[ uno ]

-

"Got a secret,
Can you keep it?
Swear this one you'll save."

-

"I hope they don't cancel the game." Jürgen commented to Rodolfo as they walked with the rest of the players into the locker room. Jürgen and Lalo Herrera had been two of the most recent call ups and had only played two matches with the national team. Both had been on American soil. Sure there were thousands of Mexicans in the United States, but playing in the Estadio Azteca had been Jürgen's dream ever since he could remember. All of them were present in the locker room, all but one. It had been over a half hour since they had seen him. 

When they arrived on the team bus a while earlier, it had started pouring outside. The clouds had darkened the sky over the Azteca in the capital city of Mexico, as if knowing of the ominous things that would be happening there. The national team would be going up against the United States' national team as a preparation game before they could go to the Gold Cup which would take place in the United States.

The players had finished getting ready to go out onto the field, and still there was no sign of their starting goal keeper. With fifteen minutes left before the game, El Piojo Herrera walked into the locker rooms. "Has anyone seen Memo?" He asked the twenty-two players. Half of them raised their heads to look at the team manager. They had all seen Memo on the team bus and half of them had even talked to him when they made their way towards the changing room. But at an undetermined moment, they didn't see him anymore. No one thought anything suspicious of it until the moment in which the team manager asked about the missing players.

They all shook their heads in response. Thinking about it for a moment, he looked to Alfredo Talavera. "I guess you're starting, Tala. But I'm still getting someone to search for Memo." Miguel Herrera instructed the players to stay put until he had more news about their team mate and left them there to wonder what had happened.

.

On the bus, on the way to Estadio Azteca, the bus was something of a party. In order to set the mood for their upcoming game, Paul was playing banda music loudly on his cellphone. Some of the players sang along to the songs which talked about getting drunk, going to parties, and sleeping with easy-going women. Paul was the loudest of them, singing, "Ando bien pedo, bien loco, cantandole al recuerdo mis penas!"

"You and your naco ass music, turn it down." Miguel complained, who was sitting next to the footballer from Sinaloa.

Paul snorted at his friend's comment. "Ay el fresa is complaining again. Pinche marica. Let me listen to my music. I don't even know why we're friends." The two were from completely different worlds. Paul had been raised in an impoverished village in Sinaloa, while Miguel had always gotten everything he wanted. He was from a privileged family in Veracruz. His grandfather Youssef Layun had moved to Mexico from Lebanon and was able to make a nice living for himself. His maternal grandfather had moved to Mexico from Spain, making Miguel only half-Mexican, like some of his other team mates.

"Play some mariachi music!" Javier yelled from one side of the bus over the roaring drums and loud cymbals of the banda.

"We're in Mexico City, not Guadalajara!" Memo joked from his seat in the back.

Javier sighed. "I wish our national stadium was el Omnilife." It was the home stadium of the team he had been raised in, the home of Chivas de Guadalajara. "Hey, do you think we could request that? A new home for the seleccion would be great." He turned in his seat to look at Carlos, who sat next to him. Both Carlos Vela and Javier Hernandez had been team mates in the lower divisions of Chivas when they were younger.

Behind them were Hector and Giovani who were sat together. "No seas pendejo, Chicha!" Don't be stupid, Hector laughed. "That piece of shit stadium doesn't deserve our presence."

"Ey puto." Chicharito turned in his seat, glaring at his team mate. "El Omnilife es sagrado." The Omnilife is sacred. 

The bus soon arrived at their destination and they climbed off, headed for the changers.

.

When they had been on the bus, none of them had noticed anything wrong with Memo. The players were in the locker room, mostly silent, waiting for news about their missing friend. In the stands, the fans were becoming impatient. There were only minutes for the game to start and they didn't see any movement in the tunnel. Due to the heavy rain, some were beginning to leave the stadium. But some hoped the game would continue anyway. 

A group of security guards spread out over the Colosso de Santa Ursula, many of them inspecting belongings of the fans on their way out to ensure there hadn't been any signs of foul play. Another group of them scanned every hallway in the stadium, in search of the missing goal keeper. Only one of them dared to go into one of the lower hallways, which hadn't been used since the country had hosted a world cup in 1986. Those hallways had served to let the fans find their way out of the parking lot to avoid a lot of traffic. The hallways were full of cobwebs and were very dimly lit and there was a very long stair case that led down to them.

It was only until he was halfway down that the security guard saw a body at the end of it. Upon getting closer, he found Guillermo Ochoa, goal keeper of the national team in a pool of crimson red blood. From what the security guard could conclude, the footballer had fallen down the long staircase and subsequently hit his head hard along the way. Sucking in a surprised breath, he unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt and quickly called for help.

In a matter of minutes, the police was in the stadium and was interrogating the coaching staff. 

Back in the locker room, the players all looked at each other. No one knew what was happening, but they were now sure it was something serious since their friend hadn't been found and there were many people in the stadium who might have hurt him.

The door to the locker room opened, revealing a man in a dark blue police man's uniform. The entire room went silent as the man eyed each one of them until he found who he was looking for. "Rodolfo," He called in an authoratative voice. When Rodolfo looked up to meet his gaze, he gestured for the twenty-one year old footballer to follow. "Your father wants to talk to you."

Rodolfo nodded his head and got up from his seat quietly. 

Once the officer left with Rodolfo, a collective breath seemed to leave each of the players in the room. At the sight of a police officer, they had thought something wrong had happened. 

"Why do you think Pizarro's dad is here?" Diego wondered, saying what the rest of them were thinking. All looked towards Jürgen, who was best friends with Rodolfo. 

Ever since Jürgen had moved to Hidalgo to join Club Pachuca, he and Rodolfo had become great friends. Rodolfo's father was head of police in the Colonia de Noche Buena in Mexico City, where Rodolfo was originally from. It was the nearest district to the Estadio Azteca, which made Pizarro's father the first one to be called when there was touble. Jürgen Damm, the dork of the group, shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Pizarrito didn't mention anything about his dad coming to the game." Both Jürgen and Pizarro were the youngest of their group of friends. They were also seen as children by their team mates because they looked innocent.

"Maybe Pizarro forgot to bring his floaties to wear during the game." Paul joked, making the others burst out in laughter. "If the rain gets any harder we'll have to swim on the field instead of run."

Diego licked his lips, suddenly hungry. "I wish it could rain tacos, like in that movie. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs."

"Pinche gordo." Moreno laughed. "Do you always think of eating?"

Their laughs were silenced by the door opening once more. This time, Rodolfo was alone and his eyes were trained on the ground. He bit down on his lip, unsure of how to give his team mates the news. His father had also given him instructions as to what was to be done.

"What happened?" Jürgen asked in a low voice when he saw the expression on his best friend's face.

"My dad said they found Memo." He paused when he felt a lump in his throat.

"And?" Paul pressed for more information.

Rodolfo sucked in a breath before proceeding. "He's...dead." All conversations in the room went into a halt. No one could believe what they were hearing. That morning they had all seen him and talked to him and in a matter of hours he was gone. "The staff is being interrogated right now and they say we'll be next when they're done. My dad says someone saw him by the old stair case where he was found, accompanied by someone else, long before they found him dead. One of us. But he was too far to tell who it was. They are clearing out the stadium currently and the rest of the team can leave except the following people: Chicharito, Gio, Oswaldo, Layun, Diego, Paul, Moreno, Vela, Jürgen and me. We were his closest friends and the very last people to see him alive. We..." He sighed, "Are all suspects."

"Que poca!" Paul complained, eyes brimmed with tears.

The other players were silent, too much in shock to conjure up anything to say. Memo was friends with all of them and knew all their secrets. 

But there was apparently one of them who thought he knew too much.

-

first chapter of putos for you guys. i really hope you like this story. i'm very excited about it. and lets see if you can all figure out who it was because i'm not gonna reveal it until the very end. so yeah. anyway, thank you all so much for reading. it means a lot to me. 

i love you.

-clary xx