The Charity Chip

by Brock Booher

  Julio pounded the table. “I have to try! I made a promise.” He began pacing back and forth in the small kitchen.

  “A promise that you have kept,” replied Carmen. “You promised to take care of your brother, not die for him. Tell me. What good will your death bring? Will it save your brother? Can you take care of him if you are dead? Have you not heard the expression—live to fight another day?”

  Julio stopped and nodded. “Mamá used to say it.”

  “What would she say now? Would she tell you to die to save your brother, or would she tell you to live so that you can save other lives? You have the power to make a difference in the lives of many children like you, but if you die, who will stop Isak and Caritas?”

  She shook her head. “You accomplish nothing by throwing your life away. I won’t take you.”

  Julio collapsed into the chair across the table from Carmen. He crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on his arms. He knew she was right. He lifted his head and stared at the empty cup in front of him. Mamá, what should I do? He looked at Carmen, and she smiled and tousled his hair. He smiled back but felt hollow inside like he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Carmen stood and took his empty cup. “Sleep here tonight, and we will go to Caritas first thing in the morning.”

  Julio tried to respond, but nothing came out. Without her help he would never get into the building, and even if he did, he had no way of stopping Isak. He put his head on the table. “Live to fight another day,” he mumbled to himself. He tried to will his legs to stand, but he knew it was no use. He pushed himself to rush out the door and hustle off to the rescue, but he didn’t budge. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Mamá.” He would not save Raúl a second time tonight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  La Victoria

  (The Victory)

  Julio awoke to the sound of Carmen singing in the kitchen. At first he was disoriented and couldn’t remember where he was. When he remembered, he jumped out of bed still dressed in the oversized pants and shirt from last night. His head hurt and his stomach was still in knots. He hurried to the kitchen rubbing his eyes, wondering if this was what Doctor Barilla felt like the morning after a night of drinking. The taste of guilt was still fresh in his mouth.

  Carmen greeted him with her usual missing-tooth smile. “Buenos días, mi hijo,” she said with enthusiasm. She had already set out a plate of bread with jam and slices of white cheese. “Sit down and eat.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Only seven thirty,” answered Carmen as she poured him a cup of hot chocolate. “I made some phone calls last night and got us some help.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I called a cousin of mine that’s a policeman. He is on duty today, and he agreed to meet us at Caritas and investigate.”

  Julio remembered his trip to the station. “Do you think he will do anything?”

  Carmen grinned. “He will, if he doesn’t want me to tell his wife certain things.” She set a cup in front of Julio. “I also called Sofía Encuentro and Doctor Barilla. They have all agreed to meet us there around nine o’clock this morning.”

  Julio felt empty inside but forced a smile. “Gracias. Is your husband joining us?”

  Carmen sat down with a cup of hot chocolate. She rolled her eyes. “I think he might be up and moving in time for dinner.” She shook her head. “El fútbol.” She sipped her chocolate and continued. “But before we go anywhere, let’s get you dressed in clothes that fit.” She slipped out of the kitchen and returned with Julio’s clothing from last night. The Alianza jersey looked almost as good as new.

  “I washed your clothes for you, after you fell asleep.” Carmen set the clothing on the table and put a hand on Julio’s shoulder. “Please don’t be angry with me. If I had let you go last night, Isak would have taken you and your brother both.” She sighed and shook her head. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Julio nodded and stared at the table. He knew she was right, but he was too numb to admit it. He sipped at his hot chocolate and felt his appetite return.

  An hour later, Julio and Carmen stepped off the microbús with Doctor Barilla. Because it was Sunday, traffic was light. It was a typical overcast winter day in Lima and the smell of car exhaust mingled with fog hung in the air. A police officer checked his watch and fidgeted in front of Caritas. Sofía Encuentro paced back and forth on the sidewalk talking on her phone. She had no cameraman.

  Julio was hollow inside and felt relieved when Carmen took charge. She explained what they knew. Julio played the video from his phone. Sofía Encuentro pursed her lips and shook her head. The officer just looked at the sidewalk. Doctor Barilla rubbed his bloodshot eyes and leaned against the building.

  When Carmen swiped her hand over the door sensor, nothing happened, but when she pushed on the door it was unlocked. The officer led them inside to the empty study room. The computers were all there. The kitchen appeared just as Carmen had left it on Friday.

  The door to Doctor Kozyar’s office was ajar. “This is the doctor’s examination room,” announced Julio. He pushed it open and the smell of bleach hit him in the face. His eyes burned, and he coughed and had to step back. Holding his arm over his mouth, he poked his head in and found the light switch. The lights flickered and flooded the small antiseptic room with bright white light. The computer, the medical supplies on the counter, the office furniture—they were all gone. The only thing left was the hospital bed alone in the middle of the room.

  “They cleaned it out. Everything’s gone,” said Julio to nobody in particular. He hurried to the door leading to the back hallway and found it open. He ran down the familiar corridor and threw open the door to Isak’s office. The desk, the wall hangings, the sculpture, the art, and the globe—everything was gone, except for the leather chair that Julio had sat in while Isak lectured him on the marvels of the charity chip.

  Julio walked over to the chair. Isak had left a newspaper in the chair. The front page sported a large picture of the Alianza midfielder scoring the winning goal from yesterday’s game and the headline read “Adelante Alianza!” He remembered Isak’s words from the day before—If you die tonight to save your brother, what will the papers say tomorrow? Will it make the front page? Will it even be mentioned at all?

  Julio tossed the paper on the floor and plopped himself down into the soft leather seat. He knew Raúl was lost, but he had hoped to find something, some shred of evidence that would convict Isak and Doctor Kozyar today. Instead, the empty offices and well-placed newspaper mocked him. He cradled his head in his hands and struggled to hold back his tears and his anger.

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Sofía Encuentro slipped through the door. She ambled around the room staring at the empty walls and vacant space. She stopped and picked up the newspaper. “Amazing finish for Alianza yesterday,” she said.

  Julio didn’t answer. The Saint Michael’s pendant felt heavy around his neck. He rubbed the spot on his left hand where the chip had been. It all felt like a dream. Then he stood, and with Sofía trailing behind him, he went back to the cafeteria. Carmen was talking as the officer took notes. Doctor Barilla sat at a table nursing a glass of water.

  “Looks like they’re gone,” announced Sofía, “and they didn’t leave much.”

  Doctor Barilla shook his head. “Foreigners!” He stood as if to leave.

  “What about the children in the program?” asked Carmen. “What will I tell them tomorrow morning when they show up to do their lessons and eat a hot meal and their charity chips no longer work?”

  No one answered.

  “I know what to do,” announced Julio. Then he stared into the faces of everyone in the room and pointed at each of them individually. “But I will need all of you to help me.”

  * * *

  The next morning Julio was in such a hurry to get to Caritas early that he hadn’t taken time for breakfast and now he was hungry. The smells coming from Carmen’s kitchen only made his stomach growl louder, but food w
ould wait. He took off the surgical gloves and tossed them into the box they had turned into a makeshift wastebasket. “How many have we removed?” he asked.

  Doctor Barilla slipped on his glasses and looked at the handwritten list. “Forty-two, but since I don’t have a master list, I have no idea if we got them all.”

  “According to Sofía Encuentro, there are nine more left with chips still implanted. Since the chips stopped working, the stragglers will come here to find out why.”

  Doctor Barilla held up a beaker with forty-two chips in an alcohol solution. “What do we do with all of these charity chips?”

  Julio began washing his hands. “We turn them over to Sofía Encuentro and the police as evidence. Maybe they can stop it from happening anywhere else.”

  “How many sutures did you perform today?” asked Doctor Barilla.

  Julio shrugged as he wiped his hands. “I didn’t keep track.”

  Doctor Barilla slipped off his gloves and patted Julio on the back. “You will make a fine surgeon someday.”

  Julio smiled and looked at the floor. He left Doctor Barilla and slipped into the study area. All forty-two former Caritas participants sat in small groups around the room talking about their experience as they waited for lunch. Sofía Encuentro and her cameraman had taken over the corner of the study area and were interviewing each participant about how they got involved and what they knew. Julio hoped they hadn’t missed anyone.

  He looked around at the faces in the room. A sharp pang of guilt struck him as he thought about the faces he would never see again, and he looked at the floor. Then a young woman he had seen at Caritas but had never spoken to stood up and approached him.

  She was younger than him with jet-black hair and dark eyes and two stitches in the thenar space of her right hand. She looked timid and stared at the floor. “Thank you, Julio,” she said in a soft voice.

  As soon as she uttered the words, the other conversations in the room stopped. “Thank you!” shouted a young man sitting in one of the reading chairs. “Thank you!” offered a young woman sitting on a computer desk. A chorus of gratitude echoed through the crowd, and they began to clap. At first Julio looked at the floor, but as the applause continued, he waved and smiled. When he looked into their faces, the words of Mamá echoed in his head. Your name should remind you that you have the power to make a difference in the world. He hoped that she was proud of him. He wished that he could have saved his brother.

  Sofía stopped her interview and approached Julio. “I have some news for you,” she said. “Come, sit down.” She ushered him to a table in the cafeteria.

  Before she began, she reached across the table and put her hand on his. Her searching eyes looked right through him. “I did some digging,” she began with a smile. “Isak and Doctor Kozyar were detained in France today on charges of illegal organ trafficking. I don’t know if the charges will stick, but at least it will be difficult for them to do it again somewhere else.”

  Julio’s eyes lit up.

  “Unfortunately, they found no traces of your brother. They committed to look into the organ shipments, but by now it’s probably too late to prove anything.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m very sorry.”

  A tear ran down Julio’s cheek, and he nodded. He hadn’t expected some miraculous save, but a sliver of hope had still lingered. At least now he knew the truth, and his brother’s sacrifice was not in vain.

  “Are you ready for lunch?” interrupted Carmen. The Saint Michael’s pendant hung around her neck.

  Sofía Encuentro stood and patted Julio on the back.

  Julio stared at the door hoping to see one more participant walk through the door before lunch. Then he saw a familiar face coming through the door—Comandante Ugarteche. But behind his grim and weathered face was the radiant face of Angelica.

  As soon as Angelica saw Julio, she ran and jumped into his arms. “You did it! You did it!” she shouted as she squeezed him so tight he had trouble breathing.

  Without letting go, he spoke in her ear, “No, we did it. I should have believed you the first day you warned me.”

  Angelica released him and stepped back still holding his hands. Her green eyes were moist with tears. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Julio pursed his lips and nodded. “He is with Mamá now.”

  “Get that camera out of my face!” shouted Comandante Ugarteche.

  Sofía Encuentro and her cameraman had cornered the crooked policeman.

  “Isn’t it true, Comandante,” demanded Sofía Encuentro, “that Isak Blixt paid you to find street children that he could enroll in Caritas, children that nobody would miss?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” replied the angry comandante as he started for the front door.

  Sofía and her cameraman followed. “According to almost every one of these children, you arrested them and turned them over to Isak Blixt to be enrolled in his program. Isn’t that true? How much did he pay?” They slipped out the front door and into the street.

  Angelica laughed and then pulled Julio close and pecked him on the lips. “What do we do now?”

  Julio grinned and blushed. “First, we eat lunch. Then, you are going to put your computer skills to work and get these computers up and running again. Doctor Barilla has agreed to provide us with medical services. Carmen can still cook for us. We just need your skills to get the computers working properly. With a little help from the money I managed to steal and some publicity from Sofía Encuentro, we might be able to continue the program.” He grinned and pointed at the stitches in his hand. “With a few modifications, of course.”

  “So you think that just because you freed me from jail that I work for you now?” answered Angelica with a wink.

  Julio winked back. “Love is not shown in words, but in deeds.”

  Acknowledgments

  They say the only difference between good writing and bad writing is proper editing, but if you ask any successful novel writer, he or she will tell you that he or she has at least one “trunk novel” (an unsuccessful manuscript tucked away in a trunk) that never saw the light of day.

  When I first got the crazy notion to write a book, I was long on ideas and short on skills, but one idea carried so much energy that I ignored my lack of skills and began the project long before I probably should have. The first chapter of this book was written before I understood plot structure, point of view, or characterization. It simply sprang from the strength of an idea. It took me years of work to lead me to a place where I could finish the story properly. This novel is a result of not giving up on that idea.

  Hopefully, I have edited it enough and rewritten it enough that my bad writing has become good writing. If not, I promise to leave the rest of my “trunk novels” in the trunk.

  Because I took so long to finish and polish this work, I had a lot of help along the way. Like most writers, I nagged and cajoled my family members into reading first. The first person to read this, and most everything else I write, was my wife, Britt. I am always amazed, and sometimes overwhelmed, at the things she deems me capable of accomplishing. The truth be told, she is the reason I even try difficult things. Without her belief in me, this book would have never left the trunk.

  My parents, Eddie and Jeanetta Booher, taught me to love reading, and when I started writing, they never hesitated to read my work, no matter how bad. My children—Rian, Cody, Sarah, Kati, Carson, and Rylee—have all helped make my writing better and put up with my brainstorming around the dinner table. My in-laws, Brent and Dorothy Hancock, Jared and Jennifer Hancock, and family have all suffered through first drafts and encouraged me to continue. My brother Chock, his wife, Adrian, and my nephews Russell and Shelvin all read the first draft of this story and saw its potential in spite of the flaws. My nephew Mark Tonkinson and my niece Taryn Tonkinson encouraged me to keep writing and suffered through my writing from the very beginning. My sister Tahlee helped brainstorm through several versions and kept the spark of cre
ativity alive.

  Several friends made a difference along the way—Braden Jarvis, Matt Mulligan, Kim Ristoff, Herb Jackson, Joel Bikman, Kati Kunzleman, Kelly Breinholt, Lucille Sondrup, Monica Whiting, Kathy Rollender, Kim Guerrette, Jennifer Annes, and Tori Spencer. Each of them made a contribution to the story and sharpened the prose with character suggestions or plot improvements. In particular Adam and Dalynn Albright were some of the first people to read the manuscript and never gave up on it.

  The first chapter of this novel, as it was originally written, got me into Orson Scott Card’s Literary Boot Camp. His wisdom still guides my writing efforts. I have the good fortune of rubbing shoulders with several other new writers in my writing group that challenge me to improve my skills—Stephen Stirling, Randy Lindsay, Ryan Hancock, Adrienne Quintana, Laura Walker, Michael Bast, and Shersta Chabot. We are lucky to have Janette Rallison share her experience with us as well.

  I also owe a great deal to Chrissy Wolfe, editor at EFC Services LLC and blogger at Every Free Chance Books, for her professional help with the manuscript. She loved my first novel, and I didn’t want to let her down with this one. Her feedback was very insightful and helped bring the story up to a publishable performance.

  This book would not be possible without the guidance and professionalism of the Cedar Fort staff—Emma Parker, Shawnda Craig, and Michelle May. I want to make special mention of Melissa Caldwell and her copyediting skills that allow me to focus on the story, and Kelly Martinez for his marketing guidance and sound advice.

  Before I ever thought about writing a book, I had the good fortune of living in Peru for a few months, but the better fortune of meeting Raúl and Claudia Gonzalez. Our friendship has continued across the distance with the help of Facebook and Skype. I drew from my experience and their help to get the details of the setting right. Also Christian Hurtado, who took the time to let me interview him about his experience in a barra brava. Peru is a wonderful country full of interesting people with many stories worth telling.