The Charity Chip (32 page)

Angelica turned and hugged Julio. “Thanks for saving me,” she whispered as she squeezed him.

“No problem,” answered Julio, “but we need to go to Doctor Barilla’s office right now and take out these chips. We don’t know how long before Isak discovers your mole and figures out that all the money is gone.” He pulled out the pendant and smiled. “I managed to steal a few soles for us as well, but we need to hurry.” He held up his gloved hand. “I’m not sure if these gloves really work either, but it’s worth a shot.”

Angelica released him and looked back at the stairs leading up to her room. She handed him the lanyard with the flash drive. “Let me find my glove and get the picture of my mother first.” She hurried past the empty workbench and up the stairs to her room.

Julio slipped the lanyard around his neck and started for the front door. When he passed the display cases, he stopped and looked. He wasn’t sure about the cell phone tracking, but he knew he could sell the used ones. He opened the case and grabbed a handful of phones and shoved them into his backpack. He paced back and forth with his skateboard under his arm. He pulled out the Saint Michael’s pendant and looked at it. He had over ten thousand soles on the hidden chip, more than enough for him, Angelica, and Raúl to start over again—if he could find his brother. He slipped the pendant back under his shirt and paced back and forth wishing she would hurry.

At first the siren didn’t alarm him. In this part of Lima, sirens were an everyday occurrence. But when he heard more than one, and they were getting closer, his stomach did a flip. “Hurry, Angelica!

Angelica hurried down the stairs carrying a small handbag.

“I thought you were just grabbing your glove and a picture,” said Julio, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I couldn’t leave everything,” she explained. The sirens were getting closer and closing fast. “We need to split up. You go out the front. I’ll go out the back.” She turned for the back door.

“But we’re faster on my skateboard,” protested Julio.

“If we split up, maybe one of us will get away.” She stopped at the back door. “Meet me at the statue of Manco Cápac.” She shoved the door and headed into the alley.

“Put on the glove!” shouted Julio. He pulled his hood over his head and hurried into the street. It was Saturday, and the sidewalk was full of shoppers. He started to cross the street, but just as he stepped off the curb, a
policía
on a large three-wheeled motorcycle came around the corner with his lights flashing and siren blaring.

“
Alto! Policía!
” commanded the motorcycle cop with his loudspeaker.

Julio tossed his board in front of him and made a running start. He knew he couldn’t outrun the motorcycle on the street, but if he could make it into the maze of shops in the strip mall, he had a chance of losing him. He jumped the curb, carved through the crowd of shoppers, and turned into the narrow walkway of the strip mall just as the motorcycle cop pulled his three-wheeled behemoth onto the sidewalk and jumped off.

Julio hadn’t been in this particular strip mall, but if it was like most of the others, it had a side or back entrance. He gambled on the side entrance since it was located on the corner and began twisting and turning between the shops with purpose. He would exit from the side and hope that he could hitch a ride with a passing vehicle. He glanced over his shoulder. The policeman was nowhere in sight.

He made a right turn and dodged several shoppers coming into the mall. The side exit was dead ahead. He barely slowed down as he exited, but did a tail slide and made a ninety-degree turn to flow with the street traffic. A delivery truck was rumbling by and he grabbed the bumper and crouched down to improve his stability. He heard the siren and looked over his shoulder. The motorcycle cop had figured out his escape route and turned the corner to pursue.

“
Alto! Policía!
” he commanded again. Julio didn’t stop.

As the truck approached the next intersection, it began to slow. Julio looked at the oncoming traffic for a bus or large truck to hide behind, but it was a sea of cars and mototaxis. Using the last bit of momentum from the truck, he hurled himself forward between the lanes of vehicles, hoping the three-wheeled motorcycle wouldn’t have room to follow. He glanced back. The motorcycle cop was driving up onto the sidewalk, still in pursuit.

Then Julio heard a familiar sound—the dull rumble of motorcycle engines. He looked ahead and realized that traffic had stopped moving even though the light was green. He couldn’t see them yet, but he knew that a group of foreigners on their fancy machines was coming this way, and they were close. He kicked harder for the intersection with the policeman still pursuing him from the sidewalk. From the increasing sound, and the fact that nobody was in the intersection, he knew he had only a few seconds. He kicked like his life depended on it.

A red mototaxi was at the head of the lane, just outside of the intersection. The driver was looking right as Julio zoomed past and skated into the intersection without stopping. The melee of machines had arrived.

Julio couldn’t see the face of the first foreign rider because it was covered by a bright red helmet and smoke-colored visor. The machine was a matching red three-wheeled monster hurtling toward the intersection without any regard for other traffic. Julio could feel the powerful engine gulping air and eating asphalt as it bore down on him. He felt the rush of air and heard the grinding of tires as he cleared the intersection.

The motorcycle policeman pursuing him wasn’t so lucky. He collided with the bright red machine leading the pack. The sound of screeching tires and crashing metal exploded in the intersection. The policeman hurtled through the air and landed with a crunch against the windshield of one of the cars waiting at the intersection. The red machine spun around twice before coming to rest on the corner with the rider intact.

Julio skidded the tail of his board and stopped on the sidewalk. Steam and smoke wafted up from the policeman’s machine as the foreigners slowed and maneuvered around it. The entire procession came to a crawl, and several of them stopped. The foreigner from the damaged machine slipped off his helmet, exposing his white face and light hair. He was much older than Julio expected. The foreigner hurried over to the policeman, who was lying still as death on the pavement. Several of the local drivers got out of their vehicles and moved toward the intersection.

Julio could taste the tension as a few eyes darted in his direction. He kissed his Saint Michael’s pendant and skated away.

* * *

The afternoon was cool, and Julio sat on a park bench in the plaza that gave him a good view of Manco Cápac. He kept his hood over his head and the glove on his hand as he watched and waited for Angelica. He checked his phone several times—nothing. Several street kids were working the intersection near the cathedral. The boy with one arm selling matches across from the cathedral had returned. It looked like any ordinary day for everyone else.

By the time the sun went down, he was hungry. The fog had drifted inland and mingled with the smoke rising up from Roky’s roasting chickens. He checked his phone again with the same results. Tired of sitting, he hopped on his board and drifted around the plaza feeling like he had a hole in his chest. He knew Angelica had been captured. He looked at his phone. Realizing that they would check her calls, he smashed the phone against the sidewalk, took out the battery, and tossed the pieces in the trash.

What now?
He skated into the street, snagged the bumper of a mototaxi, and let it pull him along in the crouched position.
First, get the chip out so they can’t track me or sedate me. How much time do I have before they make Angelica talk?
The mototaxi driver swerved and yelled at him. Julio released the bumper and stood to gain control.
I have the evidence, but who do I trust?
He skated across Avenida Manco Cápac barely missing a bus.
Doctor Barilla? He can help me remove the chip. Sofía Encuentro? She’ll be interested in the story now. Get the chip out. Call Sofía Encuentro. Save Angelica.
He skated past President Navarro’s billboard with the bright smiling faces and ironic slogan and turned down Unanue Street.

The metal door scraped against the concrete and announced Julio’s arrival. He didn’t go upstairs but went straight to Doctor Barilla’s office. The door was locked. He left his skateboard by the door and took the steps two-by-two up to the doctor’s back door. He could hear music playing on the radio as he knocked and pushed on the back door. A woman giggled as Doctor Barilla tried to sing along.

When Julio stepped into the kitchen, he found Doctor Barilla dancing with a half-empty wine glass in his hand and singing a slurred version of the song blaring from the radio. An empty wine bottle lay on its side on the counter, and another open bottle stood beside it. A woman with long hair, too black for her age, sat at the table watching the doctor try to dance. She wore a tank top that exposed her fleshy arms and shoulders. One of the straps hung down over her upper arm, and Julio could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. When she saw Julio, she giggled again and pulled up the falling strap.

The Doctor cut his current note short when he saw Julio. “Julio, my boy!” he shouted as he raised his glass. “Come . . . celebrate . . . with us.” He pointed at the woman with his glass. “May I present . . . may I present . . . ,” he stammered. “This is Ramona,” he said, exhaling the words and pointing to his female drinking partner. She laughed, finding the mention of her name somehow humorous.

Julio waved. He remembered the night Doctor Barilla showed up drunk to attend to Mamá, and realized the doctor would be of no use tonight either. He turned on his heel and headed back down the stairs to open the door with the hidden key.

The first thing he looked for was the bottle of lidocaine. He found it, just like before, right next to the half-empty bottle of vodka. There was just enough lidocaine left to be effective. Then he rummaged around in the cabinet and found a new needle and syringe. He grabbed the alcohol and wipes and the suture kit. Then it dawned on him that he would not just be sewing up a wound. He would have to make a cut into his own hand. He remembered Doctor Barilla’s worries about damaging tendons if the chip ever had to be removed and almost changed his mind, but he knew if he didn’t act fast, Isak would figure out that he was involved, and then he and Angelica would both end up like Graciela. He rummaged through the medical cabinet until he found the doctor’s surgical tools.

He cleaned the stainless steel scalpel and tweezers with alcohol and laid them out on the table next to the suture kit. He took a deep breath. His heart practically thumped out of his chest. He went to the bathroom and washed his right hand. He decided not to remove the glove, but cut through it to give maximum protection from detection. Once the charity chip was out, he could remove the glove and sew up the wound. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
It’s the size of a grain of rice. I can do this.

He pulled a metal chair up to the medical table so he could sit down and adjusted the rusty lamp to give him more light. He sat down and extended his left arm across the table with the black glove still on his hand. He tried to look at his hand as if it belonged to somebody else, but all it took was a wiggle of his finger for him to lose his focus, and his nerve. He pulled his left hand next to his chest like he was afraid to lose it. He took a deep breath and put his left arm on the table, letting the palm of his hand relax with his thumb extended.

He picked up the bottle of lidocaine with his gloved hand, stuck the needle through the rubber membrane covering the mouth of the bottle, and drew the remaining clear liquid into the syringe. With the index finger of his right hand, he pressed against the skin between his thumb and forefinger of his left hand. He could feel the chip under the glove and his skin. Marking the spot mentally, he poked the needle through the glove until he could feel it piercing the skin and injected the lidocaine. It burned at first, but by the time he made the last injection, he could feel the numbness beginning to erase the burning.

The scalpel glimmered under the light as he picked it up. The blade looked sharp enough to cut through the glove, and more. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.
Mamá always said, “The wound that heals doesn’t hurt.” I can do this. I can do this.
He opened his eyes and moved the blade over the chip.
I only have to make an incision the size of a grain of rice.
He made an incision in the glove, but the layer of aluminum foil was thick and hard to cut. He set down the scalpel and stared at his hand wondering how much time he would have to remove the chip once he removed the glove.

He cleaned the scalpel with alcohol again. Then he kissed his Saint Michael pendant and removed the glove. He slapped his left hand onto the table and extended his thumb. He could almost see the chip bulging beneath the skin. Before he could think about all the things that might go wrong, he picked up the scalpel and made an incision in the skin of his left hand. It was a strange feeling cutting into his own hand. The lidocaine was effective, and he felt nothing, but it was all he could do to keep from flinching as he carved an opening in the thenar space. He was surprised that it didn’t bleed very much. He squeezed at the chip just inside the incision, and it popped through the opening. Then, with a steady hand, he grabbed the charity chip with the tweezers and removed it entirely.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stared at the instrument that he once considered his salvation, and wondered again how something so small could have so much control over his life. With a hard squeeze from the tweezers he could crush it, but he realized that it was also evidence. He looked around for someplace to put it, but he hadn’t prepared for that. He dropped it into the bottle of alcohol.

Now came the fun part, sewing up the wound with one hand. First he irrigated the small wound with the alcohol, being careful not to dump out the chip. It would only need one, maybe two stitches. Next, with the help of his left hand, he threaded the needle. For some reason, stitching himself up didn’t seem as daunting as slicing himself open, and he began to relax.
Remember what Doctor Barilla taught you—go in perpendicular.
He poked the needle through one side of the wound and pulled it through with the pliers.
Then go perpendicular through the other side. Now loop away and pull through. Loop toward and tie. I can do this.
He finished the second suture without missing a beat and held up his hand to admire his work.