Isle of Dogs Read Online Free Page B

paper.
    “Who’s this?” Crimm asked when a man answered.
    “Trooper Macovich,” came the hesitant reply from the Executive Protection Unit’s outpost in the basement of the executive mansion.
    Thorlo Macovich recognized the governor’s voice immediately and hoped the governor didn’t recognize his. Or maybe if he was lucky, the governor had already forgotten the incident that had occurred in the mansion’s billiards room the other night. It was also possible the governor hadn’t seen it, because he couldn’t see much of anything these days. But that youngest Crimm daughter would remember Macovich, all right. He had never seen anyone pitch such a fit over losing a game of pool—yelling obscenities and ordering Macovich to stay in the basement and never come upstairs again, which was seriously interfering with his duties.
    “Trooper Truth . . .” Crimm started to say as a cramp doubled him over.
    “You all right, sir?” Macovich was surprised and alarmed. “Woo, what’s that noise?”
    “You got any idea who this Trooper Truth person is?” The governor could barely talk.
    “No, sir. But everybody’s sure talking about him. What’s that? Sounds like somebody ripping bubble wrap. You sure you’re all right, sir? Wooo, it sounds like somebody’s shooting a gun in the Capitol! It ain’t safe! I’ll be right there . . . !”
    “No! Don’t come here,” the governor blurted out as gasses pushed against his organs, struggling to escape. “Find out who Trooper Truth . . . who he is. Make that your mission, you hear me? And tell the kitchen staff I want a light supper tonight. For God’s sake, no apples or ham. Maybe seafood.”
    “From Virginia, I guess, sir.” Macovich was relieved. Clearly, the governor didn’t remember him.
    “As long as it’s not shad roe.”
    “Don’t believe they catch shad roe this time of year. I can fly a state helicopter to Tangier Island and pick up fresh blue crabs, if that would please you, sir,” Macovich added withreluctance because he hated going to Tangier Island. “And maybe trout.”
    “That’s it!” the governor said, startled both by an idea and what sounded to Macovich like a deflating hot air balloon. “We’ll start with Tangier Island! You troopers can put the first speed trap over there. Did you know they used to welcome Blackbeard on that island? Bunch of pirates, that’s what they are. Well, I’ll show them.”
    “They don’t have posted speed limits on Tangier,” Macovich pointed out, and he wasn’t clear on what speed traps the governor meant. “Most of them Tangierians ride around in golf carts, sir. Or in little boats. And they already don’t get along with the rest of Virginia. You mind if I ask what speed traps you’re talking about?”
    “We don’t have a name for it yet.” Governor Crimm mopped sweat off his face as his gut continued to play against him in a loud, painful percussion. “Forget the seafood. You can just pick it up when you paint the speed traps on the island first thing tomorrow. Now listen here, Trooper, get up with Trader and he’ll brief you. We’re going to make life’s highways safe again, just like Trooper Truth said in that riddle on his website.”
     
    M ACOVICH did not recall noticing a riddle on the Trooper Truth website, or anything at all that might have compelled the governor to decide that speed traps should be set on a remote island in the Chesapeake Bay with a population of less than seven hundred people. Macovich sure didn’t want to be dragged into anything that had to do with Tangier Island, where there wasn’t a single African American resident. In fact, when he was ordered to fly there to pick up seafood, he got the distinct impression that he was the only African American the Islanders had ever seen, except for ones on TV and in the catalogs the mail boats brought in.
    Macovich left the mansion and lit up a Salem Light as he walked around Capitol Square, not especially eager