Renaldo Read online

  career, he wore many hats . . . lawyer, investment adviser, political strategist.

  He acted as private counsel to some of the country’s best-known celebrities

  and dignitaries, was an extravagant philanthropist, a trustee and governor of

  the Sir Isaac Newton Academy School (of which he was a graduate and class

  valedictorian), and a ranking colonel in the National Guard Reserve. But most

  importantly to his traveling companions on this day, Astor Gordero was the

  chairman of the board of directors and majority owner of the Newton’s Prefects

  professional football club.

  Although his weighty proportions had prevented him from playing

  football in his youth, he was, nevertheless, swept up not only in the game’s

  excitement and passion, but also in its profound cultural teachings. From

  his earliest days as a fan, he had developed an analytical enthusiasm for the

  sociological ramifications of the sport. It was his ultimate goal to give the

  privileged, respectable people of capital city a team to which they could relate.

  A team rich in tradition, with old-world ties that instilled a certain aristocratic

  arrogance, a team that reflected the ‘attitude’ of the Porteño oligarchy, unlike

  those that catered to the masses in districts such as Boca and Avellaneda. When

  his floundering, old school team suddenly became available for purchase, it

  provided the wealthy elitist with a chance to make a lifelong fantasy into a

  reality. The Newton’s Prefect Football Club had the proper pedigree, even for

  a snob like Astor Gordero.

  Stories of the man’s immoderate and excessive indulgences were often the

  topic of discreet gossip at high society gatherings. Discreet was the key word,

  for no one spoke publicly of Astor Gordero in a derogatory manner without

  suffering the consequences.

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  RENALDO

  There were rumors of his dark side, whispers that he embraced his

  ancestors’ code of honor to the point of having to seek satisfaction if his name

  was besmirched. To that end, paid mercenaries usually acted as his angels of

  retribution, for Astor Gordero was incapable of forgetting a personal insult.

  Moreover, he would not tolerate failure of any kind. Once he set his mind to

  achieving a desired goal, the man could not be deterred, even if it meant using

  the most unscrupulous of means. And heaven help anyone who stood in his

  way!

  Many people actually hated the man, but those who did were careful

  to hide their feelings and hold their tongues in public. Life in Argentina was

  fraught with hidden dangers, and to speak out against a man of such influence

  and power could very easily bring disastrous results.

  El Hombre Gordo ‘The Fat Man’ was one whom it was better to befriend

  than to antagonize, even if that friendship was purely superficial.

  A course of cheers and bravos for Gordo’s protectors rang through the bus,

  accompanied by much back slapping and hand shaking. The residual effects

  of such lavish praise from a man as well connected as Astor Gordero had not

  been lost on Estes Santos. He was well aware of The Fat Man’s propensity to

  cosset those whom he thought warranted his attention. Many a career had been

  accelerated by a simple well-placed word from this porcine dealmaker.

  Perhaps now the one thing that the minor league manager craved above

  all else would be within his grasp at last. But Estes Santos’ sixth sense told

  him that it would be folly to impatiently seek a reward under the present

  circumstances. He must bide his time for the right opportunity to state his case

  to El Hombre Gordo. Good things could be derived from Gordero’s appreciation

  and attention in due course. Until then, he would enjoy his newfound celebrity

  and the fruits that his actions of this day had borne him.

  Santos and his team captain did not have to wait long for certain of those

  fruits to come into bloom. The Prefect supporters soon arrived at the Córdoba

  railway station and proceeded to embark on their special charter back to Buenos

  Aires. The station was heavily guarded by more soldiers whose officers quickly

  orchestrated the visitor’s departure off the buses, through the station, and onto

  the waiting rail coaches. The two ‘men of the moment’ had traveled to Córdoba

  in normal tourist class railcars, along with the majority of their fellow Prefect

  supporters. But not Astor Armondo Luis Gordero. His personally customized

  coach had been attached to the rear of the train, affording Gordo and his cronies

  the ultimate in mobile comfort, luxury, and privacy.

  Astor Gordero made sure that his two saviors stayed right by his side as

  they walked down the platform to the last car. His guests were in for “the train

  ride of their lives,” he boasted. The Fat Man was in great spirits now that they

  were safely out of harm’s way. Once Renaldo boarded the Pullman and entered

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  JAMES McCREATH

  its lavish interior, he was certain that Gordero had not been exaggerating. Before

  him, stretching two-thirds the length of the coach, spread a sumptuous buffet

  containing the finest delicacies Argentina had to offer. A fully stocked mirrored

  bar attracted his attention as well, for the moment the Prefect’s chairman of

  the board came into view, two stewards beside it uncorked magnums of Dom

  Pérignon.

  That popping sound was greeted by a hearty “Ola!” from Gordero, as

  glasses were quickly filled and passed first to the patron, then to his privileged

  guests. Their numbers had swollen to about ten men with the addition of the

  two new arrivals. Before Renaldo had even been offered a sample of the sweet

  nectar, something else caught his eye. Two of the most gorgeous women he had

  ever seen, resplendent in the sheerest of boudoir attire, pushed their way past

  him and embraced their gregarious host.

  The trio’s lusty gropes and wandering hands held the young boy spellbound.

  When the chairman had consumed his fill, he gestured for the señoritas to

  circulate amongst his amigos and make them feel at home. The Fat Man then

  headed directly for the buffet. Renaldo tried to make himself as inconspicuous

  as possible and retreated to the far rear of the coach. He knew that he would

  feel more comfortable back in the obscurity of tourist class, but there was no

  escaping Astor Gordero. The boy took a glass of champagne, resigned to his

  captivity. Estes Santos was quickly by his side.

  “This is the most incredible thing I have ever seen!” he chortled.

  “Yes, truly incredible,” was Renaldo’s half-hearted response.

  “Those women are unbelievably beautiful, especially for putas.”

  ‘Yes, they certainly are an eyeful!’ Renaldo thought to himself.

  Up to this moment, all of his contact with prostitutes had been at a

  considerable distance. There had been times when he had passed them plying

  their trade on the streets of the capital, but he would just smile at their overtures

  and go about his business. He was not particularly worldly about the opposite

  sex, and Santos knew this well.

  “Do not worry, Renaldo. I will take your turn with them if you like.”

  “Be my guest, Estes. I have h
ad enough exercise for one day.”

  “That’s my boy, save your strength for the soccer pitch.”

  The train lurched into motion, spilling a small quantity of Renaldo’s

  champagne on the plush carpet. Embarrassed, the youngest of the imbibers

  tried to find something to soak up the stain.

  “Don’t worry about it, Renaldo.” The booming voice of Gordo could be

  heard above the crowd. “I am sure that there will be many more stains before we

  reach Buenos Aires. I will simply replace the entire carpet, or perhaps we will

  have so much fun that I will have to replace the entire coach.” Gordo laughed

  at his own frivolity. Nothing was going to put a damper on his celebration!

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  RENALDO

  As the train sped through the dark Argentine night on its way back to the

  capital, a carnival of carnal delights was unfolding before the novice observer’s

  eyes. Several of the youth’s traveling companions had become very friendly with

  the two ‘hostesses,’ as Gordo referred to them. Individually and in groups, the

  victors were taking their spoils.

  Renaldo sat quietly sipping his champagne on a sofa that was far enough

  away from the action so as not to be bothered. A reefer was lit and shared

  amongst the participants. It never made it to the young voyeur. He was

  fascinated to observe how each of the men acted. Some were ravenous with

  passion, others more theatrical, performing and demonstrating their technical

  proficiency for the appreciative audience.

  Santos was in the thick of things, having the time of his life. Renaldo’s

  coach had a reputation as a ladies’ man, and now the player was seeing why

  firsthand. Before today, the two men had been strictly business in each other’s

  company. Teacher and pupil, the knowledgeable veteran instructing the

  promising prospect in the intricacies of the game of football.

  But there was a trait of Estes Santos’ personality that he carefully guarded

  from public scrutiny, certain raw and animalistic urges to which he from time

  to time succumbed. The stories of his prowess with the gentler sex were legend

  despite his best attempts to stifle them. Renaldo hoped for his coach’s sake that

  word of his present display of physical education would never transcend the

  walls of this rolling pleasure palace.

  Estes was still in excellent condition at age thirty-seven. He had left the

  playing fields just one year earlier after a triumphant career as an Argentine

  first division goalkeeper. His thinning black hair was etched with grey now,

  but he still had a lithe physique that was the envy of men half his age. Yet the

  man’s ultimate goal at this stage in his life had little to do with his physical

  qualifications. Estes Santos was consumed with procuring a managerial posting

  to a first division team now that he had retired from the on-field battles. Everyone

  knew what he could do physically. It was now time to prove that he possessed

  the technical capacity and mental fortitude to survive in the pressure-cooker

  atmosphere that was indigenous to premier division football. His actions back

  in that dead-end alley in Córdoba had certainly seemed to add value to his

  stock, at least in the eyes of Astor Gordero.

  The Newton’s Prefect Under Twenty-one team was considered a good

  point from which to launch a major league coaching career. Santos had

  attained the posting for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that

  he had finished his playing days with the Prefect’s second division club. The

  veteran goalkeeper had been one of Astor Gordero’s first acquisitions after he

  gained control of the Prefect organization. Santos had earned three consecutive

  championship rings with River Plate in the premier division before his age

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  JAMES McCREATH

  made him available on the transfer market. Instead of taking the demotion as

  a slap in the face, Estes Santos had endeared himself to his new employer by

  shutting out the opposition in his last five games and elevating the Prefects into

  the first division after decades of relegation.

  The keeper’s good looks and swashbuckling style had made him the

  darling of the Argentine press for a time, but Santos had gotten his girlfriend

  pregnant when he was barely eighteen years old, and was by now quite

  thoroughly married with three children.

  The press had focused on the ‘perfect family man’ angle when Estes was

  fêted after his amazing shut-out string. As an aspiring big league manager,

  he was smart enough to realize that it served him well to keep certain aspects

  of his personal life hidden very deeply underground. But the rumors of his

  voracious sexual appetite persisted, nonetheless. When questioned on those

  terms, he would simply smile demurely and respond,

  “Can I help it if the señoritas are attracted to me? It is all fiction, the

  rest!”

  Santos proved to be a fine teacher of the game, and he had helped Renaldo

  realize its subtleties from the opposing goalkeeper’s point of view. He was a stern

  taskmaster with his charges, remaining detached from their emotional stream

  as a unit. But he possessed the uncanny ability to reach out and touch just the

  right nerve to ensure a player’s peak performance. His warriors respected him

  immensely, for he was a champion in his own right, and he had made them

  champions in his first season at the helm. The Newton’s Prefect organization

  was, at this moment, the most dominant force in Argentine football, and its

  former star goalkeeper knew exactly why. It all had to do with the shrewdness

  and perfect timing of the football club’s guiding light, Astor Armondo Luis

  Gordero.

  But everything had almost been lost that very afternoon. Estes Santos had

  arrived at the door of salvation within a split second of real tragedy. A chill

  swept over the manager every time his mind latched on to the reality of how

  vastly different the situation could have concluded back there in that fetid alley.

  Had either Gordo or his young captain been badly hurt by those maniacs, he

  would have been vilified rather than celebrated. The Fat Man could very well

  have been hung, drawn, and quartered by now, and then what would all his

  hopes for a favorable career word from Astor Gordero be worth? Absolutely

  nothing . . . for dead men are worthless!

  Even worse things could have evolved because of the boy’s circumstances.

  Santos was Renaldo’s coach, his protector. The young player was a brilliant

  prodigy, with a bright football future before him. He was a musician and

  scholar as well. His safety on this ‘enlightening expedition to a provincial

  capital,’ words that he had spoken to convince Señora Florencia De Seta of the

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  RENALDO

  educational value of the outing, rested squarely on the coach’s shoulders. Had

  he not gone out of his way to convince Renaldo’s overprotective mother that her

  son would not be in the slightest bit of danger? And should any unpleasantness

  arise, that he would personally see to it that the boy stayed safely out of harm’s

  way?

  On this day, Estes Santos had been a terrible protector. The victory
/>   celebrations had gotten the better of him. He was totally unprofessional and

  certainly out of character for a man said to have nerves of cold steel. By the time

  he remembered to look to his charge, the boy was nowhere to be seen. Gordo’s

  huge flag had brought them together again momentarily, but he had not waited

  to save The Fat Man’s hide outside the stadium as his captain had. Estes Santos

  had run for his life and forsaken his sworn responsibility. All these thoughts

  swirled intermittently through his mind as he tried to suppress the guilt of his

  shortcomings in the arms and between legs of the two ‘hostesses.’

  Renaldo was both amused and shocked by the performance taking place

  only a few feet from where he sat in the rear of the luxurious coach. The boy

  had never imagined, let alone witnessed, such a lewd spectacle. He had no urge

  to partake of these particular pleasures, preferring, instead, to focus on his host,

  who was at that moment holding court at the end of the buffet table.

  Astor Gordero took on the role of director for this extravaganza, but he

  never indulged in its antics. He sat in his special easy chair choreographing,

  cajoling, and encouraging the actors. A large plate of food rested constantly in

  his lap, and a steward stood attentively by his side, the Dom Pérignon at the

  ready. Every once in a while, his eyes would connect with Renaldo’s across the

  room, and the older man would nod his approval of the festivities.

  Gordero made sure that the boy was left in peace, the second steward

  warding off any enthusiastic reveler that ventured too near. Champagne, cigars,

  and repast were Renaldo’s for the taking, but the events of the day still occupied

  most of his thoughts. He remembered the fear that permeated every ounce of

  his being when he and Gordero had been trapped in the alleyway. But try as he

  might, he could not recall the exact actions that supposedly saved their lives.

  Renaldo concluded that he had acted instinctively, much as any trapped animal

  would have to ensure survival and self-preservation. What had made his acts

  of valor so distinct and unusual was that he had saved the life of not just an

  ordinary football fan, but one of the richest, most powerful men in Argentina.

  Surely Astor Gordero could have been seated in the president’s box at