Through the Cracks by Honey Brown Page A

able to see Adam’s outline in the lounge room. Would he have looked like he belonged? Did he belong there?
    Billy’s hand swiped in front of Adam’s face. ‘In a bit of a hurry? Remember?’

T he balls of Adam’s feet were raw and the bones in his heels felt bruised. When he could, he walked on the grass beside the footpath. Road surfaces were the worst. Adam hobbled across them. Dizzy spells swept over him. His arms ached from holding the dogs. He worried they’d run away if he put them down. Billy’s stride had not changed. When walking he didn’t talk as much. They passed darkened houses and went down dark roads. Whenever there was a car up ahead or coming from behind, Billy turned down a smaller street or stepped into a yard. Adam followed, and they waited until the car passed.
    Before each corner Adam glanced over his shoulder, back the way they’d come. How would he ever find his way back to his father’s house? He knew he wouldn’t, not without Billy guiding him. The world might not seem as big or overwhelming at night, but it was no less maze-like.
    Billy lit a cigarette. A cat darted across the road and Monty and Jerry pricked their ears and wriggled in Adam’s arms. The pain of holding them spiked, before fading again into an overall discomfort. They came to the edge of a large grassy area and started across it. No trees. The grass was short. Billy walked ahead and stopped by a long building. In the shadows was a large steel container. It was as tall as Billy’s shoulder. He put out his cigarette on the side of it and let the butt drop to the ground.
    ‘Those rat dogs have come as far as they’re going to come. I can either kill them and drop them in the bin, or you can chuck them over someone’s fence.’ He opened the top of the metal container. ‘Dead is the best pick, if you ask me, not that I’m trying to sway you or nothing, but I am. Joe’s death could be made into a big deal. If the cops do crack a fat over it, then these dogs, alive and kicking, might be a hassle. If they’re a pair of stinking carcasses in the bottom of a bin, good chance no one will fish them out and find them. No dogs, nothing to go on. Yeah?’
    The dogs were quiet in Adam’s arms.
    ‘I’ll do it quick. I’ll snap their necks and they’ll be in doggie heaven before they can say bow-wow.’
    Adam tucked the dogs tighter into him. ‘We’ll put them over a fence.’
    Billy kept on walking. ‘Your choice. Stupid one, but your choice.’
    Adam followed him off the grass and back onto the footpath. They stopped in front of a long weatherboard fence. Billy looked up and down the street.
    ‘All right, chuck them over.’
    Adam stepped around Billy and continued further up the footpath. He heard Billy scoff and mutter.
    ‘What about this one?’ Adam said.
    He’d stopped in front of a low picket fence lined by a garden with flowers. The house was hard to see in the dark. It was small, though. The lawn was mowed. He felt the gate latch. No chain or lock. Adam went inside the yard and shut the gate behind him.
    ‘Don’t go
in
,’ Billy hissed.
    Adam crouched on the path and put Monty and Jerry down. They shook their bodies and stretched their legs. Monty wagged her tail. Jerry wasn’t as easily fooled; his tail was still and his eyes were shining. It was as though one dog held on to the hope things would always be okay, and the other didn’t. An invisible weight pressed on Adam’s chest. His heart wavered. He’d never played with the dogs, had never been allowed, and they cowered now when he stroked them. For Adam, though, the dogs had been a constant. They’d never pretended to be something they were not, they never lured, never tricked or lied, never said one thing and done another. Even when it came down to bad things, the dogs were honest: Monty and Jerry had never promised not to kill the chickens. If anything they’d glanced guiltily at the birds every chance they’d had, warning that