Public Enemy Number Two

OUT!

The day after the attack in the shower room, Powers got a letter. We received letters twice a week, but only after the prison warden had censored them. If he didn’t like a sentence, he simply took a pair of scissors and cut it out. I got one letter from Tim that more or less fell apart in my hands. It began Dear Nick, and ended Your big brother, Tim. The rest was just holes apart from the single word “peacock,” which I found screwed up at the bottom of the envelope. Well, at least that told me he was still looking for the lost Ming vase. Unless, of course, by some miracle he’d already found it.

The letter Powers got had come through uncut. He read it three times, concentrating on every word. Then he paced up and down the cell for an hour. By now I knew enough not to ask any questions. If Powers wanted me to know something, he would tell me. At last he turned around and walked over to the table. “I’m getting outta here,” he said.

“Out, Johnny?” I didn’t know what to say. “How come?”

“Read this.” He pushed the letter into my hands. I read it.

Johnny,

Bad news, I’m afraid. Grandpa’s in emergency care, dear. They’re talking of another operation. Kingston Hospital is ready now, but Grandpa’s last operation wasn’t very successful. Everyone is really upset.

Caroline and Oliver got married in Edinburgh yesterday. He’s an optician, and marvelous with eyes. We’ll all miss them.

No other important news.

Take 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 Two—departures, Heathrow, at eleven o’clock tonight.”

“Heathrow?” I stared at him. “Are we flying out of here?”

“Ya’ll see.” Powers gave me another sly smile.

“Just make sure he’s there.”

“But, Johnny,” I stammered. “Tim isn’t—”

That was as far as I got. Suddenly the smile was gone and the madness was back in his eyes. “He’s ya brother and he can drive. That’s all that matters. Don’t let me down, kid. I’m counting on ya.”

I could have told him that Tim was completely incompetent. I could have told him that he’d only passed his driving test after six attempts and that on the fifth attempt he’d run over the driving instructor. I could have added that Tim was too scared to park on a yellow line, let alone drive a carload of gangsters out of a maximum-security prison. But Johnny Powers was counting on me. If I argued, my number would be up.

“I’ll ask him,” I said at last.

“Sure, kid. Ask him nicely. And tell him, if he says no”—Powers smiled—“the next drive he’ll take will be in a hearse.”

The main prison visiting room was long and narrow, divided in half like two mirror reflections. A row of tables ran down the center. Two doors led into the room: one for inmates, one for visitors. The inmates sat at one end of the tables, the visitors at the other. Two guards stood in the room the whole time, listening to every word that was said.

My problem was that I had to tell Tim to be at Heathrow Airport later that night without telling him why. I knew he’d argue—and probably at the top of his voice. And if the guards overheard anything, that would be that.

He was already sitting there, waiting for me, as I came in. He gaped at me like he’d never seen me before. I guessed it was the uniform, the blue denim and stenciled number, that had taken him by surprise. But what had he expected me to be wearing? Top hat and tails? I sat down and for a long time neither of us said anything. Tim loosened his tie and collar.

“It’s like a prison in here,” he said at last.

“It is a prison, Tim,” I reminded him.

“Oh yes. Yes, of course.” He smiled aimlessly. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m all right.”

“Well—there’s only seventeen months to go. And maybe they’ll give you time off for good behavior. How is your behavior?”

“It’s good,” I said.

“Good.”

There was a long pause. Tim was obviously lost for words. He’d never had a jailbird for a brother before and of course he still didn’t know that I was innocent. He took out a pack of chewing gum and offered it to me.

“No passing food over the table,” one of the guards snapped.

“Can I pass it under the table?” Tim asked.

“No food,” the guard said.

Tim shrugged, rolled up a piece for himself, and flicked it toward his mouth. It missed and hit him in the eye.

I sighed. “How are Mum and Dad?” I asked.

“I called them in Australia,” Tim said. “They didn’t take the news very well, I’m afraid. Mum had hysterics. Dad disowned you.” There was another long silence. So much for family loyalty.

Tim looked at his watch. “I haven’t got long,” he said.

“How’s the plane spotting going, Tim?” I blurted out.

“The plane spotting?” He looked at me as if I’d gone mad.

“Sure.” One of the guards was listening, obviously puzzled. I smiled at him. “Some people spot trains,” I said. “My big brother spots planes.”

“But—” Tim began.

“Seen any good jumbos lately?” I was smiling frantically now. The guard looked the other way. I winked at Tim. “Didn’t you say you were going to Heathrow at eleven o’clock tonight? To the departure lounge in Terminal Two?”

I was still winking furiously. “Have you got something in your eye?” Tim asked.

“That’s right.” I laughed. “Maybe when you get to Terminal Two at eleven o’clock tonight you can get me some ointment.”

“But, Nick . . .”

There was nothing else to do. I stretched under the table and kicked him as hard as I could. Too hard. Tim screamed. Both the guards hurried over to us.

“What’s the matter?” one of them asked.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “My brother was just doing an impersonation. He was taking off a 747. You know . . . a 747 taking off.”

“My ankle!” Tim moaned.

“That’s right,” I continued desperately. “His uncle. He’s hurt his uncle by refusing to take him plane spotting at Heathrow tonight.”

By now everyone in the room was looking at us. The two guards shook their heads. “Visiting time over,” one of them said.

I stood up and followed the other inmates through the door and into the prison. Tim sat where he was, rubbing his ankle and gazing after me. I must have given him quite a bruise. I just hoped he’d gotten the message.

When you’re doing time, time passes slowly. But the rest of that afternoon dragged past like a dying man. At last the sun collapsed behind the prison walls and darkness came. Johnny Powers had barely said a word since I’d gotten back from the visiting room. I’d told him that I’d gotten the message across and that Tim would be there.

“Okay, kid. We move at twelve.”

He spoke the words without moving his lips and I remember thinking he’d have made a great ventriloquist. And now that he had Tim on the payroll, he wouldn’t even need to buy a dummy.

We went down to dinner. I couldn’t eat a mouthful. Then it was back into the cells and lockup. Powers dozed off. I lay on my bunk, mentally composing my will. Tim would get my books, my records, and my old stamp collection. I’d leave Snape and Boyle my Australian underpants. We move at twelve. How would Powers even know when twelve had arrived? We didn’t have a watch. And what was he planning anyway? There were at least four locked doors between us and the main gate. If we climbed the walls we would be too high up to drop down on the other side. And then there were the guards in the watchtowers.

A plane grumbled across the sky. Powers’s eyes flickered open.

He didn’t say anything. He rolled over and reached underneath the mattress. A moment later he was standing up, the cold moonlight slashing across his face. His eyes were black. There was no color in his skin. The moonlight glinted off the gun he now held in his right hand. The gun from the shower room. He was only fifteen years old but somehow he was already dead. A discarded frame from one of those old black-and-white gangster films.

He turned to me.

“It’s twelve o’clock, kid,” he said. “Time to go.”