The spinster, who turned out to be Uva Clot and was infinitely older than he had thought when he'd first spotted her in the distant darkness, approached his Cadillac, wrote down his plate number, and started yelling for help. As Reverend Justice sped away, the police were on his butt with their sirens screaming and lights throbbing like his head.

"So, what you in for?" the reverend asked the dark area of the cell where Trader filled up the bed like a huge sack of potatoes.

"I'm a pirate, " Trader said in an ugly tone.

"Lord protect us all!" the reverend exclaimed in shock. "You ain't one of them pirates that beat on that poor truck driver and stolt all his pumpkins, I sure hope?"

"None of your business!"

"Lord help us!"

"And I take pleasure in harming small animals, " Trader added, for he knew enough about psychopaths to be aware that all of them began their monstrous lives of violent crime by tormenting helpless creatures.

He, for example, had never felt a hint of remorse when he'd torched the crab plantation, murdering mothers and little babies and other molting crabs who were temporarily without their protective shells. He didn't care a bit about the bateaus that had burned up, and it wouldn't have bothered him at all if Hilda's Chesapeake House had gone up in flames or if most of Tangier Island had. Nor had his peace of mind been disturbed when he had set up Hammer's Boston terrier to be stolen by Smoke and his ruthless road dogs. Trader hoped Popeye had long since been put to a cruel end. It would serve that bitch-superintendent right.

"Whoa, " Stick's disapproving voice sounded in the dark cell. "That one thing I never done and never would. I think we should drown him in the toilet, " he said to the others. "Two of us hold him and whoever's hands is free can shove his head in. "

"Someone run over my puppy when I was still in the eighth grade. " Slim Jim sounded sad and upset. "I never did get over that, and the asshole who done it didn't even stop. "

"What'chu mean, still in the eighth grade?" Snitch was curious as he sat up in bed and shoved the pillow against cinderblock to support his cramping back.

"You know, I just couldn't get out, " Slim Jim replied. "Kinda like this place, you know? Every year, they said I had to repeat the eighth grade, all 'cause of that Mrs. Knock, my homeroom teacher. "

"Bet they was all kinds of knock-knock jokes flying around the eighth grade, " Stick observed.

"Un huh. That was one of the things that pissed her off, " Slim Jim replied as he drifted back to that frustrating time in his failed life. "Knock-knock?"

He waited for a response from his cellmates. Finally the reverend caught on.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Shut up! "Trader blurted out in disgust.

"Shut up, who?" the reverend asked, relieved that a distraction had presented itself.

"Shut up the fucking pirate in the toilet bowl and flush his fucking brains out!"

"Yeah, how I know it wasn't you who run over my puppy?" Slim Jim accused Trader's bed.

"Because, for one thing, " Trader's voice coldly replied, "it is highly unlikely I frequented your trashy neighborhood. No doubt you lived in federally subsidized housing and spent all of your time on the street eating free cheese and wearing stolen sneakers. "

"You dis me one more time, " Slim Jim threatened, "and I'm coming over there and popping you in the head before I stick it in the toilet and flush your soul to the sewer where it belong!"

"Please!" the reverend protested. "This is a time to pray for forgiveness and seek peace and love thy neighbor as thyself!"

"Ain't never loved myself, " Snitch admitted, getting morose.

"Me, neither, " Slim Jim said sadly. "When my puppy got smashed in the road right in front of me, I quit loving myself. I 'cided never to love nothing again after that, 'cause if you love something, look what happens. "

"Tell it, " Stick chimed in.

Possum was alone inside the RV, because Smoke and the other road dogs were out cruising, and Possum had used the excuse of adding finishing touches to the

Jolly Goodwrench flag so he could stay in with Popeye.

"You've got mail!" his computer suddenly announced.

Possum's adrenaline surged in excitement. Most of the people he e-mailed were other pirates who were usually drunk, stoned, and away from their computers at this late hour. Possum got up and sat on the wooden crate, clicking the mouse to see what was in the e-mail box. He was thrilled and nervous when he saw that the sender was Trooper Truth:

Dear Anonymous,

You must be a good person to provide me with the important information you sent. I've been waiting to hear back from you, and since I haven't, I decided to try to contact you now. You will be pleased to know that Captain Bonny (a. k. a. Major Trader) was apprehended earlier and is now in jail. I made sure this was accomplished, and now must ask you to hold up your end of the bargain.

What is the big plot that involves Popeye? And how do I know you're telling me the truth? I'd like to believe you don't intend for anyone else to be hurt. Where can we meet to resolve this, and how can we rescue Popeye?

Trooper Truth

Possum sat for a moment, excited but afraid for his life. If he set up Smoke and the road dogs and failed, he would be dead and so would Popeye. Possum petted Popeye, who had jumped up in his lap and seemed to be reading Trooper Truth's e-mail, although Possum knew this wasn't possible. No dog could read. Most people Possum knew couldn't read, including the other road dogs. Even Smoke and his weirdo, nasty girlfriend had a hard time reading and usually got the information they wanted either from Possum or the TV news.

"What do I do, Popeye?" Possum whispered.

Popeye grabbed the pencil with her teeth and tapped the keyboard. Possum watched in disbelief as three words appeared on the screen in bold: JUST DO IT.

"Why didn't you let me know you can read and write? You even know the Nike ad!" Possum whispered as he hugged Popeye.

Popeye licked his neck. Oh, please save me, she silently begged.

"What you want me to do?" Possum asked again as the three words seemed to pulse on the screen like emergency lights that were roaring in for the rescue.

Popeye jumped out of his lap and up on the bed and began pawing the Jolly Goodwrench flag.

"You think that will really work?" Possum asked her. "I mean, that was my idea, too. How'd you know that was what I made that flag for? But what if it don't work, Popeye? What if Smoke end up shooting all of us?"

Popeye curled up on the flag and went to sleep, as if to suggest she wasn't worried in the least. She knew what Possum did not. Trooper Truth was really Andy Brazil, and Andy was fearless and would always prevail over evil. Popeye's owner would, too. What Popeye wasn't sure of was what might happen to Possum. She didn't want him locked up or punished in any way. She woke up and jumped off the bed. She pawed at the bedroom door, indicating Possum should open it, which he did. Popeye trotted into the living room and dug through a pack of crumpled cards until she found the ace of spades, which she carried back to Possum.

"I ain't sure I understand, " Possum whispered to her. "Oh, wait a minute. Maybe you telling me I got to have a card up my sleeve?"

Popeye just stared at him in a way that suggested he was getting warm but was missing the point.

"Or maybe I should play a game?"

Popeye didn't react.

"I should bluff?"

Popeye was getting impatient. Why did humans have such a hard time understanding animals? Animals were explicit and didn't lie or even shade the truth. Unless animals were sick or had been treated savagely, they had no agenda beyond surviving and being respected and loved. Popeye snatched the playing card out of Possum's fingers and tossed it on the keyboard repeatedly, as if she were dealing.