Nobody's Fool

try to budge the frozen blocks with the heel of his loafer, as he leaned back against the £1 Camino for leverage. From where they were standing, they could just see the top of the Ultimate Escape billboard across the highway and a quarter mile in toward town. “I’m going to feel a lot better when they get started on that son of a bitch,” Carl reflected.
    Sully followed his gaze across Carl’s tract of housing development land, across the four-lane spur, all the way to the clown’s head. “Tell me something,” Sully said. “Who the hell’s going to buy these houses with an amusement park across the street? You should be praying they never start.”
    â€œSully, Sully, Sully,” Carl said. “You just don’t understand the world.”
    Sully had to admit this was probably true.
    â€œAs soon as they break ground over there, they’re going to need everything on this side of the road for a parking lot. For which they will pay dearly.”
    â€œThen why are you building houses?”
    â€œSo they will pay
more
dearly.”
    Sully considered this. The reasoning was vintage Carl Roebuck, of course, and Sully could feel Carl’s father roll over in his grave. Kenny Roebuck had built the company on eighteen-hour days of hard, honest work, only to surrender what he’d built to a high roller, a rogue. “What happens if they don’t build the park?”
    â€œBite your tongue,” Carl said.
    â€œWell,” Sully said, “I’m sure you’ll be lucky as usual.”
    Carl looked as if he’d have given a good deal to be that certain. “Clive Peoples swears it’s going through,” he said with the air of a man comforted by the sound of his own voice.
    â€œAnd you trust Clive Peoples?”
    â€œHe’s in deeper than anybody. He’s got investors lined up all the way to Texas,” Carl said. “What’s in trouble is the Sans Souci. That spring theydrilled last summer’s going dry already. They should call that place the Sans Brains.”
    Rub was frowning.
    â€œThat’s French, Rub,” Carl explained. “You can learn it right after English and Latin.” Then to Sully, “You want to sheetrock the house on Nelson tomorrow? I can have Randy drop all the shit off in the morning if you want the job.”
    â€œTomorrow’s Thanksgiving,” Rub said.
    â€œNobody’s talking to you,” Sully told him. Actually, he was of two minds about working tomorrow. If he did, he’d have an excuse not to go to Vera’s, where he wouldn’t be welcome. And he could use the money. And the holiday would go faster if he worked. On the other hand, he hated sheetrocking, and he didn’t know yet how his knee was going to react to today’s labors.
    â€œI ain’t working on Thanksgiving, is all I’m saying,” Rub insisted.
    â€œNobody asked you to,” Sully reminded him. “When somebody asks you, you can say no.” He turned to Carl. “Double time?”
    â€œIn your dreams.”
    â€œGo away and leave us alone then,” Sully said. “Sheetrock the fucker yourself.”
    Carl massaged his temples. “Why do you have to hold every simple negotiation hostage? Why should I pay you double time?”
    â€œWhat’s tomorrow, Rub?” Sully said.
    Rub looked even more confused. In his opinion, they’d already been over this. “It’s fuckin’ Thanksgiving,” he said.
    â€œShut up, Rub,” Carl said. “Nobody’s talking to you.”
    â€œSully was.”
    â€œWhen?” Carl said.
    â€œJust now.”
    â€œJust when?”
    Rub looked like he might cry.
    â€œWhat burns my ass, Sully,” Carl said, “is that you wouldn’t even know it was Thanksgiving. You don’t even have a family, for Christ sake. I’m offering to keep you out of trouble for twenty-four hours, and all you can think about is extortion.”
    Sully briefly considered telling Carl a couple of things. That his son was in town, for instance, and that strangely enough, he did have an invitation for tomorrow, even if all parties concerned were hoping it would not be accepted. He also considered telling Carl Roebuck what he didn’tknow yet—that
he
was the one who’d probably not have a place to go on this particular Thanksgiving, that none of the keys dangling from the ring in the El