Renaldo (97 page)

RENALDO

The Fat Man rested his entwined hands on the crest of his ample belly.

“That tape of my conversation with Lonnie must be destroyed immediately.

There can no link between us and him. Look after that right away.”

“Of course. Anything else?” Stoltz stood ready with pen and pad.

“I feel generous, things are going so well! Poor Lonnie is out of money,

nowhere to run and hide, his life on the line at every turn. And yet, all he wants

to do is to see his brother play tomorrow. Of course we could hit him right now.

He would never know what happened. But I think in light of the circumstances,

we could give the terrorist a twenty-four-hour reprieve, don’t you? Let him see

his brother holding the World Cup trophy. Share in the triumph all Argentines

have been waiting for. When that has been done, it can be good-bye forever.”

Gordero held up his right hand with his thumb and forefinger in the shape of

a pistol, placed it against his temple, and dropped the thumb imitating the

weapon’s hammer.

“Boom. One less De Seta to concern ourselves with. Let’s give Lonnie the

satisfaction of meeting his maker after seeing his little brother play for the

World Championship. It is the charitable thing to do. So, get me Rojo Geary

on the red line and look after those tape recordings. My, how all this good

news makes me hungry. Give me five minutes to talk to Geary, then send in

Simone.”

“Lonnie?” The blunt voice was all business. There was a pregnant silence

on the other end of the line. Finally,

“Yes, it is me.”

“You are a very lucky young man! I hope that your brother is equally as

lucky tomorrow. I have secured you a press pass as a photographer. It will take

a bit of play acting on your part, but my man will be with you to provide the

essentials. You will be permitted on the field, behind the barriers at one end.

Now listen carefully. Do you know the Café El Molino on Avenida Libertador?

I think it will be as close to the stadium as the security forces will allow you

to go without a ticket or a pass. My man will be outside the front door of the

café at one o’clock. He will be wearing a black leather jacket with a Newton’s

Prefect crest on the front. You can’t mistake this man. He has bright red hair.

His name is Oswaldo, and he will stay with you for the afternoon. Oh, yes, he

will also have an envelope full of currency. I am sure that you will find the

amount to your liking. Do not be late, Lonnie.”

The facilitator paused to let the voice on the opposite end of the line

digest the information, then continued with a spiritual message.

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“I expect a victory for our great nation in return for this favor. Think

positively about your brother. Help guide him to the victory podium. You

can call me next week when the celebrations end. Good luck and good-bye for

now.”

“Yes! Renaldo, my brother, I will be there for you now!” an ecstatic Lonnie

De Seta screamed at the top of his lungs as The Fat Man bid him adieu. “And

I will have money again, money to help me hide from the assassins until I can

secure my identification from the bank. This is a great day, and tomorrow will

be an even greater day for Renaldo De Seta and all of Argentina!” He grabbed

the Johnny Walker bottle and replenished his tumbler. “Viva Argentina, viva

RRRRRRRenaaaaaaaalllldo!”

An unusually cold, grey afternoon set the backdrop for the third-place

fixture at River Plate Stadium. The impressive structure was filled to capacity,

even though the host nation was still twenty-four hours from taking the field.

Both of the contesting teams would have preferred to be playing a day

later as well, but their national pride was at stake this afternoon, and they put

on a spirited and entertaining show.

The stadium seemed equally divided as to number of supporters.

Thousands of Brazilians had made the journey to Buenos Aires to witness their

heroes one final time. The Italians were by and large, supported by Porteños,

whose hatred for the men in yellow had grown throughout the last few days by

leaps and bounds.

The undefeated Brazilians had complained bitterly to FIFA officials that

Argentina had been given a huge advantage by commencing their game against

Peru after the outcome of the Brazil-Poland fixture had gone into the record

books. The host nation knew exactly how many goals it needed to advance, a

benefit not given to any of the other competitors.

Those FIFA officials stated simply that the fixture time had been set to

allow the home side’s followers an opportunity to see their heroes play. The

country would have ground to a standstill if the match had been started at

4:45 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. They also claimed that knowing what

was needed to advance did not guarantee that they would accomplish the

required task. Brazil’s protests fell on deaf ears, and the populous of Argentina

interpreted these insults as just more sour grapes from a lesser opponent.

The Italians opened strongly and remained in control for much of the

initial forty-five minutes. They were rewarded for their efforts with a 1-0 lead

at the interval. Unfortunately, it appeared that they had left their confidence

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RENALDO

and offensive skills in the depths of River Plate when the whistle sounded to

start the ball rolling again.

The Brazilians struck on two long blasts, the same type of shots that

had undone the Azzurri against Holland. There would be Samba music in the

streets of the capital again this night, for a 2-1 victory by the yellow shirts had

earned Brazil the third-place finish in the 1978 World Cup Tournament.

At the national training center, the Argentine players tried their best to

stay loose and enjoy themselves as the day of destiny approached. The four full

days of rest and recuperation had done much to heal those physical and mental

bruises that each player had accumulated over the course of the long, gruelling

tournament.

To a man, they felt confident of the outcome that tomorrow would bring.

This was due in large measure to the nurturing care and attention to detail

provided by manager Octavio Suarez. His calm hand and gentle guidance were

infectious. Gone were the days of the raving tyrant, the aloof, even hostile

dictator.

This team had advanced further than the manager had ever imagined

in his wildest dreams. It was now time to bond together for the ultimate test.

Their strength would lie in their unity of purpose and their willingness to go

the extra distance for each other.

The final evening in camp would feature no tactical meetings or pep talks.

Instead, a talent show was organized to entertain and relax the warriors. Each

team member had to participate. Ramon Vida and Renaldo De Seta would give

their farewell performance as the R&Rs.

Number seventeen’s sore foot was holding up well. The holistic medicine

and the intense physiotherapy had paid huge dividends in what had seemed at

first like a losing enterprise. The appendage was game fit, and Renaldo De Seta

would start at center half in the World Cup championship game.

What terrified the youngest player in camp more than the Dutch was

playing on stage in front of his peers that final night. The two rockers had

rewritten the Beatles tune “Twist and Shout” to suit their particular purpose,

and now they stood alone in the spotlight. The lyrics called for the guitar player

to mimic the words of the lead singer, but singing was something Renaldo had

not been forced to do in their previous performances. Vida was the showman.

He always looked after the vocals and that was fine with his partner. Now the

guitarist was being made to expose his inability to carry a tune, and it was one

of the most frightening moments of his life.

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JAMES McCREATH

During rehearsals, the ‘Boy from Boca’ had fallen to the floor clutching

his sides while laughing at his compatriot’s vocal tribulations.

“Man, if you want to score tomorrow, just start singing to the Dutch

goalkeeper. You will drive him from the net for sure. Maybe even right out of

the stadium. How can such a pretty face hide such an ugly voice?”

The guitar work was easy, so Renaldo strummed his instrument as

powerfully as he could. Hopefully, the melody would drown out his off-key

vocalizing.

Vida, the showman, was dressed in skintight black leather pants and was

naked above the waist, except for a blue and white-striped Argentine scarf.

Renaldo wore jeans and a National Team jersey. The singer strutted his stuff as

if he were playing to a sold-out audience at Teatro Colón. After the guitar intro,

the number unfolded as follows:

Luckily for Renaldo, the screams and cheers of his enthusiastic audience

kept the sound of his strained vocal cords at an almost inaudible level. Ramon

was all over the stage, making lewd gestures with the scarf between his legs

and pumping his midsection in a suggestive manner. The players and staff

loved it, and the R&Rs were forced to play the song over a second time as an

encore.

Other acts included a film clip of Ignacio Suazo’s greatest goals, narrated

by Captain Daniele Bennett. The footage turned out to be his one and only

goal against Peru repeated over and over again. Another highlight was a chance

to win a date with an erotic mystery woman. This lovely damsel bore a striking

resemblance to none other than Juan Chacon in drag. All six foot five inches

of him was poured into a pink mini skirt, tight angora sweater with two large

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RENALDO

balloons as breasts, and the biggest pair of stiletto high-healed pumps that

existed in the universe. Humberto Velasquez was the unlucky winner of the

draw and was forced to give the hideous defender a kiss on stage.

The evening had exactly the desired effect on the players, and in the end,

they all stood and sang the national anthem of Argentina with their arms locked

together in a giant circle. Even the men that were not starting the championship

game sensed the magic of the moment, and Octavio Suarez witnessed a scene of

team harmony that he had never thought possible until that very moment.