Erruki hated sitting behind a desk. One could not smell the freshly-mowed grass from behind a desk, never mind what those stupid computer games tried to brag. It was the goddamn photographers, they always made him sit behind that desk, strewn with papers he'd never seen and a bright red, royal-looking stapler that anyone could buy at a five-and-dime store. They wanted him to pose for pictures behind the desk after a win. They said it made him look official.
The only thing official about a soccer game, Erruki silently complained, is the final score. He objected when a staffer tried to pull down his sleeves: unrolled sleeves, he had always postulated, were for the weakest of all peasants. "It makes you look sharp," the staffer pressed. "I hope," said Erruki, "the fans care more about the game than my attire. For all I care, I'd wear one of those damn red team jumpsuits that would blind a prisoner."
Just as he was prepared to shoo the pesky flies with cameras out of his office, the phone mercifully rang. "Hello? Hello? Hey, you, get outta here." As the photographers slinked out, he added a soft "please" - apologies were for the abashed and the weak, but this was as close to an apology as this old coot would get.
"He-hey! Erruki, my brotha! What's popping?!" Only Albert Tomlinson could greet someone this way.
"Good evening, Al. How are things?"
"They're fine, fine. The wife and I got a new BRM just last week. 320 horsepower, double-jet engine, solar-powered. Guy at the dealer, get this, guess what he told me? He said a promotion to the King's League deserves a car fit for kings! Ha! That cat's got some kinda spunk, huh?"
"Very funny, sir."
"And get this - know what he said his name is? Da Vinci - because the car's GPS screen has a more detailed night sky than 'Starry Night'! What panache that kid's got. Sweet Jesus, children are the future of Civil Citizenry, you know?"
"I do know, otherwise I wouldn't be coaching youth players." Erruki let himself have a chuckle at that. It was somewhat of an ordeal conversing with Al; you had to appease yourself.
"Say, hey, you pounded those Valladarians, eh? Shit, who's that-"
"No fucking cursing on the phone, Al."
"Oh, oh, oh, sorry, sorry. Well, heck, who's that kid with the rocket leg. I'd love to have one of him on my team."
"Remember the good old days when Rox Welton scored double-digit goals and everyone thought Munio Baranzano was the shit?"
"Weren't you still in Astograth? How do you know all this?"
"I like to keep up on this sort of stuff. We all do. Scandal and failure are the basic elements of all media. God, you couldn't click on any football website without some article popping up on Baranzano. We all knew he sucked - four goals in one season is not 'just a fluke.'"
"Made your national team, didn't he? I bet he made Dei miiiighty jealous."
"Is Ingram jealous of Lester Sutton?"
As much as Al enjoyed the banter, he dropped his voice and pressed forward with the intent of his call. "Listen, Erruki, I don't have much time. I've got a board meeting in a few minutes and I've got nothing to tell them other than I've picked up some young Unitopolitan for the back line. That kid - what the hell's his name -"
"Latimer? He's playing crosstown from you guys."
"No, no, the other forward."
"Buck."
"Him. I want him on the team."
"You know you can't sign kids under twenty."
If his voice was low before, it was nearly a silent whisper now. "Listen, I need someone to help us stay up next season. Relegation means the owner's foot in my ass. I-I've got money, you know, I'll pay whatever it takes."
"It's against the rules to sign someone that young. You should know that."
"Who said he has to be that young?"
"What are you going on about, Al?"
"I've got the money. If he just says he's twenty, I'll pay the kid a ton of cash. There'll be something in it for you, too."
"Any football fan in this country knows he's this 18-year-old collegiate phenom. He can't just go around saying he lied but he'll take the couple million dollars anyway."
"There's gotta be some workaround. I gotta go to this meeting - do I have your word that you'll help me sign this kid? I need to go in there with some major news."
"It's not foolproof - I'll lose my job in a heartbeat if the CFA finds out I'm behind anything. And Christ, the last thing Eastern Chase needs is another financial scandal."
"Think about your retirement fund. Don't you wanna loaf on the Bartewick beaches and tour Iturributa..."
"When I retire, I'll want to relax, not live in a shithole."
"You're gonna need the money, you know. Forget the pensions, they're squat, trust me. That's why I need to keep this job. I'm not gonna get to manage anywhere else, you know."
"Can't you take someone else? Benson-Fisk has been improving lately, only narrowly made the team but-"
"Small fish in a big pond. This kid's the koi fish. I-we really need him."
"I can't promise you anything-"
"Great, I'll call you tomorrow night."
