Nobody's Fool

man, Sully.”
    â€œSo people say,” Sully conceded. “I don’t really believe it, though.”
    â€œI looked all over for you yesterday,” Jocko recollected. “I didn’t know you were in jail.”
    â€œThen you were the only one who didn’t,” Sully said. His assault of Officer Raymer had achieved wide notoriety even before a detailed account had appeared in the
North Bath Weekly Journal
, accompanied by a strong editorial that decried what the writer perceived to be a new spirit of lawlessness threatening not just their community but the very foundations of civilization. Coming, as this most recent episode had, on the very heels of the last, when a crazed deer hunter, not content to precipitate carnage in nearby forests, had come into town and begun shooting out windows along Upper Main Street. The editorial suggested that a trend was emerging and warned against the temptation to discount the earlier incident because the perpetrator resided in Schuyler Springs, a community with many undesirables, where such atrocities might be expected. No, there was in reality a series of subtle connections linking these two events if anyone cared to look for them. Indeed, there were families right in their own communities that had a documented history of violent behavior (the Sullivans, father and two sons, were not named), perhaps even, it was hinted, a genetic predisposition toward violence. The editorial ended on this ominous scientific note.
    â€œI was in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, visiting my ex,” Jocko explainedapologetically. “We reenacted the famous battle all week. Anyway, your exploits were not carried there.”
    â€œGood,” Sully said, then frowned at Jocko. “How come you were looking for me?”
    â€œI saw your crazy-ass triple ran the day before, and I wanted to make sure you knew and didn’t toss the ticket.”
    Sully just stared at him.
    â€œSorry,” Jocko said. “I thought you knew.”
    â€œIt ran when I was in jail?”
    Jocko adjusted his thick bifocals, looking genuinely worried now. “You wouldn’t strike a man with glasses?”
    Sully would not have hit Jocko. Had God Himself been there (surely this was the same perverse deity he’d so long expected the existence of), however, he might have taken a swing.
    â€œI thought you knew,” Jocko repeated.
    â€œDo me a favor,” Sully said.
    â€œAnything,” Jocko said. “Just don’t punch me.”
    â€œDon’t tell me what it paid,” Sully said. “Ever. No matter how I beg you.”
    â€œHey,” Jocko said, stepping into the bathroom Sully had just vacated. “You got it.”
    Sully heard the door lock. Some people, he reflected, were just careful. Generally, God did not toy with them.
    The room where old Hattie lay in her casket was empty except for the other bearers and one or two employees of the funeral home. The old woman had outlived all of her contemporaries and was survived only by Cass. Which had made rounding up the requisite number of bearers difficult. Peter had been dragooned, and Sully, from jail, had recruited Carl Roebuck and Jocko and Wirf. Otis, who felt responsible, volunteered. Ralph, good-hearted as always, had offered too, until Vera unvolunteered him, claiming he shouldn’t be lifting after his operation. Rub had been briefly considered, then rejected out of respect for the deceased. Carl and Wirf and Otis were now huddled in the far corner of the room, speaking softly below the organ music. Cass, dressed in black, stood near the casket, conversing quietly with one of the funeral home employees. Peter leaned against the opposite wall, looking stylish in a tweed jacket, button-down oxford shirt and narrow knit tie.
    Sully joined him there. “What are you doing over here by yourself?”
    Peter shrugged. “Waiting for you?”
    â€œYou don’t like these other people?”
    Peter shrugged again, infuriatingly.
    â€œDo you believe in luck?” Sully asked him.
    â€œNot really,” Peter said.
    Sully nodded, suspecting as much. “You know what? I do.”
    Peter smiled, also apparently suspecting as much.
    â€œYou know that triple I’ve been betting for the last two years?” Sully asked. “It ran while I was in jail.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œYesterday. The day before yesterday,” Sully said, trying to recall what Jocko