Capone.” Piper glares at Jimmy. “MOOSE! He’s slow, he’s clumsy . . . he could have dropped him.”
“He didn’t drop him.” Jimmy’s voice is quiet.
“Yeah, well he could have,” Piper roars.
“Yeah, well he didn’t,” Jimmy spits back, “and everything worked out okay.”
“I’m gonna kill Theresa. She’s the one. I can’t believe you got to meet him.” Piper is standing an inch away from Jimmy, blasting him down.
Jimmy does not back up. “She didn’t do anything.”
“Heck she didn’t. She shoved me out of the way,” Piper insists.
“Look, Piper . . . Rocky’s fine, I didn’t drop him, and they’d never have let you meet Capone anyway. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re a girl,” I tell her as gently as I can.
“You’re a kid and they let you in,” Piper says.
“All I did is say hello to Al, so don’t get so burned up.”
“Al, is it? You’re his buddy now? What did you say to him?”
I shrug. “Hello. I said hello.”
Piper gets up close to me and shouts in my face. “You met Al Capone and all you said was hello?”
“What would you have said?”
“Something a lot better than hello.”
“Piper, nobody planned this, okay? It just happened. The important thing is Rocky’s fine. He could have died,” I tell her.
Piper shoves me hard. “Oh, don’t be stupid. Babies don’t die.”
Jimmy glares at her.
“What’s the matter with you? Of course they do,” I tell her.
“The one chance in the whole universe to meet Capone and you hog it!” She shoves me again.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, jeez,” I say, but Piper already has her back turned to me. She’s stomping up the hill toward her house.
I turn to Jimmy for support, but his lips are twisted like he’s trying hard to keep his feelings in. “You’re sorry?” he asks. “You save my brother and you get to meet Capone and you’re sorry?”
“I just don’t want Piper mad. When she gets mad, she makes trouble. You know she does.”
Jimmy snorts. “That’s right. Got to keep everybody happy, right, Moose?”
“C’mon, Jim.” I search his face trying to figure out why he’s so burned up at me. “You’re still sore about Scout?”
“I was never sore about Scout,” Jimmy says. “He’s not my friend. Why would I care what he does?”
“What do you want me to say here, Jimmy?”
“You just saved my baby brother, you don’t have to say anything,” he sputters, but his eyes won’t engage with mine.
“Then why are you all steamed up?”
He looks up at me like he’s searching for something he lost a long time ago. “The guys at my school are just like Scout. You can’t play ball, you’re no one,” he whispers, his voice strained. “You’re the only guy who likes what I like. It’s kind of important, you know?”
“Okay,” I tell him, “I know.”