Nobody's Fool

There was nothing about his appearance to suggest his radical, long-haired student days, during which, he’d admitted to Sully, he also majored in pharmaceuticals.
    â€œYou plan to sit here until they open tomorrow?” Sully asked.
    â€œChurches and OTBs should never close,” Jocko said. “There should be a law.”
    â€œThere is,” Sully reminded him. “It closes OTBs on Christmas and Thanksgiving. I know of a couple churches that are open if you’re interested.”
    Jocko waved this suggestion away. “I try to stay away from long shots.”
    â€œCan’t be much worse than betting trifectas.”
    â€œI don’t bet them either,” Jocko said. “Triples are for lost, desperate souls like you.” His face brightened suddenly. “I like the idea, though. Special trifecta wagers on Christmas and Easter. I can see the promotion. Trinity wagers. Christianity finally pays off.”
    â€œThat solves Christmas and Easter. It still leaves Thanksgiving.”
    â€œNo problem,” Jocko shrugged. “Most people think Thanksgiving
is
a Christian holiday. This is a mighty confused nation we live in.”
    They were grinning at each other now.
    â€œI was hoping I’d run into you …” Sully said.
    Jocko folded his newspaper, tossed it into the backseat. “Step into my office,” he suggested, leaning past Sully to open the glove box. “And close that goddamn door before we both freeze, will you?”
    â€œI’m not sure this knee will bend so early in the morning,” Sully said.
    â€œTry,” Jocko suggested as he rummaged in the glove compartment.
    Sully winced, finally got his whole leg inside and closed the door. “You must have the shortest legs of any grown man in town.”
    Jocko’s glove compartment resembled a small pharmacy, or candy store, full of small, bright plastic bottles. Jocko yanked out several of these, held them up to the light, said “Nah” and tossed them back. After a minute he found a tube that met his approval. “Here,” he said, handing it to Sully. “Eat these.” His standard line.
    There was no label on the tube, but Sully accepted it gratefully.
    â€œDon’t operate any heavy machinery,” Jocko advised.
    â€œJust a hammer today,” Sully promised. “I’ll probably pound my thumb all morning.”
    â€œGo ahead. You won’t feel it,” Jocko said. “Somebody told me you’d gone back to work. I figured that was so dumb it had to be true.”
    â€œJust for a while, probably,” Sully said. “I’d like to get a little ahead for the winter. Then I’ll go slow for a while. Maybe I’ll feel better in the spring.”
    Jocko looked at him over the rims of his glasses. “Arthritis doesn’t get better,” he said. “It gets worse. Every time.”
    â€œTwo more years and I can take early retirement,” Sully said. “After that, fuck ’em.”
    This came out sounding like the bravado it was. Sully knew that the only reason Jocko didn’t argue was kindness. They both knew his knee wasn’t going to give him two more years of hard labor.
    â€œWhat’s the line on the game Saturday?” Sully wondered. He was both genuinely interested and anxious to change the subject.
    â€œYou can get Bath and twenty points is what I’m hearing.”
    Sully raised his eyebrows. “That’s tempting.” like Vince, Sully had lost on Bath against Schuyler Springs every year for the last dozen. And like Vince, he always got points, just never enough of them.
    â€œI know what you mean,” Jocko commiserated. “I’d love to see the kids win one. Your paramour’s kid is a pretty good little guard. He doesn’t get much help, though.”
    Sully ignored the fact that Jocko, like so many people in town, knew of his relationship with Ruth. “A win would be a lot to ask,” Sully admitted. Recent Bath-Schuyler Springs contests had become so lopsided that Schuyler was threatening to drop the smaller school from its schedule on humanitarian grounds. The preservation of “the game” was a hot political issue, and the man who’d won the most recent Bath mayoral election had made the continuation of the game his only campaign promise. “I’d personally be thrilled if they beat the spread. Who’s giving twenty, by the