“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.”
Macovich 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 to have a word with the press secretary about this or anything else. That son of a bitch Major Trader couldn’t be trusted, and everybody knew it except the governor. Wooo, Macovich worried from inside his cloud of smoke. If the state police started picking on those Tangier people, there was going to be nothing but trouble.
“Let me ask you something,” Macovich asked as he walked into Trader’s office. “You ever been to Tangier Island or even met a Tangierian?”
“It’s not the sort of place I would visit.” Trader was perched over his keyboard and eating a chili dog that one of his assistants had brought him for a snack. “How many times do I have to tell you to take your sunglasses off when you’re inside a building or it’s after dark? I’ve worked very hard to change the image of all you troopers so the public doesn’t perceive you as a bunch of thick-headed brutes.” He gobbled up half of the hotdog in one mouthful and dribbled mustard on his stained, unfashionable tie. “Just because you’re plainclothes EPU and fly around in helicopters doesn’t mean you can go against protocol and make everybody look bad.”
“Wooo, we’re gonna look bad, all right,” Macovich retorted, leaving his sunglasses on. “We go roaring into that island with our big helicopters and start handing out speeding tickets, those people are gonna do something about it.”
“I believe that would be a mistake.” Trader wiped his flabby lips with a greasy napkin and strategized quickly. The governor had yet to inform him that the first speed traps would be set on Tangier Island, but he wasn’t about to let Macovich sense as much. “We’ll lock every one of them in jail,” he added as if he had already given much thought to the consequences should the Islanders rebel.
“Oh, now that’s a good one, Mister Press Secretary,” Macovich said, sarcastically. “Let’s lock up the entire island of fishermen, women, and children. Not to mention all the old folks. We’ve got highway pirates running around loose out there beating the shit out of innocent truck drivers and smuggling dope into Canada, but we gonna make sure none of them Tangierians go too fast in their golf carts.”
Trader licked his fingers and wiped them on his voluminous trousers. “I wouldn’t push my luck, if I were you,” he snipped. “Not after you cheated at pool the other night. Naughty, naughty.”
“I didn’t cheat!” Macovich bellowed so loudly that other state employees poked their heads out of offices up and down the hall.