far.” He handed the card back to Julio. “Let’s walk over to Javier Luna Pizarro and catch a microbús going south.” With that, the Doctor started walking, and Julio coasted behind him on his skateboard, happy to be following someone for a change.
The ride on the crowded microbús was short, only about two kilometers, and they hopped off at a small park dotted with trees. Julio had never seen Doctor Barilla outside of his office, and he was surprised at how confident he looked as he led Julio down Londres street in search of the facility. He wondered if this was what the doctor had been like before he slipped into a bottle and refused to crawl out.
On the southwest corner of Londres and Obsidiana sat a semi-detached concrete building with two glass doors and no windows. It had a lifeless appearance, no color, no motion, but on one of the glass doors the name Caritas appeared in big gold letters. As they approached the building from across the street, a young woman about Julio’s age stopped in front of the second glass door. Julio watched her hold her left hand up to the scanner mounted on the wall beside the door and then enter. He rubbed his hand and wondered what it would feel like to have a chip installed. He got butterflies in his stomach, and for a moment, he wanted to forget the whole idea and skate away. He fingered the Saint Michael’s pendant under his shirt and followed Doctor Barilla across the street.
The receptionist sat behind a small wooden desk reading a glamour magazine when they walked in. She wore a low-cut, red, sleeveless dress, bright-red lipstick, and an earpiece in her right ear. She looked like someone off the cover of the glamour magazine she was reading. Julio remembered his conversation about women with Raúl and smiled.
“May I help you?” asked the receptionist without putting down her magazine. Doctor Barilla motioned to Julio but stared at the receptionist.
Julio stepped forward with his skateboard under his arm and handed her Isak’s card. Her perfume was sweet and greeted him like a good-morning kiss. “Señor Blixt asked me to come see him today,” he stammered. “Is he in?”
The nameplate on her desk read “Isabela.” She put down her magazine and took the card from Julio’s hand. Her eyes were a warm brown, but her smile was cold. She eyed the card and looked Julio up and down. “May I ask who is calling?”
Sensing her condescending attitude, Julio stood a little taller. “Julio César Camino de Pachacutec at your service,” said Julio with a nod.
The receptionist’s icy smile warmed a bit. “And who is your friend?” she asked, pointing at Doctor Barilla.
“This is . . . Señor Barilla, my landlord,” answered Julio, unsure if he should reveal that he was also a doctor. “I asked him to come with me. I hope you don’t mind,” said Julio with a staged smile.
She gave Doctor Barilla a glance and said, “One moment, please.” She stared at them both and tapped her earpiece. “Señor Blixt, I have a young man, Julio, and his landlord here in the reception to see you.” She paused and listened to the voice in her earpiece. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell them.” She tapped her earpiece again and gave them a fake smile. “Señor Blixt will see you in a few minutes. Please have a seat.”
The small reception was furnished with two leather chairs and a glass coffee table. A few simple paintings hung on the walls. To Julio it felt cold and sterile. The soft leather creaked a bit as he sat down and waited for Isak.
After a few moments, Isak Blixt entered the reception from a side door. Just like the other night, he was impeccably dressed in a black short-sleeve shirt that exposed his muscular physique and khaki pants with pockets on the sides. It wasn’t a uniform, but the crisp look of the cloth and Isak’s short hair gave Julio the impression of a soldier. Doctor Barilla stood when Isak entered the room and Julio followed suit.
“Julio, it’s
The ride on the crowded microbús was short, only about two kilometers, and they hopped off at a small park dotted with trees. Julio had never seen Doctor Barilla outside of his office, and he was surprised at how confident he looked as he led Julio down Londres street in search of the facility. He wondered if this was what the doctor had been like before he slipped into a bottle and refused to crawl out.
On the southwest corner of Londres and Obsidiana sat a semi-detached concrete building with two glass doors and no windows. It had a lifeless appearance, no color, no motion, but on one of the glass doors the name Caritas appeared in big gold letters. As they approached the building from across the street, a young woman about Julio’s age stopped in front of the second glass door. Julio watched her hold her left hand up to the scanner mounted on the wall beside the door and then enter. He rubbed his hand and wondered what it would feel like to have a chip installed. He got butterflies in his stomach, and for a moment, he wanted to forget the whole idea and skate away. He fingered the Saint Michael’s pendant under his shirt and followed Doctor Barilla across the street.
The receptionist sat behind a small wooden desk reading a glamour magazine when they walked in. She wore a low-cut, red, sleeveless dress, bright-red lipstick, and an earpiece in her right ear. She looked like someone off the cover of the glamour magazine she was reading. Julio remembered his conversation about women with Raúl and smiled.
“May I help you?” asked the receptionist without putting down her magazine. Doctor Barilla motioned to Julio but stared at the receptionist.
Julio stepped forward with his skateboard under his arm and handed her Isak’s card. Her perfume was sweet and greeted him like a good-morning kiss. “Señor Blixt asked me to come see him today,” he stammered. “Is he in?”
The nameplate on her desk read “Isabela.” She put down her magazine and took the card from Julio’s hand. Her eyes were a warm brown, but her smile was cold. She eyed the card and looked Julio up and down. “May I ask who is calling?”
Sensing her condescending attitude, Julio stood a little taller. “Julio César Camino de Pachacutec at your service,” said Julio with a nod.
The receptionist’s icy smile warmed a bit. “And who is your friend?” she asked, pointing at Doctor Barilla.
“This is . . . Señor Barilla, my landlord,” answered Julio, unsure if he should reveal that he was also a doctor. “I asked him to come with me. I hope you don’t mind,” said Julio with a staged smile.
She gave Doctor Barilla a glance and said, “One moment, please.” She stared at them both and tapped her earpiece. “Señor Blixt, I have a young man, Julio, and his landlord here in the reception to see you.” She paused and listened to the voice in her earpiece. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell them.” She tapped her earpiece again and gave them a fake smile. “Señor Blixt will see you in a few minutes. Please have a seat.”
The small reception was furnished with two leather chairs and a glass coffee table. A few simple paintings hung on the walls. To Julio it felt cold and sterile. The soft leather creaked a bit as he sat down and waited for Isak.
After a few moments, Isak Blixt entered the reception from a side door. Just like the other night, he was impeccably dressed in a black short-sleeve shirt that exposed his muscular physique and khaki pants with pockets on the sides. It wasn’t a uniform, but the crisp look of the cloth and Isak’s short hair gave Julio the impression of a soldier. Doctor Barilla stood when Isak entered the room and Julio followed suit.
“Julio, it’s
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