CHAPTER 16



CHAPTER 16

CAPONE WASHED YOUR SHIRTS

Monday, January 14, 1935

The next Monday I’m in a really grumpy mood on account of it’s baseball day for everyone except me. I hardly notice putting on my first convict-washed shirt. It’s only after I get it on I even remember. I take the shirt off and inspect it. But I don’t find anything unusual. It’s my shirt and it’s clean and that’s about it.

At breakfast my mom doesn’t say anything about finding extra clothes in our bags. So wither my mom hasn’t put the laundry away yet or more likely Piper got them out before my mom saw them. Piper is quite the criminal.

When I get on the boat, there she is with three laundry bags. Then Jimmy and Annie pile on board, thumping their bags down by Piper.

Piper’s on her hands and knees on the deck.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Too many to carry.” She sits on one bag to smash the shirts down so she can add another stack on top. “Unless, of course, you’ll help.”

“How did you get ‘em home?” I ask.

“As if you care.”

“I was just wondering,” I say when I notice Mr. Trixle dressed in civilian clothes. Day off, I guess. I sure wish my father would get a day off. But when I asked him about it. He said, “Criminal are criminals every day of the week. They don’t take a day off, so I can’t either.”

“Why you bringing laundry to school?” Mr. Trixle asks without taking his cigarette out of his mouth.

“It’s a science project.” Piper explains. “We’re comparing the weight of dry cloth to the weight of wet cloth.”

“Clever.” Mr. Trixle looks at Annie and Jimmy and me. “But I thought you kids went to different schools.”

“Citywide project,” Piper says. “All the seventh-grade science classes in San Francisco have to do it.”

Mr. Trixle shakes his big head and takes a dray on his cigarette. “You got an answer for everything, don’t you, Piper.” He breathes the smoke out his nose. “Just like your old man.”

Piper nods. “Yes. Sir,” she says.

When the boat docks at Fort Mason, Piper has the laundry in three fully stuffed bags. This is still too much for her to carry. It’s not like she has dead bodies in there or anything. And I did promise the warden I’d help her. I pick up two bags and carry one under each arm.

Piper smiles at me, like she won. I pretend not to notice.

“Mr. Trixle didn’t believe that story about the science project,” I tell her.

“Didn’t check the bags, did he?”

I shake my head.

“Well, then he couldn’t have been that suspicious.”

When we get to school, I wonder what she’s going to do now. There’s not enough time to give the clothes back before the bell. But apparently Piper already has this figured out. She walks right into the home economic room and unlocks the supply closet. Does this girl have keys to everything?

My plan is to stay away from her. I helped her get the stupid bags in, now I’m done. But at lunch when I see her in the cafeteria with the laundry bags, I find myself drifting over there.

“Moose! Moose! Guess what?” Scout calls as he runs through the cafeteria. “You got your Tuesday game! I traded baby-sitting with this kid in my neighborhood. Stanford can’t make it. But everybody else is on!”

I thump my chest like an ape and smile so big, it feels like my face is splitting in two. “If you were a girl, I’d give you a big sloppy kiss,” I say.

“Did my best, guy. I like to please the folks who bunk with criminals.”

“Do you mind?” Piper barks. “I’m conducting business here.”

“You get your shirt back, Scout?” I ask.

“Yep.” He nods to me as Piper hands a neatly folded shirt to the fat kid, Deekman.

“Hey,” Deekman says. “This is just clean.”

“Yeah, so?” Piper says.

“No blood spatters. No bullet holes. Nothing?” another kid asks.

“Al Capone laundered that shirt,” Piper says. “It’s a collector’s item.”

“How do we know that?” Deekman asks.

A girl blows air out of her mouth. “It sure doesn’t look like it!” she says.

“What did you expect?” Piper asks. She snatches the shirt out of her hands and holds it up so everyone can see. “Al Capone’s fingerprints are on that sleeve! The sweat of his brow dropped on this pocket.”

Piper’s clearly gone too far…now she’s selling Al’s sweat?

The girl inspects the shirt again. She shakes her head, her eye twitching.

“I didn’t pay a nickel to have my blouse washed,” says another girl, who had made Piper promise her blouse wouldn’t come back with one single drop of blood on it.

“Yes, you did,” I say.

Del cuts in front of the line. Nobody minds. In fact, they seem relieved, like they were waiting for him to take a stand. He plants his feet. “How do we know you didn’t have your mom wash these?”

“Hey!” Scout says. “Don’t talk to her that way. She told you Capone washed them, Capone washed them.”

Piper beams at Scout.

“Here’s your ticket. That’s your proof,” Piper says.

Del grabs the ticket. He reads it out loud. “Alcatraz Laundry Number 015032.” Then he shows it to all of us. “That could have come off anything,” he announces. “You could have picked it up off the ground!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t,” Piper says.

“Yeah, but you could have,” Del says.

“Take it easy, Del,” Scout says.

This seems to get Del’s attention. He looks at Scout, then back at Piper. “I want my money back,” he tells her.

“Sorry, no refunds,” Piper says.

“I’m not doing this again, Piper,” Del says. He’s got the bulk of his big self in Piper’s face. “I got better things to do with my nickels.”

“Lucky thing too, because that was the one and only opportunity you’ll ever have in your whole entire lifetime. You can tell you grandchildren about it,” Piper says.

“Yeah, right,” Del mutters. “I’ll tell them about a brown-haired girl who took our whole seventh-grade class to the cleaners.

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