The Charity Chip

by Brock Booher

  “You might want to take an extra dose of the syrup so you are the first to throw up,” said Martín. “Make sure you make a big mess in the middle of the room. The smell alone will trigger everyone else’s gag reflex. The syrup will do the rest.” They stopped in front of the statue and Martín looked up at the Incan leader. “Julio, which pocket is the key in?”

  “My left pants pocket,” said Julio with one foot on his board and the other on the sidewalk.

  Martín still stared up at the statue. “Angelica, give Julio a hug and take the key.”

  Angelica rushed over to Julio with her arms extended like he was a long-lost relative. She wrapped him up in an extended embrace and even kissed him on the cheek. Her silky brown hair brushed against his cheek, and he longed for it to continue. At last, she pulled away and smiled at him. Julio checked his pocket. The key was gone.

  Martín glanced over his shoulder at Julio. “Just a couple more days. Tomorrow we plant the mole. By Saturday morning, we’ll have enough evidence to stop Caritas.” He started walking for the opposite corner of the plaza, and Angelica followed him. When she was a few meters away, she looked back over her shoulder, smiled at Julio, and held up the key for him to see.

  * * *

  Julio shoved the ipecac syrup and chicha morada drink mix into his backpack and then checked the time on his phone—seven thirty. He put the backpack at the head of his bed ready for tomorrow. He pulled the pendant from under his shirt and held it up in front of the candle. The money chip inside was only slightly bigger than a grain of rice. He rubbed the charity chip beneath his skin. It’s hard to believe that something so small could have so much control over my life.

  The lights of the stadium cast an eerie glow against the incoming fog as Julio skated toward El Infierno. Alianza Lima was preparing for el Clásico, the big game with their major rival, La U, Saturday night. As he skated, he dreamed about one day watching el Clásico in the stadium, but chided himself for lack of focus. He arrived at El Infierno early, but waited down the street for Raúl to show. Turco sat in his usual spot playing with his knife.

  A few minutes after eight, Raúl slipped out the front door and looked up and down the street. Julio shook his head. Raúl had been upstairs all along. He hopped on his board and skated over. Turco stood and brandished his knife when he saw Julio.

  “Hola, hermano. Did you bring the money?” asked Raúl before Julio had even picked up his board.

  “It’s in a safe place,” answered Julio. “Is Sergio here? Will he accept our offer?”

  “He’s upstairs by the fire.” Raúl turned and started inside. “Vamos.”

  Julio glanced at Turco, who glared at him as he twirled his knife. “I think I should wait here.”

  Raúl put a hand on Turco’s shoulder. “Sit down. My brother is here to pay my debt.” Turco flicked his knife into the ground and sat back down on his crate. Raúl motioned to Julio and started up the stairs. “Vamos. We don’t want to keep Chicha waiting.”

  The glow from the fire lit up the dilapidated warehouse and the lingering smoke burned Julio’s eyes. Sergio sat by the fire playing on his tablet with Brujo looking over his shoulder. Esqueleto and Chancho sat across the fire arguing about something while Peludo stoked the fire. Several others sat around the fire like vultures waiting for something to die. Julio fingered the pendant. This doesn’t feel right.

  “Did you bring the money?” asked Sergio without looking up from his game.

  Julio expected Raúl to answer, but instead he gave Julio an expectant look. “It’s in a safe place,” answered Julio.

  Brujo’s hollow eyes locked on to Julio as he slid around the fire. Sergio looked up from his game. “How much?”

  Again Julio looked at Raúl expecting him to answer. After a moment of silence, he said, “One hundred soles. Didn’t Raúl tell you?”

  “Puma? All he said was that you were bringing all of the money he owed tonight.” Sergio handed the tablet to Peludo and stood. “He also said you had reconsidered our offer to join us.”

  Brujo moved behind Julio and blocked the exit.

  Julio glared at Raúl and tightened his jaw. “Raúl lied to you. I don’t have all the money. I have only one hundred soles, and I’m not interested in joining your gang.”

  “Is that true, Puma?” asked Sergio as he sauntered around the fire circle. Several boys stood and began to form a circle around Julio and Raúl. “Did you lie to me?”

  “Chicha, vamos, hermano. I thought we could work this out,” said Raúl. “My brother just needs to see how membership in los mALditos will benefit him. He just needs a little persuasion.”

  Sergio smiled. “And how about the money?”

  “I swear. He told me he had the money.”

  Julio smacked Raúl in the back of the head with his open hand. “Mentiroso! I told you this afternoon that I only had access to one hundred soles and that I had no intention of joining los mALditos.”

  Raúl glared at Julio, and a moan went up from the closing crowd. Brujo clicked his tongue. Sergio raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Hermanos, we have a stranger in our midst that has dared to strike one of our own. We might also have a liar among our ranks.”

  They began to chant quietly, “Al infierno. Al infierno,” but each chant grew louder. “Al infierno! Al infierno!”

  Julio didn’t wait for them to make their move. He spun around and swung his board at the closing crowd. Brujo jumped back and crouched, ready for Julio’s next move, but he was the only one blocking the exit. Before anyone else could lay a hand on him, Julio gripped his skateboard at each end with the wheels facing outward and plowed into Brujo. Julio knocked him down with his board and hurried down the stairs two-by-two. Turco was still facing the street when Julio darted out the front door and tossed his board for a running start. Just as he planted his feet on the board and started rolling, he heard Raúl scream.

  Julio carved to the left and coasted to a stop against the sidewalk. Don’t stop. Raúl brought this on himself. He can take care of himself.

  “Julio! Help me!” screamed Raúl. “Don’t leave me!” The sound carried through the open upstairs window and bounced against the empty buildings. Mocking laughter followed the cry for help and echoed in the fog.

  Julio shook his head and turned his board around. He kicked his way back down the street, but was careful not to get too close to El Infierno. He carved his board in a tight circle opposite the old warehouse. The fire cast a dim glow against the overcast sky as the smoke escaped the building and mingled with the fog. The air felt oppressive and acrid. Turco stood in the doorway with his knife in hand.

  “Leave my brother alone,” shouted Julio.

  Los mALditos laughed. Sergio silenced them and shouted back, “Or what?”

  Julio knew he was helpless. He couldn’t rescue Raúl. He had nothing to negotiate with, and he wasn’t strong enough to defeat them all. He remembered Isak’s offer—I can show them that you have allies that can make their lives miserable. Would you like me to help you send them a message? He thought about calling Isak for help, even if it meant exposing Raúl as his twin brother, but he knew that Isak would never arrive in time. He needed to buy some time, some time to set a trap and execute his revenge. He smiled to himself.

  “Do you want the money Raúl owes you?” asked Julio. “Or would you like a lot more?”

  It was quiet for a minute, and then finally Sergio stood in the broken window at the front of the warehouse with fire silhouetting him from behind. “You said you only have one hundred soles,” said Sergio.

  Julio nodded. “True. I have one hundred soles right now, but I can help you get a lot more.”

  “How?”

  Julio held up his left hand and pointed to the charity chip beneath his skin. “I have a money chip. Every day they deposit enough money for me to buy food. They have very tight control over how I spend the money.” Julio held up a finger. “But the people that control the money don’t want anything bad to hap
pen to me. If you let my brother go, tomorrow I will take you to the facility and you can use me as a hostage to negotiate for more money from them.”

  “It’s true, Sergio,” yelled Raúl. “I’ve seen him use the chip.”

  Sergio looked back at Raúl and then at Julio. “How much can we expect?”

  “That depends on your powers of persuasion with the people that control the money,” answered Julio. “They have funding from the United Nations.” Julio shrugged. “If I get you into the facility tomorrow, you can hold everyone hostage and demand a tidy sum.”

  Sergio looked back at los mALditos. “I think we’ll pass. Your brother can work off his debt as a mula, and we will deal with you another time.”

  “I figured you were too big of a coward to pull it off anyway,” said Julio. He started skating away hoping that his dig would spurn Sergio to action.

  “Are you calling me a coward?” shouted Sergio.

  Julio smiled and stopped. “What does it look like to you? You would rather force your gang members to work as mulas instead of taking an opportunity for some real money because you don’t have the guts to face a real challenge.” Julio folded his arms and stared at Turco. “I think all of los mALditos are a bunch of thieves and cowards too afraid to take on a big job.”

  The gang began to howl. Turco thumped his chest and pointed at Julio with his knife. Sergio waved his arm to silence them. “Los mALditos are afraid of no one, especially you.”

  “Well then, meet me at Plaza Manco Cápac at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, ready for action, and I’ll introduce you to an opportunity that can pay out more in a day than you bunch of petty thieves make in a year.” Julio put his hands on his hips. “Unless, of course, los mALditos are simply a bunch of snot-nosed punks afraid of their own shadow.”

  The gang burst into jeers and shouts. This time Sergio didn’t silence them but shouted over them. “We will see you tomorrow morning! Your brother stays here until you make good on your promise.” He turned and raised his arms. “Los mALditos are afraid of no one!” The sounds of their chants echoed against the empty buildings on the street.

  Julio saluted Turco and kicked his way down the street. As soon as he turned the corner at the end of the street, he had to stop because he was laughing so hard. After a few moments he skated on and sang the Alianza fight song all the way home.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Cuatro Tiros

  (Four Shots)

  By the next morning, Julio’s excitement about luring los mALditos to Caritas had passed. He awoke early and lay there in the dark feeling his anxiety build with the rising sun. He rolled over and stared at Raúl’s empty bed, wondering if he had set something in motion he would regret. It had seemed like a good idea—let a confrontation with a gang be the diversion and at the same time get Isak to send the group of bullies a message. But a thousand things could go wrong. I hope it goes well, but it’s too late now. The course has been set.

  Before he got out of bed he grabbed his phone and called Angelica. She answered on the fourth ring, “Hola, you’re up early.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I’m worried.”

  Angelica yawned into the phone. “You woke me up to tell me that?”

  Julio hesitated. Should I tell her? He decided it would be better if she didn’t know. “Make sure you are at Caritas before nine thirty today. I want to get an early start.”

  “Are you ready to puke your guts out?” she asked.

  Again Julio paused. If I tell her about my plan, she might be angry. She might call it off. “It seems like such a waste of good food, but I’m ready.”

  “What are we going to do if Isak doesn’t come out of his office and just lets Doctor Kozyar deal with it?”

  Julio smiled. “You leave that up to me. With what I have planned, he will definitely leave his office. Just do me a favor. As soon as I show up, you leave. I want you ready to move.”

  Angelica yawned again. “No problem. Now let me get a little more sleep. It’s early.”

  “Hasta luego,” said Julio and ended the call.

  * * *

  It was drizzling when Julio pushed open the uneven door at the bottom of the stairs. He slipped his jacket over his Alianza jersey, pulled the hood over his head, and skated toward the plaza. By the time he reached the supermarket, his jacket and pants were damp. He checked his phone—eight o’clock. He ducked into the supermarket, grabbed a yogurt and a muffin at the deli, and ate them inside, hoping to dry off.

  At nine o’clock he stood in front of the statue of Manco Cápac with his hood pulled over his head to protect against the continuing drizzle. Part of him hoped that los mALditos would wake up to the rain and decide not to show, but he knew that wouldn’t keep them from taking their revenge at another time. When he saw them riding their skateboards into the plaza, he felt a strange sense of relief—and dread.

  “What’s the matter? Afraid of little drizzle?” asked Sergio as he skated up with at least fifteen of los mALditos on skateboards behind him. They circled the statue and Julio. “Look at him,” said Sergio, sneering. “He looks like a toad with his hood over his head. We will call him Sapo.”

  Julio glanced around at the group. Brujo, Esqueleto, Chancho, and Turco were all there, but not Raúl. “Where’s my brother?”

  “His doctor ordered him to stay in bed.” Sergio turned his board. “Let’s get moving, Sapo.”

  He looked at Sergio and smiled. “See if you can keep up with this, Sapo.” Then he kicked his board and picked up speed as he headed for the corner. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to see if they were following. The noise of their skateboards over the concrete was louder than the hum and rattle of the morning traffic.

  Julio felt a rush of adrenaline and picked up speed. He weaved in and out of morning pedestrians feeling more energetic with each kick. The moisture from the air built up on his cheeks and trickled down his neck. He glanced over his shoulder. Los mALditos were strung out over a city block. Sergio, the closest, was almost thirty meters away. Julio kicked harder and picked up more speed.

  Julio never slowed down until he stopped at the corner of Obsidiana. He looked back and saw that the closest gang member was still a half a block away. He pulled out his phone and texted Angelica while he waited—Get out now. He stood there with his arms folded and a grin on his face, trying not to show any fear when Sergio skated up.

  “Where’s the fire, Sapo?” asked Sergio, still breathing hard from the ride. “Afraid we were going to catch you?”

  Julio didn’t answer. He stood there with the board under his arm and waited for the stragglers to catch up. “Good thing los mALditos don’t play for Alianza,” he said as Turco, the last rider, skated up out of breath. “La U would run you into the ground.”

  “Basta, Sapo!” warned Sergio. “Where’s this place, this El Dorado for our taking?”

  Julio pointed with his chin to the Caritas building. “Over there.” Just then Angelica slipped out the front door. “The door where she just left.”

  Angelica stopped when she saw Julio with los mALditos, but only for a moment. Recognition crossed her face, and she turned and hurried down the street for the alleyway.

  “How do we get in?” asked Sergio.

  Julio held up his left hand. “I swipe my chip to open the door, and you follow me in.”

  Sergio nodded at Turco.

  Turco stepped forward and grabbed Julio by the left arm. Julio tried to jerk his arm free from Turco’s grasp, but Sergio punched him in the stomach. He dropped his board and gasped for breath. Brujo grabbed his right arm, and they drug him across the street to the front door of Caritas. The rest of los mALditos laughed and followed.

  Julio’s eyes were watering, and he struggled to breathe as Turco raised Julio’s left hand up to the lock. The door to Caritas unlocked, and the gang poured in. Several students looked up from their computers in shock as the gang members pulled out knives and took up positions throughout the room. One girl scurried
into the girl’s bathroom, but Esqueleto followed her in, dragged her back out, and shoved her into a computer chair at knifepoint. Brujo and Turco forced Julio onto his knees in front of one of the reading chairs. Sergio sat in the chair, grabbed Julio by the hair of his head, and put his knife to his throat.

  Carmen came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Ay que diablo! ” she exclaimed. “How did you get in here? What do you want?”

  Sergio yanked at Julio’s hair. “This toad let us in, and what we want is for you to call the man in charge and tell him los mALditos have come to avail ourselves of the wealth of his program.” Sergio pressed the knife into Julio’s skin. “Tell him we have taken everyone hostage, and we will release them as soon as he pays our fee.”

  Carmen reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “Señor Blixt,” she said in a calm voice, “a group of pandilleros has broken in. They have knives, and they are demanding money.” She listened for a moment and then looked around the room. “They look to be about fifteen. The leader has a knife at Julio’s throat.”

  “Tell him to hurry,” said Sergio. “We are not a patient bunch.”

  Carmen listened for a moment and then ended the call. “He said don’t hurt anyone. He’s on his way.” Carmen stood there as if she didn’t know what to do next. She pulled a rosary from her apron and sat down at a table near the kitchen door.

  The door to the clinic opened, and Doctor Kozyar walked out wearing a black dress as short as her white lab coat and a pair of stiletto heels. She stopped and stared at the scene.

  Brujo whistled. “Why didn’t you tell us about this mamacita?” He grinned. “We would have come for free just for a look.” Several others whistled and laughed.

  Doctor Kozyar ignored them. She swiped her hand over the door lock and slipped back into the clinic. The door locked behind her.