Jailbird Kid Read online

  “No, no. They’d ask me to do their picture. I’d take a good look at a guy, then go back to my room, do some sketches. They’d give me something for them — smokes and stuff. I can remember details real good. I drew this one of the warden’s office. I was just there once, but look.” He pulled a picture from the bottom of the stack. It was of an office, complete to the last detail. “You see this fancy thing on his desk? It’s made of silver, an ornament. You push it, and this whirligig goes around.”

  “And you remembered it, perfectly,” Uncle Al said, “and then you drew it.”

  “Yeah, everything. And the warden, too. That’s exactly what he looks like. What’s the big deal?”

  Uncle Al did a little dance around the table, holding the picture in front of him. He brought it to his lips, kissed it, and held it up toward the window.

  “What are you doing, Al?” Dad stood and tried to retrieve the picture.

  Uncle Al stopped in front of me. “Do you know what your dad is, Angela? He’s a professional artist!” He turned to Dad. “You can case joints, Weasel, study and draw plans of these places, just like an architect. You can be a ‘weasel,’ a front-runner.”

  “Al, not in front of Angela!”

  Uncle Al glanced at me. “Don’t worry about Angela. She’s okay. She doesn’t understand — and further, she’s family! Weasel, you can —”

  “And don’t call me that in front of Angela.”

  “Think smart, Nick. Think dollars. Think of your family.”

  He released his hold on Dad’s picture, pulled out a chair, and sat down. I’d been somehow included in this plot, and there was no way I could leave. I looked at Dad’s pictures, examining the faces of the men.

  “You look a place over and then you come home and draw it,” Uncle Al said. “You get the windows, where the furniture is, entrances, exits. We study your drawings, put them on a computer even, and then figure out what we need. Guns, ammunition, ropes, saws, dynamite —”

  “Dynamite!” I exclaimed.

  “Angela, get out of here!” Dad said.

  “An axe, screwdrivers,” Uncle Al continued.

  The expressions on their faces made me feel sick. My stomach knotted as Dad’s eyes lit up with excitement and Uncle Al’s face turned sly, his attention totally focused as if he were a surgeon over an operating table.

  “Dad!” I shouted.

  “Angela,” Dad said quietly, “this is business.”

  “You can make maps,” Uncle Al went on as if neither of us had spoken. “You and me, we’re a team, Nick. We think things through, talk them out, draw them, every little detail. Put them on a computer, look for trouble spots. You think Al Capone just blasted into a place? No! He planned, organized, got stuff down on paper ...”

  “Not his taxes,” Dad said.

  “He didn’t leave nothing to chance. You and me, Weasel — sorry, Nick — from here on, we’re going to go professional.” He sat back, propped his big hands on his knees, his lion head thrown back, and flicked his sharp black eyes from Dad to me, waiting for Dad’s response, daring me to interrupt men’s business.

  “Sure, Al,” I heard Dad say. “So, uh, what are we doing, professional?”

  Uncle Al looked around as if checking doors and windows. Then he leaned forward and whispered, “We’re going to do the bank machines.”

  I couldn’t breathe. If I opened my mouth, I’d be sick.

  “What?” Dad’s features were smooth, his eyes innocent like those of a man with a hearing problem. But I’d heard. I didn’t know what do meant, but I knew what bank machines were. They were usually in a room by themselves just inside the main door of the bank. You pushed some buttons and out came your money.

  “Get me some paper and a pen!” Uncle Al ordered.

  Zombie-like, I rose, got a pencil and a sheet of paper from my backpack, and handed them to Uncle Al.

  “Okay, here’s the layout,” Uncle Al said. “The first bank you should case is on Seventh Street, see. That runs north and south.”

  I stood and went into my room. I didn’t slam the door, though. I was scared of Uncle Al, and maybe Dad was, too. What made a person so powerful that others rushed to obey his orders no matter how crazy they were? I had to think about this.

  When I took Patsy’s cage off the chain in front of the window and set it on my bed, he hopped toward me on his perch.

  I wanted to tell Mom that Uncle Al had been here. That he had given me money. That he was trying to get Dad to do another stupid bank job. But if I did, Mom would get totally angry, she and Dad would fight, and he’d get kicked out. Then Uncle Al would really own him.

  Grandma would know what to do. I had to talk to her. Grandma had known Uncle Al longer than any of us. I decided to ask if I could go out there on Saturday.

  I returned to the kitchen to start supper. Uncle Al and Dad were still sitting around the table, with Dad’s artwork spread out.

  “Why are we robbing the bank machines instead of the tellers like always?” Dad suddenly asked.

  Big question.

  “Because it’s easier, Weasel.” Uncle Al’s voice was soft and coaxing, as if he were trying to get a baby to eat spinach. “It’s the new way. Nobody smart robs tellers anymore. They’ve got too many alarms, even silent ones that only ring in a police station. Spy cameras. Dirty tricks like that.”

  “That’s cheating!”

  “Yeah, right you are, Weasel.”

  They both nodded sympathetically. I couldn’t believe my dad could act so dumb.

  “Also, the banks are insured against robbery,” Uncle Al continued in a smooth voice. “They expect to be robbed. They get the money back from the insurance company, so the poor schmucks who stick in their fifty bucks a week don’t lose their savings.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more of their stupid talk. I banged pots around until Dad suddenly said, “Holy smoke, Con will be home soon!”

  Uncle Al stood, gathered his cigarettes and his silver lighter, and grabbed his sports jacket where he’d flung it over a chair. “You’re a real little helper, Angela,” he said, coming over to the counter. “A smart kid. Your momma and daddy are lucky to have a good girl like you. And I know you want them to be happy.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You know what’ll make them really happy is your daddy getting a job. Right?”

  “He will get a job!” I said. “He’s planning to learn computers — and he’s going out tomorrow to apply for a real job. He wants to dig graves for the city again. He liked that. He was good at it.”

  Uncle Al’s laughter exploded. “That’s a good one! Hey, Weasel, you’re not serious about grave-digging, are you? No one’s buried anymore with jewellery on ’em. No one even has gold teeth worth claiming!”

  Dad laughed, and I wish he hadn’t. It wasn’t funny at all.

  Uncle Al went out the door, still laughing, and jumped into a big black car with dial-a-dream written on the sides in bright pink letters. He gunned the engine, cut a U-turn in the middle of the street, and roared away as Mom walked around the corner, hot, tired, and cranky.

  14

  Grandma’s

  “Al was here, wasn’t he?” Mom demanded as soon as she came through the door.

  This was Dad’s problem, not mine. Let him handle it.

  I went out to the backyard and stayed there until Mom called me in for supper. By then they’d reached some decisions on how our family would behave. We would go to church together regularly. Dad would immediately start looking for a job. And he would dump the outlaws from his past — Mike, Jerry, and most of all, Uncle Al.

  “I guess I’ll have to make a new set of friends,” Dad said forlornly. I knew what he meant.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Grow up.”

  I chose
that moment to ask if I could spend the weekend at Grandma’s. Mom said “Yes!” immediately. I got the feeling they needed a weekend alone as much as I did.

  On Friday evening Grandpa Hank came to pick me up. He was the only one in the family with a vehicle besides Uncle Al. Hank noticed everything on the way there: who had just painted their house, who had put up a new fence, what kinds of flowers and vegetables were doing well in this dry season, how high the crops were.

  “You’re just like Dad,” I said. “He sees all sorts of things that nobody else bothers about. Then he draws them. Do you draw, too?”

  Hank laughed. “Nope. Never had time. I went to work when I was sixteen in a sawmill. Never had a day off since.”

  I rolled down the car window. Summer-type smells flowed in. I saw a girl my age riding a horse along the fence line, her black-and-white collie dog trotting along behind. I smiled, and she waved.

  “Grandma’s looking forward to your help with the garden,” Hank said. “Those beans are getting ahead of her. Gotta tie them up. And there’s a bit of weeding to be done. Do you mind?”

  “No, I sure don’t,” I said, and I meant it. Grandma and Hank lived such different lives from Mom and Dad. Or Gemma, or Uncle Al. It was as if we were all from different families.

  “Al’s coming for supper tomorrow night,” Hank said suddenly.

  “Oh, how come?”

  “He likely plans to ask your Grandma for money again.”

  “Why? Isn’t Uncle Al rich?”

  “Rich? That man hasn’t a pot to pee in, or a window to throw it out of.”

  I burst out laughing. “Well, he looks rich.”

  “That’s why he ain’t,” Hank said. “It’s all show and nothing underneath. I hope your daddy has the sense that God gave a goose and stays away from him. That Al will get him into trouble again, sure as shootin’.”

  “I’ll help. If he comes to our house again, I’ll tell Mom. She’ll chase him away.”

  “Again?” Hank stared at me quizzically.

  “I mean, since Dad got home this time.”

  “Yeah, I bet she’d chase him away — right into the next county! She’s got strength of character. I always did like your mom. She’s a lot like your grandma. She’s more like her than either of her own kids.”

  When we pulled into the driveway, Grandma came out to meet us, as she always did. Everything with Grandma started and ended with a big hug. “Angel, you’re going to be our girl for a whole weekend,” she said with a big smile. “We’ll think of lovely things to do.”

  In minutes I was in another world. I was eating fresh raspberries off prickly bushes, and peas and baby carrots. Nobody minded how many I picked as long as I didn’t waste them. Grandma had two cats, Molly and Missy, and an old dog named Trixie who, for most of the late spring and summer, lived in the holes she’d dug for herself under the house. It was cool and private. I crawled under there, but I got scared of the spiders hanging above me, and freaked out by nets of webs choked with dust and dead flies.

  “Can we have organic vegetables for supper?” I asked, and Grandma and Hank laughed.

  “Everything here is organic,” Hank said.

  I blushed. Of course, it was. They’d never spray their food with chemicals.

  On Saturday evening we got ready for our guest. I’d placed a jar of flowers in the centre of the table: daisies, baby’s breath, and forget-me-nots. Grandma’s best china was laid out.

  “I got that set from buying at the same grocery store every week for three years,” she said proudly. “You could get a plate, or a cup and saucer, with each fifty dollars’ worth of grub. Lordy, I was scared they’d cut the program before I got my set of eight.”

  “It’s pretty,” I said, admiring the pink roses on my plate.

  “It’ll be yours when I’m done with it,” she said. “You appreciate quality. Gemma doesn’t care about that. She’s too busy painting her face.”

  The roar of a car engine resounded through the quiet street, and a cloud of dust told us that our dinner guest had arrived. Uncle Al pulled into the yard and then sat inside the car until the dust settled. He opened the door, got out, shook out the cuffs of his light tan-coloured pants, adjusted his tie, straightened the lapels of his sports coat, and strolled in.

  Uncle Al’s shoulders filled the doorway. His black hair and moustache made him look like a movie star, and he knew it. He stood in a pose, then grabbed Grandma in a hug. “How are ya, sister-in-law?” He formally shook Hank’s hand. “Nice to see ya, Hank!” He gave my ponytail a tug. “How are ya, kid?”

  He’d brought gifts — a crystal vase for Grandma, which he put my flowers into and threw the old jar out the door — and a pouch of pipe tobacco for Hank. “High class stuff!” Uncle Al announced in case Hank hadn’t noticed the brand.

  For me he’d brought a beautiful bracelet of pink rhinestones alternating with clear diamond-like stones all the way around that fastened with a little clip. “It’s called a tennis bracelet,” he said. “Picked it up for you at the club.”

  What?

  “Oh, my,” said Grandma as she stood back to admire the flowers in their beautiful vase.

  “Well, well,” said Hank as he carefully put the tobacco away in a drawer. “I’ll have to save this for special occasions.”

  I’d never owned anything as beautiful as this bracelet. “Thank you,” I managed to say. I asked Uncle Al to help fasten it on my wrist.

  “You’re just as beautiful as that bracelet,” Uncle Al said. “Count on it, Angela Wroboski will be breaking hearts.”

  Supper was wonderful. Grandma had cooked a roast with gravy, new potatoes, fresh peas and little carrots, tomato-and-lettuce salad, all from the garden. For dessert we had rhubarb-and-strawberry pie with real whipped cream.

  Uncle Al kept us laughing throughout the meal. I glanced over at Hank. Although he was laughing, too, I thought of what he’d said. Was Hank right that Uncle Al was coming to try to borrow money from Grandma? But how could he buy all these lovely presents if he was broke?

  Grandma and I cleared the table but left the dishes until later. Grandma was like that. She didn’t break the fun just to do work. “We’ll do them when it’s cooler, after Al’s gone,” she said. That was fine with me.

  We sat out on the front verandah as everyone did in the evenings here when the weather was good. In many ways this was a much better place to live than the city.

  Uncle Al sat on the railing of the verandah, chatting with Hank. They discussed the government, the weather, the crops, and Hank’s job.

  “And how’s your business going, Al?” Hank said, with a wink at me.

  I knew I’d better listen.

  “Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about,” Uncle Al said smoothly. “I’m on the verge of making it big. Real big. I’ve got steady, good-paying contracts, more business than I’d ever expected. But I’m gonna have to expand if I want to stay on top. I need another car and driver.”

  Hank, Grandma, and I stared straight ahead.

  “I’m thinking of taking Nick into the business.”

  “What!” Hank, Grandma, and I all said at once.

  “Well, yeah, the little fella has had a rough time lately,” Uncle Al said. “What kind of job can he get? Grade ten education, a prison record. Who’s going to hire him?”

  “The city!” I said. “He’s going back digging graves.”

  “Honey, I hate to tell you this, but things have changed since your daddy had that job. City employees are in a union now. If you’re not in the union, they won’t hire you. And they don’t dig graves with shovels anymore. Their men operate big machines, do ten graves at once, put a lid on ’em till they’re needed. Who’s going to hire Nick to operate a backhoe or a grader or a ’dozer? Those are hundred-thousand-dollar machines!
”

  We sat back. I felt frightened — for Dad and for our family. The future suddenly seemed so hopeless.

  “So like I was saying,” Uncle Al continued, “Nicky needs a break. I won’t take him in as a full partner, of course. He’s got to come up with some dough if he wants to become part owner. I sure didn’t get anything handed to me.”

  “I lent you the money for that old Cadillac, that big limo you’re driving right now,” Grandma said. “You haven’t paid it all back yet. You still owe me over a thousand dollars.”

  “I know, and I’ll pay the balance real soon. But Nicky needs help. If I could get another car — and it doesn’t need to be as good a car as this one, maybe a Chevy or a Ford — then Nicky could be working tomorrow.”

  “How, when he hasn’t got a driver’s licence?” Grandma said.

  Uncle Al flicked his cigarette butt over the side of the railing onto Grandma’s flower bed below. “That’s just paperwork. I can look after that.”

  “Don’t you get him driving with a fake licence!” Grandma said. “He’ll get caught — he always does — and then he’ll be back in the hoosegow for good. They’ll lock him up and throw away the key.”

  I’d never heard the term hoosegow, but I knew it must mean jail. My stomach muscles tightened. Then my eyes started to water. I couldn’t help it.

  “Why, Angel honey, whatever’s the matter?” Grandma jumped up and came over to my chair. She scooped me into her big arms. “Shhh, baby, shhh, baby,” she murmured. Grandma hugged me and patted my hair. “This has been so hard on her. She’s just a little girl who loves her daddy.”

  “I’ll teach Nick how to drive,” Hank said suddenly. “He’ll get his driver’s licence the proper way.”

  “Good,” Uncle Al said. “I’d help, but I’ve got a business to run. I don’t seem to have any free time at all anymore. I could sure use Nick. So how about the loan?”

  I was still being held by Grandma when she said to Uncle Al, “Look, you need money to get a car so you can hire Nicky, you go to a bank. You’ve got a business — go get a business loan. When Nicky has a real driver’s licence, not some paper that you cooked up, maybe we’ll see about helping him with a car. But he gets into trouble dealing with you every time.”