The only way to mark the location was to drop a crab pot into the water, and minutes later, the fugitive crabs watched a wire cage descend through the depths and dangle well above the bottom, because the rope was too short. The jimmy crooked his funny mouth into a smile, certain what would happen next because the Islanders were so predictable. The Island boy’s greed would excite him into poor judgment, and soon enough, the Seven-Up gang would be in jail.
Possum’s scheme was going along well, too, as he cut up different colored T-shirts and sewed and glued the pieces into a pattern that was beginning to resemble a flag.
“See what I’m doing, girl?” Possum whispered to Pop-eye.
He smoothed the flag on the bed, and Popeye was startled by a grinning skull smoking a cigarette.
“We got us a NASCAR flag for the races, ” Possum proudly whispered. “See, we hang it up at the pit where we pretend to be a pit crew and I’ll make sure somebody look for the flag and come save us. Or if that don’t work, maybe Smoke will like the flag so much, he’ll be nicer to us, and when we escape to Tangerine Island, I’ll find a way to sneak off with you and we’ll run to the nearest fisherman’s house. ”
Possum dipped the needle in and out of the flag, sewing on letters that spelled Jolly Goodwrench.
“Then I’ll give you back to Sup’intendent Hammer, and the police will forget all about me shooting at Moses Custer. Maybe I even get to come see you now and then. Maybe Sup’intendent Hammer give me a job babysitting you. What do you think?”
Popeye thought this was a wonderful idea. Possum continued to piece together the flag with the T-shirt scraps, needle and thread, and Super Glue. The result was not quite what he had intended, because he was realizing that the flag would be one-sided and would have to be mounted rather than displayed from a pole, antenna, or stick. Otherwise, he was pleased with the result, which was not recognizable as NASCAR or a Jolly Roger, but a hybrid of both.
Possum tacked the finished work up on the wall and sat on his bed imagining Smoke’s reaction as Possum worried about going to the race on Saturday and wondered what plans and hopes might fly apart. Possum sure didn’t want any more trouble. If only he could go back to his family’s basement and wander the streets after dark again without any fear of being arrested. Possum had seen on the TV news that Moses was still in the hospital, and thank goodness, his condition was now stable. Possum’s heart trembled as he recalled pointing the pistol at the poor man on the pavement and jerking the trigger.
He still didn’t understand what had gotten into him, except that he was frightened of Smoke. Possum also knew that if he acted different from the other dogs or seemed to have a conscience, he was going to end up with a bullet in his head one of these days. Oh, how his momma would scream and cry if she heard on the news that Possum had been murdered, his body dumped somewhere along with the carcass of a little black-and-white dog. If only Ben Cartwright or Little Joe or Hoss could help him out. But in all the episodes of Bonanza that Possum had watched, he had never seen a black boy on the Ponderosa.
“Maybe he don’t like blacks, ” Possum talked to himself as he envisioned Ben Cartwright with his leather vest and snow white hair. “Blacks was slaves. So who I’m fooling thinking anybody on a horse is gonna ride in to rescue me? Least the Cartwrights don’t fly no ‘Federate flag, though. ” Possum gazed at his Jolly Goodwrench flag displayed behind the TV. “Never seen no ‘Federate flag or slaves on the Ponderosa neither, just Hop Sing and he’s Chinese and could come and go as he pleased, long as he cooked and cleaned. ”
Possum wondered if there might be something he could do to make it up to the Cartwrights, who certainly must be terribly disappointed in his recent run of criminal behavior.