They were like an old married couple, The Gimp said to Josh. If it weren’t that Lucky had slept with the few single women on the mountain—as well as some of the married ones—within his first month there, he would have sworn they were queer for each other. They finished each other’s sentences, and smiled at odd, inappropriate times, as if they knew something the others didn’t.
It never occurred to either man to want his own cabin. They had their own rhythm, their own routines. And two people in one cabin meant less upkeep. William was totally inept with tools and Lucky was one of the most naturally lazy people anyone had ever met. What little work was needed on Number Six, Lucky persuaded Clark to do.
With a face fresh from a cereal box, Lucky had the look of a farmboy new to the big city. In his early forties, he had the skin and hair of a teenager. Reddish-blond locks in a grown-out crewcut, a touch of freckles high on each check and a slightly buck-toothed grin, he looked the model of naivete—a lie, as William noted, that he’d cashed in on all his life.
It took William almost a year of sharing a cell with Lucky to understand just how deep the lie ran. It happened one night, when he pretended to be asleep, and watched as Lucky took down one of William’s books and read the first thirty pages of an Existential Philosophy text.
“You sonofabitch.”
Lucky shut the book quickly, the innocent, slow-witted look returning. “I was lookin to see if you’d hidden any money in there.”
“Bullshit. You were reading it. And you were understanding what you read. And…” His voice rose. “You were doing it with your mouth closed.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Will. Just ‘cause I’m not…”
“Save it. You always move your lips and stumble over a couple of words here and there when you read.” He cocked his head. “And, except for just then, you always keep your mouth slightly open, like you need it that way to breathe.”
“You’re bein unkind, William.”
William barked a laugh. “Unkind is playing your cellmate like a fiddle for the past year.”
Lucky took on a cautious look. “What do you want, Will?”
“I just want to know who I’m living with. And I just realized that these past few minutes are probably the first honest indicators of who you really are.”
“So what if they are?”
“Look, I’m not angry. I’m impressed. I’m usually a pretty good reader of people, but I feel like I’ve been long-conned. And I’m not the only one.”
He looked at Lucky appreciatively. “The open-mouth breathing. Is that deliberate?”
“It’s pretty much habit after all these years.”
“Why?”
“You said it. It makes me look dim. You lose to someone simple, you never suspect that person, you blame yourself. The simpleton was just lucky. It makes for repeat business.”
William grinned. “Okay. That’s all I need to know for now. But do me a favor, okay? Dole these little revelations about yourself out a bit at time. It’ll make the time go more quickly. Okay?”
Lucky held up the book. “Mind if I finish this?”
“It’s yours.” As Lucky opened the book, William said. “By the way, what’s your IQ, anyway? The prison files have you listed at 110.”
“I had those altered. It’s 172.” He picked up the text and began to read, his lips moving with each word.
For reasons that escaped every man on the mountain, women found William devastating. His face, broken and lined, had character, but it was hardly handsome. He had a crooked smile that only came out when he was talking to a woman, but there was nothing forward or sexual about it.
The Gimp knew what it was. “Sheila says he listens with his eyes. I always let him tend bar whenever she’s out of town. People love talking to Will. The ones who normally have two drinks in a night, they have three, maybe even four, if he’s working.”
Lucky and William integrated themselves easily into the camp schedule. When Clark and Josh finished breakfast and went about their individual work, Lucky and William cleaned the kitchen and the L, then retreated to their cabin. Afternoons, when Josh and Clark worked on the L, William occasionally tried to pitch in, holding planks in place, hammering down the wayward shingle. But he was inept at any physical activity, which only deepened his discomfort. Lucky, with a practiced eye, gauged the scope of the afternoon’s work and then disappeared—no one knew where—until late afternoon, when the work stopped and the beer came out.
This routine played out daily for the first three months, until one night, over dinner, William said, “Does it bother you guys that Lucky and I don’t do our share of the work up here?”
Josh looked from William to Lucky, who shifted uneasily. Then to Clark. “It bother you?” Clark shook his head.
“Me neither. Look, you don’t like our kind of work, that’s obvious. And to be honest, you’re lousy at it. You guys do your share of the cleaning and most of the cooking and shopping. It evens out.”
“No, it doesn’t. Not even close.” William hesitated. “Look, I don’t need to know where you got the money to buy this place. And if you tell me there’s an inexhaustible supply of it left, I’ll shut up.” The three men looked at Josh, who said nothing. “Okay, then.”
Clark pushed his food around his plate. Josh cupped both hands around his bottle of beer and stared over everyone’s head.
It was Lucky who broke the silence. “What about if me and Will threw in some money each month. You know, on some kinda regular basis.” The three men stared at him, dumbstruck. He returned the stares. “Look. If this is gonna be home, then I don’t want to feel beholden. So if throwin in a couple of hundred bucks each month…” He raised an eyebrow at Josh, who nodded back. “…is what it takes so it doesn’t feel like Josh’s my dad and Clark’s my older brother, then that’s what we’ll do.” He looked at William. “Right?” William nodded.
“Okay,” Josh said. “The money will help, I won’t deny that.” His eyes fixed on Lucky. “But it has to be legit. Can you do that?”
Lucky nodded uncertainly and went back to his dinner.