The blue crabs and the trout were about to have their luck change yet again. Major Trader had volunteered to dump them in the river because he had his own secret, selfish agenda. He figured he could find someone fishing and sell the fresh seafood easily and for a pretty penny, and he was scouting for a good location for the drop-off of the waterproof suitcase full of cash that he expected to get from the pirates soon.
Right this minute, Trader was driving his state car, and the bucket was sloshing around in the trunk. Neither the crabs nor the trout could see a thing in the pitch dark, and they had an ominous feeling about the trip as Trader sped and jerked the car into curves and made sudden stops at lights.
"Jiminy Criminy, he must not got a GPS," one crab said as it knocked into another one on the bottom of the bucket. "He's lost. I can tell."
"How?" said the trout as he floated above crabs clashing into one another with each hairpin turn and lurching start and stop. "I think he might have engine problems."
"You ever been in a car afore?"
"Can't say I have," the trout replied. "But I've seen them pull up to the dock, from a safe distance, when the watermen get out to fish. All their trucks and golf carts jump around and careen like this."
The crabs tumbled to one side and landed in a pile.
"Ouch!" a crab complained. "That hurt! Get your claw outta my eye or you're gonna catch it!"
"I'm hungry!"
"There's neither rotted fish until we foller the water. Hold on!"
Trader drove over a curb and parked on the sidewalk, where Caesar Fender was fishing and not catching a thing.
"Hey! You just ran over my tackle box, you motherfucker!" Caesar yelled at the state car. "Who you think you are? I ain't doing nothing. I don't even have a car, so you got no right to pull over with your high beams on and run over my tackle box, like I was speeding or something!"
"I got fresh seafood fit for the governor," Trader announced. "Sell it to you for fifty dollars. Bet you got a passel of hungry nidgettes at home. Bet they never had blue crabs before, and fresh trout."
Caesar Fender was shocked by the big fat white man's slurs. "Just 'cause some black folks is short don't mean they're nidgettes," he lashed back. "And you owe me two dollars for the tackle box and another seventy-five cents for all the hooks you bent and bobbers you busted. You step one foot closer and you're gonna knock my can of worms in the water, and then I'm gonna kick your ass!"
"You lay a hand on me and I'll have you arrested and sent to jail!" Trader threatened.
"Pay me what you owe for all my fishing tackle you ruined!"
"Watch your mouth. You're talking to a very important government official," Trader yelled back.
"I don't give a flying fuck who you are!"
While the two men argued and bickered, the crabs quickly put together a plot to save themselves and the trout. "Play dead," someone said.
Trader popped open the trunk and Caesar peered inside, angry but curious about the fresh seafood. The trout was belly-up with its eyes shut, and all the crabs were motionless, their eyes shut, too.
"You cheatin' motherfucker!" Caesar screamed at Trader. "This seafood's dead as a doornail. How long you had it in your trunk? A month? Peeee-yooo." He waved his hand in front of his face as he lifted the bucket out. "You lying white trash. Here's what I think of your fucking fresh seafood."
Suddenly, the crabs and trout were sailing out of the bucket as if they were dashing out a fire. They flew through the air and splashed into the James River, where the crabs sank to the bottom and sat, looking around, stunned, as the trout swam in lazy circles over them.
"Look! I see the trout swimming down there!" Trader pointed at the shadow of the trout deep below the sparkling surface. "They're not dead! You threw away my fresh seafood! Hand over fifty dollars!" he demanded.
"Nope." Caesar gathered up his ruined fishing gear.
Trader's pirate genetic coding was fired up and he punched Caesar in the eye. Caesar turned his fishing pole into a whip and stung Trader's cheek with thirty-test monofilament and several small sinkers that Caesar had attached with his teeth shortly after arriving hours earlier on his bicycle. The two men fought fiercely with each other, rolling on the ground, yelling obscenities and beating on each other. Enraged and bleeding, Trader darted for his car, which Caesar began kicking before he smashed out the front windshield with his damaged metal tackle box.
Frenzied and out of breath, Trader dove into the driver's side and fumbled for the flare gun he always kept hidden under the front seat. He cut his fingers on splinters of glass as he stuffed a.12 gauge flare into the wide barrel of the old flare gun that had been handed down in his pirate family since 1870. He rolled out of the car and pointed the flare gun in Caesar's direction as the deranged fisherman hurled lead sinkers at him, one of which struck Trader on the nose, causing an instant reflex that twitched his trigger finger.
The flare exploded through the air like a small fiery missile, streaking straight toward Caesar and slamming into his chest. The crabs and trout watched in horror as the fisherman burst into flames and ran several steps before collapsing. Trader fled in his banged-up state car, the trunk still open, the windshield a spider web of shattered glass. When he limped into the governor's mansion a little later, he was pale and bloody, his suit and tie torn. He was agitated, paranoid, and confused.
Regina was confused, too. She had never seen her mother so made-up and heavily perfumed. Had Regina run into her mother in a funeral home, she would have assumed Mrs. Crimm was full of formaldehyde and overlaid in putty and had gotten her clothes mixed up with some other dead lady who was much smaller and fond of fuchsia.
"What the hell happened to you, Mama?" Regina asked as she worked on a thick slab of honey-glazed ham that was tucked inside a huge biscuit dripping with butter and globs of mint jelly.
Mrs. Crimm, running a little late, seated herself at the foot of the table and lifted a fork to signal that everyone could begin eating.
"What do you mean, what happened to me?" Mrs. Crimm shot Regina a threatening glance. "And you're not supposed to start eating before everyone else. As if I didn't raise you better."
Andy cut off the only morsel of lean ham he could find in the mound on his plate as Trader walked into the dining room. Andy noticed instantly that the press secretary was bloody and in shock and smelled faintly of burned chemicals and gunpowder.
"I'd rather know what happened to you," Andy said to Trader.
Mrs. Crimm inferred from this that her handsome young dinner guest didn't think for a minute that anything at all had happened to her. She always looked alluring and thoughtfully put together. It was irrational and Victorian for women to hide their bodies beneath thick layers of loose, long clothing. Andy's attention would find its way down to the foot of the table any minute and linger to wander all over her. After dinner, the two of them would sneak up to the master suite and she would lock the door and say yes and mean it. Even if the governor came home, as long as she and Andy were quiet, he wouldn't see them.
"Did you wander into a riot or a hurricane?" Andy's attention remained on Trader, who went into a lengthy, breathless explanation, talking so fast that his words tangled and ran into each other midair.
"What on earth did he say?" First Lady Crimm asked Andy every few seconds. "I wonder if he's had a stroke!"
Trader's story could easily be summed up, although he took a long time to tell it and the facts changed like clouds. The gist was this: He arrived at the river at nineteen hundred hours and an African American male was fishing out by his bicycle. Trader greeted the man and they discussed the weather as Trader dumped the crabs and the trout overboard.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Crimm interrupted. "He didn't toss the crabs into the James, did he? Unless they can find their way back to the bay, they'll die, sure as shooting."
Trader rushed ahead with his story.
"He says there was a shooting, now that you mention it," Andy translated. "A Lincoln with New York plates roared up and a Hispanic male in his twenties started firing a nine-millimeter Sig-Sauer pistol out the window and yelling obscenities. He shot the fisherman at very close range, probably in the chest, and the fisherman possibly caught on fire, possibly from burning gunpowder that was possibly fueled by a Bic lighter that was possibly in the fisherman's shirt pocket."
"How come he doesn't know anything for sure?" Regina reached for another biscuit. "Didn't he even check to see if the poor man just might still be alive or if he was really burning up? Why didn't he try to put the fire out or call for help?" She fastened her eyes on Trader as she ate. "You just rush off and not try to help or anything? What kind of person are you?"
"He shit at me!" Trader raised his voice, not realizing that his sudden speech problem was due to post-traumatic stress that had somehow activated a genetic code that caused him to talk like a pirate.
"We don't talk that way at the table!" Mrs. Crimm fired back at him.
"He shit at me again and again! I was afeared to get near him!"
"I can't stand this." Regina covered her ears. "Someone talk for him. Andy, just tell us what he says. And does he really mean to imply that the Hispanic was doing number two at him? Doing it or throwing it?" She scowled. "What does he mean that the gunman shit at him?"
"Regina!" her mother scolded her. "We don't talk about bathroom habits at the dinner table!"
Trader started to make the point that he was talking about a shooting, when Andy cautioned him not to say the words shoot, shot, shooting, or shooter, but to simply simulate by mutely pointing his finger and firing it like a gun. This worked, and the First Family settled down and resumed eating as Trader claimed, through Andy, that he was certain the Hispanic was the one committing the hate crimes and was coming after the First Family next, so Trader had raced back to the mansion instantly to make sure all were safe and protected.
"He say he hated Crimm," Trader blurted out. "And he thinks all Crimms should be put to death."
"You sure he didn't mean criminals, as opposed to Crimms?" Regina considered as she chewed. "Papa's very much in favor of sending criminals to death row and is known for it."
"Honey, that wouldn't make much sense," Mrs. Crimm replied. "The Hispanic is clearly a criminal himself, so why would he be on a spree of hate crimes that target people similar to himself?"
"Damnation seize my soul, the villain meant ye!" Trader pointed at each Crimm in an ominous, morbid way. "Crimm. Not criminals."
Faith was frightened. "We won't be able to leave the mansion ever again, Mama."
"What if he's out there somewhere?" Constance's eyes were wide, and she kept refilling her wine glass with nervous hands.
"I've never heard of anyone catching on fire when they're shot." Andy pressed Trader on this point. "Did you really see smoke and flames and his clothes igniting? I realize you're saying you didn't hang around long and were frightened and also concerned for the Crimms and may have suffered a small stroke, but I'm having a very hard time with your story."
Trader rather condescendingly replied that it was a well-known scientific fact that people do burst into flames and have cremated themselves unannounced since the beginning of time.
"It's called spontenuous combusting," he said. "Look it up."
Andy didn't need to look it up. He was quite familiar with spontaneous human combustion and the stories of people suddenly bursting into flames for no good reason.
"Well," he said to Trader, "we'll see what the medical examiner has to say."
"You don't think that psycho's gonna come here and set all of us on fire, do you?" Constance worried aloud.
"Why would he hate us?" Grace couldn't make sense of it. "What did we ever do to him or any Hispanic? And we're not a minority except for our practically being a royal family, and there certainly aren't many of those."
"We don't even know any Hispanics," Faith reminded her family as she looked around the table, her horse-shaped face wavering in soft candle light. "And Papa hasn't a single Hispanic working in his administration and never has. So what do the Hispanics have to be resentful about?"
"Probably what you just said," Andy replied.
"Which was what?" Regina asked between chews.
"It's been my observation that the governor's administration could use a little more variety." Andy tried to be diplomatic. "When an entire group of people finds itself excluded, hard feelings arise and can turn to violence."
"But Bedford doesn't speak Spanish," Mrs. Crimm explained. "He sees no reason to."
"He really doesn't see reasons for much of anything, First Lady Crimm." Andy was candid, and he almost added with all due respect, but the specter of Hammer had been hovering over him all day. "I'm convinced if he could do something about his vision, his life would dramatically improve."
"His vision is the same as it's always been," the First Lady replied. "He envisions a Commonwealth that is uncommon and committed to the wealth and well-being of one and all, and that from this day forth, there shall be the uncommon goal that the people… Oh dear, I'm
afraid I can't remember the next line. What does he say?" She scanned her daughters' bored faces.
"The same thing he says at every inauguration," Regina replied in disgust. "He's used the same speech every time he's elected and it was stupid the first time and it's still stupid." She looked at Andy. "He thinks Virginia ought to be renamed the Uncommonwealth of Virginia, because he hates North Carolina and is damn tired of all these Fortune 500 companies and banks and movies going there instead of here."
She reached for the butter, and the silver knife leapt from her buttery, thick fingers and fled across the heart-of-pine floor. Pony appeared out of nowhere and picked it up. He replaced it with a clean one from the silver chest.
"Can I get you anything else, Miss Reginia?" he politely inquired.
"That's not a bad name," Andy said in surprise. "Why don't all of us call you Reginia instead of the other?"
"I don't want to be called something else, and I'm sick and tired of everyone worrying about what I'm called! And I'm even more sick and tired of no one ever calling me to begin with." Tears jumped out of her eyes. "Every time the phone rings it's just somebody trying to find the base unit. I don't have any friends. Not even one." Regina cried with her mouth full, chewing and miserable. "I was born in a coal mine…"
"No you weren't," her mother firmly interrupted.
"I was conceived in one." Regina became indiscreet. "I know exactly what happened when you and Papa went down into that deep, dark shaft and you had on that little hard hat with the flashlight. Imagine how I feel knowing his sperm had black dust all over it and swam straight to an egg and decided the result would be me!"
She reached for the bottle of wine, and it slipped out of her grasp and rolled across the table and onto the floor. Pony patiently crawled under the table after the bottle of Virginia Chardonnay.
"I'm so fucking sick of everything!" Regina bellowed.
"You are not to use that word ever again," the First Lady told her severely. "What in the world happened to make your mouth so foul? When you were born, you didn't talk like that. And I think the F-word is filthy and unspeakably degrading and unbecoming to a young lady, especially the daughter of a governor."
"That's the way they talked in the coal mine," Regina smugly said to Andy, and by now no one remembered that Trader was at the table or even in this world.
Then he made the mistake of thinking like a press secretary and speaking like a pirate. "Yay. Better ye use euphetisms like darnt, doggone it, fudge, rats, for Pate's sake, that's the darntest thing I ever hear, shit, oh shit…"
"Enough!" Andy ordered him. "I told you not to say shoot in any tense."
"Why are you talking like that?" Regina was out with it, uncovering her ears and glaring at Trader.
"I was born on the island as was everybody afore me," he said as he dabbed his bleeding face with a linen napkin. "I'm afraid the shock of witnessing the murder has done something to me brain."
"Well, I don't care if you were born on the island. You can just forget the rubbish that what you're speaking is Old English or Elizabethan English or that John Smith said shit instead of shot or shoot. Now he might have said shat, but not shit. Does everybody on the island talk like you, or do you have your own special secret vernacular or something?" Regina was brutal but honestly curious. "After all these centuries, why don't you talk so people can understand what the hell you're saying?
"Mama, I insist Papa fire this man. I can't stand him in the mansion another day. I just know I'll hear him in my head all the time and it will drive me to distraction. And I simply can't afford to be driven to distraction because there are so many distractions already and I'm bored to death of being driven everywhere by EPU. I want a car and a license and to go places without security!"
"Shhh!" the First Lady ordered as Pony detected footsteps out front and hurried toward them.
Momentarily, the door shut loudly in the entrance hallway and the tone of murmuring voices suggested that Bedford Crimm had not enjoyed the day much.
"I smell ham!" he announced in dismay. "I thought we were having seafood tonight. I am most decidedly not in the mood for ham. What happened to the crabs I had flown in?"
"Sir, will that be all?' a trooper asked.
"No!" Maude Crimm called out from the dining room. "Don't let him go, sweetie! We need all of the EPU to stay right here!"
This was very much out of character for the First Lady, who was known for getting annoyed with omnipresent security details. At first, she had felt important and admired when squadrons of powerfully built EPU troopers in immaculate suits surrounded her everywhere she went and made certain her every need was fulfilled. Then she grew weary of it. Maude Crimm longed to sit in the garden or the tub or watch TV or shop on the Internet or get her cosmetic procedures without cameras or others taking all of it in. She was becoming increasingly paranoid about her privacy and nurtured a growing suspicion that the troopers saw everything she did-everything, including her endeavors to hide her collectibles.
"What's this all about?" the governor asked as he walked into the dining room and squinted in the candlelight to make out what was on everyone's plates. "Ham," he muttered disagreeably. "1 can't stand ham. What happened to the crabs?" He fixed his unhappy, dull gaze on Regina.
"We let them go." She was candid with her father.
"I flew them in on the state helicopter and you let them go?"
"And the trout," she replied, reaching for the mint jelly.
"Sir." Andy was determined to get to the heart of the First Family's difficulties. "There's a situation I think you need to know about. A black male was just murdered while he was fishing in the river, and Major Trader has alleged that you and your wife and daughters could be in danger. Apparently, he allegedly witnessed the crime and is alleging the suspect is the same one who assaulted Moses Custer and killed Trish Thrash."
Crimm reached for his dangling magnifying glass and was visibly startled when his press secretary came into focus.
"Heavens!" the governor exclaimed "Shouldn't you go to the hospital?"
Trader was afraid to speak and shook his head.
"What happened?" the governor demanded. "I don't mean to sound unsympathetic, but it's not sanitary to bleed at the dinner table."
Trader got up, holding a napkin to his forehead. He mutely stood on the antique Oriental rug, his eyes darting about as he tried to sort out his tangled thoughts and come up with a plan. For starters, he decided, his transient speech disorder was a good thing because under the circumstances, it was smart to talk in a way that made little sense to others. His condition made lying easier, and people were less inclined to question him closely. Not to mention, if he required a second party to speak, then Trader's testimony would be hearsay and not admissible in court.
"It's awful," Faith was describing what had happened. "This monster makes people burst into flames and then speeds off. He's from New York and speaks Spanish and intends to do the same thing to each of us."
"As much as I hate it," Mrs. Crimm said, "I think we need all of the troopers to surround the mansion until this terrible person is caught. Maybe the National Guard ought to help out, too, dear."
The governor pulled out a chair and sat down, not sure what to do and perplexed that no one had briefed him about this emergency before now. Often, he found out bad news when he came home for dinner, and certainly this wasn't helping his submarine in the least.
"Well, someone fill me in," the governor demanded.
Trader wanted to offer many false details, but he knew how the governor would react to their sudden language barrier. The press secretary indicated through sign language that Andy should relay the day's events to Crimm, which Andy did.
"What's your recommendation?" the governor asked Andy after being subjected to the story, which seemed lacking in veracity and rationality.
"I agree in taking no chances," Andy replied. "Keep security tight, sir, but this matter needs to be thoroughly investigated. Frankly, I am concerned that there are important facts we don't know, despite Mr. Trader's alleged eyewitness account. No offense," he directed this at Trader, "but what you supposedly saw and what actually happened may not match up. I have two questions, for example: What happened to the bucket? And did anyone else happen to see the shooting?"
Trader replied through hand signals that the bucket was at large and the only other witnesses may have been the crabs and the trout. Trader felt certain this would settle the matter.
"If the bucket is at large," Andy pointed out, "then this might suggest that you let the crabs and trout go before the altercation occurred. Because you certainly wouldn't witness someone burning up and then think to toss the crabs and the trout in the river, now would you?"
Trader shook his head no as he recalled the crabs and trout sailing through the air in a cascade of tap water. They splashed into the river and then he and the fisherman began to fight and say ugly things to each other. Trader must have set the bucket back on the ground, or perhaps the fisherman did. By now the police would have found the bucket and taken it in as evidence. He wasn't sure why, but he had a bad feeling that the bucket was going to cause him a problem.
The governor lit up a Cuban cigar. "Tell me," he said to Andy. "If we could locate the crabs and trout, would that help us?"
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," Regina retorted. "What good would they do, and how would you know they're the same ones we let go?"
"DNA," Andy replied. "If they left any cellular material in the bucket, even just a trace, it could be matched back to them. For example, people don't realize how many cells their eyes shed. You rub your eyes and have eye cells all over your fingers and then you touch something and deposit these cells. Every living creature has unique DNA, except identical twins."
"So maybe the crabs' eyes shed cells in the bucket?" The governor was fascinated. "How do you know all this?"
"I've always been interested in forensic science and criminal investigations, Governor. My father was a police officer in Charlotte."
"What is he now?"
"He got killed in the line of duty, sir."
This touched the governor deeply. He had always wanted a son and was not at all impressed with his daughters and rarely enjoyed their company. In truth, Bedford Crimm was starved for someone sensible and non-female to talk to, and he had forgotten that he was concerned that Andy and his wife might have an affair.
"Let's pour a little brandy and smoke," he said as he turned a magnified watery eye on Andy. "Do you play pool?"
"Not very often, sir," Andy replied.
"But what about this awful man on the loose?" Mrs. Crimm worried.
"Tell one of the other troopers the story," the governor ordered Andy to tell Trader. "Tell him to get the rest of the EPU on the case and let's have the National Guard fly around, checking for that car with New York plates, and perhaps have a presence downtown, too."
"You may want to consider having us set up checkpoints at the tollbooths, too," Andy suggested. "In case this alleged Hispanic serial killer tries to leave the city," he added with a hint of disdain as he stared Trader right in the eye. The press secretary glanced away.
"Excellent idea," the governor agreed, increasingly impressed with this young man. "We need to locate the crabs and the trout. Tell Trader to start looking since he's the one who saw them last."
"Sir, you can tell him yourself," Andy politely said. "He can hear, he just can't talk or at least wants us to think he can't. And I might suggest we have a more objective person look for any witnesses."
Andy had no doubt that should Trader find the crabs and trout, he would make sure they were never seen again. The fat, mendacious pirate-press secretary would probably boil them alive and eat them, Andy thought with disgust as he anticipated the governor's reaction when he read the essay he intended to post as soon as he could find a computer. He gave Trader a harsh, threatening look.
"Stay away from the crabs and trout," Andy warned him.
He waited until Trader limped off before taking the First Lady aside for a private word with her.
"Listen," Andy said. "I hate to impose on you or intrude upon your privacy in any way, First Lady Crimm, but it looks like it may be a long night and I'm wondering if I could borrow a computer for just a minute so I can check something."
"Why certainly," she replied, and she couldn't wait to lead him upstairs to her private parlor where she spent many secret, delicious hours sitting at her antique Chinese desk, shopping the Internet.
She felt a tingle of salacious excitement as she led Andy up the stairs and sat him down in her chair.
"Do you need me to show you how anything works?" she asked, leaning over him and brushing her big, trussed-up bosom against the back of his head.
"No thank you," Andy said as her perfume excited an allergic reaction and he began to sneeze. "If you can just leave me for a moment. I'm afraid this is classified police work and for my eyes only, ma'am." He sneezed three more times.
"What are they doing up there?" the governor jealously asked, looking in the direction of upstairs. "What in thunder are they up to? Who's sneezing?" he demanded as his wife smeared her lipstick a bit and mussed up her stiff hair as she made her way back downstairs.
Andy posted his next essay, which he had finished early that morning. The timing could not be better, and he got up from the desk just as Regina lumbered into the parlor and demanded to know what he was doing.
"Mama's all messed up like you two were making out," she delicately offered. "And it's just a good thing Papa can't see what she looks like!"
"She wasn't messed up a minute ago," Andy replied. "She just showed me to the computer and left. And she looked exactly as she did when we were all at the dinner table."
"What are you doing in here?" Regina's tiny eyes were bright with suspicion. "I bet you're Trooper Truth, aren't you!"
"What a thing to think," Andy said.
"Prove you're not!"
"It's rather difficult to prove a negative," Andy replied as Regina squeezed her way past him and sat before the keyboard.
She logged on to the Trooper Truth website and made a startled sound when she noticed there was a brand-new essay. She clicked on it immediately.
"See," Andy said. "You tell me. Is it possible Trooper Truth could be off writing a new essay and yet be here with the First Family for a light supper at the same time?"
"Well, I guess you're right," Regina said as she eagerly began to read.
Her story begins with her birth in County Cork, Ireland, on March 8, 1700, the illegitimate daughter of a successful Irish lawyer named William Cormac and his wife's maid, whose name never made it into the records. When the scandalous tryst was revealed, William had no choice but to flee from Ireland with his new family and settle in Charleston, South Carolina, where he no doubt befriended Blackbeard and corrupt politicians. Soon enough, William became a very wealthy merchant and lived on a plantation just outside the city.
Not much is known about Anne as a child, except that she was a beautiful redhead with a ferocious temper that prompted her to kill one of the servant women with a carving knife after the two of them squabbled. By the time Anne was old enough to pick out her own clothes, she began to dress like a man, and many male admirers began to call on her. Uninvited sexual advances were met with such violence that one suitor ended up bedridden for weeks.
(Note: I pause here to emphasize to you, the reader, that Anne's behavior almost from the start would indicate that she was a sociopath with bad genetic wiring that, unfortunately, she would pass down through the generations to present-day Virginia, where one of her direct descendants is currently employed in a position of great influence and power.)
When Anne was sixteen, she continued on her blighted path by getting tangled up with a poor worthless sailor named James (Jim) Bonny, who was determined to have her family's plantation for himself. He decided the easiest way to do this was to marry Anne, whose attire he either didn't notice or didn't seem to mind. Anne's father did not approve of Jim Bonny, and the newly wed couple did not get the plantation or even a decent room should they have wished to stay with Anne's family.
The young couple left Charleston in a huff and sailed off to New Providence in the Bahamas, where Anne soon became fond of a local establishment called the Pirate's Lair, which was exactly what the name implied. Jim was a weak, pitiful example of manhood and courage, and he began to rat on various sailors he didn't like, accusing them of being pirates, even if they weren't, while his dissatisfied, psychopathic wife spent increasingly long hours at the Lair.
Many of the rough seamen who became her drinking buddies were ex-pirates and bored. One day, Anne, who the ex-pirates thought was a man, was slugging down rum and complaining about the nasty, mean-spirited sister-in-law of Jamaican governor Lawes, who had told Anne she wasn't worth knowing. What isn't clear from the records is whether the woman made this rude comment when Anne was disguised as a man or dressed normally. But it is well documented that Anne's response was to knock out two of her teeth, which was much more serious in the eighteenth century than now, since there were no dentists or prosthodontists to speak of and a gap-toothed smile was irreversible.
"I should have knocked out all her teeth," Anne boasted to the ex-pirates as they drank in the Lair. "Then tied her to a tree and gave her neither bread nor water and let a myriad of fiery stinging ants swarm over her nekkid body."
"Yay, ye should have." Pirate Captain Calico Jack nodded in agreement. "Would ye have her all nekkid, including her privities?"
"All nekkid," Anne replied." 'Tis better not to cover her privities, making the stings of the ants more fiercely painful."
"Yay, 'tis better."
Anne and Calico got very friendly with each other and she finally made certain he knew she was a woman by unbuttoning her man's shirt one day. He offered to buy her from her spineless husband, Jim, who instantly snitched on both of them to South Carolina Governor Rogers. Anne was ordered to show up for a flogging and then return to her rightful husband, so she and Calico decided they would slip into the harbor, both of them dressed like men, and steal a sloop and begin their lives together as a pirate couple.
Over the next few months, Anne and Calico Jack raided many ships and shore installations. Her gender remained a secret to all but him, until they captured a Dutch merchant ship and recruited a number of its sailors from the crew, including a strikingly handsome, blue-eyed, blond young man. Anne took a liking to him and unbuttoned her shirt to reveal her true identity. The man then unbuttoned his shirt and showed that he was Mary Read. It is not known if both women were disappointed to discover that neither of them was a man, but they became a pirate duo, skilled with rapiers and pistols, and fought bravely whenever their boarding crew stormed onto unsuspecting merchant ships.
Anne and Mary loved being pirates and became well-respected, bloodthirsty buccaneers who swung their blades and boarded ships with more daring than any man. They became pregnant at the same time, and in 1720 suffered a stunning defeat when a pirate turned pirate-hunter raided them while the crew was drunk and hiding below deck, leaving only Mary and Anne to fight furiously in thick cannon fire.
"If there's a man among ye, ye will come out and fight like the men ye are thought to be!" Anne shouted as she furiously swung her cutlass and fired her pistols.
The men below did not answer back, and all were captured and hanged except for the two pregnant pirates, who went to jail. Mary died of a fever inside her tiny damp cell and Anne is believed to have been granted a pardon. She disappeared from the seas and historical records.
My theory of what became of Anne Bonny is based on reviewing written accounts of her life, and then reaching a conclusion that is within the realm of possibility. We can be certain that Anne would not have been welcome back in the West Indies, nor was she likely to return to her husband or to the life of an active pirate. I suspect she had her child and decided on a compromise of breaking the law while avoiding the traditional life of a woman, and doing so in a place that was a safe harbor and agreeable to her need for adventure. She would have known that Blackbeard and other pirates frequented Tangier Island and regularly traded with the Islanders, and that if she continued dressing like a man, she could be a waterman and at least get out in a bateau and teach her child the ways of weather, the bay, and fishing.
This child, I suspect, was a son, and I believe it is from this cutthroat lineage that one certain governmental official descended. And if the governor is reading this essay, I ask him to think back on all of the times a certain disloyal, despicable individual has given him a sweet that is soon followed by an explosive gastric attack.
It is just a shame that this scoundrel, who for now will remain nameless, offered no warnings when he applied for a high-level state position and was subjected to the usual background checks. But background checks are largely ineffective these days. They do not reveal motivation, which in this person's case, like that of his ancestor Anne Bonny, is to have control, adventure, and access to military and police power, and to know the rules well enough to break them whenever he pleases.
Be careful out there!