Read Online The Orchid Eater by Marc Laidlaw - Free Book Online Page A

along the row, as the boys yanked down their pants.
Mike felt the breeze on his cheeks, and craned around to look at the luminous
doorway. The man had gone back inside. The door hung open like a mouth about to
speak. Mike sent his own voice hooting out with the others, barking like a
fool, his blood foaming with an adrenaline rush.
    Giddy,
feeling wilder than any of them now, he clutched at the pocket of his jacket
and felt the bulbous avocado inside, where he had stuffed it when they were
running from the grove. He dug into the pocket without another thought,
screaming and yipping and laughing—yes! He was a wild man! Part of the
pack—invincible!
    He lobbed
the green fruit as hard as he could, and watched in amazement as it sailed—as
if expertly tossed—straight through the open doorway and exploded on the wall
within. Guacamole splattered; chunks of green pulp gleamed on the white
plaster. . . .
    “Holy shit!”
Edgar said. “Run!”
    The command
was unnecessary. None of them would have stood still another instant. And they
had good reason to run.
    Shrieks
poured from the open door. Mike saw a blur of silhouettes merging with
darkness. His own scream came involuntarily. He yanked up his jeans, trying to
run without tripping. For a minute he thought he heard Mad-Dog’s laughter echoing
down the empty street, but Mad-Dog’s mouth was clamped shut. The seven fled in
silence. The sound he heard was Sal’s gang, howling hungrily for their blood.
    Mike could
hardly see where he was going, even though his eyes were used to the dark.
Edgar hissed and pointed them down a hill street; halfway down the block, they
dodged into a walkway between two houses. Mike felt like a frightened rabbit running
for a hole. The cries of their pursuers faded in another direction. They
bounded into the clear, coming out in a vacant lot. Mike stumbled and fell into
deep dead grass. Sticker-balls from burr-clover buried tiny snags in his palms;
sticky foxtails pierced his clothes, making ripping sounds as he tried to rise.
    “Down!”
Edgar whispered from somewhere nearby, unseen. Someone giggled breathlessly.
They were all in the weeds, huddled down.
    Craig:
“Where’d they go?”
    “Whyn’t you
go look?”
    “Fuck you, Tyre. Edgar, how do we get to your house from here?”
    “They know
where I live, man. They’re probably over there right now.”
    Mike raised
his eyes—no more than that—above the grass. Just down the street, less than
half a block away, a black Cadillac gleamed in a carport. He stifled a laugh.
The other guys were about to enter into his debt.
    “Hey, my
house is right there,” he said.
    “No shit?”
said Craig. “Is anybody home?”
    “We haven’t
even moved in yet.”
    “Whoa,
that’s right!” said Edgar. “We got a key!”
    “Let’s do
it,” Craig said. “Follow the twerp.”
    Mike crept
to the edge of the vacant lot; dry grass rustled behind him, the only sign that
he was being followed. He looked up and down the street, saw nothing but
darkness. As soon as he stepped onto asphalt, he heard a shout. Gray shapes
swarmed under a streetlight up the hill. They had seen him.
    A dozen or
so long, leaping strides brought him to the porch. The other boys plowed into
him, grabbing at the doorknob. “Hurry, man!” He dug into his pocket for the
key.
    “What the
fuck’s wrong?”
    “Let us in!”
    “Come on,
Mike!”
    “Get it
open, dipshit!”
    “I’m trying,
I’m—”
    “They’re
coming!”
    The key
twisted in the lock. The street echoed with bloodthirsty cries. The door flew
open from the pressure of seven straining bodies.
    Suddenly the
carport shook with new arrivals.
    Mike nearly
stumbled down the stairwell in the dark; he caught the rail and tried to grab
the door, but it had already banged shut. He twisted the knob to make sure it
was locked. The other six clustered around him, waiting, some pressing hard on
the door as if they didn’t trust the lock.
    Just then,
someone started