Al Capone Shines My Shoes Part 18

He shrugs. "Pipes are all hooked together, Moose. One person's having plumbing troubles and we all are. The whole building needs to be replumbed."

"Sure," I agree, "but why today?"

My father gives me a puzzled look. "Why not today?" he asks at the sound of approaching footsteps.

My father looks out on the balcony. "Darby." He heads for the door, props it open for Trixle and Seven Fingers.

Trixle walks in, hitching up his trousers. Right behind Trixle is skinny, creepy Seven Fingers with his shaved k.n.o.b of a head. I look down at his hands. Two fingers are missing from his left hand. On his right hand there is a stump like a notch where his index finger should be.

"Come on in, Darby." My father moves out of the way so they can come in. Seven Fingers is the picture of obedience, following along behind Darby. Seven Fingers's eyes never leave the carpet, but it seems like he sees everything, sucks it all in without looking up.

My father touches his officer's cap to greet Seven Fingers. Seven Fingers nods, without meeting my father's eyes. Darby curls his lip at my father. He and my father don't agree about anything. Even the way my father says h.e.l.lo to the cons is a problem for Trixle. Too respectful. Trixle would have every convict on a leash like a dog if he could.

"All right, then, have a look, see what you think." My father waves toward the bathroom.

Seven Fingers goes into the bathroom, Trixle stands outside, leaning against the wall, first one way, then the other. He s.h.i.+fts his feet, eyeing our living room sofa. He seems to decide that Seven Fingers will be all right, marches into the front room, and plunks himself down.

"Can I get you something, Darby?" my father asks.

"Don't happen to have any of Anna Maria's cannolis around, do you?" Trixle puts his s.h.i.+ny black shoes on the coffee table. "Ain't n.o.body can make 'em the way she can."

My father nods toward me. "Moose, could you run to the Mattamans' and ask Anna Maria if she can spare a cannoli?"

When I get back with cannolis for Trixle on one of Mrs. Mattaman's yellow flowered plates, Seven Fingers is in the living room. "Trouble's worse than I thought. Them army pipes are three-quarter inch," Seven Fingers says in a whispery tobacco voice. "They get jammered up real easy. Got some 'bout ready to burst. Need to replumb the whole dang place, sir."

Trixle grunts. "Not going to replumb the whole dang place, that's for sure. Get the ones 'bout to burst, then we'll call it a day."

Seven Fingers c.o.c.ks his head like his hearing is bad. His eyes are on the cannolis.

"You heard me. Get a move on," Trixle growls. Seven Fingers sidles back to the bathroom.

I stay on the couch until Trixle and my dad get to talking about politics.

My dad's eyes are riveted on Trixle. "WPA's gonna get the whole country working again," he insists.

"Ain't nothing but handouts," Trixle shoots back.

"Can't say I agree with you on that." My father grinds his teeth.

This is my chance. I have to take it. But my legs feel like they are mortared to the couch cus.h.i.+on and my hands are wet with sweat.

"I understand you got yourself a problem with your little girl, Cam. But this ain't about that."

"Doesn't have anything to do with Natalie, Darby."

"I'm only saying your situation's one thing and the WPA is another."

I've made my legs move. They are walking me down the hall. Trixle and my dad don't seem to notice. My heart is beating so hard it feels like little explosions in my chest.

Seven Fingers has the bathroom door half closed and the water running.

A towel is slung across the k.n.o.b. "Seven Fingers?" I whisper. My mouth is so dry I can hardly get the words out.

I peek in, but Seven Fingers isn't in the bathroom. I take a deep breath, turn, and push open the door to Natalie's room.

The bottom drawer is open. The shadow of Seven Fingers stands behind the door. His tall thin chest slips past me and back into the bathroom.

My heart pounds in my ears. My arms are stiff as sticks of wood. "You stay away from her," I say.

"This ain't kid stuff," he murmurs, the smell of bad breath and tobacco filling my nostrils. "We know where she sleeps." The bathroom door shuts almost silently in my face.

SEVEN FINGERS'S CANDY BARS Same day-Sat.u.r.day, September 7, 1935

"We need to talk," I tell my dad when Seven Fingers has gone.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"No."

A darkness falls across my father's face. He slips his toothpick box into his pocket and motions with his head toward the door. "How about we go for a walk? Could use a little fresh air," he says.

We tromp down the stairs to the dock and around the agave trail, which runs low along the water. The wind blows hard, as it often does late in the day. It feels like a giant hand pus.h.i.+ng us back. But my father is determined. He's headed for a spot on the hillside looking out across at San Francisco. We sit down on rocks jutting out of the hill.

I look into his kind golden brown eyes. "Dad, what if the Esther P. Marinoff School isn't as safe as we thought?"

"What do you mean safe?"

"What if . . ." I work at a stone with my heel, try to loosen it from the dirt. "What if Natalie isn't safe there?"

His eyes squint with the effort to understand. "Safe you mean how?"

"What if she was getting visitors?"

"Visitors? For crying out loud, Moose. What are you driving at?"

The rock comes free. I hold it in my hand. "I'm worried about the convict 105."

"105?" my father says as a gust of wind blows his officer's cap off.

"The gardener. He worked over here. Piper said he got released from Terminal Island a few weeks ago."

"Oh yes, Onion. Why in the Sam Hill are you worried about him?"

"Because . . ." My voice trails off. I'm about to tell him how Seven Fingers said he knew where she slept. On the island? At the Esther P. Marinoff? Which is worse? I don't even know.

"Because?" my father prompts.

"I dunno, I just-what if 105 visited Natalie at school?"

My father stares at me. "What on earth makes you think he'd do that?"

"I had a . . . a dream. A nightmare."

He breathes out a huge gush of air. "For Pete's sake, Moose. You had me goin' there for a minute."

"Could he find her?" I ask.

"Why would he want to, son? She doesn't have money. We don't have money. They could kidnap her, I suppose, but it wouldn't be worth their while. She's safer there than she is almost anywhere."

"What about here then?"

"Moose, look at me." He waits until my eyes connect with his. "I'd never bring my family on this island if I thought there was any real danger. That cell house is sealed up tight as a drum. Try to stop worrying so much. Ollie thinks your nerves could be triggering the hives."

I find a smooth rock and sail it into the bay. "I don't trust Seven Fingers."

"Good! I wouldn't want you to trust him."

I find another rock and throw it as hard as I can. "I don't want him in our apartment."

My father nods. "Don't much like him there myself. I wish those city plumbers didn't cost an arm and a leg . . . But you know what? Our plumbing problems never seem to get that much better. It's occurred to me that old Seven Fingers likes his chocolate bars a little too much." He fishes in his pocket for a new toothpick.

Sometimes it feels like our life is made out of toothpicks and if I pull one out, the whole thing will collapse.

"I like the way you're thinking all of this through. Sometimes life throws you a curveball. You can't always accept what other people tell you; you have to reason it out for yourself.

"Once when Natalie was little, a doctor told us what she had was contagious. If we kept her at home with us, you could catch it from her. He said we should send her away to a ranch in Arizona where she would be quarantined so as not to infect others.

"You were so healthy. Everything I ever wanted in a son." He sighs and presses his lips tight together. "I couldn't risk you getting this terrible thing she has, this blackness that eats her up from the inside. But I couldn't s.h.i.+p my daughter off like she was no more than livestock. I went around and around trying to reason it out, but in my gut I knew the answer. I wasn't going to send Natalie off like that. If she were infectious, wouldn't we have caught it already? The next week we went to another doctor who said there was no evidence her condition was contagious. None at all.

"You got a good noggin." He knocks on my head with his fist. "I'm not worried about you."

"And Natalie?" I whisper. "You worried about her?"

He looks out across the bay to San Francisco. The streets are so straight and orderly over there. Everything makes sense in the city.

"Her life isn't gonna go the expected way. But just because she doesn't see the world like you and me doesn't mean she isn't getting just as much out of her days as we do. Who are we to say what life's supposed to be about, Moose? Who are we to say that?"

A DEAL WITH THE WARDEN'S DAUGHTER Same day-Sat.u.r.day, September 7, 1935

First things first. I have to get my dad and Mr. Mattaman off probation. Then if something happens, they won't automatically be fired. This means I need to talk to Piper. I still don't think she's the culprit, but everybody else is sure she is.

I consider taking Jimmy to Piper's, but I decide against it. It will be better if she doesn't feel we're ganging up on her.

Okay, there's another reason too. It has to do with how her ears poke out of her hair and the softness of her skin-like a brand-new baseball, only better.

I'm on my way up to the warden's house, a warm wind battering me backwards, making it twice as hard to walk uphill, when my mom waves me down. She has her hat and her gloves on, and her music satchel is tucked under her arm. "We've been looking all over for you, Moose," she says. "Could you keep an eye on Natalie for a few hours? I just got a call from a family in the city. They want me to interview this afternoon . . . four private lessons at full freight . . . now that's good money."

"Now? I was just headed for Piper's house." I was just headed for Piper's house."

My mom's face clouds. "I need to get a move on," she says. "I have to give myself time to find the place."

"Could I take Natalie along?" I don't look directly at my mom when I ask this. I'm afraid of what she'll say.

"To the warden's house?" My mother's voice is incredulous.

"She's been there before with me," I wheedle.

"Yeah, but with Mrs. Williams feeling so poorly, I don't think it's a good time. And you know Daddy's still on probation, Moose."

I'm itching to tell her that's exactly why I need to go up there. I want her to know this isn't kid stuff, but I'm afraid she'll say this is Daddy's business, not mine. "Mom, it's important."

She takes a deep breath and asks, "Why?"

"What if Dad says it's okay?" This is a gamble. Sometimes it makes my mom mad when I suggest consulting with my dad, as if her opinion isn't enough.

"Let's see what he has to say," she answers, hurrying on her high heels to the electric shop.

So far so good, I think as she pokes her head in the electric shop door. "Cam!" she says. "I have a chance at four new privates but I need to go in and interview this afternoon. What do you think about Moose taking Natalie up to the warden's house?"

My father is up on a stepladder, pulling down a wooden soda pop crate where he keeps nails and screws and bolts organized by size. He fishes his hand in one of the squares. "What business do you have up there? And how long will it take?"

"I have to talk to Piper and it won't take long. An hour maybe."

"You'll keep a close eye on your sister?"

"Of course."

"You can handle this, right, Moose?" He jingles wing nuts in his hand.

"I can handle it," I tell him.

My father nods to my mother but doesn't meet her eyes. "We can't keep her locked up in the house all week, Helen."