Nobody's Fool

a glow in the west. It looked like a scene viewed from the window of an airplane. The Pennsylvania Turnpike, he guessed, and Pittsburgh.
    He felt again, without fear, the play in the wheel, that he was neither in nor out of control. So this, he reflected, was what it felt like to be Sully.

FRIDAY

    J udge Barton Flatt was not a well man. His jowls were loose and jaundiced, and except for a single tuft of hair on his forehead, his hair had fallen out, thanks to the chemotherapy. He was ensconced in a leather chair behind his huge oak desk in chambers, but he was still visibly uncomfortable, as his incessant squirming testified. He had the look of a man in a titanic struggle against imminent flatulence, and the other men in chambers eyed him nervously. In addition to the sick judge there were in attendance Satch Henry, the county prosecutor, Police Chief Ollie Quinn, Officer Doug Raymer in civies and sunglasses, a red-eyed Wirf, who looked as if someone had dressed him while he lay in bed, and of course Sully, in whose honor this meeting had been called. “Okay, boys and girls,” said Judge Flatt, closing the cover of the manila folder on the police report in front of him. “Let’s see if we can’t dispense some small-town justice right here, right now.”
    â€œYour Honor, could we all sit down, at least?” Chief Quinn requested. Five folding chairs had been set up in a semicircle around the judge’s desk, and all five were occupied except Sully’s. Sully was limping along the back, book-lined wall. His knee was throbbing to the beat of a brass band, and he’d decided it was best to march.
    â€œMr. Sullivan,” said Judge Flatt, “would you be more comfortable seated or standing?”
    â€œStanding, right now,” Sully said, adding, after a moment, “your Honor.”
    â€œHe’s not standing, he’s pacing,” the police chief observed.
    Judge Flatt shifted in his chair, causing the other men to lean back in theirs, as if from a jab. “I may join him before we’re through.”
    â€œHe’s making me nervous, is all,” the chief explained, looking over his shoulder at Sully warily.
    â€œEverybody who isn’t in jail makes you nervous, Ollie,” the judge observed. “You’re perpetuating a fascist stereotype.” Then to Sully, “Go pace over on that side of the room, Mr. Sullivan. Our police chief fears a sneak attack.”
    â€œYour Honor,” said Satch Henry, his hand raised like an obedient student in an elementary school. “If you aren’t feeling well, we could postpone—”
    â€œNo, we’re going to do this now,” Judge Flatt said. “Mr. Sullivan here’s already spent one holiday in jail, and I’m not going to feel any more like doing this next week than I do now. Unless you were suggesting this be postponed until next month after I’m retired and you can bring this case before someone more to your liking.”
    â€œThat’s
not
what I meant at all, your Honor,” Henry said quickly.
    â€œGood,” said the judge. “Then let’s proceed.”
    Wirf, who had not said a word since entering chambers, examined his fingernails, a trace of a smile on his lips. He and Sully had conferred briefly a half hour before, and Wirf had explained what he thought was likely to happen. “If things go like I think they will, I’m not going to say much (“You never do,” Sully had reminded him), and I don’t want you to open your mouth unless you’re asked a direct question. Just remember, no matter what happens in there, the fact that we’re in chambers to begin with is the good news. Satch Henry knows that, and he’s ready to bust a gut. This thing’s going to go our way unless we mess it up.”
    Sully was less certain. During the last two years, he and Wirf had been involved in a lot of judicial proceedings together, and they’d never yet gone Sully’s way. Still, he had to admit, this was, so far, an auspicious beginning. According to Wirf there was a lot of bad blood between the judge and the district attorney’s office, and it appeared to Sully that this might be true, though Judge Flatt’s tongue was legendary, its targets democratic. Still, Wirf might be right for once. He guessed right on
People’s Court
every now and then, so why not in a real-life judicial proceeding?
    Judge Flatt slid the