Two weeks ago (Sunday, January 16, 2022) Buenos Aires, Argentina

The summer sun and haze in the air didn’t really stop Seb from running the field and sliding in the grass to tackle Diego.

The ball moved over the line and out which gave time for Iván to get back to the goal where he belonged.

Diego, of course, thought every goal he was going to shoot was La Mano de Dios but he was just bad. Now he was lying on the ground wailing like he was Ricardo Darín. Eventually he got up and the game continued.

“That goal was mine, pelotudo.”

“Are you going to do something about it, che?”

Diego’s bluster faded when he regarded Sebs ragged clothes and face. Stripped of baby fat from privation, Sebastian was early into his growth, hard as iron, and not to be crossed.

“No.” Diego tried to recapture the swagger that had brought him this far. But he couldn’t manage it and eventually he retreated.

Seb smiled to himself and finished collecting his stuff from the locker room. Then headed out, saying bye to the coach and other kids, heading to the train station.

Once he got to the train station he looped around it to make sure nobody followed him, and pretended to head to one train before getting on another. Eventually he got off and began walking. He ducked into an alley right outside of Villa 31,and grabbed the rags he had stashed there and changed and carefully tucked his drying clothes into a small hole he had found earlier.

He traversed the cobblestone streets with long practice. The summer heat lingered into the evening and a fine sheen of sweat covered him despite his unhurried pace. With luck, his father would already be passed out or with one of his women.

The bright colorful buildings of Villa 31 were muted on the fading sunlight. He heard the familiar cadences of Paraguayan and Bolivian accents and apodo being spoken.

When he approached home, Doña Ines called out, “Sebastian, wait a while. Your papa just came back and he is in a mood. Esta en pedo.” Seb started laughing since Doña Ines was called that after the Chilean volcano for her monstrous farts. Her real name was, well nobody remembered it, and she never knew why people called her that though and she was too nice otherwise for anyone to reveal the truth.

He sat in her living room and watched old Maradona games. His father often came and went, picking up mining jobs to get money for more alcohol.

Eventually he got tired, and because he hadn’t heard any crashes or yelling from the house — he figured Papa had probably passed out.

Seb walked up, found the door unlocked and went in. Where he saw a stranger sitting at the table.

“¿Hablas ingles, chico?” said the person.

Seb nodded. His English was pretty good from scamming tourists when he was younger.

“Where is your father, boy?”

The man was tall and thin. His eyes were dark and recessed. Long hair, looked greasy, completed his disreputable look. And Seb had never seen him before. Nobody came to la villa and news of a stranger should have been all over.

“How did you get here, che?” Seb stood around twisting his head around, looking.

“Looking for your father? I don’t think you will see him again.”

¡Cagada! This guy was saying his father was dead. Seb cursed internally. Should he run?

And just as he decided to go for it, two hands pushed him forward and he stumbled forward but rolled and came up facing the other way to see a tall woman standing there. She had short spikey hair, and an impassive face. A smattering of freckles.

“He didn’t have it,” her voice sounded almost dead, how blank it was.

“You sure?”

The woman said nothing.

Seb registered the blood on her hands, imperfectly wiped off.

¡Cagada! ¡Cagada! ¡Cagada!. His father was dead. And although his father was a piece of shit, he was still Sebastian’s father.

“So little boy,” continued the man in the same conversational tone,, “it looks like your father may not have taken what didn’t belong to him. Sorry for your loss.”

And he got up and walked right out the door with the woman.

And suddenly Seb was angry. White hot fury. Some forro and his puts come into his home; kill his bastard, drunk of a father; and then just walk out? Like he was nothing.

Seb knew his place in the pecking order of the streets. He was a low level street tough,, at best a barra brava. But he was going to be a boss one day. And that day started now.

He went in and grabbed his weapon, a crude length of galvanized pipe he had stolen from a construction site. And then he turned back to follow the two who had killed his papa.

He headed down the Calle and rounded the corner to see both of them standing their waiting for him expectantly.

“What did I tell you? These kids are soaked in their machismo from day one,” the man said calmly.

The woman remained impassive. “Let’s go. I don’t have time for this. I need to get back to New York.”

“The boy?”

“Leave him. He is nothing. And if he becomes something, well then he will be useful as enemies often are.”

They turned and walked away leaving Seb standing there.

Seb held his eyes closed and thought. It was somewhere around here.

He had been searching through his already tossed home for hours now. He didn’t know what they were looking for, but whatever it was worth killing his father for. Could be drugs, money, or anything that didn’t belong in the barrio.

But Sebs father had just come back from a stint in the lithium mines. Was it something found? An antique?

He searched every hiding place he could think of. The air vents for the non-working air conditioning. In the toilet tank and behind it. He spent time looking for stitched seams on their paltry furniture. And then he wondered if he would need to cut open the walls.

His father had been a bastard, but he had criminal cunning. He would want whatever he stole to be easy to get to in case he needed to run. And that made it easy to figure out where else to look.

Seb went outside and went for a walk. He went home and made sure to go to sleep with his windows wide open. He ran his scams and low level errands for his bosses and played soccer for a week, then two weeks, then a month. He looked around the house surreptitiously.

And then, one night, Seb vanished. The agent who had been assigned to watch him was found dismembered, in pieces all over town, for having let his guard down.

And if nobody had noticed that the trash can outside had been shifted slightly and it’s wobbling had fixed itself. Then well that was all to the better.