"VASCAR," Andy repeated, and he was thrilled that Virginians might confuse VASCAR with NASCAR. "It refers to a computer that knows if you're speeding."
"Then what?" Ginny still didn't understand, and her mind was roaring with stock cars and drunken fans.
"Then a trooper on the ground goes after the speeder and gives him a citation."
"What he gonna to recite at us?" Ginny envisioned the young trooper in his big hat and dark glasses sternly reprimanding some poor Tangierman on his bicycle, probably pointing his finger, trying to scare him as the trooper recited something like one of those Miranda warnings Ginny was always hearing about on programs she picked up on the satellite dish that was surrounded by glass balls and other yard ornaments.
"A ticket," Andy went on in a stern voice. "You know what a ticket is?" His paintbrush found the edge of the pavement, mere inches from Ginny's fence and all the dead family members whose headstones were worn smooth and tilting in different directions. "We write you a ticket and then you go down to the courthouse and pay a fine. Cash or check."
He knew very well that Tangier Island did not have a bank, and a check, in this old woman's mind, was what the Coast Guard was always doing or what the tourists got when they ate the crab cakes and corn pudding at Hilda Crockett's Chesapeake House.
"How much you make us pay when we get warranted, if we do?" Ginny was getting increasingly alarmed.
Andy stood up and stretched his aching back as he struggled to decipher what the woman had just said to him. Then he recalled his visit to The What Not Shop right before he had started painting the stripe and overhearing two Tangier women whispering about him and saying something about someone being warranted and that they couldn't fathom who had done what, but it was probably that Shores boy who live cross from the school. He's got more mouth than a sheep and here his daddy's poor as Job's turkey. That's right, Hattie. Durn if his daddy don't foller the water even when it's the dog days while that Mr. Nutters a his can't be learned nothing. Spends all his time progging, he does. Well, I swanny, Fonny Boy ain't neither smarter than a ticky crab, Lula.
So warranted, Andy figured, must mean getting arrested, and according to Hattie and Lula, there was some island kid named Fonny Boy Shores who wasn't much help at home, had a smart mouth, didn't study, and preferred to spend his time wading along the shore and looking for things with a stick instead of contributing honest wages to his poor family.
"Fines for speeding depend on how many miles over the limit you were going," Andy informed the unhappy island woman.
He didn't let on for a moment that he thought it was appalling to hand out citations based on ground speed checked from the air. Planes and helicopters had neither radar guns nor good views of license tags, and he could just imagine a pilot calculating the speed of a northbound white compact car, for example, and radioing a trooper in his marked car to go after the offender. The trooper would roar out from behind shrubbery in the median strip and flash and wail after the most likely northbound white compact car, selecting the vehicle from a scattered pack of white compact cars whizzing along the interstate. What a waste of Jet-A fuel, taxpayers' money, and time.
"It's three dollars for every mile over, plus thirty dollars for court costs," Andy summarized. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Why you want to know for?" Ginny backed up a step, threatened.
"Do you ever use the Internet?"
She stared mutely at him.
"No, it's not something you catch fish with," Andy said, slightly frustrated and disappointed. "I don't guess you have PCs or modems out here." He glanced around at small clapboard houses that lined the deteriorating road and eyed several golf carts bumping along in the distance. "Never mind about the Internet," he added. "But I would like to know your name, and if you give it to me I can e-mail it to Trooper Truth so he can quote you and let the world know what you think of the governor's new speed trap initiative."
Ginny was baffled.
"It might bring more tourists to your crab tanks." He pointed at them. "Those quarters add up, don't they?"
"It's well and all if I get me a quarter now and again," Ginny said, trying to dilute her private tax-free enterprise. "But this time of year, there are neither pailers to show for a quarter, and all I got is a jimmy right in the tank there. Now, he's a right big feller, but times is slow and soon enough strangers will take thesselves other places and won't be coming here."
"You never know. Nothing like publicity. Maybe things will pick up a bit." Andy tried to coax her into giving him her name. "People read about your big jimmy and they'll line up to take a look."
Ginny gave in and told the trooper who she was because she sensed he wasn't a revenuer but had other legal matters on his mind, and quarters did add up. A lot of people these days, it was her observation, didn't think twice about tossing away quarters, dimes, and nickels and, of course, pennies. Not that she was fond of pennies, not hardly. Everyone on the island was always trying to unload their pennies on their neighbors. The little brown coins circulated nonstop and it had gotten to the point that Ginny recognized individual pennies, and knew she'd been had when she shopped for groceries and was given an inordinate number of familiar pennies for change.
"I don't want neither pennies," she was constantly chiding Daisy Eskridge, the cashier at the island's only market.
"Well, now, honey, I'm not trying to put them on you, but I have to give 'em out," Daisy replied last time Ginny complained. "Leastways I do since Wheezy Parks was in here buying some flour and soap and give me mor'n four hundred pennies. I said I'd give her tick, but she was of a mind to chuck her pennies, and I can't be fitting all them pennies in my drawer, Ginny."
Ginny was still annoyed with Wheezy, who always refused to buy things on credit and was the island's biggest offender when it came to passing unwanted pennies. There was a pervasive and shameful rumor circulating along with the pennies that Wheezy was opening the money boxes late at night and exchanging her pennies for quarters, nickels, and dimes. Then, to make matters worse, the conniving woman was always getting rid of the rest of her pennies at every opportunity. Why, Wheezy probably had most of the silver change on the island-probably stashed in socks under her bed.
"So, Ms. Crockett, ten miles over is thirty dollars plus court costs." The trooper was explaining a very complicated legal process, and Ginny drifted away from pennies and focused on him again. "Fifteen is reckless driving and the person could go to jail."
"Lordy! You can't throw us in the jail!" Ginny protested.
She was right, but not entirely. No one could be locked up on the island, which had neither a courthouse nor a jail. This clearly meant that anyone caught speeding would be deported to the mainland. The suggestion of such a thing excited primitive fears throughout the island the instant Ginny hurried down Janders Road and cut over to Spanky's Place, where Dipper Pruitt was spooning out homemade vanilla ice cream for three quiet Amish tourists in long dresses and hairnets.
"They's gonna lock all us in the jail on the main!"
Ginny exclaimed. "They's gonna turn the island into a racetrack!"
The Amish women smiled shyly, counting out coveted silver change from tiny black purses, placing one shiny coin at a time on the counter, making not a sound. Ginny didn't see tourists from Pennsylvania often, and always marveled at the way they dressed and acted and how pale their skin was. They could sail for hours on the Chesapeake Breeze or the Captain Eulice ferries and walk around the island all day without getting sunburned, windblown, or cold. They never helped themselves to porch rocking chairs, sat on gravestones, looked in the crab tanks without paying, or made comments about the exotic way the Islanders talked. Ginny had never heard a single Amish person complain about Tangier's ban of alcohol or the early curfews that discouraged nightlife and swearing and made sure the watermen were home with their families and in bed early. If all strangers were like people from Pennsylvania, Ginny and her neighbors might not resent them quite so much.