Nobody's Fool

less in debt, more careful. He concentrated instead on the more specific and immediate things that had at one time been within the sphere of his influence to effect, or, failing that, were statistically probable. He wished he hadn’t tried to climb down the bank in the dark, causing his knee to scream at him now in protest. He wished that he and Ruth weren’t on the outs, because he would have enjoyed her company tonight, just as he always did after he’d done something foolish, as if she possessed the power of absolution. She’d tell him there was a new Sully, not just the old one, and he’d be free to choose between believing and resenting her. He also wished that he hadn’t been quite so mean to Rub, whom he’d now have to cajole into coming back to work, that he hadn’t assaulted a policeman in broad daylight on Main Street, that it would start snowing so he could make some money, that the bitter wind would stop blowing long enough for him to light a cigarette. Since a couple of these were in the nature of specific regrets of the sort he disliked indulging, he decided he’d write them all off as bad debts if he could just get a cigarette lit. And this was what he was attempting to do when a set of headlights cut through the trees some distance away and he became aware of the sound of a small car engine whining closer, which could mean only one thing. In another minute Carl Roebuck’s Camaro careened into view and skidded to a halt about a foot from where Sully sat on the tailgate.
    â€œDon Sullivan,” Carl said, getting out. Even in the dark Sully could see he was grinning. “Fugitive.”
    â€œI’m not running, I’m working,” Sully explained, flicking the useless match away. “If you’d ever worked a day in your life you’d know the difference.”
    â€œHow come every time I see you, you’re sitting on that tailgate and claiming to be working?” Carl said, pulling out his lighter and cupping his hand around it.
    Sully’s cigarette caught just as the wind blew out the flame. “I’m too tired to explain.”
    â€œWell,” Carl said, locating Sully’s cigarettes in his shirt pocket and extracting one from the pack, “I have a feeling you’re going to get a few days off at county expense.”
    â€œNah.” Sully exhaled through his nose. “I’ve got the best one-legged Jewish lawyer in Bath.”
    â€œThat reminds me,” Carl said, inhaling his own cigarette rapturously. “Wirf said to give you this.”
    â€œThis” was a cocktail napkin. Sully unfolded and read the message Wirf had scrawled there by the light of Carl’s left head lamp. “Verily,” the note said, “this Time Thou Art Truly and Forever Fucked.”
    Sully wadded up the napkin and gave it a toss. “He puts up a smooth defense, doesn’t he?”
    â€œI’d like to see him on the Supreme Court. Legal opinions on cocktail napkins. What the hell ever possessed you to punch a cop?”
    â€œIt seemed like a hell of a fine idea at the time.” Sully sighed, then provided a short version of what had happened.
    Carl was skeptical. “He drew his gun on you?”
    â€œPointed it at me too, the prick.”
    â€œI don’t think anybody’d believe that unless you had a witness.”
    â€œIf there weren’t any witnesses, then I didn’t punch him,” Sully said. “My son was there, though.”
    â€œThat’s something, I suppose,” Carl said, “though it’d be better to have the sort of witness who wouldn’t lie to save you.”
    â€œI don’t think he would, actually,” Sully admitted.
    â€œAn honorable man, huh?”
    â€œI don’t know about that,” Sully said. “I just don’t think he likes me well enough to lie for me.”
    Carl took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. “You know why this is happening, don’t you?”
    It occurred to Sully when Carl said this that Carl was seriously pissed. Which meant they were on the verge of a real argument. After the last one, Sully hadn’t spoken to him for four months. “Because I’m so lucky?”
    â€œBullshit,” Carl said. “You know why these things keep happening to you. It’s because you have to rag everybody twenty-four hours a day. It’s because you never,
ever
fucking let