The Charity Chip (34 page)

When he got to the stadium, several scalpers stood just outside the stadium hawking their tickets. Julio skated up to a pudgy man dressed from head to toe in blue and white and waving tickets in his hand. He wasn’t sure about using the money from the chip embedded in his pendant, but he needed to get into the game if he wanted any chance at finding Raúl before Isak. “What seats do you have and how much?”

“Don’t bother me,
muchacho
. I’m trying to sell these tickets.”

“Are they good seats?”

“Tickets!” barked the scalper at the passing crowd. “Better than you can afford,” he said to Julio out of the side of his mouth.

“Last chance. How much for two?”

The man stopped and stared at Julio. “One thousand soles,” he said, sneering.

“One thousand soles? For two tickets?” questioned Julio. “Are they box seats?”

“They are tenth row just outside the section for
Comando Sur
. What did you expect to pay? This is
el Clásico
.”

Julio knew his price was high, but he played along. “Will you accept a free chip payment?”

The scalper wrinkled his brow. “Yes.”

“I’ll give you four hundred soles for one.”

The man raised an eyebrow and pulled out his phone. He tapped at the screen and handed it to Julio along with a ticket. Julio had no idea if the seat was good. He had never been inside the stadium. He looked down at the screen.

“Just put in your password and the amount, and the ticket’s yours,” instructed the man.

Julio held the phone and typed Angelica’s name, approved the transfer of four hundred soles, and handed back the phone. He kept the ticket.

The scalper looked at his phone and grunted. “Enjoy the game.” Then he turned to the passing crowd and continued to hawk his remaining tickets.

Julio shoved his skateboard into his backpack and shuffled along with the cheering crowd as it poured into the stadium, hoping to catch sight of Raúl, but it was impossible not to get excited about finally getting to watch Alianza Lima live.

The sound in Estadio Alejandro Villanueva was deafening. The fans blew whistles. They blew horns or cheered. They lit fireworks. No one was quiet. To top it off, from time to time the entire stadium broke into song, as if they were some giant choir directed by an invisible director. Julio recognized some of the songs and sang along as he found his section and seat.

The scalper hadn’t lied. The seat was in the tenth row not too far from the section owned by
Comando Sur
, the loose affiliation of gangs and
barras bravas
that packed a section of the stadium for every game. The entire section was cordoned off with a high chain-link fence. From his seat, Julio could see that except for a small section of red jerseys behind the visiting team’s bench, the entire stadium was a churning sea of blue and white. He was glad he had worn his Alianza jersey.

When Alianza Lima took the field, the fans in the lower sections flooded the field with white streamers and fired off blue smoke that drifted and hovered above the crowd. The entire stadium chanted and moved in unison. An enormous Alianza banner was unfurled at the bottom of his section, and the crowd passed it overhead until it stretched out over his half of the stadium. The excitement and unity were electrifying. Julio grinned from ear to ear. He couldn’t believe he was actually at
el Clásico
. The banner was cleared and the crowd filled with anticipation as the players faced off in the middle of the field.

The game kicked off with a roar, and the pace of the game soon fell into a rhythm that oscillated between building excitement as Alianza attacked, followed by tense fear as La U advanced. The field and the fans were in constant motion. Players fought for position and chased the ball up and down the field as fans danced to songs and swayed and chanted in unison. In spite of all the motion and noise, nobody scored in the first half, and the tension began transforming into a rising frustration that seemed to move through the crowd like a fast-spreading virus. As the players left the field,
Comando Sur
broke into several taunting chants.

Julio had watched the game during the first half, but during the break, he slipped down next to the perimeter fence and slowly made his way through the crowd to the section reserved for
Comando Sur
. The fence was at least fifteen feet tall and topped with concertina wire. Several white streamers were caught in the sharp barbs along the top and fluttered in the wind like birds caught in a trap. He would either have to try and get into the guarded section or look through the fence for Raúl. He turned and began climbing the stairs to the top, looking into the seething crowd as he continued upward. Before he got halfway to the top, the players returned to the field and the second half began. Julio went all the way to the top ignoring the game as he looked for any of the familiar faces from
los mALditos
.

From the top of the stadium, he had a commanding view of the entire spectacle. The energetic spectators continued to bounce and sway as they sang song after song. From
Comando Sur
came the sound of beating drums, like some preparing war party, and the building angst among the
barras bravas
seeped out of their section like the sea fog that drifted in from the ocean and shrouded Lima each winter night. The players on the field looked like toy figures controlled by the will of the crowd.

He stood and searched the crowd in vain for any sign of his brother. He assumed that Isak would make his move soon but began to think he wouldn’t do it at a venue as crowded as a soccer game. This might be his only chance to get to Raúl first. If not, he would hurry to
El Infierno
after the game. He was certain that Isak would make his move there. Nobody would care what happened to a bunch of gangbangers.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd, and Julio turned his attention to the game. Alianza Lima was setting up for a corner kick. The official blew the whistle and the ball sailed off the kicker’s foot and arced toward the line of players in front of the goal. It was a perfect kick. The ball began to drift downward as it neared the open goal. The goalie moved out, preparing to catch it in flight. From behind the crowd of players fighting for position, the forward for Alianza Lima ran forward and launched himself up to meet the ball. Before the goalie could reach it, the Alianza forward gave the ball a header and sent it careening into the corner of the net. Alianza Lima scored!

Fireworks exploded. Drums beat. Whistles and horns blew. The sound of clapping hands and stomping feet became a cacophony so loud that it hurt Julio’s ears. He screamed at the top of his lungs to add to the mayhem. All of a sudden the entire section of
Comando Sur
rushed downward, pressing into the fence and leaving the top of their section empty. It was the avalanche that Julio had heard about but never seen. It was like the entire crowd moved as one body crushing against the fence with all of its weight.

Julio continued to cheer but kept his eye out for Raúl. After the avalanche, the fans from
Comando Sur
began to move back up and into their usual spots. He wasn’t sure, but Julio thought he saw Brujo and Esqueleto. He decided to stay at the top hoping that the vantage point might give him an opportunity to find his brother.

The building tension and frustration melted away. The crowd was mostly smiles and cheers. The songs became more about victory and legacy and less angry. It was like the entire stadium had experienced a collective release. Then two players from La U broke away and scored.

Almost as soon as it was released, the sense of frustration and tension returned, but this time only stronger and angrier. Julio looked at the clock. They still had thirty minutes to play, but the emotion from the crowd felt like desperation—like someone’s life depended on the outcome of the match. It struck him as strange. He had seen people die, but the intensity of the crowd pushed him to feel like those deaths were trivial alongside the outcome of
el Clásico
. He suddenly felt awkward, like he wanted to leave the game.

Julio started down the stairs. It was impossible for him to find Raúl anyway, but he continued to scan the crowd as he descended. As he neared the bottom, he stopped and surveyed the field. La U was on the attack at the other end of the field, but something red caught his eye. Just inside the perimeter fence, standing in the shadows near the riot police, he spotted a tall redheaded woman—Doctor Kozyar. She was only in sight for a moment before she ducked back against the fence, but Julio was certain he had seen her.

Worried that she might see him, he scurried back up the stairs until he felt certain he was out of her sight. He knew that if she was here, then Isak was also nearby. Julio searched for any sign of his large frame, but he never materialized. He didn’t think they would try and take Raúl in front of so many witnesses, but a sense of urgency came over him. He hurried up and down the stairs looking for any familiar face. He tried to catch someone’s attention from
Comando Sur
, but they were so focused on the game that they didn’t even acknowledge him.

When he got to the top the second time, he was ready to give up. Until the game was over, everyone’s attention would be on the field. He looked back at the scoreboard. The game was almost over. He had been so focused on finding Raúl that he had missed most of the second half. Time was running out and the game was tied. He stood there once again at the top of the stadium watching the players battle for control of the small white soccer ball and felt disconnected from the entire event, like he was invisible. He thought of all the times he had wished he could see a game live, and now that he was here, all he could think about was finding Raúl. Ironically, as a member of
los mALditos
, Raúl was a regular at the games.

Julio sighed and started for the nearest exit. It was time to give up on finding Raúl here, hope that Isak would avoid making a move in front of the crowd, and wait for Raúl at
El Infierno
. He stopped and looked at the scoreboard—two minutes left. He decided to stop and watch the rest of the game. At least he could enjoy two minutes without thinking about saving Raúl.

The ball was at the other end of the field. La U was setting up a corner kick. The crowd was tense and raged like the churning tide. The kick was up, sailing for the goal, floating, and waiting for La U to send it into the back of the net and win the game. A red and white jersey leapt up and gave the ball a header, but instead of rushing into the back of the net, the ball went straight to the arms of the Alianza goalie.

Normally, the goalie would hold the ball and wait for the area around the goal to clear, but this time he booted the ball down the field without hesitation. A cheer went up from the crowd. The midfielder from Alianza had left the pack and was racing down the field to catch the ball, and only two defenders stood in his way. The first defender tried to head the ball before it landed, but he missed. The ball bounced and sailed on with the Alianza midfielder in pursuit. The second defender approached cautiously, but his caution cost him control of the ball. The Alianza midfielder trapped the ball, and with inertia on his side, he bounced the ball up and over the defender’s head and raced past. The only thing between a goal and victory was the goalie from La U.

The entire stadium of seething fans collectively held their breath in anticipation. The midfielder was patient and predatory. He maneuvered the ball to the right, forcing the goalie to drift with him. Then he shot the ball like a rocket into the top left corner of the net.

The stadium exploded. Time ran out. Alianza Lima had won
el Clásico
.

Julio screamed at the top his lungs and jumped up and down along with everyone else. The entire stadium shook and the noise was deafening. Fireworks exploded in several places within
Comando Sur
and blanketed the section with white smoke. Then came the avalanche. The entire section of screaming, rabid fans cascaded against the perimeter fence. The fence bowed; then buckled; then collapsed. The
barras bravas
poured onto the field.

Riot police, armed with batons and plastic shields, swarmed to meet the storming herd, and they clashed like two armies on the battlefield just past the goal. The police began swinging their batons in earnest and firing tear gas into the crowd, but the zealous fans continued to press forward like a conquering army bent on conquest. For a moment it looked like the mob of soccer fans would win, but then shots were fired, and the exhilaration of victory transformed into the panic of survival. The conquering army of fans began a hasty retreat as the line of riot police moved forward.

Julio ignored the pandemonium around him and worked his way closer to the field. Raúl was somewhere in the middle of that clash. As the line of riot police advanced, the field behind them was littered with fallen fans. Most of them were clutching at their heads or writhing on the ground in pain. A few of them were still. He pushed his way closer.

As the riot police routed the would-be conquerors, a lone ambulance drove onto the field behind the battle line. Strangely, it passed several fans in obvious need of medical attention and stopped beside a young man that wasn’t moving. The driver jumped out and rounded the back of the vehicle. It was Isak Blixt. He opened the back of the ambulance and Doctor Kozyar emerged. Together they pulled a small stretcher from the ambulance, placed it beside the stationary fan, and rolled him over. Even from a distance Julio could tell it was Raúl. With little effort, they hoisted his unconscious body onto the stretcher and shoved it into the ambulance. Doctor Kozyar disappeared inside. Isak buttoned up the doors and slid behind the wheel. The ambulance drove off the field and disappeared out the side of the stadium.

Julio tried to run, but his legs were weak and his stomach jumped into his throat. The celebrating crowd felt suffocating, and he pushed his way out of the stadium where he could breathe again. As soon as it was clear enough, he hopped on his skateboard and skated through the crowd and around the stadium. The ambulance was gone. He turned his board and kicked for home.