The Charity Chip (22 page)

He stopped at the corner of Plaza Manco Cápac next to Roky’s. He could see the chickens turning over the spit in the window and was surprised he hadn’t noticed the smell of roasting chickens drifting through the plaza. He let out a sigh and for a moment wished he had never met Isak Blixt or Angelica. “Yesterday is a flower. Today is a dream,” he muttered to himself. He skated past Roky’s toward the bank next to the pharmacy.

The tall glass doors of the bank had shiny brass handles and gold lettering that read “Groupe BPCE.” Just inside the door, a clerk in a black suit greeted customers. Two guards with black rifles slung over their shoulders paced back and forth in the bank foyer. Julio thought it was a bit of overkill. What were they guarding if money was simply some digital signature on a chip? He watched a couple of customers swipe their hands to get into the bank and realized it was just like the supermarket. He stuffed his skateboard into his backpack and swiped his way through the big glass door with the brass handle. He hoped the money from Isak would be enough to cover Raúl’s debt.

One of the guards adjusted his weapon and stepped in front of Julio as soon as he got inside. “Sir, we need you to remove your backpack and leave it with the clerk,” he ordered. Julio eyed the black assault rifle and slipped off his backpack.

The clerk in the suit gave a fake smile. “Please secure your backpack and any electronic devices.” Julio tucked the cell phone into the backpack and handed it over. The clerk slipped them into one of the small lockers behind the desk. “Just swipe your chip to lock the locker,” instructed the clerk. When Julio swiped his hand across the sensor on the desk, a small light on the locker door changed from green to red. “How can we help you today?” asked the clerk.

“I need to withdraw some money from my chip,” answered Julio, trying to sound confident.

“Very well,” said the clerk as he looked at his tablet. He pointed at the short line in front of the teller stations. “Proceed to the teller line.”

Julio shuffled past the clerk and got in line. He was nervous. Everyone in the bank was at least ten years older than he was, and he felt like everyone was staring at him, especially the guards. He looked at the floor and waited for his turn.

When he approached the window, the teller smiled. “How may I help you today?” she asked.

Julio fingered the Saint Michael’s pendant. “I would like to withdraw some money, if I could.”

“Do you have an account with us?”

“No. Is that a requirement?”

“Not necessarily,” replied the teller. “Scan your chip and let’s see if we can help you.” The smile pasted on her face remained intact.

Julio wiped his hand over the scanner and waited while the teller’s fingers clicked at the keys. She looked at the computer screen and said, “You do not have an account with us, and the balance of the chip is blocked.” She wrinkled her brow. “But you do have fifty euros, approximately two hundred and sixty three soles, available for withdrawal.”

Julio was relieved to hear that the money was available. “Can I get the money on a free chip?” he asked.

The clerk gave him funny look. “Why would you want to do that when you already have an embedded chip? The embedded chip is much more secure.”

“I want to buy something and the person I am buying from wants the money on a free chip.”

“Strange. I can’t understand why anyone would want that.”

“Can I get the money on a free chip?” asked Julio again.

“Certainly. Do you have a free chip?” asked the clerk as she typed at her keyboard.

“I have one, but it’s sentimental. Can I get another one?”

The clerk nodded. “We can provide the chip, and we offer a variety of disguises for under two euros, depending on the quality of the disguise.”

“Which disguise is the cheapest?”

The teller turned the screen to display the variety of disguises available. “All these disguises are under two euros apiece.”

Julio saw a small soccer ball key ring and smiled. “I’ll take the soccer ball.”

“Very well. Would you like to place the entire amount on one free chip?”

Julio started to tell her yes, but the thought of spending all of his money to save Raúl annoyed him. “Can I put some on another chip?” he asked.

“Of course,” replied the teller, “if you have the chip.”

Julio slipped the Saint Michael’s pendant over his head. “Put one hundred and fifty soles on the soccer ball chip, and the rest on this one.”

“As you wish,” answered the teller with a polite nod as she began typing at her keyboard. After a moment, she slid a scanner and small keyboard across the counter. “First we need to scan your right hand, and then you need to type in the password for each chip.”

Julio placed his right hand on the glass screen in front of him. The screen flashed a bright green light.

“Now type in the password you would like to use for the soccer ball chip. We recommend something easy to remember, but also something hackers cannot easily guess,” suggested the teller. “But if you forget, just come back in and we can reset it with another hand scan.”

Julio started to use his middle name and his birthday, but then remembered he would most likely be giving this chip to the gang. He typed in
los mALditos
, and waited.

“Now enter the password for the second chip,” instructed the teller.

“Can I change it?”

“Of course.”

Julio smiled to himself, typed
Angelica,
and slid the keyboard and scanner back across the counter.

After a few more keystrokes, the teller slid a small soccer ball key chain and his Saint Michael’s pendant across the counter. “There you go, sir. Is there anything else we can do for you today?”

Julio felt like a rich man. He was amazed at how a little bit of money could change someone’s perception of him. “No, thank you,” he replied. He kissed the pendant, tucked it under his shirt, and went to retrieve his belongings. He still felt the guards staring at him when he walked into the street a few minutes later.

* * *

It was starting to get dark when Julio skated down the street for
El Infierno
. He could see Turco out front again, playing with his knife. The orange glow that filled the upstairs windows of the abandoned garment factory told him that Sergio was probably there. He kissed the pendant of Saint Michael, pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, and skated up to the entrance of the gang’s hideout.

Turco stood when Julio skated up. “Puma, where’ve you been? Chicha is pissed at you,
hermano
.”

Julio shrugged. “I got jumped by three guys, and one of them had a knife,” he said, trying to imitate his brother. “I’m lucky I made it out alive.” Julio picked up his skateboard and tucked it under his arm. “Is Sergio around?”

Turco sat back down and started opening and closing his knife. “Chicha’s upstairs dividing spoils,” he said with a nod of his head.

Julio slipped beneath the half-open cargo door into
El Infierno
and let his eyes adjust. The bottom floor was scattered with boxes and stacks of rotting cloth. He could hear laughter and talking upstairs. The orange light from a bonfire lit up the stairwell to his right. He took a deep breath and hurried up the stairs before he changed his mind.

The front left corner of the building’s roof had collapsed during a fire and left a perfect hole for ventilating the smoke from the fire pit that
los mALditos
had built from chunks of concrete and the bottom of a metal drum. In the firelight, Julio could make out a few old sewing machines mingled with several makeshift beds of fabric scraps and blankets. The door to the elevator shaft against the back wall looked like a gaping black mouth. Unsure of how to approach Sergio, Julio hesitated at the top of the stairs. A gust of wind filled the room with smoke.

Sergio sat in a chair on the other side of the fire playing a game on a tablet. A few members of the gang stood behind him and watched the action on the screen. Esqueleto and Brujo rummaged through bags of stolen goods.

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.