Love the update, Jose you dirty dog.
Mourinho: The 15 Year Plan
- POSTS232
- VIEWS81735
#9: Margot | 8 September 2014
It's eleven o-clock on Monday morning, and I'm boarding a chopper sent from Dmitry to pick me up and take me to his yacht at the Port of Antibes, where the board and coaching staff will discuss the month of August. Antibes is a place only the filthiest of rich men can afford to park up their boats, trust me.
It's about a fifteen minute journey in the air, and so we arrived only soon after taking off. I walk along the port taking in my surroundings whilst locating Dmitry's boat. Cutely, the boat was named 'Margot', the name of his wife...his cheating wife.
The boat is supreme, god knows the cost, but it was sensational. Blue, white and huge. There was no way of getting on the boat as the footbridge was folded up onto the back, when Dmitry appeared from inside.
"Jose! One second please." he said, untying the footbridge and releasing it slowly down onto the port.
"Please, do come in, everybody is waiting to begin."
"This is an amazing boat, Mr Chairman." I said to Dmitry as we walked through the long corridors, finally taking a right into a room.
There was nobody in this room.
"Where is everyone?" I inquired, having been told everyone was waiting to begin.
"Me and you first, Mr Mourinho, we have some important matters to dicuss, don't we?" he said, an icy tone to his voice. I won't lie, I'm pretty scared at this moment in time.
Suddenly two bald men dressed in all black, both at least 6ft3in and built like Storm Troopers came in and guarded the double doors I'd just walked through. Now, I am scared.
"A little excessive Dmitry?" I joked. His facial expression didn't change.
He poured himself a double Whisky and sat down in one of the seats.
"Take a seat, Jose, don't look so scared."
He was speaking like a James Bond villain, monotone, no emotion, nothing. Ice cold. He downed the Whisky. I took a seat.
"You have an OK start with us here, August was nice month for the club."
Thank god, football was on the agenda, a weight lifted off my shoulders immediately.
"Thank you Mr Chairman, things must still be worked on in training, but the players are gelling well and we have been making good progress." I said, relieved by the topic of conversation.
"Quite...quite." he said.
"I hear you have a good night out at Strip Club!" Dmitry finally laughing.
"Yes, we did. One not to tell the girl at home for the players." I laughed back.
"Who told you? Was it the players?" I wondered how he knew.
"No." he snapped almost accidentally, looking frustrated that he'd given away his discontent so early into my torture.
He started into my eyes coldly, waiting for one of us to break the eye contact, the first inevitably losing the war of tension.
I couldn't stand it any longer, I looked down and drank from the coffee cup he'd provided me with.
"Mr Mourinho, you are a very, very stupid man."
"Why's that?" I said, my heart skipping beats at a rate harmful to the human body.
"You know, you know why. You see, Mr Mourinho came to Monaco, in a fairytale move for the club. You are right in what you arrogantly claim - you are the best football coach in the world. But what you are not, Jose, is a good man. I don't like men who aren't good. Who did you speak to at the Strip Club?"
I cast my mind back to the night, but my mind is very vague and I can only remember snippets. I spoke to Falcao, Moutinho, Ferdinand. And a girl, I don't recall her name.
"Erm, I speak to Rio, Joao, and Falcao. And I think I speak to a stripper at the bar too. You must understand Dmitry, I was very drunk, my recollection is not good."
His expression didn't change, not in the slightest.
"No...group of men? No men you make friends with?"
Group of men? What group of men? That's a strange question to ask, I don't remember a group of men.
"No? Sorry is there something I've done. Perhaps going to a Strip Club was irresponsible, I am sorry." I replied.
"Don't apologise, Mr Mourinho. There is no need for apology here."
Dmitry turned to the men standing at the door, arms folded and staring straight through everything.
"Vladimir, go and fetch my prize."
One of the men opened the door, and walked out, only to return 30 seconds later. No talking between myself and my chairman had taken place in between, it was very awkward.
Vladimir had with him Margot, his prize. To me, that is a disgusting way to talk about a beautiful young woman, but I won't say anything. My heart is racing, I begin to sweat, I probably couldn't look any more guilty. She was wearing a tight fitted black dress, she looked stunning. She walked in, sat on Dmitry's knee and stared at me, smiling provocatively.
"You are a fucking bastard, Jose." he said softly, making his statement all the more intimidating.
"You see, my baby Margot here, she is beautiful young woman. You speak to five men in the Strip Club. I sent them there to get your thoughts on me, to who you thought were strangers. Now, it was all going very well, until you tell them something."
I still didn't know what I'd said, but I had a good idea.
He placed his phone on the table in front of us, and pressed play on a recording.
"So you have good relationship with him?"
"Yes, up until now, OK. It's when he finds out I've been fucking his wife it'll get ugly."
Dmitry pressed pause. A silence stole the atmosphere in the room, a pin drop could be heard for miles.
"What the fuck!" screamed Margot leaping off Dmitry's knee.
"That's a lie! We never even spoke to each other! You fucking freak!" she verablly hurled at me.
I didn't know what to say, I couldn't even refute Margot's bullshit through my state of shock, but thankfully someone did.
"And you can shut the fuck up, this man has enough on his plate now, don't you go making him feel worse by accusing him of being a liar. That, is one thing he can't be accused of. You're a little slut, Margot, and nobody fucks with me like that. Vladimir, deal with this piece of shit."
Before she could say anything Vladimir had a firm grip of her, leading her out of the room. I tried to intervene before the other bald storm trooper forced me back into my seat. I presume that's the last time any of us will see her.
"Dmitry, this is a big misunderstanding - I did not know this was your wife!" I claimed, it was true.
"No, no, of course not. Do you think I am some sort of fool, Jose? You might be the best coach in the world, but you are not a man. You think you are some sort of big shot, telling every man and his dog in a strip club you are fucking the chairman's wife? Well done, Mr Mourinho, well done." he started clapping slowly and sarcastically.
"I tell you a few weeks ago, if you make error again, you're gone. I wasn't joking."
I couldn't find words to defend myself, I was shaking with terror.
"You leave, tonight."
"Yes Dmitry, I understand, it's what's best for everyone. I'm so sorry." I quivered.
"No, you don't seem to understand. You leave, not just the club, you leave forever. Vladimir and Aleksandr will take you away, some place quiet, and do to you physically what you have done to me emotionally. And trust me, it won't be tickling. Nor will your survive. Enjoy, Mr Mourinho. Enjoy." he laughed sadistically.
Before I knew it, I was restrained and screaming through duct tape in the boot of a black BMW driving very fast. I tried to phone help, but my phone battery died almost straight away. And by the looks of things, I'm a dead man breathing.
FOUL LANGUAGE: It's necessary in this story. Sorry if any offence has been caused.
I've only thread the first two, but it's perhaps the best starter to a story I've ever read. I look forward to really reading this.
Mouriniho's arrogance has come back to haunt him!
Alright, that was awesome, please... please write more :P. This is more of a "drama" than a football story I must admit, but it's awesome.
#10: Good Russians Exist | 8 September 2014
My mouth is taped shut and I'm lying tied in the boot of a car, driving somewhere very fast and without caution. I use my cigarette lighter somehow with rope bound hands. It creates little, if no light.
Dmitry finding out about my 'affair' with his wife has led me to this point, struggling for air, restrained in a confined space having been told that my life is to be over following inevitable torture.
Suddenly the car pulls over. It feels like we've been going forever, I must have had so many panic attacks whilst in the boot that from now on I'll never feel anxious again. It puts life into perspective, all I want to do is say goodbye to my children, and my wife. Even though she's left me, and made my life hell these last few months - I want to tell her I love her, I forgive her, and goodbye. I won't get that opportunity. Nothing is happening, we're just stopped, the engine isn't running.
I hear two doors open and close, surely driver and passenger. I hear the shoes of Vladimir, the incomprehensibly scary looking security guard from Dmitry's yacht. They are approaching the boot. The boot flips open at speed, the bright daylight blind me momentarily before regaining focus.
I scream.
"Jose shut up, please!" he said, not at all threatening.
I carry on screaming though, through the tape, it's just muffled noise.
"Jose!" he exasperatedly whispered.
Why was he whispering? And why hasn't he pulled out my finger nails with a pair of pliers yet?
"You're safe, Jose." he said, carefully tearing the duct tape from my mouth - though I think it would have been less painful had he ripped it off in one continuous strip. I struggle for air, where are we?
"What the fuck is going on?" I shouted back at him, still in the boot.
Vladimir grabbed my arm and helped me out of the boot, Aleksandr, his colleague, cutting the rope that bound my wrists together.
"I'm sorry we had to be so forceful Mr Mourinho, Dmitry will have been watching on CCTV cameras." said Vladimir's right hand man.
"What?" I said back, completely bemused by what was going on.
"Dmitry tells us to murder anyone he doesn't like, usually in a similar fashion to how he did in front of you on the yacht earlier. Dmitry is a twat, we don't like him, but he pays us good money. Which is why we can afford to make these people disappear from Dmitry's sight. We're at an underground car park, when you walk up the stairs and turn right, you need to follow the signs for the airport terminal."
What the hell is going on, two minutes ago I thought my life was over. Now these guys are being friendly.
"Margot, is she OK?" I asked, then wondering why I'd asked.
"She's still in France, but she's safe, Dmitry won't know where she is, but she's safe." replied Aleksandr.
Vladimir delved into the inside pocket of his suit blazer, and pulled out a brand new passport with my identifications on it and a one way ticket to the Moldives.
"I don't understand, why do this for me?"
"Because we're not murderers, we're security guards. Dmitry seems to believe that everytime he tells us to torture someone we do it, we've never tortured or killed anyone, just made them disappear from Dmitry's view." said Aleksandr.
"Your flight leaves in an hour and a half, you have enough time." added Vladimir.
He then pulled a phone from his pocket.
"Here," he said, passing me the modern mobile.
"Take this with you, we found your agents mobile number and stored it in the phone. I'm sure he can help you contact loved ones and tell them what the situation is."
They both offered their hands, I shook them, then embraced them, and then cried. It was all too much to take in, I thought I was a dead man.
"You have accommodation in Maldives, it isn't great, but it will do for now. I'm sure you'll buy yourself a nice place soon enough. The address is stored in the notes page of your phone." said Vladimir.
"Thank you so much, I'm forever in your debt." I blubbered.
"Don't worry about it, just keep a low profile. You, by rights, should be dead."
I turned to walk away.
"Oh and another thing, Jose, not that you'll care - you're not Monaco manager any more, just stay low. Maybe one day we'll meet again."
We parted, and now I sit comfortably in the VIP lounge at Nice Airport. I opened up the phone, and found Jorge's mobile number. I called it, still trembling.
"Jose! Where the hell have you been, I've been ringing all afternoon!" he answered hysterically.
"Jorge shut up. Don't speak, just let me tell you everything, I beg you not to interrupt..."
Another great update mate! What's Jose gonna do now that he's meant to be invisible?!
You are reading "Mourinho: The 15 Year Plan".
