"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

Eleven

The black front door of Ruth's Chris Steak House slowly opened, and Governor Crimm and the First Lady emerged from the former plantation house, pressed upon from all sides by serious EPU troopers in neat suits. The Crimms' four daughters-all unmarried and over thirty-fell in behind their important parents and were sealed off from the rest of society by yet another wall of troopers at the rear of the procession. Macovich quickly tossed the cigarette and unfolded himself like a stretcher as he worked his way out of the car while Andy smoothed down his dark gray uniform, checking to make sure that his clip-on tie, pepper spray, handcuffs, tactical baton, extra magazines of ammunition, pistol, and whistle were in place. He realized it might not be a good idea to bring up Tangier Island or Hammer in front of so many sets of eyes and ears. Certainly, it would make Hammer look bad if her troops knew that the governor never returned her phone calls or met with her. And based on the way the governor was walking, Andy wasn't confident that he was entirely sober.

"Look, it's possible the governor might remember you or the daughter you upset might say something," Andy said, falling in stride with Macovich as the distinguished party approached. "So I think it best I take him aside. I think he's a bit drunk."

Macovich had no intention of helping Andy have a private audience with the governor, especially if the governor had a buzz on and was happier and more generous than usual. The last thing Macovich needed was for Andy to end up the governor's pet in addition to being Hammer's pet. Macovich had been trying for years to gain special status and even affection from the governor, all to no avail, and the pool incident certainly hadn't helped matters.

"Wooo, I wouldn't try it," Macovich tried to discourage Andy." 'Specially if he's drunk. He's one mean man when he's drunk."

Macovich felt a little guilty about lying and stepping on Andy, but Macovich couldn't help himself. He feared he had leveled out on his professional climb to success, and if he wasn't shrewd and territorial, he would find himself working security in a shopping mall one of these days or maybe flying grumpy racist businessmen around for a helicopter charter service. But to Macovich's surprise and annoyance, Andy completely ignored Macovich and walked right up to the governor and shook his hand.

"So the military's protecting me now." The governor seemed pleased, recognizing dimly that the person before him was a tall male in uniform, and therefore was either Army or National Guard. "I like that."

The three oldest Crimm daughters fastened their attention to Andy like leeches at a blood-letting, while the fourth daughter, whose arrested adolescence was annoyingly apparent, smacked gum. Governor Crimm smiled, patting for his magnifying glass, which he had attached to his pocket-watch chain to insure that his beloved optical aid did not find its way into the compote again. A huge eye peered through thick glass, scanning to see who might be watching his generous overtures toward the young soldier.

"The more protection the better, I always say," the governor commented. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Andy Brazil. I'd like to be one of your pilots, Governor. If that would be all right with you. Maybe I could have a moment of your time to discuss it."

"Bet you want to be executive protection, too."

The governor had heard this before. Every state trooper he had ever met wanted to be EPU, just as most federal agents wanted to be Secret Service. It was all about power. It was all about being close to the throne. He also vaguely made out that Andy was a handsome fellow, well built but not a big wall of muscle like the other men and women who protected the First Family. Andy's was a useful body that could dance around trouble instead of barreling right through it, and the governor fancied that Andy might make a decent son-in-law for at least one of the Crimm daughters. Then it dimly penetrated his overburdened, inebriated mind that he wasn't so sure he was inclined to trust his wife around such an attractive and charming young fellow.

Despite her swearing to tell the truth and even placing her left hand on the Crimm family Bible, the First Lady had not convinced her husband that she hadn't been hiding adulterous men in the mansion's linen closets. Yesterday, Crimm came home for lunch unannounced and discovered Pony on his hands and knees wiping a linen closet floor with a rag.

"What are you doing?" the governor demanded as he fumbled for his watch chain and the magnifying glass dangling from it.

"Just putting a little furniture polish on the hardwood," Pony said, nervously rubbing oil into the scratches the trivets had left on the heart-of-pine flooring. "I've been meaning to get around to it, sir. Just now did. There's some nice split pea soup cooking in the kitchen, if you want some."

"Does it have ham in it?" The governor peered through the magnifying glass at the scratched old wood. "How did the floor get gouged like that? It looks like someone wearing hobnail boots was hiding in the closet or maybe someone wearing tap shoes."