by Brock Booher
“Simple,” interjected Martín. “The drugs are built into the chip.”
Julio ran a finger over the chip in his left hand. “You can’t be serious. They would never do that. They can’t do that, can they?”
“Who is ‘they’?” asked Martín. “Doctor Kozyar? Isak? Some United Nations bureaucrat? Do you really trust them with your life? ‘They’ don’t really care about you, and, yes, they can do that.”
Julio remembered the words he spoke into the camera just this morning. Caritas gave me hope. Caritas gave me opportunity. Caritas changed my life. He shook his head. “They gave me an opportunity to take care of myself. Why would they do that if they just wanted to kill me?”
“Haven’t you seen the way foreigners treat us? We are nothing more than beasts of burden or objects of pleasure for them. To them, you are nothing more than a live investment, like cattle or sheep,” said Martín. “My guess is that Graciela isn’t really dead. She’s probably drugged and on an airplane headed to Europe or the Middle East right now, and when she wakes up, she’ll find herself working as a slave for some rich family. Or worse, she’ll wake up and find herself chained to a bed.” Martín began typing at his keyboard again.
The thought made Julio shudder, and he slid to the floor with his back against the counter. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. All he had wanted was enough money to take care of himself and Raúl. He wanted to keep his promise to Mamá. Angelica sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “They fooled us all, Julio. We all thought we were finally getting a break in life, but like usual, fate twisted it around.”
“Fate always turns. Of one it makes a beggar, of another a king,” answered Julio without looking up. “At least that’s what Mamá used to say.” He glanced up at Martín and turned to Angelica. “If this charity chip really can drug us and control us, why don’t we just remove it?”
Martín answered for her. “If you remove the chip, you lose access, and resources. Besides, they already know everything about you now. If you take out the chip, you will have to relocate before they can find you.”
“He’s right,” continued Angelica. “Graciela and I talked about this. We didn’t have enough evidence to stop them, and we realized that if we took out the chips and ran, we never would. Martín suggested that we continue with the program. We were trying to gather evidence and allies.” She looked away. “I never thought that one of us might be the evidence we were looking for.”
“I did,” said Martín. “In fact, Graciela and I talked about it. That’s why she agreed to wear a GPS tracker.”
“A tracker?” asked Angelica. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“You didn’t need to know.” Martín nodded and pointed to the computer screen. “The silver ring she wears. Unfortunately, the location of the ring matches the hospital report. She is at Hospital Edgardo Rebagliati.”
Angelica wrinkled her brow. “Are you saying that the report is right?”
Martín shrugged. “I’m saying that the ring is at the same hospital they claim to have taken her to. Until we see the ring on her finger or discarded, we won’t know for sure.”
Julio could see the tears welling up in Angelica’s eyes. “It’s not your fault. Either she overdosed on drugs, or they took her. Either way, it’s not your fault.”
Angelica wiped a tear from her cheek and looked at Julio. “I need to figure out what is really going on at Caritas, for Graciela’s sake. She was my only ally. Will you help me?”
Julio felt a knot growing in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he believed in all the paranoid suspicions about Caritas, and he wanted them to be wrong. But what if they’re right? The words of Mamá rang in his ears—You have the power to make a difference in the world.
“I’ll help you, on one condition,” said Julio. “If we find evidence of foul play, you will come with me to my friend, Doctor Barilla, who happens to work at that hospital and have the chip removed.” He stuck out his hand. “Deal?”
Angelica hugged him and then shook his hand. “Deal.”
“Now that we got that out of the way,” said Martín as he opened the drawer of his desk, “you don’t have to take the chip out to keep it from working.” He pulled out two black gloves. “I was getting these ready for Graciela and Angelica, but it should fit you as well.” He handed each of them a glove. “I lined these gloves with a thick layer of aluminum foil. You will notice they are both left-handed gloves, since you both have the chip in the left hand. When you put them on, it blocks all signals to and from the chip, making you invisible to the system.” He held up his hand. “I know. You are about to ask—why don’t we just wear these all the time then? When you block the chip’s signals, the computer will register the fault. Small gaps in coverage are expected, but large gaps will be a red flag. So, only use these in emergencies. That way we don’t highlight ourselves.”
Julio slipped on the glove. It was a tight fit, and the layer of foil made the glove stiff and hard to move his fingers.
“That’s long enough,” cautioned Martín. “Take it off before the system flags you.”
Julio slipped off the glove and stood up. He tucked it into the bottom of his backpack for safekeeping. Angelica was still eyeing her glove when he offered his hand and helped her up.
“If you’re going to help us, you need a phone,” said Martín. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a black phone. “I’ve programmed in Angelica’s number and my number. This phone is registered to a dead man from Iquitos, so they can’t trace you.” He handed the phone to Julio. “Do you know how to use a phone?”
Julio rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t everyone these days?” He had never had a phone of his own, but he had stolen a few. He could figure it out.
Martín smiled at Julio for the first time. “Good. The next thing we need to do is figure out what really happened to Graciela. I will gather all the data from her medical records. Did you say you had a friend that’s a doctor?”
“My landlord is a doctor, and he works at that hospital,” said Julio.
Martín grabbed the plastic bag with the pills and syringe off of the counter and held it out for Julio. “Get him to take a look at these and see what you can find out.”
“What about me?” asked Angelica.
“You need to spend more time at Caritas, like Graciela was doing. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual.” Martín sat down at his computer and began typing. “I will keep an eye on the tracker and see if we have any movement. Let’s meet again tomorrow afternoon, but not here. I’ll call you and tell you where.” He turned all of his attention to the computer, signaling the end of their conversation.
Angelica nodded at the front door and started out. Julio grabbed his backpack and skateboard and followed her. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Angelica hugged him. “Thank you for agreeing to help,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” he answered. He didn’t tell her that he wasn’t completely convinced about Caritas.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” she said when she finally released him.
Julio smiled and started to skate away but remembered Graciela’s headphones and pulled them from his backpack. “I think she would want you to have these,” he said, offering them to Angelica.
Angelica’s face clouded over again as she took the headphones and slipped them around her neck.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Diez Puntadas
(Ten Stitches)
Julio’s jacket was damp from the fog when he skated down his street. He took the stairs two-by-two to Doctor Barilla’s apartment and knocked on the door, but it was dark inside and nobody answered. When he pushed past the black plastic door of his room, it was cold and dark. Raúl was still gone. He let out a sigh and lit a candle. Everything looked as bleak and disorderly as it had this morning.
He stripped off his jacket and laid it out on the concrete floor to dry. He hadn’t bothered to bring home any food for Raúl, s
ince he didn’t know when, or if, he would be home. He put the candle close to his sleeping mat and crawled under the covers. Using the candlelight, he opened the tin box and pulled out the picture of Mamá. In the photograph, she looked so young and beautiful, but when Julio looked at her face, all he could feel was guilt. Raúl was gone. He had let her down. And now his only hope, Caritas, could be a total farce. He sighed and shook his head before putting away the picture and blowing out the candle.
Before he went to sleep, he realized that even if the risk at Caritas was real, he didn’t have any other good options. I can’t go back to performing on the street and begging for handouts. Nobody has money to give. I’d rather die of starvation before I become a puppet to Presidente Navarro. I guess I could find a job, but doing what? Unless I find proof of real danger, Caritas is still my best hope. He drifted off to sleep without any good options.
* * *
The sound of the door scraping against the concrete woke him up. He didn’t know how long he had been asleep, but he figured that it must be Doctor Barilla coming home, and Julio curled up to stay warm. Before he could fall asleep again, he heard someone push past the black plastic door. He fumbled for the matches and lit a candle. Raúl was standing there clutching his stomach.
Julio sat up. “Where have you been?”
“Working. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? Earn my keep around here?” He swayed from side to side, still clutching at his stomach.
“Working for Chicha, whoever that is,” mumbled Julio. “Why didn’t you come home last night?”
Raúl grimaced and started for his sleeping mat, but collapsed on the floor before he could reach it.
Julio grabbed the candle and jumped out of bed. Under the light of the candle, he could see the blood on Raúl’s hands and Alianza jersey. “What happened? Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
“You didn’t ask. All you seemed to care about was why I didn’t come home last night.” Raúl grimaced again. “I was making a delivery for Chicha, and a couple of guys jumped me. I fought off one of them, but the second guy had a knife.”
Julio lifted Raúl’s hand and saw the sliced shirt and the bleeding knife wound. He set down the candle and slid Raúl’s arm around his shoulders. “We have to get you fixed up. We have to go downstairs to Doctor Barilla’s office. Come on.”
They struggled down the stairs together with Raúl clutching at the wound with one hand and the other arm wrapped around Julio’s shoulders. When they got to the office door, Julio leaned Raúl against the wall and grabbed the key from the medicine cabinet. He left the back door open and practically carried Raúl to the examination table.
When he turned on the lights, Julio blanched at the sight of Raúl’s blood-soaked jersey. He swallowed his fear and pulled back the shirt to get a good look at the wound. The cut was horizontal across the abdomen, about six inches long, just below the rib cage on the left side. It didn’t seem too deep, but he could see the white membrane of the abdominal wall trying to bulge through. He was glad that it was more like a cut than a deep puncture wound.
“I’m going to sew you up,” he told Raúl as he started for the supply cabinet. He grabbed the suture kit and the peroxide and set them on the table beside Raúl. The bottle of vodka was still in the refrigerator when he went for the lidocaine, and he rummaged in the cabinet for a clean syringe and the alcohol wipes. He had everything ready and was about to start when he remembered to wash his hands. He hurried to the bathroom and scrubbed them twice.
He took a deep breath and tried to remember everything Doctor Barilla had taught him. He wished the doctor would walk through the door, but it was just him and his twin. He kissed the Saint Michael’s pendant and crossed himself.
Raúl grimaced and moaned when Julio peeled back the shirt to expose the wound completely. “Sorry. Remember what Mamá used to say? The wound that heals doesn’t hurt.”
“Just fix it so it will heal,” said Raúl.
“Okay. Okay. I will.” Julio cleaned around the wound with one of the alcohol wipes and injected the area with lidocaine, just like he had been taught. “The pain should start to go away soon,” he assured Raúl. “I’m going to clean it out and sew you up. You will need about ten or twelve stitches.”
Raúl tried to grin. “I guess I’ll have another scar that people can use to tell us apart, eh, hermano?”
“I guess so,” said Julio as he started to irrigate the wound with the peroxide. “But I didn’t give you this one.”
Julio could tell that the lidocaine was beginning to take effect because Raúl stopped grimacing every time Julio touched him. It was a clean wound, probably from a sharp knife. Julio prepared the thread for the sutures. “What were you delivering for Chicha?” he asked as he measured out the thread and cut it.
“What? Oh, just the kind of package you don’t ask too much about. Are you almost done?”
“Just getting started with the stitches. You’ll probably feel a tug at your skin.” Julio pushed the needle into the skin, perpendicular like Doctor Barilla had taught him, and tied off the first stitch. “You know, you don’t have to do that anymore. I can make enough money for both of us.”
“How? Working for the long-fingered lady from Lince?”
Julio tightened the second stitch and looped the thread to tie it off. “Okay, you know I lied about that, but I had good reason.” He tied off the second stitch. “I wanted to make sure the real opportunity would work.”
“So what is the real opportunity?” asked Raúl, rolling his eyes.
Julio focused on the next stitch, pushing the needle through and looping the thread around the surgical pliers to tie it off. “It’s called Caritas. Apparently, that’s Latin for charity. They made me take a physical exam and then they inserted the chip, but every day I get money to buy food and clothes.” He pulled the needle through the other side and tightened the stitch. “They give me enough money to take care of both of us, if we are careful. That’s how I bought you the new clothes and paid for dinner every night for the last few weeks.”
Raúl stared up at the ceiling. “Esqueleto told us about that program one night when I was out with los mALditos, but none of us thought it was for real. It seemed to good to be true. You know what Papá used to say. ‘Nothing is free, except God’s love.’ ”
Julio finished the next stitch and snipped off the excess thread. “I was going to tell you about it sooner, but I wanted to make sure it would really work.” He remembered Graciela. “You may be right. There might be a catch, but for now, I can take care of us both.”
“Are you going to get me in as well?”
Julio focused on the last two stitches. “I’m not sure you can pass the physical with stitches.” He stopped and set down the needle and pliers. “Didn’t I tell you were going to get into trouble hanging out with los mALditos? See the blood on my fingers?” He wiggled his fingers in Raúl’s face. “That’s your blood. Stay away from los mALditos. I can take care of us now.”
Raúl shielded his eyes with his arm. “Just sew me up, Julio. I can take care of myself.”
“Really? Do you want to finish the last two stitches yourself?”
Raúl removed his arm and glared at Julio. “Are you serious? You’re going to let me bleed to death because you don’t like me hanging out with my friends?”
Julio shook his head and picked up the needle with the pliers. “You use the word friends a bit too loosely. Where were your friends when you got sliced up by this knife?”
“I was delivering a package. That’s a solo job.”
Julio pushed the needle through the skin. “Well, why didn’t you go to El Infierno to get help when you were wounded? I’m sure they would have stitched you up and cared for you.” He tugged at the thread and tightened the stitch.
Raúl was quiet. He covered his eyes with his arm and his chest rose up and down, but he didn’t bother to respond.
Julio shook his head and focused on the last suture. He tied it
off and cleaned up the extra thread. He stepped back and admired his work—ten tight sutures without any deformity. He smiled to himself. If he could only get the chance, he would be a good doctor. “All stitched up,” he told Raúl.
Raúl uncovered his eyes and looked down at the wound. “Chévere, hermano. You do good work.” He started to get up.
Julio put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait. I need to give you a shot of antibiotics, if I can find some.” He rummaged around in the refrigerator and found the bottle Doctor Barilla had used with the girl. It was less than a quarter full, but Julio figured it would be enough. He used the same syringe he had used for the lidocaine and emptied the bottle. “Roll over on your side,” he told Raúl. When his brother complied, he pulled down his jeans and injected the antibiotics into his brother’s exposed butt cheek.
“That should do it, but you need to lay low for a week,” said Julio. He shook his head. “It looks like the jersey is ruined as well.”
Raúl sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the table. “Thanks for stitching me up,” he said as he tried to stand. He hesitated and leaned against the table.
Julio grabbed his arm. “Easy. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Let me clean up and help you upstairs.” Raúl nodded, and Julio cleaned up after himself. He left a note on Doctor Barilla’s desk and slid under Raúl’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs and into bed.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Los mALditos
(The Damned)
The next morning Julio hurried through the black plastic door with breakfast. The fog was already burning off and the morning sun was shining through the windows. He hadn’t intended to sleep in, but he was more tired than he realized, and woke up late. Raúl was still curled up under his blanket. The bloody jersey in the corner was a grim reminder of what happened last night.
“Raúl, time to wake up,” said Julio as he set out breakfast on the plastic tray. “You need to eat in order to get your strength back.”