Richard Russo - Nobody's Fool

“You also said we weren’t ever going to work for Carl Roebuck again,” Rub added petulantly as they sauntered down the walk. When Rub started to get into the truck, Sully stopped him. “Let’s walk,” he suggested. “You can walk a whole block, can’t you?”

Rub shut the door again. “I figured you’d want to drive.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause of your knee.”

“It’s good of you to remember, Rub, but I’d rather walk.”

“How come?”

“Because of my knee.”

Rub thought about it. “How come when you’re mad at Peter you’re mean to me?”

“When my knee feels half decent, I like to walk. When it hurts, I like to ride,” Sully explained. “Being mad at you takes my mind off it entirely. And I’m not mad at Peter. He’s mad at me.”

On the way, Sully told Rub about Carl Roebuck’s plan to pull up the hardwood floors in the house on Bowdon, lay them again in the lakefront camp that he and Toby owned and seldom used.

“How come we have to tear up a floor when Carl could just buy new wood?”

“Hardwood is expensive.”

“So?” Rub shrugged. “Carl’s rich.”

Rub had, Sully knew, an imperfect grasp of wealth, of what things cost. To Rub’s way of thinking, some people — Carl Roebuck, for instance — had money, which meant they could afford things that other people — Rub, for instance — could not. What people like Carl Roebuck could afford was everything Rub couldn’t. The central fact of Rub’s existence was what he couldn’t afford, and what he couldn’t afford was nearly everything. Therefore, conversely, what Carl Roebuck could afford must be nearly everything. The idea that people who had money might have money problems was inconceivable to Rub, who saw no reason for them to economize.

“That’s how people get rich,” Sully explained. “Instead of doing things the expensive way, they save a few bucks here and there. They hire guys like us to make their lives nice.”

Rub’s face was a thundercloud so dark that only profound stupidity could be at its center. “And then they don’t even pay us,” he said, remembering the trench they’d dug at Carl’s house.

The two men crossed the street in the middle of the block. Will was right, Sully thought as he looked at his father’s house from the distance of about fifty yards. It did look like it might fall down. “Carl’ll pay us.”

“He didn’t before.”

“Once. He’ll pay us this time. He paid us for moving all those blocks you broke, remember?”

Rub’s anger was instantly replaced by fear, and he slowed down. “It was both of us broke those blocks, not just me.”

“I know that, Rub,” Sully said, grinning.

“You were the one hit that pothole, not me.”

“True.”

“I never even loaded those blocks.”

“You’re getting all worked up,” Sully pointed out. In fact, fear had caused Rub’s face to go bright red. “Carl’s not such a bad guy, is all I’m saying. Even if he knew you broke all those blocks, I bet he’d forgive you.”

“Shhhh,” Rub said. “There he is.”

Carl Roebuck had come out on the front porch and was watching the two of them approach him. Just as they arrived, Peter returned in the El Camino. When he got out, he refused to meet Sully’s eye, which meant he’d gotten a clearer account of what had transpired from Will. But he fell into step behind Rub as they entered through the gate and proceeded up the walkway together, Carl Roebuck shaking his head at them the whole way. “Sullivan Enterprises,” Carl snorted. “Moe, Larry and Curly.” He held the screen door open. “I don’t suppose any of you has ever laid a hardwood floor?”

“I was once laid on a hardwood floor,” Sully said.

“How was it?” Carl wondered.

“I don’t remember.”

“It smells like about ten generations of dead Sullivans in here,” Carl observed when they went inside.

“I don’t smell anything,” Rub said, his brow knit with concentration. Everyone looked at him and grinned. “Well, I don’t,” Rub insisted angrily.

Carl squatted and ran his thumb along the floor, removing its thick skin of dust. Beneath, the wood still had some of its sheen.

“How many square feet would you say?”

“Up and down?”

Carl nodded. “We’re going to lose one room upstairs to water damage. I don’t suppose you knew there’s a hole in the roof?”

Sully said he didn’t.

“How about the furniture?”

“What furniture?” Sully said.

“There’s a roomful of furniture, Schmucko,” Carl Roebuck said. “There’s a sofa that’s in better condition than the piece of shit in your own living room. There’s a bed and a dresser. All kinds of shit. You can hardly get the bedroom door open.”

“Good,” Sully said. He had, in fact, some vague recollection of all this. When his father died, somebody had told him he should have an auction, but he’d declined, at least for the present, and hired a couple boys to shove all the furniture into one of the upstairs bedrooms, telling himself that he’d deal with it all later, which he knew he wouldn’t. And hadn’t.

Carl Roebuck shook his head. “You could have saved this house,” he said. “You could have rented it. You could have sold it and put the money in your pocket and let someone else take care of it.”

“I didn’t want the money.”

Carl turned to Peter. “He didn’t want the money.”

Peter shrugged. It was clear that he would have liked to disavow any relationship.

“You know what, Rub?” Carl said.

Rub started. He was seldom acknowledged in Carl Roebuck’s presence. “What,” Rub said.

“You aren’t the dumbest man in Bath. Don’t let anybody tell you you are.”

“Okay,” Rub said.

“So what are you saying?” Sully said. “Do you want these floors or not?”

“That depends upon what extortionary amount you have in mind to charge me.”

“I tell you what,” Sully said. “You can have the wood for free. Just pay us for the labor.”

“By the hour, I suppose.”

“Why not?”

Carl snorted . “If I pay the three of you by the hour, the wood’s not free. You’ll still be working on it in May.”

“You want me to give you an estimate on a job I haven’t done before, right?” Sully said. “That strikes you as fair?”

To everyone’s surprise, Peter, who had been examining the baseboards along one wall, spoke up. “A thousand dollars,” he said.

All three men looked at him.

“It’ll take three men about a week,” he said. “A day or two to tear up the floors here. We’ll lose about every fourth board even if we’re careful because they splinter. Each board has a side groove that fits into a slot, and you can’t always yank them up without breaking one or the other. Laying them again is slow going. Three days, probably. Then you have to sand and varnish. New wood alone would cost you more than a thousand, though.”

Carl looked at Sully, and both men shrugged.

“Leaving only the issue of collateral damage,” Carl said, “the unforeseen destruction sure to occur when somebody’s stupid enough to allow Don Sullivan into his house with a crowbar.” He shook his head wearily. “My camp is liable to end up looking like this before he’s through.”

“Eleven hundred,” Sully said.

“What?” Carl said.

“That insult just cost you a hundred dollars,” Sully said. “And I’ll take six hundred up front, since I’m dealing with you.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Carl reached into his pants pocket. “I can tell already.”

He counted out six hundred dollars from a large roll of bills.

“You’re right,” Sully said. “I am the dumbest man in Bath. If I had any sense I’d hit you over the head with this crowbar, take that wad of money, bury you beneath the floor and see if anybody’d miss you.”