Nobody's Fool

philosophy professor doesn’t believe there’s any such thing as free will.”
    â€œWhat
does
he believe in?” Wirf wanted to know.
    Sully shrugged. “He’s a Jew. He probably believes in all sorts of screwball things.”
    â€œNot necessarily,” Wirf said, pushing the door open and holding it for Sully. “I’m a Jew, and I don’t believe in much of anything.”
    Outside, the two men stopped on the top step and stared out into the street in disbelief. They’d been vaguely aware that it had started snowing again. Sully had seen the flakes coming down through the Black Label sign in the tavern’s window. But neither man had expected this. Beneath the lamps that lined Main the whole street was ghostly white.
    â€œI believe it snowed,” Sully said. “That’s what I believe.”
    They stepped down into it. “About a foot, I believe,” Wirf said, staring at where his scuffed brown wingtips had disappeared. “I believe I need some boots.”
    Sully was wearing his work boots, but the snow was over these too, and it was still snowing. “I didn’t know you were a Jew,” Sully said truthfully. “I thought Jews were supposed to be sharp lawyers.”
    â€œSully,” Wirf said, whipping his scarf over his shoulder so that it swatted Sully in the face. “You’re a prince. Remember. No black thoughts.”
    Sully watched Wirf inch his way across the street warily to where his Regal was parked before heading upstreet toward his flat. In a minute the Regal slalomed by. Wirf had his window rolled down so he could chant “Goodnight, sweet prince.”
    The thick blanket of snow was a silencer on the land, and by the time Sully got home the street was utterly still. It was after one o’clock, and the curb-parked cars along the street looked like white hills, and Sully would not have been surprised to see a horse-drawn carriage turn down the street, its harness bells all astir.
    All this peace on earth could mean only one thing. Tomorrow would not be peaceful. So much unseasonal snow would slow the work on Carl Roebuck’s unbuilt houses and make him doubly anxious to finish them before the ground froze and things got really impossible. Unless the weather warmed up some, he and Rub would freeze their asses tomorrow. Sheetrocking was a job you couldn’t do with gloves on, and by midmorning their hands would be so cold they’d feel their fingers only when they hit them with hammers. And Carl would probably visit half a dozen times to badger them and tell them about the next shitty job he had planned for them on Friday, one, he’d claim, even they couldn’t fuck up. And before they could even get started working for Carl, he’d have to shovel the sidewalk and driveway so his landlady could get out. All on a knee that by morning would be a symphony of pain.
    It would have been discouraging if he hadn’t gotten an idea.
    It took him a minute to find the long-handled brush in the back of his pickup, but when he did he was in business. In thirty seconds he’d brushed the snow off the pickup’s front window and hood, and two minutes after that he was backing the truck into Carl Roebuck’s driveway, right up to where the snowblower sat, itself covered with snow. There were still three sheets of plywood on the floor of the pickup, and these Sully used to form a makeshift ramp. They buckled but did not break under the weight of the snowblower. When Sully popped the tailgate back up with a bang, a light came on upstairs and Toby Roebuck appeared, a dark silhouette in the window, which she slid up so she could poke her head out. “That you, Sully?” she wanted to know.
    â€œYup,” Sully admitted. “I may deny it tomorrow, though.”
    â€œYou come to steal our brand-new snowblower?”
    â€œI’ve done it already, just about.”
    â€œI could legally shoot you and get away with it,” Toby informed him.
    â€œNot really. Not unless I was trying to break into the house.”
    â€œAre you going to break into my house?”
    â€œNot tonight, dolly,” Sully said. The conversation, even with their voices lowered, was a bit unnerving at this hour. Quiet as it was, the whole neighborhood could be listening. “Where’s Dummy, by the way?”
    â€œWho knows?” Toby Roebuck said. “He tried to get in earlier, then gave up. He took