Al Capone Shines My Shoes Read Online Free PDF Page B

out my hand and Buddy Boy shakes it hard and slow. His eyes, magnified behind his glasses, are sharp and gray like stones under water. He smiles at me, then smiles again as if he has a whole lot of smiles and he wants to make sure I see every one.
    Piper appears at the top of the grand staircase, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with a large green ribbon.
    “Scout.” Piper half skips down the steps. “What are you doing here?”
    “I’m glad we finally get to meet,” Buddy Boy says in a low tone. I glance over at him thinking he’s talking to Scout, but he’s not.
    “Yes, sir,” I say, hoping Scout doesn’t hear this. I don’t know if you’re supposed to call a convict sir, and I don’t want Scout to see me acting dumb around the cons. I’m the one who’s supposed to know what I’m doing.
    “Come to think of it, I believe I’ve met your mother, Scout . . . Mabel McIlvey?” Mrs. Williams asks.
    “Yes, ma’am.” Scout moves near Piper and Mrs. Williams.
    “She’s in the choir at St. Mark’s, isn’t she?”
    “I’ve heard lots of good things about you and your sister , Moose.” Buddy’s voice is low, like a cat purring on the wrong note. The sound electrifies the hairs on the back of my neck.
    “Thanks, Mr. . . . um . . . Boy.” I edge toward Scout and Piper and Mrs. Williams.
    “I thought so, yes, a beautiful voice. Clear as a bell. You give her my best, you hear?” Mrs. Williams has a polite smile on her tired face. “All right, you kids. I’ve got a million things to do this afternoon. You go on into the kitchen, help yourselves to the brownies, and tell Willy I said you could have more than one. He’s stingy with those brownies,” Mrs. Williams tells Buddy.
    “He’s superstitious, Mrs. W. Can’t have the wrong number of brownies left.”
    “What nonsense. Talk some sense into him, Buddy, will you?” Mrs. Williams smiles at Buddy, as comfortable with him as if he were her cousin. She walks back into the hall.
    Buddy catches my eye. He heads toward the piano with a little jig to his step. He has three toothpicks in his mouth and he’s chomping down on all of them.
    “Hey, Moose, sweet pea.” He turns to wave at me and my invisible sister Natalie with a warm smile.
    Natalie isn’t here. And how’s he know my dad calls her sweet pea anyway? Slowly, it dawns on me, he’s doing an imitation of my dad. It’s pretty good too.
    “My dad, right?” I ask.
    Buddy smiles, pleased with himself. He clearly enjoys the spotlight.
    “Piper?” I call after her. She and Scout are already on their way to the kitchen. “Did you see that? Buddy did a good imitation of my dad.”
    “Yeah, I’ve seen it. He can do everyone. He’s good .”
    We both look back at Buddy Boy, who has followed Piper’s mom to the front door, where he is patiently listening to her instructions on cleaning the balustrade. The smile, the toothpicks, the wave, everything that reminded me of my father has vanished. Buddy sees us looking at him. He winks, just the way my dad would wink.
    Scout and Piper are walking with their heads close together. “So wait . . . what am I supposed to call him?”
    “Willy One Arm.”
    “I call him Willy One Arm?”
    “Well, it’s better than Mr. Willy One Arm, isn’t it?” Piper is almost through the dining room.
    The kitchen is larger than I remember and there’s a brand-new electric icebox—the kind that doesn’t need ice—and a shiny stove that looks like the pictures in the Sears, Roebuck catalog.
    A short wiry man dressed in the same clothes as Buddy Boy stands in the back of the kitchen rolling out dough with his one good arm. The other sleeve hangs down flat and empty.
    “Willy One Arm . . . Scout and Moose. Scout and Moose . . . this is Willy One Arm.” Piper introduces us with a proud little smile on her face, like she’s showing off a really great baseball card collection.
    Willy One Arm waves his one good arm, then shakes his stump, which makes the empty