The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2) by James Morcan, Lance Morcan Page B

voice. “Now!”
    Not familiar with the lingo of drug-users, Nine had no idea what the junkie wanted. He looked into Alkn’s eyes and sensed he was more than capable of pulling the Glock’s trigger. Nine fought to control the panic he felt inside. He acted like any frightened twelve-year-old would in these circumstances. Except it wasn’t entirely an act.
    The junkie was becoming more desperate by the second. “Give it to me!” He placed the barrel of his pistol against Nine’s forehead. “I know you have it on you, kid. I saw you wrap it around your arm.”
    Nine clicked. He realized the junkie had mistaken the White Gold Powder for heroin. Now that he understood what Alkn was after, Nine felt more in control of his fear. At least he knew what he was dealing with. He immediately acted even more frightened and submissive. “You can have all the junk. Just please don’t kill me.”
    Satisfied, the junkie motioned to Nine to hand over the powder. The orphan removed his windbreaker and slid the sweatband from his forearm to reveal the bag of White Gold wrapped around his arm. Alkn snatched the bag from him and looked inside it. His eyes opened wide when he saw its contents.
    Seeing the junkie was momentarily distracted, Nine acted almost without thinking.
    A split second later, Alkn was lying face down on the floor, unconscious. Nine had knocked him out cold with a lightning-fast karate punch to the head, having first jarred the pistol from his hand with a ju-jitsu style roundhouse kick. The blows – the first Nine had ever delivered to a stranger – had carried all the force and precision that Kentbridge had instilled in him during exhaustive Teleiotes martial arts sessions back in the gym.
    Remembering he no longer had the protection of the White Gold, he quickly retrieved the bag, wrapped it around his forearm and pulled his sweatband back over it to hold it in place.
    “Yo, Felix. You okay in there?”
    The man’s voice from outside told Nine the junkie’s name was Felix, and it told him Felix wasn’t alone. Nine picked up Alkn’s pistol – he still thought of him as Alkn – and checked its chamber, only to find it was empty. Disappointed, he discarded it. Donning his windbreaker, he hurried off, leaving the still unconscious junkie where he’d fallen.
    Nine made his way through to the front of the church. He was anxious to avoid Alkn’s pal whom he hoped was still keeping watch out back.
    Cautiously opening the front door, he was relieved to find it was snowing even heavier than before. Visibility was reduced to a few yards. He stepped outside.
    Nine soon sensed he was not alone. The orphan threw himself to one side as the second gang member suddenly rushed at him. This assailant, also Latino, bore no resemblance to his junkie friend. Tall and heavily muscled, he moved like an athlete. However, he wasn’t as fast as Nine. The orphan ducked under a clubbing punch that would have taken his head off had it landed, and ran off down 137 th street.
    “I’ll eat you alive, kid!” the Latino shouted as he chased after the boy.
    Nine ran for his life. In the foot-deep snow, he felt he was running in slow motion. He looked behind and was alarmed to see the Latino was coming after him and he was holding a knife. The irate gang member was still hurling abuse, this time in Spanish.
    After a hundred yards, Nine’s could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. He risked another glance over his shoulder and was relieved to see he’d left his pursuer behind. Even so, he kept sprinting until he could run no more, so frightened was he.
     

 
    16
    The ongoing blizzard ensured all of the Pedemont orphans, like most Chicagoans, were housebound for the day. They lay about in their sleeping quarters reading while others sat in the adjoining common room playing snooker and watching television.
    Seventeen lay on her bed listening to Soviet-era electronic music, her favorite, on her Walkman. She enjoyed its trance-like