care.
Yours ever, Ma
I finished the letter and glanced up. Powers was staring at me, waiting for me to speak. “That’s bad,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I mean you must be worried about your granddad, but I don’t see—”
“My granddad died ten years ago.” He snatched the letter back and spread it out on the table. “Ya don’t understand,” he went on. “Ma and me have this secret code.”
I read the letter again, but still couldn’t see it.
Powers jerked a thumb toward the page. “Ya take the first letter of every other word. That way ya get the real message.”
I read the letter for a third time, starting with the B of “bad.” And at last it made sense.
BIG ED TAKING OVER.
COME HOME AT ONCE.
“Big Ed,” I muttered. I’d heard that name only the day before. He’d been the one who’d sent White and the others to deal with Powers.
“Ya can cut London into four slices,” Powers explained. “North, south, east, and west. There’s a gang for each slice . . . like, ya know, we got a gentleman’s agreement. The east was my territory until I got slammed up here. Since then, my ma’s been looking after it. She’s an ace, my ma. Top of the world. Now, Big Ed handles the south. That’s fine by me. Until he gets greedy. With me outta the way, he thinks maybe he can muscle in on my territory. Only it would be better for him if I was outta the way more permanent like. So he sends White and the others after me. And then he goes gunning after Ma.”
Powers paused and I was amazed to see a tear trickle down one of his pale, choirboy cheeks.
“Ya don’t know my ma,” he said. “She’s as tough as old nails. She’s a real killer. And her cooking! Nobody makes a moussaka like her—all hot and bubbling with the cheese melted on top. She sent me one here, back in February.”
“The St. Valentine’s Day moussaka?” I asked.
“That’s right. But she can’t stand up to Big Ed on her own. She needs me. That’s why she sent me the letter.”
He got up again and went over to the door. For a minute he listened carefully. When he was satisfied that there was no one there, he came back to the table.
“I’m busting outta here,” he said in a low voice. “And ya’re coming with me.”
“That’s terrific!” I said. This is terrible! I thought.
“We’ll go together.”
“When? How?”
“Ya leave the thinking to me, kid.”
And that was all he would say.
Another week passed. I cleaned plates, washed floors, marched around the yard, and fell asleep in class. Powers barely said a word during all this time, but he got two visits from his lawyer. He came back from each visit with a sly, secretive smile and an ugly light in his eyes. Somehow I didn’t think they’d been discussing legal niceties. Illegal, more likely, and probably not-very-niceties either.
It all came together one Friday morning, six weeks to the day since my arrival at Strangeday Hall. There were two visiting sessions on Fridays and that morning Powers got a visit—he said it was his cousin. But when he came back into the cell, his face was flushed with excitement.
He waited until he was sure nobody was listening. Then he came over and whispered to me. “It’s on,” he said. “We go tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“That’s right, kid. But there’s a problem.” He pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. “Nails Nathan,” he hissed.
“What about him?”
“He’s my getaway driver. Only he’s sick. He’s got food poisoning.” Powers kicked the wall. “I’ll poison him all right . . .”
“Can’t we wait until he gets better?” I asked.
“We can’t wait. Everything’s been set up. We gotta go tonight.” He thought for a minute. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Didn’t ya say ya brother was visiting ya this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Can he drive?”
“Yes. But—”
“That’s perfect, then.” Powers blew on the palm of his hand. “Tell him he’s gotta be at Terminal
Yours ever, Ma
I finished the letter and glanced up. Powers was staring at me, waiting for me to speak. “That’s bad,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I mean you must be worried about your granddad, but I don’t see—”
“My granddad died ten years ago.” He snatched the letter back and spread it out on the table. “Ya don’t understand,” he went on. “Ma and me have this secret code.”
I read the letter again, but still couldn’t see it.
Powers jerked a thumb toward the page. “Ya take the first letter of every other word. That way ya get the real message.”
I read the letter for a third time, starting with the B of “bad.” And at last it made sense.
BIG ED TAKING OVER.
COME HOME AT ONCE.
“Big Ed,” I muttered. I’d heard that name only the day before. He’d been the one who’d sent White and the others to deal with Powers.
“Ya can cut London into four slices,” Powers explained. “North, south, east, and west. There’s a gang for each slice . . . like, ya know, we got a gentleman’s agreement. The east was my territory until I got slammed up here. Since then, my ma’s been looking after it. She’s an ace, my ma. Top of the world. Now, Big Ed handles the south. That’s fine by me. Until he gets greedy. With me outta the way, he thinks maybe he can muscle in on my territory. Only it would be better for him if I was outta the way more permanent like. So he sends White and the others after me. And then he goes gunning after Ma.”
Powers paused and I was amazed to see a tear trickle down one of his pale, choirboy cheeks.
“Ya don’t know my ma,” he said. “She’s as tough as old nails. She’s a real killer. And her cooking! Nobody makes a moussaka like her—all hot and bubbling with the cheese melted on top. She sent me one here, back in February.”
“The St. Valentine’s Day moussaka?” I asked.
“That’s right. But she can’t stand up to Big Ed on her own. She needs me. That’s why she sent me the letter.”
He got up again and went over to the door. For a minute he listened carefully. When he was satisfied that there was no one there, he came back to the table.
“I’m busting outta here,” he said in a low voice. “And ya’re coming with me.”
“That’s terrific!” I said. This is terrible! I thought.
“We’ll go together.”
“When? How?”
“Ya leave the thinking to me, kid.”
And that was all he would say.
Another week passed. I cleaned plates, washed floors, marched around the yard, and fell asleep in class. Powers barely said a word during all this time, but he got two visits from his lawyer. He came back from each visit with a sly, secretive smile and an ugly light in his eyes. Somehow I didn’t think they’d been discussing legal niceties. Illegal, more likely, and probably not-very-niceties either.
It all came together one Friday morning, six weeks to the day since my arrival at Strangeday Hall. There were two visiting sessions on Fridays and that morning Powers got a visit—he said it was his cousin. But when he came back into the cell, his face was flushed with excitement.
He waited until he was sure nobody was listening. Then he came over and whispered to me. “It’s on,” he said. “We go tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“That’s right, kid. But there’s a problem.” He pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. “Nails Nathan,” he hissed.
“What about him?”
“He’s my getaway driver. Only he’s sick. He’s got food poisoning.” Powers kicked the wall. “I’ll poison him all right . . .”
“Can’t we wait until he gets better?” I asked.
“We can’t wait. Everything’s been set up. We gotta go tonight.” He thought for a minute. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Didn’t ya say ya brother was visiting ya this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Can he drive?”
“Yes. But—”
“That’s perfect, then.” Powers blew on the palm of his hand. “Tell him he’s gotta be at Terminal
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