Nobody's Fool

very much,” he said apologetically. He had two coins, a dime and a nickel left over, and he returned them to Sully’s pile.
    â€œTell this guy,” Sully indicated the policeman. “He’ll fix it. He works here.”
    â€œWacker gets to eat nothing but ice cream and soda for two days,” Will said, half expecting some reply. Instead, his father, grandfather and theman who worked there fixing the machines all just looked at him, making him feel strange and nervous, the way it always did when adults acknowledged his existence too directly. He stared at his soda until they quit, then took a sip, paying special attention to the way the cold felt along the back of his throat, and he thought of his little brother in the hospital, surrounded by doctors, one of whom had reached into Wacker’s throat with scissors, and he imagined his brother plotting complicated revenge against them.
    Down the hall, small-town justice was done.
    The apartment Wirf had located was off South Main in a neighborhood of large, shabby houses and sidewalks that were cracked and weed-infested roller coasters bordering lawns that were patchworks of brown grass and browner bare earth. There were houses on only one side of the street, and these faced the rear parking lot and Dumpsters of the IGA, whose sign now read CLOSING JAN 15. When Wirf pulled up at the curb and all four—Wirf and Sully in front, Peter and Will in back—got out, they were greeted by a chorus of barking dogs, one of which strained against a leash anchored to the railing of the porch next door. Which reminded Sully of two things—that he still needed to fix Miss Beryl’s railing and that he still owned a dog. According to Peter, Rasputin was still canine-in-residence at the house on Bowdon, sleeping in the kitchen at night, enjoying the run of the back porch during the day.
    â€œSecond floor?” Sully said, staring up at the dark vacant windows.
    Wirf admitted it was.
    â€œGood thing it doesn’t have four floors, or you’d want me to live on the fourth,” Sully said.
    â€œEver the ingrate,” Wirf said as they made their way up the front porch steps.
    The flat had its own entrance, which had been left unlocked so they could inspect the premises. The landlord was at work. The stairs were steep and narrow, and Sully noticed Will regarding them warily. “Take Grandpa’s hand,” Sully suggested. “You still got your stopwatch?”
    Will took it out of his pocket, showed his grandfather.
    The apartment was a good deal smaller than Sully’s current flat, though the kitchen was bigger. There would be room for his dinette and chairs and enough room left over for him to get by without constantly banging into them. The appliances and fixtures were old, which was okay too, since he wouldn’t be using them. The living room had a fireplacecomplete with a charred log and two years’ worth of gray ash. The fireplace was surrounded by built-in bookcases. “What the hell am I going to do with that?” Sully said.
    â€œGod, you’re a pain in the ass,” Wirf said. “Go back to jail, why don’t you?”
    Will’s eyes widened at this apparently serious suggestion.
    The embarrassing truth was that Sully did not need a lot more space than he had in his cell. He needed a place to go to sleep at night. A place to shower. A commode. A closet for his clothes. His real homes were The Horse, Hattie’s, the OTB, Carl Roebuck’s office. And this flat was at the wrong end of Main Street, a lot farther from these homes than his place above Miss Beryl. Thinking of Hattie’s reminded him of another duty he had today. Hattie’s wasn’t really Hattie’s anymore, it was Ruth’s, and today was the Grand Reopening. He’d driven by that morning and saw the banner out front, then driven to the donut shop for his coffee. Sooner or later, though, he’d have to go in, find out where he stood with Ruth, whom he’d seen in the congregation at Hattie’s funeral yesterday, find out whether Hattie’s, perhaps the most comfortable place in Bath, was still a place he’d be comfortable in.
    â€œIt’s more than I need, Wirf,” he confided when Peter disappeared into one of the two bedrooms, taking Will with him. “Also more than I can afford.”
    â€œWhere are you going to find anything for less than two-fifty a month?” Wirf said.