Isle of Dogs

Thirty

Hooter was also devoting the day to getting ready for the race. She had spent hours unraveling her dreadlocks and processing her hair, which this minute was cooking under a snug head-rag as she glued on new acrylic nails that looked like long, curled American flags. Then she struggled into skin-tight black imi-tation-snakeskin stirrup pants, and over these she pulled on a pair of puffy silver boots that fastened with velcro and were designed to have an astronaut look.

Completing the ensemble required much careful deliberation, and she decided on a simple black tube top, and for the piece de resistance, the beaded jacket with Kodak, DuPont, and Pennzoil logos in bright colors that she had found in the NASCAR section of a knock-off fashion boutique on East Broad Street, between the Affordable Gun Store and the Nocheck Check Cashing and Pager Shop.

Andy was paying close attention to his attire as well, but not for reasons of vanity or sex appeal. He had never been to the Richmond International Racetrack and wasn't exactly sure what a drunk NASCAR fan might wear, but he figured the less conspicuous and more heavily protected and armed he was, the better. So he put on scuffed cowboy boots and baggy jeans that easily concealed a pistol in an ankle holster he fastened at a boot top, and over his body armor he wore a Redskins sweatshirt and leather jacket. He had been smart enough not to shave this morning, and with his stubble, ponytail wig, mirrored sunglasses, and a nine-millimeter pistol tucked out of sight in the back waistband of his pants, he felt secure in his appearance. Smoke wouldn't recognize him. In fact, nobody would.

He had just begun the process of splashing himself with beer when his doorbell rang.

"Who the hell…?" he muttered, slightly alarmed, because he certainly wasn't expecting company. "Who is it?" he gruffly said through the locked front door.

"It's me, " a muffled female voice replied, and at first, Andy did not place it and thought of the serial killer who had left the evidence on his doorstep.

"Who's me?" he asked.

"Hammer. "

"Wow, " he said in surprise as he opened the door. "I'm sorry I sounded rather unfriendly, but I had no idea it was you. I mean, I didn't at first. So I almost didn't recognize your voice, because I… "

The blood didn't seem to be flowing to his brain as he looked her up and down. Hammer was dressed like an Outlaws motorcycle gangster, all in black studded leather, black Dingo boots, and a Harley jacket. Slung over her shoulder was a Harley tote bag that no doubt contained a small arsenal. She had hardened her handsome face with gaudy layers of make-up, and her hair was teased.

"Don't give me a hard time, " she said right off as she walked inside the house. "The last thing I want to look like is a cheap motorcycle slut, but I had to do something. I'm just worried about our arriving by helicopter looking like this, " she added as she took in his disguise. "And we can't get any undercover troopers out to Tangier because the only pilots I have are you and Macovich, and both of you are busy, and the ferries aren't running because of the goddamn restrictions the governor has imposed because of your Tory Treasure essay. That's why I decided to drop by right away and ask you to consider if maybe we should reconfigure what we're doing. "

She followed him into the dining room, and they sat in his makeshift office. As Hammer noticed the computer, printer, filing cabinets, and piles of research materials, it gave her a strange feeling to realize this was the secret headquarters of Trooper Truth, even though she knew very well who Trooper Truth really was and where he worked and lived. It oddly occurred to her that even she had begun to bond with the fantasy writer and to wish she could meet him.

"This is ridiculous, " she said.

"I know, " Andy agreed. "I look pretty stupid and I'm sorry I smell like beer and haven't shaved, and you're probably right. A state police helicopter may not fit with our disguises. "

"What I meant was, it's eerie sitting in the place where you write your essays. I feel as if I've just walked behind the curtain and discovered the Wizard of Oz or am in the

Bat Cave or something. And I must say, a part of me is very disappointed because I think I must have started believing in Trooper Truth, too. Oh good God, don't tell me I was becoming a fan!" She shook her head and sighed. "I must be losing my mind. In the first place, I'm a fan of no one and think being a fan of anything or anyone is irrational and silly. Why would a rational human being inflate someone to Mount Olympian proportions, think they're a god, and hang up posters of them?

"How does it make sense for someone to adore and even want to go to bed with a perfect stranger?" she went on as Andy stared down at his hands, ill at ease and hurt that she had, perhaps, liked Trooper Truth better than him. "I guess what this means is there are probably thousands, if not millions, of perfect strangers out there who read Trooper Truth and worship him and entertain sexual fantasies about him, " Hammer continued. "I know Windy certainly feels that way, only in her case, she's convinced that Trooper Truth is at least eighty years old and has to use a walker. I guess the gig is up, " Hammer announced by slapping her hand down on the table.

"What gig?" Andy replied with a hint of pain and anger. "There's no gig and never has been. It doesn't matter what nom de plume I use or if I use one at all. I'm still the one who has written the essays. I am Trooper Truth!"

"Trooper Truth doesn't exist, " Hammer said.

"All right, let me ask you this, " Andy said, trying to regain his composure. "If you never thought of me as Trooper Truth, then who was Trooper Truth to you? Did you have some fantasy about him, huh?"

"We need to disengage ourselves from this pointless, inane conversation right this minute, " Hammer said.

"We've got a major operation about to happen and need to focus on that, for God's sake. "

"You're absolutely right, " he said in a steadier tone. "It truly doesn't matter to me that you are or aren't a fan of Trooper Truth or anyone, including me. I'm not a fan of anybody, either. Never have been, " he added as the telephone rang.

"Wooo! We got us a real problem, Brazil, " an excited Macovich said over the line. "The guv don't want to take the helicopter to the race!"

"You're kidding, " Andy said. "Why the hell not? You'll just have to talk him into it. Tell him for security reasons he must fly in… "

"It won't work. Seems like he's all of a sudden got it in his head he's gotta have a big litter box for this little horse he just got. I think that damn ugly pool-shark daughter had something to do with it. I ain't never heard something so stupid in my life, but there's nothing we can do. He's got troopers to fill the back of his limo with woodchips and we can't talk him out of it. So he and the First Family are going by limo and that's final. I got to drive him. I'm real sorry, I don't know what else to tell you. "

"But what about Smoke and the road dogs?" Andy protested. "What are they going to do when the helicopter doesn't show up to take them to the race? And they've got Popeye!"

"All I know is they're supposed to meet me at the MCV helipad, and I ain't gonna be there. "

"Shit!" Andy exclaimed as he slammed down the phone.

He explained what was going on, and it pained him to see the anguish flicker across Hammer's face as she realized that Popeye might not be saved and their entire plan had just crashed and burned. Smoke and the road dogs were still at large unless she could think of a way to lure them into a trap. Now it was unlikely they'd show up at the race.

"If they wait for the helicopter and it doesn't come, they're going to figure out that something's up, " Hammer said, dejected. "They'll figure out that Cat has probably been grabbed by us and we've got half the state police force waiting for them at the racetrack. All because of a goddamn minihorse!"

Andy was silent. Both of them knew that it was Andy who had planted the minihorse in the governor's mind by suggesting it on the Trooper Truth website.

"I don't know what to say, I'm… " Andy started to say.

"It's too late for apologies, " a crestfallen Hammer replied. "And you don't need to apologize anyway, Andy. It's not your fault. I was the one who went along with this Trooper Truth charade, never realizing the repercussions it might have. I just hope Popeye… Well, " she said, her voice breaking. "I just hope she doesn't suffer… " she blurted out in grief as tears welled in her eyes. "Damn it all!"

"Wait a minute, " Andy said as an incredible but simple idea occurred to him. "Donny Brett flies a four-thirty!"

"Who?" Hammer asked as she dug in her Harley bag for a tissue and handcuffs clanked against a pistol.

"You know, number eleven! He's got six wins so far this year, including Martinsville and Bristol, and the reason I know about his bird is Bell has used it in a lot of ads. It's painted with Brett's colors and he always arrives at the races in it, so it's probably sitting at the racetrack helipad even as we speak. Yes!" Andy's thoughts flew so fast he was scarcely making sense. "Family of one of the drivers. That's it! And we'll just show up at MCV in Brett's helicopter and fly that son of a bitch Smoke and his road dogs ourselves!"

"But how the hell are we going to get whatever-his-name-is-Brett to let us use his helicopter at this late hour?" Hammer said. "It's impossible. "

"Simple, " Andy replied. "We walk into the fantasy and turn fiction into fact. "

"Now is not the time to talk like a writer!" Hammer warned as she blew her nose.

"You can be up front with me in the left seat and pretend to be my girlfriend, " Andy relayed his plan as it unfolded inside his head.

"And who will you be?"

"I'll go as Donny Brett's brother, " Andy said. "What we've got to do is let Smoke and his road dogs think Macovich couldn't make it to pick up the so-called Jolly Goodwrench pit crew and got Brett to help out. We'll pick up the assholes, have undercover guys everywhere, and the minute we land, we'll nail them. Now come on. We've got to get to the racetrack. "

The only way that was going to be possible, in light of traffic jams that spanned virtually the entire Commonwealth as a hundred and fifty thousand NASCAR fans fought their way to the racetrack, was for Andy to overfly the gridlock in a state police helicopter. Then he and Hammer would hurry to find Donny Brett, who had always been described as an all-American boy and family man who collected police badges and guns. Brett also believed in security, and when Hammer and Andy pushed through the crowds and showed up at Brett's luxurious trailer on the racetrack grounds, big men blocked the door and looked as if they didn't mind hurting overly enthusiastic fans and stalkers.

"We must have a word with Mr. Brett, " Hammer announced.

"He's resting, so please go away, " one of the bouncers said in an unfriendly way.

Hammer's wallet was in the back pocket of her leather pants, attached to a chain, and she flashed her badge as she said in a low voice, "We're state police involved in a huge undercover operation. Lives are at stake!"

Andy dug into his jeans and flashed his badge, too.

"We don't want to disturb Mr. Brett and realize he needs peace and quiet before he gets into his car and hopefully wins the race, but we must see him, " Andy explained.

"I sure as hell hope he wins, too, " the second bouncer said. "He gets pretty upset when he don't win, and he always likes to get a little shuteye and meditate before he races. But let me tell him what's going on and we'll see what he wants to do. "

"You're joking, right?" Donny Brett said moments later when the motorcycle mama and her redneck younger boyfriend were escorted inside the plush trailer. "I'm not doubting you're cops, but you must think I'm pretty stupid to let you or anybody else just fly off in my chopper. And how would I get out of here after the race?"

"We can get you the state police four-thirty, " Andy said to the handsome, famous driver, who looked rather sleepy and unassuming when he wasn't wearing his colors. "As soon as the governor is safely returned to the mansion in his motorcade, an EPU trooper named Macovich will fly here and pick you up. I promise. "

Brett considered this for a moment as he popped open a Pepsi.

"Oh yeah?" he said. "So what does the state police bird look like? What kind of paint job does it have?"

"The state police paint job, " Hammer replied.

"So if I win the race, it will look like I'm getting a police escort out of here?" Brett rather liked the idea.

"Even if you don't win, you will, " Hammer said.

"But you will win, " Andy added.

Brett sat at a table and blew out a big sigh. He suddenly looked small and uncertain and not at all like his heavily endorsed, highly exploited self.

"Truth is, I'm not so sure, " he confessed, hanging his head in shame. "Everybody says I'm the favorite, which only puts more pressure on me, and truth is, Labonte's taken a whole lot better advantage of the season than I have. You know, he took over the points race from Jarrett in the third race in Vegas, and that ol' boy's held a real strong position since. See, my problem is, I like trophies. Like 'em way too much. And that means I don't rely on consistency like Labonte does. And if I'm honest about it, Richmond's not my favorite track. Hell, I finished eighteenth in the Pontiac Excitement Four Hundred last spring, can you believe it?

"That really shattered my confidence, even if the general public don't know it. I think that's one of the reasons

I had to go out and get me that big chopper. You know, the crowds go wild when I fly in and out in that thing, and it helps my confidence and maybe makes the fans think I'm the Big Guy even if the way I'm heading, I'm not gonna be big for much longer. "

Hammer was getting impatient as she glanced at her watch and Andy pulled out a chair, listening intensely to what Brett was saying.

"Look, " Andy said, "There are twenty or twenty-five cars out there and every one of them, including number eleven, has the capability of running up front. "

"Yeah, now you are right about that, " Brett said, sipping his Pepsi and looking pretty miserable. "Anybody could win. The competition's about as tight as it can get, and that's why my confidence just cracked when I came in eighteenth last time I was on this damn racetrack. "

"On any given race weekend, " Andy went on, "any driver can make a big move and win, and I think you're the one to make that big move tonight. You can do it, Donny. You're a Bud Pole winner just like Rudd, Labonte, Skinner, Wallace, and Earnhardt, Junior, are. You sat on the pole for the Daytona Five Hundred and had a starting position in the Bud Shootout, right? And don't forget, you still lead in the Raybestos Rookie of the Year standings and you grabbed the checkered flag at The Winston in Charlotte. "

"But I came in eighteenth, man… " Brett obsessed. "That's the only thing I'm thinking about as I get ready to go out there tonight, and when you start choking, that's when you start beatin' and bangin' off the corners or get nudged into a spin 'cause you aren't really focused and are misjudging which way someone's going. "

"You've always been known for your instinct and judgment, " Andy reminded him. "Remember the Busch Series in ninety-nine?"

"We've got to go, " Hammer said as her tension mounted to a screaming pitch. "If we don't go now, it's going to be too late!"

"How could I forget?" Brett replied with a shake of his head. "That was one of my best. "

"Exactly, " Andy encouraged him. "And why? You had to work for every piece of the track you got, and there were wrecks and door-banging tussles going on everywhere. And what did you do? Right after an accident in Turn Four took out number forty and caused a seven-lap caution, and Hamilton spun off Turn Two and took out Burton and Fuller, you were smart enough to get off the gas and get on the brakes, and then you shot out ahead on the back straightaway and just stayed in it. "

"Yeah, " Brett said, looking up and greatly fortified, "I sure as hell did. "

"And that happened right here, " Andy concluded, measuring his words by tapping the table with his finger. "That was right here at the Richmond racetrack. "

"I know, I know. I guess it's my nature to dwell on poor performances, " Brett said with a grin. "And guess what? I'm just not going to do that tonight, and if you want to use my bird, you go right ahead as long as someone knows how to fly the damn thing. "

"You bet I do, " Andy said. "And when you're out there tonight, remember what I said. Make your Big Move. You'll know when. "

"What in the world was that all about?" Hammer asked Andy as they flew toward downtown Richmond in Brett's glorious 430, which was painted black and emblazoned with his car number and endorsements in brilliant yellow, purple, and red. "I thought you didn't go to races. "

"I don't, but I watch them on TV occasionally and study strategies, whether it's of race-car drivers or tennis players or Navy SEAL snipers, " Andy replied through his mike as he pushed ahead at a hundred and fifty knots and overflew I-95, which was a solid line of barely creeping cars for as far as he could see. "Glad we're up here and not down there, " he added.

Barbie Fogg had so far avoided the backed-up traffic caused by the masses headed to the racetrack. It wasn't that Barbie was wise in the ways of shortcuts and alleyways, but after she had picked up Hooter at the toll-booth, the unexpected had occurred. Barbie's cell phone had rung, and she had been surprised and relieved to hear Reverend Justice's voice on the line.

"Where on earth have you been?" Barbie said as Hooter flashed her nails in the passenger's seat, admiring her little acrylic flags.

"Been busy with the prison ministry, " the reverend replied. "And my car's broke down, so I need you to come over and pick me up quick as you can. I'm gonna have a few brethren with me, so you need to have room for, let me see, six of us, including me. "

"Oh my, that's a tight squeeze, " Barbie said while Hooter ripped open the velcro straps on her astronaut boots and readjusted them, admiring her stylish outfit and imagining herself in the governor's special box at the racetrack.

Hooter wondered if that big, bad Trooper Macovich would show up and figured he would. He sure did brag a lot about how dangerous and important his job was. Everything was the guv this and the guv that when Hooter and Macovich had been drinking beer the other night, and Hooter felt a twinge of regret. It was true that Macovich was fresh and had one thing on his mind, even when he was going on and on about the governor and what it was like to work in that big mansion in Capitol Square while beating everybody in pool, but Hooter was lonely.

"I tell you, girlfriend, maybe I been too rough on him, " Hooter said with a sigh as Barbie pulled into a boarded-up gas station and turned around. "I kinda hope he'll be there tonight. You think he'll admirate my style?"

"I think you look fabulous, " Barbie assured her as she worried about getting to the race on time, if at all.

The reverend's phone call was out of the blue and very peculiar, Barbie thought as she headed toward a rundown part of the city, just northwest of downtown, where the reverend had instructed her to wait across the street from the city jail, in the back parking lot of the juvenile courts building. He and his brethren would be hiding in a small wooded area and would jump in the minivan the minute she showed up, and then she was to speed away and not ask any questions.

"Maybe you should ring up that trooper and tell him we might be a little late, " Barbie suggested with growing anxiety, "and ask him to make sure they don't give away our seats in the governor's box. "

"What'chu mean, late?" Hooter exclaimed, because she had not paid much attention to whatever Barbie had been saying on the cell phone a few minutes ago. "Girlfriend, we can't be late! Uh uh, we're late, you gonna totally miss seeing all them race drivers come outta their trailers and get into their cars! You won't get your picture took with none of 'em! This is the opportunity of a life, and we can't be late!"

As Barbie drove faster, Hooter noticed a big, colorful helicopter hovering in the area of the Medical College.

"Why, look at that helichopper!" Hooter leaned forward to get a better look. "Now, that would hang the moon, wouldn't it, girlfriend? To ride on a helichopper? Must be some poor person they's rushing to the emergency room, but I ain't never seen a med-chopper that look like that. "

"Oh my Lord, " Barbie exclaimed and almost ran off the road. "That's Donny Brett's colors! And look, his number eleven's painted on the door. Oh dear Lord, he must've been in a wreck already!"

"But the race ain't even started yet, " Hooter pointed out. "Maybe he had a heart attack or something. You know he must be feeling a lot of stress after comin' in eighteenth last spring when he was here. "