"Just use the same damn eggshell white you've used on the other ten houses, you fool!" Trader yelled over the phone. "And the same off-white Burbur carpet, you idiot! And the same brass Williamsburgy light fixtures, you ninny! And the same pulls and door knobs from Home Depot, you meathead!"
It was vital that Trader play a sovereign role when he was in his own castle. The rest of the time, he was a toady for the governor and no one could possibly understand how hard that was on a man's ego unless he had experienced it firsthand. Do this, do that. Use a different word.
Rewrite that paragraph. Oh, I changed my mind. Let's tell the press this instead. Where's my magnifying glass? Leave my office now! I'm not feeling well.
At least Trader's demanding and unrewarding career had taught him the value of manipulation, revenge, and profiteering. Thanks to the Internet, it wouldn't be long before he would be a self-made millionaire if his latest investment scheme was successful.
"Major? You haven't told me which you'd like for breakfast. Sausage or bacon? Raisin toast or muffins? Grits with or without cheese?" his wife yelled from the kitchen as cookware clanged.
"What are you doing in there? Practicing percussion for the goddamn symphony?" Trader yelled back. "I want it all."
Thank goodness their kids were off in boarding school and college and Trader didn't have to listen to their noisy nonstop feet and grating voices. His wife was disruptive enough, and sound certainly carried in their new house just like it had in the other ten. Trader was getting close to fifty, and if all went according to plan, he could retire soon and focus on cyber crimes. Trader frowned, deep in thought, as he read the latest Trooper Truth essay again and then composed a provocative anonymous e-mail.
Dear Trooper Truth,
I am the great-great grandson of a Confederate spy, so maybe it is in my DNA (ha ha) to be unable to resist leaking intelligence. I say ha ha because I knew you would appreciate my witty reference to DNA since you have written about it before. I happen to have reason to know that the governor has no intention of trapping any speeders on Tangier Island. He could care less. His true motivation for launching VASCAR there was to create a mess that someone else would be blamed for. I'm sure you'll want to mention that in your next essay. By the way, I was very sorry to hear about Popeye. Has it occurred to you that maybe someone stole the helpless little dog fora reason? And if someone has information re: Dr. Faux or anyone else, is there a reward?
Sincerely, A. Spy
As usual, Trader did not intend to place a period after the A in A Spy. As usual, he clicked on the SEND NOW key before he could make the correction". The spec house filled with the greasy aroma of frying meats as he waited for Trooper Truth to get back to him.
"Breakfast is ready!" his wife shouted from the kitchen at the same moment his computer announced, "You've got mail!"
Dear Mr. A. Spy,
Citizens should be willing to tell the truth without being paid! And if you know anything about Pop-eye's disappearance, you'd better tell me, or else!
Trooper Truth
"Well, well," Trader muttered with a gleeful smile. "I do believe I struck a nerve."
"Did you say something, Major?" his wife screamed
over water drumming in the cheap metal kitchen sink.
"Not to you!" Trader thundered as he composed another e-mail.
Dear Trooper Truth,
I have heard rumors about who the dog's owner was. Can that be a coincidence? You know, not everybody likes that woman, who shouldn't be in the position she's in to begin with. It's a man's world, right? By the way, does she have an unlisted address? I'm wondering how the dognappers found her house. And yes, citizens should be handsomely rewarded for helping the police.
Sincerely, Mr. A. Spy
Andy was enraged as he tapped out a message back to A. Spy.
Dear Mr. A. Spy,
It is not a man's world in the least, and if Popeye is the victim of some sort of political intrigue, I suggest you tell me what you know this minute. Don't make me warn you again. And where her owner lives is none of your business. I'll get back to you about the reward.
Trooper Truth
Andy sent the e-mail and waited for Mr. Spy to answer him. But the storm of e-mails flying into Andy's cyberspace box were from other readers. Mr. Spy had signed off and was taunting him, Andy decided with mounting fury.
He couldn't stop thinking of the times he had played with Popeye and had been licked by her. He could almost feel her sleek tuxedo coat and the baby softness of her pink belly, and how well he remembered the comforting sound of her toenails clicking across the hardwood floor back in the days when he had been a frequent visitor of Hammer's.
Andy reached for the photo album on top of a stack of research books. He was going to find that dog if it was the last thing he did. He was concerned for Hammer's safety, too. She did, in fact, have an unlisted address and was extremely careful to keep her personal life top secret. Only the police, her professional associates, and a few of her neighbors knew where she lived, and she never talked about Popeye or allowed the media to take the dog's photograph. So how did the dog thief find Popeye unless the crime was, as A. Spy suggested, an inside job?
"Please be alive, Popeye," Andy muttered as he found his favorite photograph of Popeye-the one of her in a Little Red Riding Hood winter coat. "Please don't forget about Superintendent Hammer and me. We'll find you! I promise! And just wait and see what I do to the son of a bitch who stole you!"
He scanned the photograph into cyberspace, and instantly, the image of Popeye filled his computer screen. He opened up his website program and typed in the caption: "Missing. Have you seen Popeye? Big reward offered!" If people were so lacking in character that they needed money to do the right thing, then Andy would play their little game. He edited the caption to say "HUGE REWARD offered," and of course, the expected bogus responses came in immediately. People claimed to have seen Popeye wandering along the shoulder of the Downtown Expressway or in an alleyway or crying in the back seat of a suspicious car. If the price was right, other people wrote, they would give Trooper Truth clues about where Popeye was and why.
There was an outpouring of sympathy, too. Hundreds of readers offered their own sad stories of pets they had lost since childhood. It was the most mail Trooper Truth had gotten so far, and Andy spent the entire day at his dining-room table trying to answer it and hoping that someone would come forth and say, "Hey, I took the dog because my kids wanted one and I couldn't afford it. So I'll meet you in some secret place and give Popeye up for a price." Or maybe someone would write, "Look, it was a setup. Someone who hates Superintendent Hammer told me all about the dog and gave me the address and a small amount of cash. I realize now it was a mean, heartless act and I will be happy to give Popeye back as long as I don't get in trouble and am rewarded."
Sadly, there was no e-mail about the murder of Trish Thrash, or T.T., except for a short note from someone named P.J., who claimed that she used to play softball with T.T. and knew for a fact that T.T. would never willingly go to Belle Island with a man.
Have you lost your mind?" Hammer said to Andy over the phone at 6:00 P.M. "I thought you were supposed to write only anti-crime essays. It's bad enough that you're straying from mummies to pirates, but now you're pretending to be the SPCA!"
"Do you want me to take Popeye's picture off the website?" He tested her. "I certainly can, but I thought giving it a shot couldn't hurt anything. Maybe she's still out there and someone will be tempted enough by the reward to give her back."
"I just don't know if I can stand seeing her in that sweet little red coat every time I log on to your site," Hammer confessed sadly.
"When people avoid looking at pictures, it indicates that they haven't healed. That's why I never tear up photos of old girlfriends. If I can look at them now, then I'm okay. If I can't bear to look at them, then I'm not okay," Andy said.