Down to the Dirt by Joel Thomas Hynes Read Free Book Online

own little worlds. Bobby’s head bobbin’ up and down and Keith with this zoned out, foolish grin on his face. Francey had his eyes to the ground and for the first time ever I wanted him to look at me ’cause I felt I might cut him in half.
    —Ya missed it, Natasha. Fine old buzz.
    I felt like sayin’ I had a fine old buzz on myself. But I was startin’ to get worried about how this was all going to play out. No way Francey was ridin’ with us. He’d be gettin’ in the back. Or we could tie him on to the back bumper and drag him out to the highway. That’d suit me just fine.
    We piled into the truck. Francey jumped into his car. Bobby pulled out to the opening of the track. Francey had come in head-on, so he had to get the car turned around first. I strained to see him fumbling the keys into the ignition. And then the engine roared to life and my heart sank. He revved her up. Shesounded healthy as ever. I glanced at Keith. I think he winked but his eyes were sunk so far back in their sockets it was hard to tell. He did a little drum roll on the dash.
    —Let’s get the fuck outta this place, Bobby man. All systems go.
    —We gonna wait for Francey?
    —Naw, fuck ’im. He knows the way.
    Bobby put the truck in gear and we were movin’. I looked back and saw the arse end of Francey’s car buckin’ like it’d just struck a brick wall. Was it workin’? He started her up again, gave a big shot of gas, put her in reverse…she stalled again. I looked at Keith, who was lookin’ at me, and smiled. I turned on the radio and turned it up a bit so Bobby wouldn’t pay no mind to Francey. He was too stoned to notice anything anyhow. We rounded the turn and the Kitchen was out of sight. I thought I heard Francey’s horn so I turned the radio up another notch.
    —Natasha, you never drank all that?
    I still had the empty can in my hand and I felt a twinge of panic. Evidence. I’d never done anything like this in my life. I could get arrested or have to pay for damages or…Francey O’Dea had a long walk ahead of him tonight. I let out the first of a thousand giggles.
    —No, I never drank it, Bobby. I poured it out.
    Myself and Keith doubled over in the stitches. Bobby just shook his head.
    —What’s so funny? What’s so fuckin’ funny, Natasha? What are you laughin’ about?
    I couldn’t stop and I didn’t want to. I glanced out the side window as we tore past the halfway flag.
    No goin’ back now.

4. Tooth and Nail
    Poor little shagger. He just sat there for days on end. Barely touched his food. Rarely made it to his litter on time. No response to the endless stream of sweet-talk and rub-downs, a bag of catnip dangled in front of his nose, canned food. We assumed he’d been poisoned. Maybe a bowl of milk laced with anti-freeze. Anti-freeze said to be sweet and carrying no scent when diluted, then slowly goin’ to work on the stomach lining, thinnin’ out the blood and eatin’ at the insides of the veins. Attacking the liver, the heart and the brain. A dirty, cold-hearted trick. His eyes seemed to fog over in those last few days, tired and waitin’, no means of communicating his pain. Poor little shagger.
    Muggins, Natasha’s lanky and clumsy Irish Setter, had come scratchin’ at the door one day with the cat, then only a measly kitten, clamped tenderly in his jowls. Lucky for the cat that it was ‘Tash’s little sister Becky who answered to Muggins’ scratches that evening.
    —Whatcha got, Mugs? Oh my God!! Can I keep it, Daddy? Can I?
    Had it been the old man answering the door, he would haveslung the kitten out over the fence into the neighbour’s yard. He might even have aimed it at the fence. But Becky kicked up a stink because the kitten did cute kitten things for her. Jumped and pounced, purred and nuzzled.
    —I’m keepin’ it!
    She fed him little drops of milk and dollops of Cheez Whiz, off her pinky finger.
    A fast learner, he wasn’t long slippin’ into the ebb and flow of the