Isle of Dogs

Ten

The most malignant smoke in Virginia was not generated by Salem Lights but by a highway pirate named Smoke, who had been consummately evil from birth. His lengthy rap sheet of crimes as a juvenile ranged from truancy to setting cats on fire to malicious wounding and homicide. Although he had finally been brought to justice in Virginia several years earlier, he had managed to break out of a maximum-security prison by forming a noose of sheets and pretending to hang himself from his stainless steel bed.

When prison guard A. P. Pinn noticed Smoke slumped over on the floor, a noose around his neck, bug-eyed with his tongue protruding, Pinn threw open the cell door and rushed inside to see if the inmate might still be alive. Smoke was, and he jumped up and smashed a food tray against Pinn's head. Then Smoke quickly dressed in Pinn's uniform and sunglasses and walked out of the penitentiary without detection. Pinn had gone on to write a book about his ordeal and published it himself. Betrayed had not sold very well, and Pinn turned to hosting a local cable show called Head to Head with Pinn.

Smoke watched Pinn Head, as he called the show, every week to make sure there were no leads on his disappearance or any suspicion that he was the leader of a pack of road dogs. In a way, it disappointed him that Pinn had never so much as alluded to him except to mention that being trayed had traumatized Pinn and no one can relate to what it's like to be smacked in the head with meat loaf and instant potatoes until they have had it happen at least once.

Pinn's show had gotten under way and Smoke and his road dogs were gathered in their stolen Winnebago, which was parked behind pine trees on a vacant lot in the north side of the city. Smoke pointed the remote control and turned up the sound as Pinn smiled into the camera and talked with Reverend Pontius Justice about the Neighborhood Watch program the reverend had just kicked off in Shockhoe Bottom, near the Farmers' Market.

"Look at that motherfucker, " Smoke said as he gulped down an Old Milwaukee. "He thinks he's something. "

Pinn was dressed in a double-breasted shiny black suit, a black shirt and black tie and obviously had bleached his big teeth. When Smoke had known Pinn in the pen, the guard had worn thick tinted glasses. Now he must have contact lenses that caused him to squint a lot.

"What does he think this is? The Academy Awards? I can still see the knot on his head from where I hit him with the tray. " Smoke pointed.

"He always had that bump on the back of his head, " said Cat, the most senior road dog. "See, he didn't use to shave his head and put wax on it like he does now. So the bump shows up. Man, he got one shiny head. Need to wear sunglasses to even look at it. " Cat squinted through cigarette smoke and tapped an ash into a beer can.

"What kinda wax you think he use?" asked another road dog named Possum, who was puny and unhealthy-looking and tended to stay in his room during the day, watching TV with the lights out. "Bee wax, you think? Hey, maybe he use Bed Head. 'Member that dude I bought the gun from? I ask him how he got his head so shiny and he say he use Bed Head that he got in New York in one of them Cosmetic Centers, and it cost like twenty bucks. It's in a little stick you gotta push up from the bottom and then rub it on your hand like dod'rant… "

"That fucker putting dod'rant on his head?" said a third road dog, Cuda, which was short for Barracuda. He stared blearily at Pinn's polished scalp.

"Shut up!" Smoke turned up the volume again.

He was getting excited because Pinn was warming up to the very subject Smoke had been waiting to hear about.

"… In your book Betrayed, " Reverend Justice was saying from his overstuffed chair next to a plyboard wall painted to look like a bookcase next to a cheery fireplace, "you went on at great length about how neighbors got to be neighbors instead of just living in the neighborhood. I believe I'm quoting correctly. "

"Uh huh, I said that. "

"So if we love our brothers and sisters and keep an eye on them coming and going, the neighborhood will change. "

"Uh huh. Yeah, I might have said that. "

"Did you have this philosophy before you got banged in the head?"

"I don't recall. Might have. " Pinn sat straighter in his chair and stared into the camera as he fondled the satin tie he had bought at S amp;K for nine-ninety-five. "I do know I was being neighborly when I checked on that dead inmate, and next thing I know, I'm unconscience on that hard cement floor. He took my uniform and everything in it. " Pinn was getting riled by the memory and it was becoming difficult for him to look serene and wise. "You 'magine that? How would you"-he pointed his finger at his TV audience-"like it someone smack you aside the head and left you naked, implying to the prison population and other guards that maybe you had a male honey who done something to you, 'cause you was found face down with nothing on!"

The reverend was turning pale and beginning to sweat under the hot lights. "That's what forgiveness… " He tried to cut Pinn off.

"Forgiveness my ass! I ain't forgiving that punk. Hell, no. I find him one of these days and then we see who smacks who. " He glared into the camera, staring straight at Smoke. "And let me tell you, someone knows where that snake in the weed is. You seen him, you call this toll-free number at the bottom of the screen and we send you a reward. " He repeated the number several times. "He go by the street name of Smoke and is a plain-looking white boy with dreadlocks and what he calls a beard that got about as much hair as a possum tail. "

"Hey!" Possum objected, tossing an empty beer can at the TV.

Smoke pushed Possum off the ottoman and ordered

him to shut up. "You bust that TV and I'm going to bust your head!"

"Now I don't know what Smoke is wearing these days 'cause last time I seen him he was in an orange jumpsuit, but he's a young white male 'bout twenty-one or -two and mean as a snake, " Pinn went on. "I guarantee he ain't doing nothing to help the neighborhood. Not hardly no way! Now you listen up. " He searched the faceless audience behind the camera. "You want some snake in the weed slithering around your neighborhood?"

"We will absolutely keep an eye out in the neighborhood, " Reverend Justice promised with a nod as he mopped his face with a handkerchief. "Sure is a lot of meanness out there. Just look at this most recent awful case of Moses Custer getting beat on and his Peterbilt being hijacked right there next to the pumpkin stand. "

"He take the reefer or just the cab?" Pinn was momentarily distracted by the terrible story.

"I didn't take no reefer. " Smoke made a pun to the TV. "Wish it had been full of reefer, though, instead of fucking pumpkins. What you want to bet Pinn Head's this Trooper Truth dude? Maybe he's the idiot writing all that shit on the Internet. "

"Yeah, he did, " the reverend said, nodding. "A Great Dane reefer, " which was trade talk for the top-of-the-line freight van that had been filled with pumpkins and hitched to the Peterbilt eighteen-wheeler truck. "I visited Moses in the hospital. " The reverend shook his head sadly. "That poor man look like a pit bull got hold of him. "

"What he say they did to him?" Pinn was getting edgy. He didn't like it when a guest was better informed than he was.

"What make you think he Trooper Truth?" asked Possum, who was computer literate and responsible for checking out the Trooper Truth website every morning to see if there was anything on it that Smoke ought to know about.

Possum also handled all Internet transactions, which included searches for eighteen-wheelers that might be parked somewhere with a FOR SALE sign, and news stories about truck shows, truck rodeos, truck accessories and parts, farmers' markets, piracy, smuggling, Canada, and a few of Possum's own special interests such as the Bonanza Fan Club and any related conventions that he would, undoubtedly, never get to attend. There was a large volume of e-mail, too, of course, from Smoke's criminal contacts, most of whom remained anonymous.

"Moses was sleeping in the Peterbilt," Reverend Justice was saying, "when all a sudden this angel came to give him a unique experience, then next thing he knows, all these demons are throwing him down on the pavement, where they start kicking and beating on him and cutting him up."

"He not have the doors locked?" Pinn said with a hint of judgment, for it was his habit to find fault with the victim whenever possible, and he was already reaching a verdict that Moses Custer might never have been attacked by demons, pirates, or anything else had he bothered to lock his doors.

"I guess not, but that don't mean he's to blame." The reverend gave Pinn a severe look.

"Hey," Cuda piped, "maybe he say what hospital he in and we go finish him off!"

"Naw, I don't think Pinn Head's Trooper Truth," Possum voiced his opinion. "Not unless he write a lot better than he talk. I think Trooper Truth the po-lice just like his name say he is. 'Cause he always talking about pirates and DNA and shit, and we better watch out he don't come after us 'cause he sure do have a way of finding out things and you already been locked up before." He looked at Smoke. "And there's a 'scription of you going around, so maybe we be better off just quittin' being pirates and maybe go get jobs at the Foot Locker or Bojangles or something…"

"Shut up!" Smoke screamed at him as the RV's aluminum door opened and Unique walked in carrying something in a plastic trash bag.

"I need some money," she said to Smoke. "You still owe me."

"Listen here, you concerned viewers out there." Pinn was pointing his finger at the camera again, once more fixated on his own ordeal. The hell with Moses Custer or anyone else. "You see a plain-looking white boy with dreadlocks, you call me right now."

"See, I told you there's a 'scription!" Possum exclaimed.

"He say anything about that queer girl who just got killed on Belle Island?" Unique asked as she stared at the TV.

"What queer girl?" Smoke asked with a yawn.

"No, but Trooper Truth did on his web, but he didn't say nothing about her being queer," Possum volunteered. "He's asking the public for tips."

Unique thought this was very funny. There were no tips. She had been invisible when she left the bar with T.T., so it wasn't possible that anybody had seen Unique and could offer tips to Trooper Truth or anyone else. Of course, becoming invisible was not without its downside. Unique had finally realized that rearranging her molecules when she pursued her Purpose was probably the reason she didn't remember much after the fact. And reliving her cruelities was the best part.

"Pick up the phone right this minute." Pinn repeated the telephone number at the bottom of the screen. "You tell the truth and we get him, I send you five hundred dollars. This is A.P. Pinn for Head to Head with Pinn. Good night," he beamed.

"Maybe we should go out and see what's around," Cat suggested, thoroughly bored by the TV show and the local news that followed. "1 get the car out from under the tarp and we can go huntin'."

"Yeah," grunted Cuda. "We're almost out of beer and I got one smoke left. Man," he got up, stretching and strutting. "Maybe we find that Custer son of a bitch and kill him in the hospital before he keep snitching on us."

"He doesn't know anything more about us," Smoke snapped at Cuda. "And if you'd killed him to begin with," he added to Possum, "we wouldn't have to worry about it."

Possum had drunk too many beers while they were out cruising for a prize the other night, and his aim had been a little off, much to his secret relief, and as best he knew, the bullet he had fired had struck Moses in the foot and knocked his boot off. "I still think we should find him," he agreed, contrary to his true feelings. "I'll get him smack in the head this time." He pretended to be as coldblooded as Smoke by pulling a nine-millimeter pistol out of the back of his relaxed-leg jeans and pointing it at the TV, as if it were a hospital bed.

"You shoot the TV, you little shit, and you're next. " Smoke jumped up and grabbed the gun and pointed it at Possum's head, snapping back the slide.

Possum swallowed hard, his eyes wide with terror as he begged, "Smoke, don't. Please! I was just kidding, you know?"

"I need my money, " Unique said in her quiet, soft voice as her eyes began to blaze and her Purpose began to create that unbearable tension inside her Darkness.

Smoke ignored her, laughing as he shot a hole in the floor. The ejected shell pinged against a lamp and he tossed the pistol back to Possum. "Or maybe I'll shoot the damn dog, since you seem to like her so much. In fact, bring her in here. "

"No!" Possum cried out. "Please, Smoke. You can't go shooting that little dog! And I don't like her, either! I can't stand that stupid dog, but we need her! So don't go wasting a bullet on her yet!"

"I'm gonna shoot her eventually, " Smoke said. "Or set her on fire, even better. But not until I'm ready to get that bitch Hammer. I'll show her for getting me locked up. Her and that fucker Andy Brazil!"

Possum reluctantly retreated to his bedroom, where he was shocked to see a photograph of Popeye in a red coat filling his computer screen. The real Popeye was sleeping on Possum's bed and noticed the scanned photograph of herself the instant Possum woke her up.

"Shit!" Possum whispered. "We can't tell Smoke about this!" he warned Popeye as he picked her up and she began to shake with excitement and fear.

Trooper Truth somehow knew that Popeye had been dognapped and was still alive! He was looking for her and encouraging the world to help him out. Of course, Popeye knew very well that Trooper Truth was Andy, because she had overheard many private conversations between Andy and Popeye's owner when the website was in the planning stages. Then Andy had suddenly disappeared, and next, Popeye had.

"I ain't gonna hurt ya, little girl," Possum was whispering in her ear. "But Smoke's mean. You know how mean he is, and we gotta make sure he don't know Trooper Truth's offering a reward for you and got everybody joining some big posse to come find you, just like on Bonanza."

Popeye didn't need to be reminded of how mean Smoke was, and she would have traded her favorite stuffed squirrel for a chance to sink her teeth into his ankle. She would be forever traumatized by the memory of that unguarded moment when her owner had let her out the front door and gotten distracted by the stove, which she wasn't sure she had remembered to turn off. It all happened so fast. Her owner ran back into the kitchen while Popeye was sniffing grass near the sidewalk, and then a black Toyota Land Cruiser suddenly roared up the street and slammed on the brakes and Possum was calling Popeye's name and holding out a treat.

"Come here, Popeye, you good little girl," Possum said as if he were the nicest human in the world. "Look what I got for you!"

Next thing Popeye knew, she was snatched up and thrown into the back of the Land Cruiser, which was driven by that vicious monster, Smoke. Popeye was sped away to the Winnebago, where she had been ever since, and every night she dreamed about her owner, who

Smoke said was dead. For a while, Popeye hadn't believed him, but by now, she had resigned herself to the probability that her owner was gone from this earth, because if she wasn't, certainly she would have found Popeye by now and sent Smoke to jail for the rest of his rotten life.

Possum held Popeye tightly and carried her back into the living room. Possum had learned to fake many things, including his feelings. He was careful to act as if taking care of their canine hostage was an inconvenience. He never let on that he and Popeye had bonded, and that the dog was perhaps the only warm spot of love in his life, except for the television reruns he watched while the other road dogs slept. Popeye cowered in Possum's lap and licked his hand.

"I told you not to lick me!" Possum lied to Popeye, who by now understood the ugly act Possum put on when Smoke was around.

"Maybe it's time we get a message to Hammer that we've found her dog," Smoke said as he handed Unique cash and she silently left. "So she'll meet us somewhere, and when she does, I blow her fucking head off and Brazil's, too."

"Yeah," Cuda said. "You been saying that for months, Smoke. And I keep saying to you, what if she brings other troopers with her? And what if this Brazil guy gets off the first round? I 'member you telling us last time you got in a tussle with him, you ended up in jail, so he must be The Man."

"He's not The Man! I am! Maybe we just kill everybody who shows up, including you," Smoke cruelly taunted Popeye. "Lock that ugly dog back in your room

and send an e-mail to Captain Bonny and ask him when the hell we're gonna make our move and use the damn dog to get the fuckers, " he told Possum. "I'm tired of waiting!" he said to everyone. "Go get the car!" he ordered Cat.

Possum logged on to the Internet, clicked on FAVORITES and pulled up Captain Bonny's egotistical, self-promoting, self-serving website, which featured a fierce woodcut of Blackbeard on the home page. Possum went to the How To Contact section and pecked out the following message, which was the opposite of what Smoke wanted:

Dear Captin Bonny

Us pirates ain't ready to make the Big Move yet. I'll let you know.

Yours truley, Pirate Possum.

Major Trader just happened to be eating a banana split in his spec-home office when the e-mail landed. He was becoming annoyed with Pirate Possum and whoever his felonious, crude mates were. Trader had faithfully leaked information to the pirates and kept them out of the news for many months and so far had gone unrewarded. He had better be taken care of appropriately just as soon as the pirates made their so-called Big Move, which Trader had assumed all along was a big move of cocaine, heroin, and guns across the Canadian border.

He typed out an e-mail.

Dear Pirate Possum,

It was good to hear from you as always. But let me remind you that when I orchestrated the dognap-ping of Popeye so you could set up an ambush of Superintendent Hammer, the deal was that I would be handsomely rewarded. I have been patient for months, and now my terms have changed! I am demanding not 50% but 60% of the booty, paid in cash and left in a waterproof suitcase at a location of my choosing. Let me remind you that if you don't come through for me, I will be forced to use force.

Sincerely,

The Notorious Captain Bonny