34.
THE BOSS
Same day—Friday, September 13, 1935
“Natalie! She was just here,” I tell my frantic father. My head is beginning to spin again.
“You go inside the warden’s house. I shouldn’t have had you out here in the first place.”
“No!” I shout at him. “I can help! I know where she’ll go.”
He nods hesitantly. “Where?”
I try to pretend I’m Natalie. She wouldn’t like the commotion. She’d go somewhere out of the noise.
My mind flashes on Nat in Piper’s room. How gentle and careful she was with the baby. “Maybe she went to look for the baby?” I suggest.
“Where would she look?” my father asks.
“Around by the back of the cell house.”
I head in the direction I saw Willy One Arm take the baby. I have no idea beyond this, but I don’t want my dad to send me inside. I run as fast as I can, my father’s thundering footsteps behind me.
I’m running like I know where I’m going, when all of a sudden out of the corner of my eye I think I see the flash of Nat’s blue dress disappearing inside the hospital entrance of the cell house. Was that her? This seems unlikely. My legs slow down.
“No way she could get in there.” My father is sure about this.
I keep going.
“Moose!” My father’s voice.
I’m running now up the back stairs. “I think I saw her.”
“Moose!” my father shouts. “Stop!”
The door is open. Down the corridor, past where a guard is conked out on the floor, I’m running all out, my feet pounding the floor. I can see Nat in her blue dress standing in the corridor.
“Natalie!” my father shouts.
Piper’s little brother—the tiny baby—he’s here. Capone has him in his arms.
“Baby,” Nat says, looking toward Capone’s cell. Oh my God, the baby’s neck is broken, snapped in two by the raw power of Al Capone.
But the baby is sleeping. He has his eyes closed, snuggled up in the crook of Al Capone’s arm. He is rocking him gently, ever so gently.
Nat is outside Capone’s hospital cell. Capone is inside with the baby. The door is locked. How did the baby get in there?
My father stops. His eyes dart between Capone, the baby, and Natalie, taking it all in.
“Lost something, boss?” Capone whispers.
“Don’t hurt him.” My father’s voice shakes with quiet power. He could command the entire Western Hemisphere with that voice.
“I’m not gonna hurt him. Been rocking him for close to an hour now.”
“How’d he get in there?” my father asks.
“Molly,” Nat whispers, pointing to the tiny mouse sitting on Capone’s bed.
“Natalie followed the mouse.” Capone smiles. “Smart girl you have there, boss. The mouse took off—went to find some food, I guess. But she came back. Took a liking to me. Everybody likes Uncle Al.”
“The baby,” my father says. “How’d the baby get in there?”
Capone smiles, a sly smile. “Moose, pull that bar. That one there.” Capone directs me to the bar with his chin. “Slip it out real gentle and the next one over too.”
I grab hold of the bar he means. As soon as I do I feel the give as a two-foot section pulls out in my hand. My father pulls out the next bar over and I get the last one. A neat square appears: just chest size—big enough for a man to crawl through.
Capone nods. “You got it, boss.” He stands up, still rocking the tiny baby. Carefully he hands the little bundle through the opening to my father, tucking in his blanket under my father’s arm.
“What in the H.?” my father mutters, cuddling the baby more awkwardly than Capone. The baby begins to cry.
“Just doing a bit of baby-sittin’ is all.”
Little Walt is starting to fuss now, twisting his small head.
“Rock him a little, why don’t you?” Al suggests, eyeing the tiny baby, whose face is growing redder in the half-light.
My father ignores this. “How’d the bars get cut?”
“Ain’t tool-proof up here. You know that.”
“Who did this?”
“I didn’t do nothing. But I might have seen somebody working on ’em with dental floss and cleanser. Dental floss and cleanser cut anything. Did you know that?”
“Might have seen?” my father asks as the baby continues to fuss.
“Been a lot of activity here tonight. Case you missed it. Hard to know where to focus your eyes is all.”
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
Capone coughs. He looks my father straight in the eye. “Only got three more years. And I got my own son. What’s his mama gonna tell him—I pull a stupid stunt, get myself locked up for the rest of my life. I know a cockamamie plan when I hear one, but I’m no rat.”
“That’s not going to cut it, Al.”
Capone looks down at the baby my dad is holding. “He was sleepin’ with me. He’s squallin’ with you, boss.”
“Who was involved?”
“Didn’t see no one up close. My eyesight ain’t so good anymore,” Capone tells my dad.
“What in the name of Peter and Paul!” Trixle’s boots pound down the aisle.
“Beats the life out of me, Darby,” my father tells him.
“A trooper. I am a trooper,” Nat tells Trixle proudly.
Trixle squints. “What’s she saying?”
“She found the baby,” I tell Trixle.
“Ain’t possible.”
“She sure did, Darby,” my father murmurs, glowing at Nat.
“I’ll be gar darned. She’s the one told me they didn’t have guns too.” Trixle looks at Nat, a flash of surprise in his eyes before he turns his attention to Capone. “Bars cut?” Trixle asks.
“Yep,” my father says.
“Baby’s okay?”
“Seems fine,” my father answers.
“Rock him a little, will ya?” Al says. “Don’t like to hear him squallin’ that way.”
“What happened, 85?” Trixle asks.
“Didn’t see much, Officer. Busy as I was baby-sittin’ and all.”
Trixle eyes the opening. “I’ll get the key. Can’t stay in that cell.”
“Don’t see why not. If I was gonna leave, don’t you think I’d have hightailed it out of here already?” Capone asks.
My father ignores him.
“Isn’t that right, Moose?” Capone nods to me.
“Don’t talk to him!” my father barks.
“Ahh, boss. He’s a good boy, your Moose. I wouldn’t go getting in the way of that, now would I?” Capone’s eyes are hard, challenging my dad.
Trixle comes back with the key. The door clanks clean open again. “Had enough of your shenanigans tonight, 85. Put you in the Hole. That ought to help your eyesight. Gonna be twenty-twenty when I’m done with you.”
“The Hole?” Capone raises his hands. “That ain’t fair. I been baby-sittin’ the warden’s baby. Should be gettin’ good time for this,” he shouts as we walk out.
My father shakes his head. “Not sure what you do with a guy like that. He does good things. But then he goes and does bad things right over the top of them,” my father says as he tucks the blanket around Piper’s little brother. “Now come on, let’s get you home where you belong.”