Chapter Four

People say I am ruthless. I am not ruthless. And if I find the man who is calling me ruthless, I shall destroy him.

—Robert Kennedy

At 6:00 p.m., Von sped down Louisville to the Monroe Civic Center for the Open Style Martial Arts Tournament. Ringside, he found Rory Smith, the Northeast Louisiana martial arts instructor who had planned the event. Rory recognized him and stood to greet him.

“Von, how are you? It’s been a while. There’s a seat here. Why don’t you join me?”

“Thank you, I will.”

“You’re not fighting tonight, Von?” Rory asked.

“No. My work has prevented me from training as I should. I’m only in Monroe for business. I heard about the tournament, so I thought I’d see the competition our New Orleans schools will have to face next year.”

A large black man entered the ring. “I especially came to see this man fight,” Von said. “His name is Biko.”

“You know him? He’s the coach for the Sierra Leone team. His boys will give a demonstration later tonight. What do you know about him?”

“I know much about him. He is a Thai kick boxer. He also has a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and is generally just a tough son of a bitch. His team serves with him in a military unit.”

After the fighters bowed and the referee began the round, Biko launched a barrage of kicks and punches. One was a low blow. When Biko’s Korean style opponent doubled over and wobbled unsteadily on his feet, the man’s coach entered the ring. When the referee turned away from the fighters to order the man back to his corner, Biko attacked again, moving in closer this time, delivering hard decisive strikes, his leg whipping repeatedly into the man’s kidneys. The last blow was an illegal elbow, slipped in as a curving motion, as if it were a gloved punch, but so quick that few in the audience saw it. Biko’s opponent crumpled in a heap. Biko lifted his arms and strutted around the ring. A few in the audience booed when the referee lifted one of Biko’s arms in victory. Von heard the fighter shout, “For Biko, and for Sierra Leone!”

Rory said, “Hmm. I can’t believe that he beat the Korean so quickly.”

“He is not only tough; he is ruthless,” Von said. “I like his style.”

“You would, Von. After the fight, come meet me for a drink at Monroe’s only strip club.”

“I can’t tonight. I’m meeting Biko at my hotel.”

Biko hopped the ropes and joined the Sierra Leone team ringside. He slapped the head of one team member whose eyes wandered while he addressed the team. They filed onto the canvass floor of the ring and as Biko barked out commands they took their positions. Like Biko, the fighters’ uniform trousers were short, to the knee, revealing callused shins, the battered nerve endings long dead. Toughened shins would be as effective as a wooden club in combat.

On stage, one of Biko’s fighters took the microphone. “Master Biko stresses the importance of the poomse. He says our poomses reveal that ‘Man is born without knowledge and when he has obtained it, he very soon becomes old. When his experience is ripe, death suddenly seizes him.’ He has choreographed a new form, one that tells a story as old as Salone. As such patterns of defensive and offensive movements reflect the identity, the principles, and the essence of our fighting system, the form you see tonight reflects the philosophic relevance of the martial arts to soldiers in our country.”

The sound system projected ear-splitting music, a mixture of voices and West African drumbeats. The team members formed two lines and rocked on the balls of their feet to the rhythm. The form was a complex series of movements, and the team a model of precision, rhythm, balance, co-ordination, endurance, patience, muscles, discipline, and breath control. Biko’s creation, similar to what the Japanese call a kata and the Koreans a poomse, told a story unfamiliar to the audience. After one line symbolically attacked, the opposite knelt and bowed their heads in surrender. One by one they extended one arm, then another as the leader, wielding a daab, a Thai saber-shaped sword, moved down the line, slicing symbolically at the projecting hands, and the hands folded down as if sliced off. The music stopped suddenly and the lights went out briefly on the cue of one final drumbeat. Silence weighed down on the audience, floated down from the ceiling to rest in hearts troubled. When the lights returned, the team formed a single line and bowed in each direction, and then the crowd hesitantly applauded. It was an audacious presentation on Biko’s part. Von was certain few in the audience would understand its political and moral symbolism. However, Von understood and he felt a kinship to the ruthlessness, to the power of the form.

After the tournament, Von met Biko at their hotel bar. He sat with two judges from the tournament. Von bowed slightly to the judges, then he and Biko clasped hands.

“Von, how de body?” Biko said.

“Business is good.”

Biko rose and bowed slightly to the others. “Excuse us please. My friend and I must talk. Come, Von. We shall go to my hotel room.”

As they walked, Von asked, “Did you bring the diamonds?”

“Yes, I have something that may interest you.”

At his room, Biko removed a small velour pouch from his suitcase. He shook it. Von’s heart raced when he heard the distinctive rattle of stones.

Biko slowly emptied the diamonds onto the coffee table. “These are diamonds from Kono. What do you think?”

Von studied one with his loupe, the special magnifying glass that diamond merchants always carry with them. “A superior grade of diamond. You have a great deal of money here.” A fortune actually, Von thought. I’ve never held so much raw wealth in my life.

“That is one day’s mining from one town in my new district,” Biko said. “You like these stones? So, you will pay Biko much dollars?”

“Yes, Biko. I am very pleased. Payment will be deposited into your account promptly.”

“It is good. The RUF now controls most of the country. Soon we have Freetown too. Tomorrow, I return to my country. I hope you return to Salone soon. We need your diamond wisdom. We think the Lebanese merchants cheat us. Now, tonight, you can find Biko an American woman?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You have many fine women in America.”

“Yes, we do. However, here in Monroe I haven’t seen many for sale.”

“All women are for sale. As we say in our country, ‘Money in de hand, back on de ground.’ Here the women just like to play games first, but the game wearies me, so you must find Biko a woman.”

Von left Biko’s room and went to the bar. He signaled the waitress, a pleasant and nice-looking girl with long straight hair almost to her waist. She set an open book face down on the counter.

““Hi!” she said. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll take a double shot of Don Julio, chilled, with lime. No salt. And bring me a Corona with lime.”

When she returned with his drinks he said, “I see you’ve been reading in your few slow moments. Is it a good read?”

“Oh, yeah. I can hardly bear to put it down.” She held up the cover so Von could read the title, Under the Witch’s Mark. “This author is just enough on the wild side of the line to excite me.”

“Must be a very interesting book. I’m new to Monroe, but happy to find someone here that reads. I don’t know why, but as soon as I saw you, I thought you might like things on the wild side. Speaking of wild, and I hope you’re not offended by my asking, but do any classy working women come here?”

She nodded toward a well-dressed woman at the end of the bar. “Kind of expensive, I understand.”

“Money’s not a problem.”

“Must be nice to not have to worry about money.”

“I’ve lived without money, and I’ve lived with it. I’d have to say that life is far better with it. I’m a diamond merchant now, so I can’t complain.”

“Really? I’ve never known a diamond merchant before.”

He opened his wallet, pulled out, snapped two hundred-dollar bills, then dropped them on the counter. The girl the waitress had pointed out was taking a long slow drink, but it was obvious she had spotted the flashed money and was looking Von over. Von raised his glass toward her. “Take that woman a drink of her choice with my compliments. She appeals to me, but I’d rather have you. Interested?”

“It’s tempting, but, no,” she said. After the bartender took the girl the drink, she returned, snatched up a towel and again wiped the counter in front of Von. Her eyes were fixed on the two hundred-dollar bills.

Von liked this girl, and her innocence and inexperience attracted him even more, so he laid another hundred on top of the other two. “Easy money.”

Her hand froze a second, then resumed wiping. “I need to think about it,” she said. “I couldn’t tonight. I’ve got to pick up my little boy.”

Like everyone else, she and her virtue are for sale, Von thought. As Biko said, Money in the hand, back on the ground. He slid the money toward her. “Keep it then, till a future evening. I’ll be back. I’ll take you out somewhere nice—if there is somewhere really nice around here.” When she hesitated, he said, “Go on, take it. My guess is you can use it. Look at it as a tip for your time and steering me to the pretty lady.”

“This is a week’s pay. You are a trusting man.” She folded the bills and slid them into her back pocket. “It would be so easy for me to just take your money and avoid seeing you again.”

Von chuckled. “It’s not that easy to get away from me. Do you know what I mean?”

Von picked up his drink, and walked to the hooker, taking the empty stool beside her.

“You must be the gentleman who bought the drink. Thank you,” she said.

He laid down a Franklin. “Let’s get right down to the point. I’m looking for some company. Are you interested?”

She picked up the bill and slipped it into the purse. “I am. We do need to talk a little more. A private spot would be better to discuss my rates and your particular interests. Do you have a room?”

“I’m open to further negotiations. And, yes, I have an excellent room. Would you care to see it?”

She stood and slung her purse on her shoulder. “Sure. Let’s go.”

He held out his arm. “My name is Von.”

“Oh, a gentleman. I’m Amanda.”

When they entered the suite, Biko was playing solitaire. “Biko, this is Amanda, my date for the evening.” He winked at Biko.

Biko raised his hand and waved. “Hello, girl.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” She turned to Von. “Shall we talk about money?”

“Yes, let’s talk about money.” Von motioned to the sofa.

Biko said, “The girl would like a drink?”

“Sure,” she said.

Biko pointed to the mini refrigerator. “I have rum and coke. Von will prepare us each a drink.” Biko returned to his card game.

After Von prepared their drinks, he spread a dark cloth on the coffee table. When he took off his jacket, Amanda’s eyes shifted to Von’s pistol clipped in its holster to his belt. Von slipped it off and laid it on the table.

Amanda’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry,” Von said. “I have a license. In my line of work, I need to protect the stones and cash I carry.” Then he dumped the sack of diamonds Biko had given him onto the cloth. “These are diamonds, uncut and unpolished.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small silver box about the size of a matchbox. From it he chose a diamond and held it to the light. “Do you know what this is?”

“A diamond,” she said. “You said you sold diamonds. It’s real pretty.”

“Yes, to use the words that came from your pretty little brain, it is a pretty little diamond. But, there is so much you don’t see here. This is a three-carat stone, cut and polished. Do you know how much a carat weighs?”

“No, but my grandma raised them. A carrot would weigh a lot more than that.”

Von snickered. “Oh, you Southern folks are so witty. I’m not talking about what comes out of the garden, Daisy Lou. You are kidding me, I hope. Hold out your hand.”

When she extended her hand, he dropped a paper ßclip on it. “That’s how much a carat weighs, one fifth of a gram. Now, hold the diamond.” He removed the paper clip and placed the stone in her hand. “Hold it up to the light. Look closely. This stone is brilliant cut with fifty-eight facets. These facets reflect the light from one to another until it’s dispersed through the top of the stone. See how it sparkles? See the little flashes of its fire-like rainbow? Clear of color, flawless in clarity, appraised and certified. It’s hard to believe that in its raw form it looks like these unimpressive shiny pebbles in the other sack. Do you have any idea how much this one little stone is worth?”

“A bunch.”

Von snickered. “A bunch? How about ten thousand dollars?”

“No shit?” she said.

Von continued. “You know, a woman is very much like a diamond. Most people think of diamonds as being perfect, but most are not. The majority of diamonds brought to the surface have at least a few internal flaws, inclusions as we say in the business, and…” He touched her cheek and turned her face as if inspecting her surface for imperfections or blemishes. “Sometimes a ‘pretty’ stone is not worth much at all. Too many flaws. These flaws are very hard for an untrained eye to spot—feathers and pinpoints, tiny cracks and specks, scratches and chips. Diamonds are much more fragile than people think.”

She pushed his hand away. “I feel like I’m in school taking a damn geology class,” she said. “And I don’t think I like the comparison you’ve just made. Maybe you just see too much. I thought we were going to talk about money. Are you interested in me or not?”

“Oh, yes, I’m interested. You must pardon me. My mind fixates on things sometimes, and I get off on tangents. I didn’t mean to digress. Actually, I was talking about money. You see, in the dark light of the bar, you had a little sparkle to you—just like a common industrial diamond might have until you inspect it with a loupe—and on that basis I would have offered you a thousand dollars for your services. But now that I have my little gemstone in the light, I think less. Much less.”

She lit a cigarette, snapped her lighter shut and blew out the smoke hard. “Bastard.” She slapped the Marlboro Lights and the lighter down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Like I said, if you’re not interested, just say so.”

“I may be a bastard,” Von said. “But I’m not such a bastard that I can’t realize that even industrial quality diamonds have some value. I’m not saying I’m not interested.” He laid down a hundred. “How’s that?”

“Fine,” she said. “Fine. That will get you a good hour.”

“No,” he said. “This and the hundred I’ve already given you will get us a night.”

Von slowly and deliberately looked at Biko, then fixed his eyes into hers, and he knew that she knew there would be no discussion. “In Africa, I could buy a woman for life for that amount. So what do you say? And who knows? If you impress us you might get a little more.” He deliberately looked away from the girl and down at the coffee table.

The girl followed his gaze to the pistol. “Sure,” she said. “A hundred dollars more will be fine.”

Biko stood and unbuckled his belt. “Great place, dis America. Come to me, girl.”