The Charity Chip

by Brock Booher

  Chancho was heating food over the fire and noticed Julio first. “Hey, Puma, you hungry?” he asked loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Sergio looked up from his game. The moment he saw Julio he stood and set the tablet in his seat. “Puma, hermano, nice of you to drop by.” He waved him over to the fire with his tattooed arm. “Come help us divide the spoils of the day.”

  Julio kept the hood over his head and shuffled over to the fire ring with his skateboard under his arm. Sergio folded his arms and smirked. Brujo stared at Julio with his bug eyes like he was trying to hypnotize him. Esqueleto cracked his long fingers and slid in behind Julio. Chancho stopped eating. Peludo scratched the burn scar on the back of his head. Several other gang members that Julio didn’t know huddled around the fire, and all of them were watching him approach like they knew what was coming next. When Julio got to the fire pit, they closed the circle around him.

  “You didn’t make your delivery,” said Sergio with his arms still folded. The yellow firelight reflected in his black eyes and the snake tattoo danced. “What happened?”

  Julio avoided eye contact. “I got jumped by three guys. One of them had a knife.” He shrugged. “One of them took the package.”

  “Pull back your hood,” demanded Sergio. “Show me your bruises. Show me the knife wounds.”

  Julio cringed. “Just tell me how much I owe for losing the package.”

  Sergio gave a nod and Esqueleto yanked the hood from Julio’s head. Sergio stared at Julio for a moment before recognition sunk in. “Puma was too big of a coward to come himself?”

  Julio looked at the ground and only glanced up at Sergio. “He doesn’t know I’m here. He’s at home recuperating from a knife wound.”

  Sergio opened his arms. “Hermanos, we have an uninvited guest. Let’s teach him why we call our hideout El Infierno.”

  Esqueleto grabbed Julio around the chest and locked his long fingers. Chancho and Brujo each grabbed a leg and lifted him off of his feet. Before anyone could grab an arm, Julio swung his skateboard in a wide arc trying to defend himself. He connected with Peludo’s shoulder, but it just bounced off. He wriggled and kicked, but within seconds they had stripped him of his skateboard and backpack and were carrying him toward the gaping elevator shaft.

  “Al infierno! Al infierno! Al infierno!” they chanted as they carried him toward the black opening at the back of the decrepit building. Julio stopped struggling and looked for something to grab onto. He grabbed what he thought was Esqueleto’s bony wrist with one hand and a handful of Brujo’s shirt. If they were going to throw him down the shaft, he was going to take someone with him.

  At the edge of the shaft the group stopped and began swinging him back and forth as they continued to chant. The smell of musty fabric and the stench of urine wafted up from the bowels of the old freight elevator. Julio craned his neck to see, but other than the dim glow of the fire that shone through the open door, the shaft was a black hole.

  “Prontos!” shouted Sergio.

  They swung him back in rhythm with Sergio’s cadence.

  “Listos!”

  Brujo and Esqueleto broke Julio’s grip and held him by the thumbs so he couldn’t grab hold of anything else. Brujo leaned over and laughed in his face.

  In cadence with the motion of the group, Sergio screamed, “Yaaaaaa!”

  They tossed Julio into the darkness. He tried to right himself as he fell. He wanted to land on his feet, but it was impossible to orient himself in the black shaft. He fell, tumbling, twisting, and hoping he wouldn’t break anything when he landed. He put his hands out to break his fall, but when he impacted, he landed on his side in a pile of fabric scraps that cushioned his fall. He sunk so deep into the rotting fabric he felt like he was swimming in a sea of cloth that reeked of mildew. Julio rolled over and tried to stand up, but only managed to get to his knees. Laughter echoed through the opening above, and he could see silhouettes of los mALditos backlit by the light of the fire.

  Sergio shouted into the shaft, “We call ourselves los mALditos because we have been damned to a life of misery.” His voice echoed against the concrete walls. “Most people think of hell as a lake of fire, but we, los mALditos, know that hell is a cold winter night without food, shelter, or light. Hell is darkness. Hell is cold. Hell is hunger. You are in hell because you broke our commandments. You came into our home uninvited.”

  “I came to pay you the money Raúl owes!” shouted Julio.

  Chancho’s silhouette filled the doorway, and he spread his legs. Warm urine sprinkled down and splashed on Julio’s head and face. “I baptize you in the name of Sergio, Turco, and Chancho,” said Chancho. Los mALditos broke into raucous laughter.

  Julio sputtered and moved to avoid the stream of urine, but trying to move in the pile of fabric scraps was like swimming in mud. The spray was unavoidable. He pulled his hood over his head and buried himself in the fabric. The stench made him choke and the urine burned his eyes.

  When Chancho’s unholy baptism had ended, Julio rolled over and shouted, “I came to pay Raúl’s debt! What do you want from me?”

  “Only Raúl can pay his debt,” replied Sergio. “Right now you are paying the debt for your sins. We will pluck you from this hell when we feel that you have paid the price for your disobedience.”

  Julio struggled to the edge of the elevator shaft and felt around for any handhold that he could use to climb out. In the light from the fire, he could make out a pulley and cable at the top of the shaft, but the sides of the shaft were smooth concrete walls. He couldn’t see anything that could be used to climb out.

  “There is a way out, of course,” said Sergio from above. “If you dig down through the pile of putrid fabric, you will find a drainage pipe at the back of the shaft that empties into the sewer. It’s a tight fit, but you can escape.” The gang members laughed and jeered.

  “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  “You have two choices: you stay in hell until we decide to let you out, or you pass our initiation and become a member of los mALditos.”

  Julio leaned against the smooth concrete wall. His legs were buried in the fabric scraps and the stench still burned at his nose. “What is the initiation?” he asked.

  “Simple,” said Sergio. “You have to escape through the drainage pipe like all the rest of us have done.” Los mALditos whistled and jeered. They began to chant, “Escape! Escape! Escape!”

  Julio sat down in the pile of fabric and buried his fist in the rotten mess. Raúl is going to pay for making me go through this. He spat and shook his head. Los mALditos will pay too. The jeers and chants echoed down the black shaft and bounced off the stench. I guess if they all did it, so can I. He kissed the pendant of Saint Michaels and started crawling for the back of the shaft. The chants from above grew louder. Against the back wall of the shaft, he could feel a dip in the pile of fabric and started digging. He tossed strips of rotting fabric into the center of the pile and clawed his way down. It didn’t take long to find the opening.

  The elevator shaft was dark, but the pipe was darker. The stench of raw sewage and machine oil floated out from the pipe. He ran his hand around the opening. It was wide enough for someone his size to slip through, but it would be a tight fit for a grown adult. He stuck an arm in to feel for the bottom, but couldn’t reach it. “How do I know this pipe isn’t a dead end?” he yelled over the chanting.

  “You have to trust us!” shouted Sergio. “You have to have faith to get out of hell.”

  Julio looked up at the eager silhouettes in the doorway. He hated them. He hated Raúl. He zipped up his jacket and slipped into the pipe feet first in case he needed to crawl back into the elevator shaft.

  His feet touched the curve in the pipe with his arms still above the opening. It was slippery and the acrid smell of raw sewage was impossible to ignore. He grabbed the edges of the opening and lowered himself in until he was lying on his back. Through the opening he could still see the dim light of the fi
re as it danced across the ceiling of the elevator shaft, and the chanting had melted into laughter as soon as he disappeared into the pipe. He craned his neck and looked through his feet. He thought he saw a light.

  He pushed himself along with his hands and pulled with his feet. The slick surface of the pipe made it easier to slide, but the tight fit was suffocating. Water dripped in his face, and the smell transformed from rotting fabric and urine to mold and muck. He tried not to think about where he was, and focused on his movement. The thought of exacting revenge on los mALditos, and possibly Raúl, kept him moving. He had no idea how he would get back at them for this, but it was his anger, not faith, that motivated him. It wasn’t long before the light he had seen before was a few feet away.

  With a final push, he slid out of the pipe and into a narrow drainage ditch littered with trash. He stood and climbed out of ditch. He pulled out the Saint Michael’s pendant and kissed it. His jacket and pants were wet and covered in black muck. He shivered in the cool night air and looked up at the back of the abandoned factory. The light from the fire flickered in the back windows. A rusting fire escape clung to the back of the building and led to one of the second-story windows. He grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder and pulled himself up.

  The window was open when he got to the top. Los mALditos were gathered around the fire again, rummaging through the stolen items of the day. Julio shivered. He could see his backpack and skateboard against the front wall near the stairs. He clenched his fists. He wanted to rush in and extract his revenge somehow, but he knew the odds weren’t in his favor. He couldn’t take them by force, but he hoped that now that he had endured their hazing, they would let him collect his things and go. He figured they wouldn’t want to get near him since he stunk of sewage. He swallowed his anger, for now, and slipped through the window, knowing that the darkness wouldn’t provide him cover.

  Brujo was the first to notice Julio. “Look who escaped,” he announced. All eyes turned to Julio, and los mALditos began jeering and laughing again.

  “What is that smell?” shouted Chancho.

  Julio ignored him and kept walking toward his backpack and skateboard.

  Sergio jumped to his feet and hurried to cut off Julio’s escape. “Congratulations,” he said with a grin. “You escaped from the pits of hell through the bowels of the beast. Raise your right hand.” Sergio raised his right hand as if taking an oath.

  Julio clenched his teeth and put up his fists. He could see his skateboard and backpack just a few feet away, but once again they had formed a circle around him. “Why should I?”

  “You passed the initiation, but if you want to join us, you have to swear an oath of loyalty.” Sergio’s grin disappeared. “Raise your right hand.”

  Julio looked around at the faces. He shivered involuntarily. Brujo stared at him with hollow eyes and a blank face. Chancho raised his eyebrows and winked. Esqueleto cracked his fingers. Peludo ran his hand over the scar on his head. Julio hadn’t thought they could do any worse than what had already done, but judging from their faces, he wasn’t sure. He stiffened and clenched his fists. “No, I’m not going through that pipe again, and I won’t join your group of thieves and thugs.” He spat.

  Sergio clicked his tongue. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? You shouldn’t insult your host.”

  “Mamá taught me to stay away from gangs. She told me they would take my life and make it theirs; bend my will and make it their own.” Julio locked eyes with Sergio. “Do you think you can force me to take an oath of loyalty?”

  Sergio’s black eyes danced in the glow of the fire. “Perhaps not, but we can make you pay for insulting us.” He pulled a knife from his back pocket and flicked open the blade. “I think you need a scar to help us tell you and Puma apart.”

  Julio backed away from the blade, but someone pushed him forward. He tried to break through the circle between Esqueleto and Peludo, but they shoved him to the ground. Before he could get back up, Brujo and Chancho had pinned his arms and put a knee in his chest. He kicked and squirmed, but he felt other hands and feet subdue him and pin him to the floor. His eyes searched back and forth for an escape, but all he saw was Sergio circling the group brandishing the knife.

  “You should have taken the oath,” said Sergio as he cleaned a dirty fingernail with the tip of the blade. “We watch out for each other. We are like family, a brotherhood of sorts.” Sergio knelt beside Julio’s head and grabbed his hair with his left hand and ran the flat edge of the blade along Julio’s cheek. “We could have protected you from danger.”

  Julio took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The blade was cold against his cheek, and he forced himself to stay calm. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing him react to the pain.

  “I think you need a scar across your forehead. It will remind you to think before you cross los mALditos,” said Sergio as he continued to rub the flat of the blade against Julio’s face. “Or perhaps you need a scar on your lip to remind you to control your smart mouth.”

  Julio kept his eyes closed and waited for the blade to cut into his skin.

  “Maybe he needs a scar over his left eye, like the one he gave me a few years ago,” said Raúl from the stairwell.

  Julio opened his eyes and twisted his head as much as Sergio’s grasp would allow. He could see Raúl clearing the stairs and walking toward the group with a hand over his knife wound. Turco was right behind him.

  “Leave my brother alone,” continued Raúl. “He might have a smart mouth, but if anyone is going to give him a scar, it’s going to be me.”

  Sergio let go of Julio’s hair and stood. “Looks like your brother was telling the truth. Nice eye.” He closed the knife and tucked it into his back pocket. “Did they cut you too?”

  Raúl lifted his shirt and exposed a white bandage with spots of blood. “It’s not bad.” He glanced down at Julio. “My doctor tells me I have to lay low for a week. Eh, Julio?”

  “You shouldn’t be here now,” answered Julio, still held fast by the gang. “You should be home in bed, but you never listen.”

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t listen,” scoffed Raúl. “You shouldn’t have come. I can take care of myself.”

  “Sure, and that’s why you have a swollen eye and stitches,” mocked Julio.

  Raúl looked at Sergio and nodded. Sergio pulled the knife from his back pocket and held it out in the palm of his hand. Raúl took the knife and knelt beside Julio. “And that’s why you are pinned to the floor with my brothers on top of you.”

  “I’m your brother!” screamed Julio, squirming in vain to free himself.

  Raúl flicked open the knife. “You are my brother by birth. They are my brothers by choice.” Sergio cackled, and several others howled. “I should pay you back for the scar you gave me,” said Raúl. He touched the blade to Julio’s right eyebrow.

  Julio was furious inside, but he knew that if he made any sudden moves, it would be worse. He kept his eyes open and glared at Raúl. The steel blade flickered in the dim firelight. The expression on Raúl’s face was one of indifference, like he was about to carve into a piece of wood or cut a string. A gust of wind covered them all with acrid smoke for a moment. Julio clenched his teeth and waited for the cut.

  Raúl turned the blade slightly and shaved a chunk out of Julio’s right eyebrow leaving the skin intact. “That should make it easy to tell us apart for a week or so,” said Raúl as he examined his handiwork. “Even you can tell us apart now, eh, Turco?” He grinned and patted Julio on the cheek with a cold hand. “You didn’t really think I was going to cut my own brother, did you?” He threw back his head and laughed.

  Raúl closed the knife and tossed it to Sergio. When he stood, los mALditos holding Julio on the floor followed suit. Brujo put a hand in Julio’s chest and pushed himself up. Chancho rolled away and then gathered his legs under him before standing. All of them were chuckling and patting Raúl on the back to welcome him home.

  When R
aúl offered Julio his hand to help him up, Julio swatted it away and stood on his own. He ran a finger over the shaved eyebrow and felt the stubble under his finger. Still wet with filth from his escape route, he shivered. His jaw was tight as thoughts of revenge swirled around in his head. He walked straight to his skateboard and backpack, ignoring Raúl and his brothers.

  “What? No thanks for saving you from a gash in your forehead?” asked Raúl. Julio just glared at him. Raúl laughed. “Nice eyebrow.”

  Julio wanted to tackle his brother and make him pay for what he’d done, but he knew it was the wrong time and place. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and grabbed his skateboard. He pointed a finger at Raúl and growled, “I’ll deal with you when you get home.”

  Sergio stepped forward and wagged a finger at Julio. “No, no, no. If anything happens to him”—Sergio flicked open his knife—“we’ll come finish the job we started tonight.” Turco and several other gang members closed ranks behind Sergio.

  Julio was furious, but he swallowed his anger and started for the stairs feeling wet, cold, and humiliated. The jeers echoed against the concrete walls of the forgotten factory, and he hung his head in defeat.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Sergio before Julio could start down the stairs. “I think you have some money for us. I think you need to pay up before you go.”

  Julio stopped and shook his head. “You said earlier that only Raúl could pay his debt. He’s right there. Get your money from him.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” said Sergio with a shrug. “Pay up.”

  Julio thought about making a run for it, but Turco and Brujo were already moving in his direction. He pulled the soccer ball key chain from his pocket and tossed it to Sergio. “There. We’re even, and Raúl is paid up.”

  Sergio dangled the soccer ball in front of him. “I’ll determine when we’re even. What’s the password and how much?”

  “The password is one even you can remember,” answered Julio. “Los mALditos, with the capital A and L just like you always write it, with one hundred and fifty soles.”