Previously on La Plata, a thousand eyes came to rescue Hugo Ojeda.
He was born in Venezuela, spent his childhood in Colombia, became a man in Uruguay, and a drug baron in Mexico. A lot has happened already in the 33 years Hugo Ojeda has been on this planet…but fate had once again pulled him back to the Colombian jungle. On the outskirts of the Colombian city of Cúcuta, near the Venezuelan frontier, Hugo Ojeda had arrived back ‘home’ to the refugee camp, in order to bury his mother.
“The jungle was where she was happiest”, Hugo reflected. It was where she first met Ángel Bastardo…the camp’s faultless protector, and the love of her life. The sad truth was that his mother had already died twice since. The first, after Bastardo’s imprisonment, and the second, in Mexico, where she saw Hugo Ojeda become one of Mexico’s most notorious drug traffickers. They had not spoken for over five years, and it pained Hugo to know that there would never be a final chance to say goodbye. “Bastardo would never let his loved ones die…especially by way of suicide”, Hugo mused.
After the short ceremony, Hugo stood alone in front of the chapel’s newly installed stained glass window. It was a self-commissioned portrait of Hugo with his ‘El Silencio’: Ojeda’s signature golden gun that fired venom laced bullets from its abnormally weak chamber. It was said that the bullet’s impact was not likely to kill you, but the Black Mamba snake venom was. It would guarantee that you would die from fever within half an hour. Hugo had truly adopted the Snake of Sinaloa persona bestowed upon him by the Mexican Cartels, when he swapped Murciélagos FC with Dorados, as a young Football Manager.
Father Martínez, who had remained in the jungle all these years, to continue the work with the refugees, slowly approached Ojeda. The two men were now the only people in the chapel. Now in his 80’s, Father Martínez’s frailty had accelerated enough, to merit the use of a walking stick. His voice too had changed over the years and was now slower and deeper…with the odd stutter at places: “Your generous donation and instruction led us to the best Italian glass maker in the world. A family business that has been doing this for over 400 years. I hope it satisfies you Hugo”.
“It does. As do the rest of the donations I have provided, over the years, Father”, Hugo replied solemnly. Hugo was not in a mood to talk right then, especially to a religious zealot like Father Martínez…who had protested strongly when Hugo, his mother, and over half the camp’s previous occupants fled to Montevideo, to follow Bastardo, all those years ago. At the time, strong words were exchanged, and Hugo Ojeda remembered being branded a ‘Demon of Lucifer’ by the never courteous Father Martínez. Yet, donations did continue, not for the sake of God’s spokesman, but for the sake of the ever-increasing numbers of Venezuelan migrants, who needed help.
Father Martínez was not one to remain quiet and respectful. Even now, when words were becoming hard to grapple with, he poked his nose into things that did not concern him. “It is a sad consequence of our meeting, Hugo. Such an unfortunate end to a glorious and pious soul. But now that your mother has indeed passed, it would be good for you to enter into a confession…a confession to repent your sins...I believe this is what she wanted, and what you clearly need”.
“Religion makes a weak man feel strong”, Hugo thought to himself, as the Snake of Sinaloa’s rage started to boil under the apparent calm surface of his demeanour. The twitch in his right hand, yearning to wield El Silencio, was ever-growing. But killing a man, alone in a church? It felt beyond Hugo Ojeda and as such he continued with diplomacy: “Tell me Father. What do people here think of me?” Hugo, who had been enjoying the stained glass window, now turned to face Father Martínez.
The priest leaned against the nearest pew and smiled: “A legend, Hugo. Young people look up to you as an example, a hero, who managed to defy the odds and escape this jungle. They hope that they can follow your lead one day and do the same”…the old man’s smile began to dwindle and he became sombre, and even slower, and the words came out grating, from his throat: “But they are yet to understand who you truly are…like your mother, who eventually did. You were once a good boy Hugo Ojeda, but Montevideo, Mexico, and most certainly Ángel Bastardo, changed you. Look beyond the nice suits, flashy cars, and golden guns…and your work is truly the Devil’s. Confess, and begin the process of redemption...I beg you”.
Enough. Hugo Ojeda had had enough; he would raise his audible levels to ensure that the old man heard what he was about to say: “A legend?” With a cold smile, good enough for any stained glass window, Hugo Ojeda continued:
“Legends don’t burn down villages, Cabron. Every building in this shithole burns tonight, including this chapel of yours. Everybody leaves and heads to the port of Barranquilla with me. If not, they burn. The only church that illuminates tonight will be this burning one. We leave at sundown”. Having delivered the most serious of ultimatums, Hugo Ojeda stormed down the aisle and out of sight. His exit left the old man to dissect the decision that lay plain before him and his congregation: stay, and burn, OR, go to Barranquilla, and live…
RIP Father Martínez
Notes from the Editor - I wanted to revisit the Colombian jungle where we first met Hugo Ojeda, in FM20. Not only is Colombia the location of my next Football Manager save…it also gives me the chance to reflect on that previous piece. Hugo Ojeda has changed. From the young boy who took stand against the foreign invader (Ruslan Chepiga), he has transformed to become the adversary himself! The adversary who burns down the jungle complex, through his power as a drug lord. Whereas the previous inhabitants of that refugee camp chose to follow Bastardo, to Montevideo out of admiration and love, they now follow Ojeda, north to the Colombian coast, out of fear. But, I do not want this blog post to be too dark and so I have omitted Father Martínez’s ultimate refusal and martyrdom. As I said last time out, you’ll just have to imagine the fire.
We head to Barranquilla, on Colombia’s Caribbean coast, for a more traditional save reveal, which will follow soon…
FM Grasshopper
Special thanks to Arun Abraham Varghese who helped co-edit this piece, offering exceptional proofreading skills and sage counsel, to bounce ideas around with CreativeFM. Thank you.