Renaldo (43 page)

he certainly hasn’t done anything to deserve this shit!” Ramon Vida had risen

to his feet in defense of his new friend. He still could not believe how truly

grotesque the man was, especially from only inches away.

“That’s alright, Ramon. It is an honor to meet a legend like Señor Chacon in

person. Without a man of his stature on our team, I am sure that our opponents

would take liberties with the likes of you and me. We can rest assured that they

won’t with ‘Killer’ Chacon on the field. It is my pleasure, Señor.”

Renaldo grasped the stunned defender’s hand and shook it with

enthusiasm.

“Well, now, here is a man that knows true talent when he sees it! But go

to hell anyway! I hate all pretty boys, and you look like a real sweetheart. Big

blue eyes, such nice long curls. You’re too cute to be a real man. Maybe you

should try out for the women’s soccer team. Or maybe you should pull your

pants down and show us that you belong here with the men. What’s your name

anyway, my gorgeous little chicken?”

“Renaldo De Seta, Senor Chacon. And this is Ramon Vida from Boca

Juniors.”

“I know this pissant already. How many goals did you score against me

this year, rookie? Not even one, right? We kicked Boca’s ass every time we

met this season. Maybe you’ll find the Brazilian defense more to your liking,

rookie!” Chacon was literally spitting the words out only inches from Vida’s

reddening face when suddenly his wrath was diverted. “Oh, look over there, it’s

the retarded Anariba twins. They say one of them can only tie shoelaces while

the other one can only do up buttons. They have to dress each other every day.

Let’s go have some fun with them.”

With that, the five players from Independiente focused their attention on

the unfortunate twins seated together across the room. The Anariba brothers

had played well together for Racing Club two seasons earlier, until a knee

dislocation had forced Luis to the sidelines early in the 1976 campaign. When

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JAMES McCREATH

his rehabilitation took much longer than hoped for, Racing Club let the

somewhat ‘dim’ player out of his contract. He had remained unattached to any

club right up until Octavio Suarez had to prepare his invitations to training

camp. Rumor had it that Luis was ready to make a comeback, however, and

the National Team manager had nothing to lose by offering the twins a chance

to rediscover their past competence with his squad. Thus, the two introverted

brothers were there at Velez Sarsfield that day.

“Man, you sure handled that ugly bastard with ease. I thought he was

going to give us a full dose of his tough-guy shit. I’ve seen him do it before.

I still have a scar on my calf from his personal ‘welcome’ to the big leagues

early last season. You’re some cool cat, Renaldo. I was all set to kick the ugly

cocksucker in the balls if he didn’t lay off.”

“It’s nothing, really. My father used to call it the ‘bee’ rule. He used to say

that ‘You can catch more bees with honey than vinegar,’ even big, ugly bees,

it seems.”

Luckily for the Anariba twins, Juan Chacon was called in to see manager

Suarez only moments after they had descended upon the unsuspecting brothers.

Without their fierce leader, the rest of the Independiente men dissipated to

various corners of the room.

Every now and again, a player from one of the smaller, less represented

teams would come over and introduce themselves to Renaldo and Ramon. They

would stay and exchange pleasantries until they, in turn, were called for their

audience. Finally, it was Renaldo’s turn. He said good-bye to Ramon Vida,

telling him that he would watch for him on the night of the gala, February

fourteenth. Then it was into the lion’s den.

The manager and two coaches greeted Renaldo with enthusiasm.

“It seems you have already made a very good impression on Juan Chacon.

He came in here singing your praises. How on earth did you manage that?

I have seen him reduce rookies to tears with only a stare,” laughed Octavio

Suarez.

“I just decided that I didn’t want that same stare directed at me any more

than was necessary. There was no sense in antagonizing the man, so I made

him feel like I respected his rather dubious talents.”

“Be careful, son. He is a very mean customer, and he can turn on you in

an instant. Don’t ever let your guard down when you are around him. But in

the meantime, let’s hope you can sidestep the opposing defenders as well as you

just deflected ‘Killer’s’ known dislike for untested newcomers,” coach Luque

interjected.

“Renaldo, I know you are used to playing the forward line, but I want

you to start out as a center halfback for now. I have a feeling that if your ball-

handling skills are as deft as I think they are, you may just end up being the

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general of our attacking forces. You will have more room to demonstrate your

considerable talent at halfback. My main problem, as I perceive it, will be

communication between the backs and the halves, and then the halves and the

forward line. A truly great halfback can play the transition game from defense

to offense with uncanny skill. That is the role that I want to train you to fulfill.

If, heaven forbid, Nico Garcia is unable to join us from Europe, then I will have

to reconsider and put you on the forward line. For now though, you will be my

transition halfback.

We will start out playing a 4-3-3 formation, with two outside attacking

fullbacks to assist in the thrust forward. We will be expected to play offensive

football by our supporters, and that is what I intend to do. We need to score

goals, and for that reason, I am putting you at center half. You can use the

whole pitch as your canvas to create a masterpiece from that position, Renaldo.

Whenever I have seen you play, I have always thought that you could make

your feet do exactly as your brain desired. Prove it to me. Stay in shape, train

hard, and keep out of trouble. We will be together again on the twelfth of next

month, for the introduction of the team to the entire country.

My assistant will be in touch with you a few days in advance of that with

the final details of the evening. Here is a sheet of phone numbers to use if you

have to contact any of the three of us for whatever reason. Well, I guess that is

all. Look after yourself, and I will see you on the twelfth.”

Octavio Suarez shook Renaldo’s hand, as did Luque. Estes Santos just gave

the boy a sly wink as the rookie player exited. Alone in the corridor outside of

the meeting room, one thought kept racing through the boy’s mind.

Your feet do exactly as your brain desires. Head and feet as one, isn’t that the

way Gordero phrased it on the train from Córdoba?
He remembered The Fat Man

and the way he had twisted his fingers like a pretzel. He stood there in the

hallway, absent-mindedly twisting his fingers, trying to duplicate the feat he

had witnessed on the train.

“Whoa, Renaldo, baby, are you alright? What did they do to you in there?

Torture you or something? What’s with the fingers? Somebody slam a door on

them?” Ramon Vida had watched his new friend doing digital contortions for

several seconds before proceeding down the hall to meet the coaching staff. An

embarrassed Renaldo De Seta smiled bashfully and shrugged his shoulders as

he disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

“Damn fingers, they still have minds of their own!”

201

Señor Figueroa, there is a message for you here.”

Lonnie stopped dead in his tracks as he started to ascend the poorly lit

staircase. It was the first time since he had rented the small room in the

Versailles district on the outer limits of the capital that anyone had spoken to

him. His eyes strained to see who was addressing him from the shadows.

To his relief, the old janitor shuffled into sight, his arm outstretched,

clutching a piece of paper. The old man had rented Lonnie the room a few

weeks earlier. He had been a good source of information regarding the other

tenants and the general layout of the neighborhood.

The building was occupied almost exclusively with migrant workers who

were either employed temporarily or seeking employment in one of the many

industrial complexes in the area. People came and went with great frequency,

and the turnover in rooms was never ending. It was exactly what Celeste had

told Lonnie to find. No friendly neighbors snooping around, and no one tracking

his comings and goings.

He had arrived in a battered Chevy Corvair, giving his name as Marco

Figueroa. He was seeking employment in one of the several oil refineries that

were only a few blocks from this dilapidated tenement. Lonnie had told the

janitor that he had no idea how long he would require the room, but he paid

the man four weeks in advance to allay any questions of his financial stability.

It was not unusual for tenants to disappear in the middle of the night with

all their belongings and money owed on their accommodations. That is why

the old man worked the night shift, his main job being to catch any ‘fly-by-

nighters.’ The payment in advance had put Lonnie in his good graces, and the

custodian had given him a toothless smile the few times that they had crossed

paths.

The new resident thanked the janitor as he took the note and hustled up

the stairs to his room. There were no telephones in the building, so any contact

with the outside world had to come via the pay phone at the cantina down

the street. He would usually meet Celeste around the corner from the bar at

a designated time after receiving her call there. This was the first time that a

written communication had been transmitted to him. He found it strange that

she would take such a chance.

JAMES McCREATH

He unlocked the door to his room and flicked on the interior light switch.

The now-familiar yellowish-white walls greeted him again. The only decorative

touch on their peeling surface was a faded portrait of the Virgin Mary over

his less than comfortable bed. A wooden chair and dresser completed the

adornments. It had been necessary to purchase an electric fan to make the fetid

room bearable in the humid February air. The washroom was down the hall,

shared with the other tenants on that floor.

Lonnie found it perversely humorous that he was now residing in

‘Versailles,’ for he had visited the French palace a few years past on his summer

vacation. The comparison between his new residence and the fabled home of

the French monarchs reassured him that he had truly cast aside his monied

upbringing and was now living the lifestyle of the oppressed working man.

Celeste had been right. He did have to live their pain to understand it. Just

hearing the stories of the unemployed day after day as he sat in the cantina was

enough to convince him. The despair and hopelessness that many of the men

exhibited convinced Lonnie that the junta would do nothing to improve their

plight.

Millions of dollars were being spent on military hardware, but relatively

nothing on job creation and social assistance. He had been totally oblivious to

the predicament of the working class while living within his ivory tower and

swanky Palermo mansion. Celeste Lavalle had changed all that. She had opened

his eyes to the injustice and made him feel like he could make a difference.

The boarder sat down on the bed and opened the note. The handwriting

was Celeste’s. He had waited for three hours at the cantina that night for her

call, but it never came. By closing time, he had consumed so many beers that

he was feeling no pain at all. It was probably a good thing that she had not

contacted him during that last half hour or his slurred speech would have given

him away. He stared at the piece of paper. Its message was brief.

‘Call at ten a.m. tomorrow. Hotel Bolivar, room six. 555-5344.’ It was

signed with a simple letter ‘C.’

Something’s up,
he thought. The change in routine must be for a reason. He

had not phoned her flat since he arrived in Versailles.
Why is she staying at Hotel

Bolivar? Maybe there was finally going to be some action.

God knows he had trained hard enough to be put to the test. The entire

month of January had been spent at a secluded Montonero training facility

north of Tucumán near the town of Taft Viejo. The cool Andean air had proved

both mentally and physically invigorating to Lonnie. In the shadow of those

towering mountains, he had engaged in everything from classroom studies of

the great left-wing visionaries, to hand-to-hand combat, small arms training,

and high explosive assembly and detonation. The instructors were known

only by colors, never by their given names. In doing so, Señor Verde, Señor

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RENALDO

Rojo, and Señorita Azul protected their real identities from infiltrators and