The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2)

by James Morcan

Reviewing his good fortune in persuading Trey to drive him to California, Nine was slowly coming to the realization that perhaps it hadn’t been his brightest idea. Within sixty seconds of departing Mount Pleasant, he’d discovered Trey’s library of cassette tapes was limited to Metallica and other heavy metal groups of the day. Since then, his eardrums had been assaulted by the blast of heavy metal booming out from the speakers which were all too conveniently positioned within one arm’s length to his left and right. He was convinced he’d be deaf before he reached the state line. How he longed for the gentle strains of Mozart once more.

  Right on cue, Caligula farted yet again. And yet again, Nine opened the passenger window and stuck his head outside until the smell abated, which it never quite did entirely.

  The orphan would have loved to toss Caligula from the fast-moving vehicle, but something told him he’d need a little more than a black belt in Teleiotes to achieve that.

  Up front, Trey seemed oblivious to Caligula’s indiscretions or his passenger’s discomfort. Nine noticed he was in a world of his own. Popping pills of some unknown substance and head-banging to Metallica’s thudding tunes, Trey kept the accelerator almost permanently floored, which meant they were almost always traveling above the speed limit.

  Nine prayed no cops would pull them over. The thought suddenly made him nervous. He couldn’t afford to be put on any report by any authorities, no matter how minor the infringement. For sure Omega will be monitoring the records of every goddamn law enforcement organization in the country. He suddenly leaned forward and tapped Trey on the shoulder, indicating he wanted to speak.

  Trey reluctantly turned down the volume of his cassette player, but only a fraction. Nine still had to shout to be heard above it.

  “There’s an extra grand in it for you if you can get us to California in one piece.” He looked pointedly at the car’s speedo. “And I can’t afford to attract any undue attention from the fuzz.”

  Trey smiled knowingly and immediately slowed so they now traveled at just under the speed limit. As if to compensate, he turned the cassette player back up to full volume.

  Despite the deafening blast of music, and the farting Pit Bull that was standing on his balls yet again, Nine relaxed. Or he relaxed as best he could, aware the mode of travel he’d adopted would ensure he remained invisible to his Omega masters.

  For Trey’s part, he was content to drive his unsolicited fare across the country for a quick and easy three grand. Like most young American males, driving was one of his favorite past-times, and he loved making easy money. To be able to combine his two loves like this was heaven on earth as far as he was concerned.

  And while he couldn’t work out who the strange, green-eyed boy in his rear vision mirror was, or why he’d come into his particular orbit, that didn’t bother him much.

  #

  Throughout the rest of that day, they drove ever westward. Keeping to the speed limit when he could remember to, Trey was psyched up by a never-ending soundtrack of his favorite metal bands. They included Iron Maiden, Megadeth, Pantera and Anthrax. In between each tract, he’d rigged his stereo system so that an album of his all-time favorite band, Metallica, always played.

  Mid-afternoon saw them stop at a gas station for the third time that day, this time in a small town on the Great Plains of Nebraska. After filling the car, Trey became distracted when he got talking to a provocatively dressed, tattooed young woman who coincidentally shared his taste in music, drugs and dogs.

  Nine noticed the pair were becoming flirtatious. Not wanting any delays, he took Trey aside.

  “What?” Trey was annoyed the boy had interrupted him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Watch and learn, kiddo.” Trey winked at Nine and turned back to the young woman who looked very receptive to his advances.

  Nine had to physically pull him back. He drew his wallet from his pocket and held it up to Trey’s face. “If you persist with this you can forget the extra grand I promised.”

  Trey looked at the wallet then at the girl and back at the wallet. Nine could tell by the defeated look in his eyes that commonsense had finally prevailed. Trey said his goodbyes to the girl, but only after he’d gotten her phone number.

  Back on the road, they drove in silence. Well, it would have been silent had Trey not turned the music up full blast once more. Nine sensed that was Trey’s way of getting even with him for interfering with the moves he was making on the girl.

  #

  By late evening, the Ford Falcon had crossed Nebraska’s western border into Colorado and continued unerringly toward Arizona.

  Nine was relieved that Trey showed zero signs of fatigue and didn’t seem interested in stopping or sleeping. Whatever this guy’s on, it’s working. Nine could tolerate the drugs and the heavy metal music, but Caligula’s bowels were something else. Even with both rear windows down, there wasn’t enough fresh air to hide the Pit Bull’s foul stench. What made it worse was Trey seemed oblivious to Caligula’s constant farting.

  32

  Nine and Trey reached their destination, or Nine’s at least, late the following day, having traveled virtually nonstop from Mount Pleasant, Iowa. Trey dropped the orphan on Ocean Avenue, in Santa Monica, greater Los Angeles.

  The two unlikely traveling companions climbed out of the car and said their farewells.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Nine said. He handed Trey extra grand he’d promised.

  “Take care, kid, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Trey pocketed the notes without bothering to count them, and climbed back in the Ford Falcon.

  Nine noticed Caligula looking at him forlornly through the car’s open rear window as Trey started the engine. The song of the summer, Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana, boomed out of the car’s stereo as Trey accelerated away. The Pit Bull continued to look back at Nine through the rear window.

  The orphan watched the Ford Falcon until it disappeared into traffic then stood for a moment and took in his surroundings. To the north were the Santa Monica Mountains, the peaks of which looked like towering silhouettes. To the south he could see the community of Venice. Behind him were skyscrapers of the city’s business district and in front of him was the vast Pacific Ocean. Nine also observed the local populace who included yuppies, hippies, homeless and numerous beautiful people. Clearly, Santa Monica was a popular destination, as evidenced by the amount of tourists who mingled with the locals.

  Eventually, he walked across Ocean Avenue and looked out at the ocean. Under the blue Californian sky it looked exquisite in the late afternoon sun.

  Fully independent for the first time in his life, Nine breathed in the sea air and took stock on his situation. It felt good to be alive.

  As the shadows lengthened, he walked down to the beach – not far from Santa Monica Pier. He removed his Reeboks and placed them in his backpack so he could feel the sand between his toes. Although spring had not yet quite arrived, it was reasonably warm, almost summery, and a drastic contrast to the blizzard he’d endured in Chicago.

  He had no idea where he was going to spend the night and didn’t care. Anything was better than being a prisoner in the Pedemont Orphanage, even sleeping rough under the stars.

  Nine sat down on the sand and looked up the coast again at the Santa Monica Mountains then back out to sea at the distant horizon. The range of feelings he was experiencing at that moment was totally foreign to him. Somehow the horizon reflected what he was experiencing. It seemed to be infinite and full of possibilities and hope.

  Having spent his entire life in the orphanage, the world now looked so wide and inexhaustible all of sudden. Nine was hungry to experience all it had to offer; he wanted to devour it all at once; America was ready to embrace him, and he America; it was as if he’d been reborn.

  More than anything else, he wanted to live the American dream and become a fully-fledged citizen with a citizen’s rights. Only then could he ever experience a normal life. He wasn’t exactly sure how he
’d go about securing a normal ID, and a real name instead of a number, but in time he was confident he could become part of society and actually exist.

  Nine was distracted by laughter coming from just beyond the nearby pier. He saw a group of twenty-somethings walking toward him along the water’s edge. They were all talking and laughing at once. The orphan couldn’t help noticing how happy they seemed. Their smiles were infectious and he experienced an overwhelming sense of happiness and contentedness. For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged.

  Don’t get carried away, you’re different to them.

  Nine chastised himself for allowing negative thoughts to dilute his unbridled optimism. Certainly his genes were different to the rest of the population, and physically and mentally he was superior to most other twelve-year-olds, but deep down he sensed he was no different. His needs were the same as anyone else’s: he needed to love and be loved, to be part of a community and to enjoy life. Everyday life – not the life of an operative or whatever the hell it was that Omega was training him to be.

  He pondered on the last few days and how he’d done the impossible, the unthinkable. His escape from the orphanage and from his Omega masters sent a strong message to them and, indeed, it would send a strong message to the powerbrokers and the secret elitists everywhere if word ever got out. That message was that the human spirit could not be suppressed. He could not, and would not, be suppressed.

  Watching the sun’s last rays disappear below the horizon, Nine vowed from that moment onwards he’d be the master of his own destiny.

  #

  Later, having passed the evening mingling with other strollers on Santa Monica Pier and watching people ride the Pacific Ferris Wheel, Nine decided to take sanctuary in one of the lifeguard towers that dotted the beach. He opted for the nearest tower and ran up its steps to a wooden landing where he tested the door handle. As expected, it was locked.

  The tower’s locked door presented no problem for the nimble-fingered orphan who expertly picked its lock and gained entry to the lifeguards’ room. Inside, he found piles of neatly folded blankets and towels, and rearranged them into makeshift bedding on the floor. He quickly checked to confirm the White Gold remained firmly in place on his forearm then dossed down for the night.

  #

  The sounds of laughter intruded on Nine’s slumber. The orphan awoke and was instantly alert. A quick glance at his watch told him he’d been asleep less than an hour. The laughter came from the landing outside the tower’s locked door. Feminine giggles indicated at least one of the uninvited visitors was female.

  Sensing whoever it was meant him no harm, Nine quietly opened the door. In the dark, he could just make out the silhouettes of a teenage couple. They were sitting in the dark on the landing and were about to start drinking their way through a carton of beer they’d lugged with them up the steps. Nine guessed they were around sixteen or seventeen.

  The girl was the first to notice him. She let out a small shriek. “Shit, Josh. Look!”

  The boy she called Josh spun around and looked up at the tall figure of Nine. “Hey dude, how’s it goin’?” He jumped to his feet, unsure what to expect.

  Nine smiled at the couple to put them at ease. “They call me…Bud.”

  “Bud? Like Budweiser!” Josh declared, holding up the bottle of beer he’d just opened.

  They all laughed at the joke.

  “Want one?” Josh held the bottle out to Nine.

  “Sure.” He took the bottle. “C’mon in.” He walked back inside the lifeguard tower and his new friends followed.

  “You live here?” the girl asked.

  “I do tonight.”

  Again, they all laughed.

  “I’m Josh and this is Angie,” Josh said by way of introduction.

  There was an awkward silence. Nine had never socialized much beyond his circle of fellow orphans, and he felt out of his depth making small talk with strangers. He sipped at his beer – his first ever.

  Josh and Angie made up in spades for Nine’s awkwardness. A garrulous couple, they talked non-stop. Nine was content to let them rabbit on while he focused on draining the contents of his bottle. He was already feeling light-headed.

  “Hey, how old are you, Bud?” Josh suddenly asked.

  “Fifteen,” Nine lied.

  Angie didn’t even blink, accepting he was that age. “Where you from?”

  “Arizona,” he lied again.

  “Got a girlfriend?” Angie asked.

  “Maybe,” Nine said hesitantly.

  “Maybe,” Josh retorted. “Hey man, you either got a girl or you don’t.”

  Embarrassed, Nine just smiled. He chose not to tell them about the beautiful creature he hoped would soon be his girlfriend.

  Angie studied Nine, as if trying to work him out. He struck her as unusual – not like any of the other boys she knew. And she knew a lot of boys. She whispered something to Josh, which only served to deepen Nine’s embarrassment. Then she looked back at Nine. “What are you? An alien?”

  “Yeah, man, are you from another planet, or what?” Josh asked.

  “No, but I may as well be.”

  The couple looked at each other then burst out laughing. They suddenly liked the strange boy they were hanging out with.

  “Cool,” Josh said, clinking his beer bottle against Nine’s. “Cheers Alien Bud.”

  “Cheers,” Nine repeated the word, even if he didn’t quite understand its meaning. He then drained the last of his bottle. If he was lightheaded before, he was decidedly merry now.

  The three friends adjourned to the landing outside where they proceeded to drink beer until the sun rose over the distant mountains behind them, casting a golden glow over the Pacific Ocean.

  33

  Yanni Katsarakis checked his watch as he approached the staff entrance to Santa Monica’s USPS Post Office on 5th Street. It was just before eight in the morning. Helen’s father was immaculately dressed in a suit and tie. His hair was perfectly parted on the side, adding to his air of fastidiousness. The Greek immigrant carried a briefcase and walked quickly as if every second counted.

  At a bus stop directly across the street, Nine mingled with morning commuters awaiting the arrival of their ride. He observed Mister Katsarakis, subtly and without ever actually looking directly at him, just as he’d been trained.

  The fugitive orphan took mental notes on his mark until he disappeared inside the post office. Now that he had confirmed to his own satisfaction that Mister Katsarakis did actually work there, all he needed to do now was wait until the end of the working day to find out where he and his lovely daughter lived.

  Nine walked off along the busy street. Gone was the usual spring in his step. He had a splitting headache and suspected he was experiencing his first-ever hangover – a result of his overnight beer drinking exploits. He swore to himself he’d never do that again.

  As well as feeling hung over, he was hungry. A large M sign down the street caught his eye, and he decided now was as good a time as any to try his first McDonalds meal.

  Nine headed straight for the sign, feeling a tad rebellious. After all, burgers and other fast foods were banned at the Pedemont Orphanage, and the orphans were under strict instructions not to eat junk food on the odd occasion they were entrusted to venture into the city un-chaperoned. Omega’s consultant nutritionist had them on a strict diet that helped ensure they enjoyed optimum health.

  That’s all in the past now. I’ll eat what I damn well like.

  Inside McDonalds, he was surprised to see about a quarter of the patrons appeared to be homeless people. Some just drank coffee; others who couldn’t even afford that simply sat at empty tables with nothing and appeared to be there solely for the companionship on offer. All looked enviously at other diners scoffing muffins, chicken nuggets, hash browns and other such tempting goodies.

  Ever since fleeing Chicago, the orphan had been shocked by the number of homeless people evident in every sizeable
community he’d passed through. Having studied and read the Constitution many times at the behest of his tutors, he thought the existence of such huge numbers of homeless was the antithesis of the Founding Fathers’ original vision for the nation. Even more so considering most appeared to be suffering from mental illness, alcoholism or drug addiction.

  As Nine queued to purchase his breakfast, a large Native American homeless man smiled at him from a table nearby. It was a genuine smile that didn’t appear to have any agenda behind it. Nine smiled back. When he was served, he ordered pancakes, hash browns and a caramel milkshake then spontaneously ordered an extra load of pancakes for the man who had smiled at him.

  Once served, he carried his order on a tray over to the stranger. “May I sit with you, sir?”

  The middle-aged Native American looked up from the newspaper he was reading, surprised. He wasn’t used to being afforded that level of respect by regular citizens, especially not by young people. “Sure thing, son.” He cleared his newspaper off the table to allow room for the tray.

  Nine placed the surplus plate of pancakes in front of the homeless man. “I think I ordered more than I can eat, so would like some of these?”

  “You bet.” The man, who wore a traditional Native American carving around his neck and had long hair in the style of his ancestors, offered the orphan his hand. “People call me Ace.”

  Nine shook hands without hesitation. “Pleased to meet you, Ace.” Keen to impress the man for some reason he couldn’t explain, Nine gave his best impersonation of characters he’d seen on television meeting each other for the first time.

  Ace didn’t release Nine’s hand. He just looked into the boy’s eyes as if he was waiting for something.

  Nine suddenly realized Ace was waiting to learn the name of his fellow diner. “Luke,” he blurted out. He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen that alias except he’d thought of Paul Newman’s character in Cool Hand Luke, a film he’d seen many reruns of on TV back at the orphanage. It was a film that he’d resonated with as the downtrodden Luke never stopped rebelling against his tormentors.