Previously on La Plata: Mexico, Hugo Ojeda drove into enemy territory. Unarmed.

As predicted, Hugo Ojeda and Sinaloan Cartel associate Kike ‘Fingers’ Garcia were arrested, as soon as their car pulled up into the Tijuana Central Plaza, on the stroke of midday. Quickly bound, searched and blindfolded, the two prisoners were bundled into the back of a mob car and taken to a warehouse. Hugo had counted to around 900 before they arrived and he concluded that they were still deep within Tijuana territory; perhaps a 15-minute drive away from the Central Plaza.

It was here, in the damp warehouse where Hugo and Kike would be repeatedly beaten. Some 6-7 hours later, every bone in Hugo’s body felt shattered, but it was nothing like the beating that Kike Garcia had received. Neither of them had given away the locations of their allies and Kike was indeed still alive. His laboured breathing pulsed across the echoing chamber that they found themselves in. The amateur interrogators had failed to notice his life-like fingers and it was to be their glorious undoing, moments later. When tortured by the Tijuana Cartel in the past, Kike Garcia had given away on his friends, and his index fingers, in order to stay alive. The prosthetic extensions from his knuckles up were constant reminders of the shame that he had to live with up with till now. But today, those lost fingers would finally come back to haunt Tijuana… it was Kike’s moment of redemption, and Hugo Ojeda’s master plan.

By now, the Americans had arrived, crossing the border from San Diego and had entered the Cartel Compound. Hugo couldn’t be sure whether it was the DEA, the CIA, or the FBI… but they were inexcusably American, meddling in Mexico’s issues. For only the second time that day, Hugo’s blindfold was removed as he slumped in front of the two American Agents and Don Alejandro, the Tijuana Cartel Boss of Baja California.

The gout ridden, fat old man turned to face the Americans: “I present you the Venezuelan Cabron, who has been messing with us all. Bastardo’s Heir: ‘The Snake of Sinaloa.’ Take him as an extension of our friendship”.

Hugo could not wait to plant bullets into this hypocrite Drug Lord. Don Alejandro’s over indulgence in this world needed to end and even now, with his Cartel boxed in on home soil, he afforded Hugo Ojeda a sarcastic smile.

“Habla Inglés?” asked one of Americans, a broad man with designer tinted sunglasses and dressed in full kevlar.

The reply from Hugo Ojeda was nothing like they would have expected: “Murciélagos”. The puzzled faces couldn’t grasp the meaning of the word, but soon they would. “Murciélagos”, Hugo repeated.

“You call them ‘bats’ in English. The name of this Snake’s former soccer team. He is delirious… probably taken one whack too many today. Take him and shoot the other one. He is a nobody”. Having seen enough, Don Alejandro headed for the door, up till when a high pitched noise emanated from Kike’s index finger. It flashed red and the noise reverberated.

“What is that? A tracking device? Did you amateurs not notice this?!” asked the second American. They both unholstered their sidearm pistols.

“Murciélagos” said Kike, defiant in his final words, before being executed by Don Alejandro, with a single shot to the head. The pot bellied Don screamed to his guns to man the windows and block the doors. But it was too late… a noise in the distance grew louder and louder. It was as if a jungle was sweeping through the city, or was it radio waves on a terrible frequency? It became unbearable. The noise gathered momentum until the windows on both sides of the warehouse smashed through. Bats. Lots of bats.

The natural reaction of the Tijuana soldiers was to try and shoot them down, but the cloud of winged rodents did not disperse, and if anything, friendly fire brought some of the Tijuana soldiers to the floor. The million dollar sonar device in the index finger of Kike Garcia was the bats’ calling, and they came in thousands. Hugo Ojeda’s backup was not far along either, the Sinaloans and Free Folk having made their way across the City, following the flight of the bats. With their entrance already cleared, they made quick work of Hugo’s captors.

By now, anybody with sense was lying prone on the ground, doing their best to avoid the fire and the bats themselves. Hugo was quickly cut free by an incoming Sinaloan and he immediately reached for Kike’s hand, ripping off the index finger and throwing it out the window. The possessed bats flew after their addiction once more, smashing any glass that remained, giving respite to those inside. Helped to his feet and given a pistol, Hugo Ojeda made his way to the fat Don Alejandro. The Cartel Boss had been shot in the arm, but his wincing was soon put to an end… as Hugo opened fire on his stomach, completely emptying the pistol’s rounds. The Head of the Tijuana Cartel’s body became a fractured mess.

Now it was on to the Americans, who had made the sensible choice in remaining neutral during the skirmish. They were huddled together like terrified refugees. Hugo Ojeda knew what it felt like. He advanced on them slowly, blood stained and with a terrible limp: should he kill them? Ángel Bastardo once said that killing an American wakes a thousand eyes. It was undoubtedly the Argentine’s biggest mistake. He knew it and he made sure Hugo Ojeda understood this too. Ordering the killing of a single American UN diplomat on that cold night in Russia started the unstoppable chain of events that ultimately led to The Fall. Ojeda would not make this same mistake. The Americans must be spared. They shouldn’t be here in Mexico, Hugo thought... but then, maybe, he shouldn’t be here either. After all, this was Mexico’s war; nobody else’s.

Hugo lowered his gun, “Return home, Gringos. And take this with you. You will need it if I ever see you here again”.

Hugo threw his crucifix necklace to the ground in front of them. He nodded to the Sinaloans looting the warehouse and they hoisted and pushed the Americans out of the door, their heavy handedness reaffirming Hugo’s message. Hugo sandwiched his gun between his shirt and torn trousers and turned to face his loyal men who had come to his aid. He afforded them a rare smile and nod, before heading to the exit.

This was a win for Sinaloa. With Don Alejandro dead, Sinaloa finally had the border rights and access to the biggest market for its product: The United States of America. However, Hugo Ojeda would make sure that this was his victory; His victory with the Sinaloa bosses, who were currently hiding away, back in home territory. With the crucifix off, not even God would be watching. A thousand eyes and one: oblivious as to what was going to happen next. It was time for Hugo Ojeda to assume command and complete Operation Isabella.

Sinaloa would be his.

Notes from the Editor - As an offshoot from my FM20 Peñarol save with Bastardo, Mexico has been really fun. We’ve had four years here in Sinaloa with some incredible highs and some laughably low moments. From Murciélagos FC to Dorados, we rose from Ascenso MX to Liga MX and stayed there. But this save, as previously mentioned, isn’t a fairytale; its primary purpose was to introduce you to Hugo Ojeda and his unfaltering ambition to reach the top of the drug game.

It’s why I am calling time on our story here, on the cusp of Hugo’s ascent to Sinaloan Drug Lord status. With border rights finally secured and Operation Isabella complete, it’s time for Hugo Ojeda to take a pause from Football Management and build his empire. You’ll just have to imagine the fire.

A huge thanks for the readership and comments with La Plata: Mexico. It came at a time of great upheaval for everybody and the escapism to write, and perhaps for those reading too, was a welcome distraction. I hope we all have a better second half of 2020.

The FM20 save in its entirety can be read from start-to-finish here: fmgrasshopper.com/fm20.

FM Grasshopper