Nobody's Fool

remembered having met the man once before, having turned him down, in fact, for a loan to purchase the very truck he was now driving. “We’ll take care of it, I promise you that.”
    Suddenly Clive Jr. was sorry he hadn’t loaned this Squeers the money, remembering how the man had gotten all dressed up in an ill-fitting suit to ask for it. “Well, hell,” Clive Jr. said, risking a comradely profanity. “These things just happen, I guess.”
    â€œTo some people more than others,” the Squeers man said, eyeing Rub. “I sure appreciate you not getting all bent out of shape, Mr. Peoples. You get that fixed and send me the bill. If we could just handle the whole thing without involving the insurance people, I’d be grateful.”
    â€œWe don’t have no use a-tall for them fuckin’ scumsuckers,” venturedanother Squeers, the one who’d removed his hat to scratch. He was apparently buoyed by the fact that they were all getting along so well.
    â€œI’d like to shoot ’em all, just to watch ’em die,” said the only one who hadn’t spoken.
    â€œDon’t you guys have nothing to do?” said the head Squeers, who apparently saw himself as the management arm of the firm.
    Well, it was true, there was plenty to do, and so off they went, cuffing Rub as they left, leaving the management Squeers and Clive Jr. alone, two struggling businessmen. Squeers knelt next to the Continental and ran his index finger along the scratch. “We’ll make this good, Mr. Peoples,” he said again. “You can trust me.”
    â€œI know I can,” Clive Jr. said, feeling an odd, warming trust welling up in his chest. Also welling up, a little nausea, perhaps due to the proximity of the garbage truck.
    â€œYou just let me know the damages, and I’ll be right there. You won’t have to ask no second time.”
    â€œThat’ll be fine,” Clive Jr. agreed.
    And so there was nothing left to do but examine the scratch one last time, as if to acknowledge its seriousness and the resultant bond of faith between them. “How’s your business going?” Clive Jr. decided to ask when the silence and goodwill between them became insupportable.
    â€œGood,” Squeers said, adding philosophically, “There’s always trash, no matter what. People don’t like to let it build up, except in New York City. I figured we wouldn’t go broke, and we haven’t.”
    â€œI’m glad,” Clive Jr. said, sensing that the turned-down loan application was hovering there, tangible, in the brittle air between them. Both men seemed to be searching for a way to say there were no hard feelings.
    â€œSo I guess they aren’t going to build that new park, huh?” Squeers observed after another long moment of silence. He seemed to be enjoying this opportunity to talk seriously with a banker, and he kept looking around the deserted street as if hoping there’d be a witness to him doing it.
    â€œNo,” Clive Jr. agreed. “I guess not.”
    â€œWell, to hell with them, then,” Squeers said. “We done without ’em before, I guess we can again.”
    â€œI guess we will,” Clive agreed.
    â€œToo bad, though,” Squeers added. “I figure it would have just about tripled the trash around here.”
    They shook hands then, and Clive Jr. was surprised that Squeers’ hand, once removed from the work glove, looked and felt clean.
    When the Squeers were gone, Clive Jr. climbed back into the Lincoln, backed out of his space beneath the new banner that had been hung yesterday before the news broke. Its message was typical Bath boosterism of the sort that Clive Jr. himself had been guilty of fostering back when he still believed that caution lights meant “You don’t have to stop here.” The banner’s meaning, however, seemed different today than it had yesterday. What it said was: 1985: THE FIRST YEAR OF THE REST OF OUR LIVES .
    Clive Jr. headed south on Main past the doomed IGA and out of town via the new spur, where he would pick up the interstate and head north toward Schuyler Springs and luck. This route was the long way, but at least he wouldn’t have to drive past his mother’s house. It was one thing to face the collapse of The Ultimate Escape, a project huge in imagination and planning and execution. It was another to realize he’d been unable