Through the Cracks

by Brown, Honey

  Billy came in. He turned on the light. His gaze was both dull and glistening. He took a folded note of money from his pocket and showed it to Adam before slipping it away again.

  ‘Let’s eat.’

  The money paid for their food downstairs in the café. It paid for a better fitting T-shirt, a packet of smokes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a bag of jellybeans. Adam saw it was the same kind of note as the bundle of cash in the safe, one of them, a single one.

  Billy had shaken off his quietness at the bottom of the steps, wriggled his shoulders, jumped up and down on the spot, thrown a couple of punches in the dark, swiped his hand over the top of Adam’s head.

  ‘What do you feel like? Pizza? Want a steak and chips? I reckon you need some decent stuff – a burger with the lot. If you tell me you’ve never eaten a burger before, I’ll know you’ve been on another planet.’

  Adam had eaten a burger before. Hamburgers, like fish and chips, had been a treat, and a thing to use. Sulk and you’ll get nothing.

  The night came in waves of movement and noise. There were times Billy’s arm was draped around Adam’s shoulders and his chatter spoken directly into Adam’s ear. Adam dulled his hearing and he backed up, inside himself. He stopped looking through his eyes and looked out from them instead. It wasn’t the same way he’d retreated when being beaten or hurt. He was withdrawing for the opposite reason. He needed to see and feel everything, but without distance it was too much. Standing back, inside himself, he was able to get a better view of things. Money mattered. It was in everyone’s pockets and being passed over every counter. Meanness didn’t only take place indoors and behind high fences. People swore and threatened one another out in the open, in the street. Fights broke out. One man threw a punch and Billy had to step back to avoid it, laughing as he did.

  ‘Dopey white cunt, have another go.’

  The man tried but stumbled and tripped over a woman sitting in the gutter. The man then had to shield himself from her blows. She hit him with her handbag. Billy giggled for a long time after that.

  Everyone drank. Billy didn’t.

  ‘Grog is toxic. If you’re smart you won’t touch it.’

  People smoked, almost as much as Billy did.

  At an all-night barber the air was so thick and hazy with cigarette, pipe and cigar smoke that it made Adam’s heart race and his eyes sting. Billy lounged on the counter with his back to the mirrors. Not all the men were getting haircuts. They’d come in just to talk, to smoke. Adam chose not to look at his own reflection. For the most part his head was angled down anyway. Damp lengths of Adam’s hair dropped to the floor. No sawing, no dry cutting, not like when Adam’s father had brought out the scissors. These were fast little snips and clean slices. Only when it was done did Adam look. His hair was short, except for his fringe, which was heavy over one eye. Billy spent longer looking at the new style. He pouted, clucked his tongue, made Adam turn in a circle. He smacked his lips and winked.

  ‘Now if you could stop hobbling like an old man, we might just be getting somewhere.’

  Pubs and clubs were full of people. Music thudded from deep inside the buildings. Adam and Billy walked past queues and stood around near crowds. Women smiled and were friendly when they were drunk. Not so friendly when they were sober.

  People kissed and touched out in the open.

  Adam’s feet sank in the soft sand as they walked down near the water. A man and woman were lying together in the darkness. Cold sea air blew. Waves rolled in and out and glistened in the moonlight.

  Up from the beach, Billy had a shower. There was a showerhead outside the toilet block. Adam watched for anyone coming. He stood beneath an orange streetlamp, at the edge of the empty parking lot. Billy bundled and balanced his clothes on top of a post. Naked, under the shower, he gasped and swore. He leaned down and scooped up small piles of wet sand and rubbed them over his body, under his arms, down his legs, up his neck, on his face, before rinsing it all off again. To dry himself he used his tank top, and then left it off, tucking it into the waistband of his shorts to flap about beside his leg.

  ‘Wanna wash?’

  ‘No. Can I brush my teeth?’

  Billy showed Adam to a tap above a grate. The cool air felt strange against the nape of Adam’s neck. All the hair there had been shaved off. He splashed his face.

  Finished brushing, feeling better for it, Adam put the toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste in his trackpant pocket and walked back to Billy. He was leaning against a post, staring towards the beach, bare-chested, the tank top flapping against his leg. He smiled as Adam approached. Right then, Billy looked like something out of a TV show. He seemed bigger than his surroundings, bigger than the picture he was in.

  ‘All good?’

  As they climbed the steps up to the street Billy put his tank top on. He combed his fingers through his hair. Up on the street he lit a smoke, cupping his hand around the flame, puffing fast in the gusting wind to keep it lit. A car on the road slowed and pulled over to the kerb. Billy watched it. There were no other cars about, only a few people on the sidewalk. Drifting up was the sound of waves softly tumbling in and flowing out. Flags flapped on the tops of tall poles. The driver of the car wound down his window.

  He called across, ‘Hey boys, need a lift?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Billy murmured.

  He turned and they headed back down the steps again.

  ‘Not tonight, hey,’ Billy said.

  Drunks were passed out in the playground along from the steps. Some were huddled in groups talking. They smelled of alcohol and unwashed clothes. Billy was asked for smokes. He gave out a few.

  They wandered off to where the streets were quieter, sheltered from the sea breeze.

  ‘What’s your last name?’

  ‘Vander.’

  ‘Man, you got to drop that shit. You’re like a broken record. Do you know your real last name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  Adam shook his head.

  ‘You don’t know? You don’t know how old you are? You’re kidding me? What’s the story with your mum?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘She died when I was a baby.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘My fath— Joe,’ Adam said.

  ‘That’s likely to be a load of shit then. How old do you reckon I am?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, give it a go. Have a try.’ Billy skipped out in front and held his arms out. He danced along, facing Adam. ‘You’ll never guess.’

  ‘You’re eighteen.’

  He stopped skipping. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘That’s how old you seem.’

  ‘I seem? What sort of stupid thing is that to say? I don’t look eighteen – I look fucking older. Everyone says I look older. What would you know anyway? . . . Fool.’

  After crossing an empty parking lot they went down wooden steps to a new part of the beach. No sand. The swell splashed against a bank of jagged rocks. They walked out onto a jetty and sat with their legs over the side, listened to the waves slap against the boats.

  Adam watched the black water move beneath them. Billy talked about the different fish to catch – flathead, mullet, bream and whiting. He talked about what baits to use. Adam rested his forehead on the rail and dozed in bouts.

  His hearing fuzzed in and out. His awareness faded.

  Wind died away and mozzies swarmed.

  Billy nudged him. They got up and climbed the steps, headed back the way they’d come.

  Whenever they saw the police, Billy spun on his heel and Adam followed. They’d disappear, let the crowd hide them.

  At first light they were out front of a bakery. The shop had not long opened. Adam was scratching his itchy bites. The lumps and welts were on his hands, up and down his arms, some were on his nape and scalp.

  ‘That isn’t any old haircut, by the way,’ Billy
was saying, ‘that’s a cut. You look fucking cool. Like David Bowie’s love child.’

  He slid two sausage rolls from the paper bag and passed one to Adam.

  ‘That’s us skint.’

  They climbed the stairs to Vern’s place. Adam was weak with fatigue. He stopped halfway up to muster the last bit of effort left inside him.

  ‘Want a jellybean?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Don’t like them?’

  ‘They’re too sweet.’

  ‘Too sweet? Jeez, kid, you crack me up.’

  Vern’s door was locked. They sat down with their backs against it. From the mesh platform they were able to see the sun lift higher and the coloured clouds turn white. Adam’s eyes kept closing. The bites nagged and niggled. Adam clawed at them. Billy chewed his jellybeans. Vern arrived in a brown van and parked in the alleyway. His hair and beard were damp. He had on a baggy singlet top and shorts. He came up the steps. Adam felt Billy’s body grow tense. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Billy’s forced smile flicker and tremble.

  ‘Bet you didn’t think you’d see me again this soon.’

  ‘Oh, I thought I might,’ Vern said.

  Sun streamed in through the window. No blinds to block it. Below, from the café, were clatters and the occasional smash of a plate or cup being dropped; trucks came and went from the alleyway; seagulls squabbled. Adam could hear the bird’s claws scratching and scrambling on the roof. Cars tooted. A woman came to visit Vern and she talked in a loud, demanding voice, walked around in noisy shoes. It was hard to sleep.

  Billy was on the couch. He was only wearing shorts, sleeping on his back, one leg propped on the cushions, the other leg hanging over the side, his arms draped above his head. His chest rose and fell. Sometimes his limbs twitched. Sweat beaded on Adam’s top lip. His lashes were wet with it. Sweat trickled down his neck. He didn’t dare take his trackpants off, or his T-shirt. Not even his sneakers. He sweltered. The mosquito bites had swelled into tight hot lumps. Thoughts of the night turned in his mind, unsettling images, combinations of faces and events, jumbled up and switched about – the barber at the playground, nightclub people queuing in the waves, Scotty and the faceless husky-voiced woman down on the sand. Adam thought about Billy and Vern, what he’d seen them do. At least that slowed the wheeling images – increased Adam’s heartbeats, though, made his blood cold and his sweat turn icy. He shivered.

  ‘He’ll want to paint you.’

  Adam didn’t react. For a moment he wondered if he’d imagined Billy’s voice. He hadn’t realised Billy had woken. He was in the same position but with his head turned Adam’s way, eyes open, watching him.

  ‘You don’t have to. I’m just saying, he’ll ask you. Pay you. He’ll keep offering till you say yes. It’ll be a lot of money for a small thing, just you sitting there. First time it’s a small thing, for a lot of money. Then the things you have to do get bigger and the money gets less.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  Billy sniffed and sat up. ‘Fair enough.’ He reached for his smokes. ‘Fuck it’s hot in here.’ After lighting his smoke he got up, took a bottle of Coke from the fridge and sat down with it, swigging between puffs. ‘Want some?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘It’s just that . . . well, because it’s the first time, we could get it so you could stay dressed, sitting and doing nothing. And for that we could get maybe as much as two hundred bucks.’ Billy squinted and looked towards the window. ‘If you don’t come back again that’s it and that’s as bad as it’s going to get. I’m here so it ain’t gonna go no further.’ Billy wet his lips and dried them with the back of his hand. He sucked hard on the smoke. ‘There are easy ways of getting two hundred bucks and hard ways. I’m saying this would be an easy way. We’d go after that. We don’t have to come back.’

  Adam wiped his face on the shoulder of his T-shirt. ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘I’m not going to get two hundred bucks for sitting down fully dressed in front of him, I’ll tell you that much. Might be all we need to sort out what it is with you. What your real name is and where you come from.’

  ‘Can’t we just leave?’

  ‘And get that kind of money where? I’m here, he can’t hurt you.’

  ‘Can you take me back to my father’s house?’

  Billy sighed. He capped the Coke and put it back in the fridge. For a while he stood with the door open, smoking and staring across the room. He closed the fridge. ‘Sit tight. Don’t jump out the window or anything. I’ll be five, ten minutes.’

  ‘You’ll take me back after that?’

  Billy stopped at the door. His gaze grew stony. ‘You reckon anyone else would do what I’m about to do and then go shout you a salad roll and a milkshake? You go get some money, be nice enough to share it with me, and then I’m all fucking ears about what you wanna do.’

  ‘I want to go back.’

  ‘Of course you do, kid. You don’t know no different. You’re acting just the way they like. But hey, you reckon crawling back and sitting around a dead man’s house is gonna work for you . . . off you go. See where that gets you.’

  ‘There’s money there.’

  Billy had opened the door. He stopped, closed it again. ‘Hey?’

  ‘There’s money at the house.’

  ‘Joe’s house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘It’s under the floor.’

  ‘What’re you talking about?’

  ‘It’s in a safe under the floor.’

  ‘A safe?’

  ‘I hid the key.’

  ‘Money, or just a few notes?’

  ‘A bundle of money.’

  Billy scratched his cheek. ‘A bundle? A fair bit?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve got the key to this safe?’

  ‘I hid it, yes.’

  Billy said nothing for a moment. His gaze wandered as he thought. ‘And it opens the safe and you’ve seen the money and you reckon it’s a lot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re not bullshitting me?’

  ‘No.’

  Billy pulled up straighter, lobbed his lit cigarette towards the bin. It fell down in amongst the greasy takeaway wrappers and containers.

  ‘Well, why the fuck didn’t you say something earlier?’

  The car wasn’t where he’d left it.

  ‘A long shot,’ Billy said.

  Storm clouds were gathering. Fat raindrops began to fall. The air smelled tinny. Thunder rumbled. Rain held off. Sun kept breaking through and the day became stickier and hotter.

  They walked.

  At a small park with trees, a slide, a swing, Billy sat down on the grass. Across the road was a large grey shed. Billy watched the cars pulling into the parking lot. A station wagon turned in. It parked down the side, away from the other cars.

  Billy jumped up.

  ‘Stay here.’

  A man got out of the car and locked it. He carried a small towel and used it to swipe flies from his face. He went into the shed. Billy crossed the road and followed him in. Within a few moments Billy reappeared, returned to the park, flopped down on the grass beside Adam.

  ‘Bastard didn’t use a locker.’

  Billy stretched out his legs and leaned on one elbow.

  ‘So . . . this money . . . I think I’m going to have to see it to believe it. You said a bundle.’ He held his thumb and finger a little way apart. ‘Like that? Folded or flat?’

  ‘Not folded.’

  ‘A solid bundle like that? Really?’

  ‘A bit bigger.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Adam indicated the depth of the stack he’d seen.

  ‘Fifties?’

  ‘The yellow ones.’

  ‘You reckon the cops would have found it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Whereabouts did you hide the key?’

  Adam shook his head.

  ‘Ah, n
ot telling.’ Billy took the squashed cigarette packet from the band of his shorts. He withdrew a smoke with his lips. Squeezed the lighter out from the small pocket in his shorts. ‘Don’t trust me, hey?’

  A car pulling in across the road caught his eye. It was a grey sedan. Billy snuffed out the freshly lit cigarette and put it back into the packet. He got to his feet and brushed the dry grass off his bum.

  ‘Second time lucky.’

  The driver was a woman. She carried a sports bag, slung over her shoulder. Her ponytail swayed as she walked. Billy jogged across the road and went through the doors after her.

  While he was gone another car arrived. Some people left the shed, smiling and chatting in a group, flushed red faces, sipping from drink bottles. Adam moved across and sat where Billy had been sitting. He stretched out the same way Billy had, lounging on one elbow. Adam pretended for a moment – pretending to smoke, wriggling and moving his face the way Billy did, wetting his lips, touching his tongue to his teeth, narrowing his eyes and peering at things in the distance. He practised winking. Adam imagined his skin as brown and his body as strong and heavy as Billy’s, his mind as sharp.

  More people left the shed. Adam stopped pretending and drew up his legs, hugged his knees. The car park emptied. A van, a red hatchback, the station wagon and the grey car were all that was left.

  It began to rain.

  There was a limit. A couple of times Adam had felt close to it. Inside him was a scream. It had always been there, he had lived with it and it lived with him. It was wordless, constant, straining. No sound. To put sound to it would be the end, the limit reached. Adam made a fist and pressed his knuckles to his lips. Rain fell harder. Adam pushed his knuckles so that his lips were mashed against his teeth, and he drilled harder still, pushed the scream back in, until he tasted blood.