Chapter Twenty-Five

As you sell yourself, so the world will buy you.

—Krio Proverb

Von flew from Monroe to New York and delivered to his contacts a hundred diamonds he had hidden in sandwiches and suitcase linings. He negotiated another delivery in three weeks. Diamond Salone, Incorporated had rented an office in Manhattan and hired a full-time secretary to help him with the paperwork. From New York, he flew on to New Orleans.

Once in New Orleans, he rented a car and met with a jeweler who was interested in acquiring stones from Sierra Leone. Afterwards, he met Biko and Rilke at his hotel in the French Quarter.

“What about the firearms, Von?” Rilke asked.

“Well, first of all, we chose the right city to do business. I didn’t realize these cowboys had so much money. Purchasing firearms will be no problem. Our friends in Sierra Leone have arranged for us to load a ship that will arrive at the port here soon.”

“Are there any potential loading or export problems?” Rilke asked.

“No, none at all. The government is focused on looking for drugs, not for guns leaving the country. We’ll have some losses eventually, but not as much as the drug dealers. We’ll factor that projected loss into our expenses and the RUF will bear the expense. The Feds are understaffed here, so we’ll feed them enough leads on some big drug deals to draw their attention from anything we would want to do.”

“Playing head games with the government?” Rilke asked.

“Yes,” Von said. “Government here is more efficient than in West Africa, but it still has obvious weaknesses.”

“Biko wishes to go to Dallas, J.R.’s city. I see him on the telly many times,” Biko said. “He is hero to me. He is rich man like Biko hope to be.”

“I have no doubts you will succeed in your endeavor, Biko,” Von said. “And getting you to Dallas will be no problem. Now, drink up so we can go and purchase some personal hardware. I’ll show you how easy it is. Where are the diamonds?”

“In the lining of my suitcase,” Rilke said.

“Good,” Von said. “I’ve a buyer here in New Orleans.”

“Well, let’s go handle our business, then we’ll take a road trip to North Louisiana.” Rilke snorted. “You’re going to see that flaky Yank girl again, aren’t you?”

“Caitlin is expecting me, Rilke. I cannot disappoint her.”

Biko said, “Perhaps when we finish our work in Monroe, we go to Dallas, J.R.’s city?”

“Sure,” Von replied. “I’ll take Biko to Dallas, and at my expense. Now, let’s go to this gun show and see if we can place some orders.”

At the gun show, Von used a fake ID to purchase three Glock .9mm’s, three boxes of hollow point shells, a machete, and a large sheath knife. He also networked and probed until he found one man with a Federal Firearms license willing to ship him a large quantity of semi-automatic rifles and pump shotguns—no questions asked.

Rilke was amazed. “Living here must be like living in a toy store, eh, Biko? I thought Africa was backward.” He picked up an AK 47 from a table, slid back the bolt, then snapped it shut. “It’s easier than I thought to buy a gun here, and they’re in better condition than what we could buy in Freetown.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Von said. “There’s a gun show here almost every month of the year. No wonder criminals here are so well armed.”

As they drove from the gun show Von saw a smiling Biko in his rearview mirror, thumbing the edge of the knife he had bought, and studying his reflection on the blade.

“Do you like the knife, Biko?” Von asked.

“Yeah, mon, I like the knife.”

Rilke chuckled. “Biko likes any blade. And you ought to see what he can do with them.”

Von took Biko and Rilke on a tour of New Orleans. Outside of St. Louis Cemetery, they passed a gang of boys gathered on a corner.

Von said, “American youth at its finest. They stay high all the time. They steal, they fornicate, and they are violent. They like to do everything we had to force our boys to do when we first got them. Building an army here would be much easier than even in Africa if a man could recruit and train them quickly. They look like they’d make good soldiers.”

“No,” Biko said. “They’re too soft, and too old. Biko likes young boys to make soldiers, so he can teach them everything they need to know.” He opened an aspirin bottle and popped down a white pill.

Von, still glancing at Biko in the mirror, said, “How long have you been using speed, Biko?”

“Since I can't find Kola nuts here.”

From the gun show, Von drove them to Monroe and checked them into a suite at a hotel. Von called Caitlin several times, each time leaving a message. He glanced at his watch.

“Von, it’s late,” Rilke said. “Be patient. You’ll reach her. She’s probably the type of woman who goes to bed early.”

“Yes, she go to bed,” Biko said. “But not to bed alone. One man can’t fill de box!”