“Yep, that’s the cell house.”

Scout looks around like he’s expecting snipers on the rooftops. “And you just walk out here like this?”

“Unless we run.”

Scout doesn’t smile. He’s all business now. “When I meet the con man and the thief, what do I say? I mean, do I shake hands?”

“Don’t shake his stump. I don’t think it’s polite to shake a stump.”

Scout’s eyes dart all around as he leans in to whisper, “Do I need a weapon?”

“Uh-huh, they issue machine guns right at the door,” I tell him.

“Right, Moose,” he says, but even his sarcasm is watered down as we perch on the doorstep of the warden’s twenty-two-room mansion, which stands directly opposite the cell house. Even after living here for six months, the cell house still gives me the creeps. It’s the bars and the sounds I sometimes hear. Hollers, curse words, and metal cups clanking against the bars. The cons aren’t supposed to talk, much less yell, but sometimes all heck breaks loose. That’s when it gets scary. Still, when we face Piper’s house, it feels like we’re on some fancy street in San Francisco.

On Alcatraz, heaven is across from hell.

Scout girds himself up. He stuffs his right hand in his pocket, as if he really does have a weapon in there. He’s ready to draw as I press the doorbell, but it’s only Piper’s pregnant mom who answers.

Mrs. Williams has a round face, eyes the color of worn denim with dark shadows underneath, and the same full lips as Piper. Her pregnant stomach sticks up hard and round like a basketball under her sweater. I try not to look at her belly. It’s difficult not to think about how it got that way.

“Mrs. Williams, this is my friend Scout McIlvey. He goes to school with us.”

“Why, Scout.” Mrs. Williams shakes Scout’s hand. “What a nice surprise.”

A little smile lights up Scout’s eyes.