Sweetie's Diamonds (15 page)

“Well, enjoy yourself.
 
Shabbat shalom
, Hiram,” Abe said as the couple nodded at them and walked on.

Smiling, the blonde man put his arm back around his “uncle” and led him into the elevator.
 
“Nice work, Mister Rabinowitz.
 
You handled that real good.”
 

The elevator stopped at the third floor and the two men walked out.
 
Rabinowitz was shaking so badly that he could barely stand.
 
The man with the eye patch had to help him.
 

“You can make it,” the blonde man said.
 
“Just a little further.”
 
When they were in front of apartment 3G, he commanded, “There.
 
Now, the keys.”

Rabinowitz struggled with the key ring and couldn't manage to insert the appropriate one into the lock.
 
The man with the eye patch took the keys and did it himself.
 
The door opened and the blonde man shoved Rabinowitz inside.
 
The old man fell to the floor as the door slammed shut.

“Who… who are you?” Rabinowitz whispered.

“Call me Emo.”

“What do you want?”

“Information.
 
About some diamonds you've been selling.
 
Do you recognize this?”
 
Emo Tuff reached into his pocket and stooped by the old man.
 
Tuff brought out a small, black velvet bag and opened it.
 
Inside was a large, sparkling diamond.
 

Rabinowitz saw the gem and winced.
 

“Well?” Emo Tuff asked.
 
“You sold one like this recently, correct?”

The old man nodded.
 

“How many like this have you sold?”

Rabinowitz whispered something.

“I can't hear you.
 
Speak louder.”

“I don't remember,” the old man coughed.
 
“Ten… twelve…”

“Oh, really?”
 
Emo Tuff grabbed the man by his jacket, pulled him off the floor, and slung him into an easy chair.
 
“Here, get comfortable.”

The old man began to whimper.
 

“Now then.”
 
Emo Tuff stood over him.
 
“How long has this been going on?
 
The diamonds.
 
Selling these stones.
 
How long?”

Rabinowitz shook his head.
 

“Listen, old man, I'll circumcise you a second time if you don't talk.”
 
As he spoke, Tuff slipped on a pair of Sap gloves—black leather gloves that were lined with metal.
 
A blow by a man wearing Sap gloves was tantamount to receiving a punch with brass knuckles.
 

“Please… I don't… know…” Rabinowitz said.

The first blow broke the old man's jaw and sent his glasses flying across the room.
 
Rabinowitz cried out in pain.
 

“That's just to show you I mean business,” Emo Tuff said.
 
“Now, how long have you been selling these diamonds?”
 
Tuff allowed Rabinowitz a few minutes to regain his composure.
 
He handed the old man several tissues from a box on the coffee table so that his victim could sop up the blood.
 

“Ten years, I think,” Rabinowitz finally struggled to say, as his mouth was swollen and his jaw had ceased to work.
 
“I really… don't remember.
 
It might be twelve years.
 
Not more than fifteen.”

“So that means you've sold a lot more than ten or twelve, doesn't it?”

The old man nodded.
 

“What was it?” Tuff asked.
 
“One a month.
 
More?”

Rabinowitz nodded again.
 
“On the average.
 
One a month.”

“That's a lot of fucking diamonds.
 
All right, next question.
 
And this is the real important one, so you better do real good on this one.
 
Where do you get them?”

Rabinowitz desperately wanted to keep his brother out of this.
 
Whoever this maniac was, Rabinowitz knew then and there that the monster would never let him live.
 
It was best to stay silent.
 
If he were going to die anyway, then why should he expose Moses?
 

“They come from an unknown source,” Rabinowitz said after coughing more blood out of his mouth.
 
He spoke slowly and deliberately.
 
“There's a black man who comes in to the shop.
 
He sells them to me.
 
I don't know who he is or where he lives.
 
I swear.”

Tuff considered this and said, “I'm not sure I believe that, Mister Rabinowitz.
 
You say a
black man
comes into your shop and sells you these diamonds?
 
And you do business with him but you don't know his
name
?”

Rabinowitz nodded.
 
“It's the truth.
 
I swear it!”

The knife appeared in Tuff's hand the same way a wand might materialize in a stage magician's palm.
 
It was actually a seven-inch stiletto that he must have had sheathed under a trouser leg.
 
Rabinowitz had no idea where it had come from.
 

Tuff grabbed the old man's right wrist and held it down firmly on the arm of the chair.
 
“Think again, Mister Rabinowitz.
 
Where do you get them?” Tuff asked calmly.

“I told you!” the old man whimpered.
 
“I swear, a black man—”

The stiletto sliced through Hiram Rabinowitz's little finger, cutting it off at the second joint.
 
The old man screamed bloody murder.
 

Tuff left the man in the chair and went into the kitchen.
 
He found a cloth that was used to dry dishes and then walked back into the living room.
 
Rabinowitz was on the floor, crawling toward the door and leaving a trail of blood on the carpet.
 
Tuff stepped over the man, wrapped the towel around his victim's head, covering the mouth, and tugged it tightly.
 

“You're not going anywhere, my friend,” Tuff said.
 
He kneed the man in the back and forced him down.
 
“It's no use protecting whoever it is.
 
I'll get it out of you eventually.
 
You may as well save yourself a lot of grief.”

The towel muffled Rabinowitz's cries.
 

Tuff placed the stiletto over the fourth finger of the old man's right hand.
 
“You have anything to say before I relieve you of another finger?”

Rabinowitz nodded his head furiously.
 
Tuff pulled down the towel just enough for the old man to speak.

Rabinowitz told him everything.
 
His brother Moses in Chicago got them from someone and sent them on to him.
 
Since he had the better black market connections, they brought in a better profit out of New York.
 
Moses supplied them from the Chicago store and they were sold out of the New York store.
 
Where Moses got the diamonds he didn't know and didn't care to know.
 

Emo Tuff believed the story.
 
He got up, went back into the kitchen, and rummaged around until he found a bottle of kosher red wine and a glass.
 

“Hiram, where do you keep your corkscrew?” he called.
 
There was no answer.
 
“Never mind, I'll find it.”
 
He opened drawers until he found the silverware.
 
The corkscrew was there.
 

Tuff opened the bottle of wine and poured some into the glass.
 
He returned to the living room and found Rabinowitz sobbing in his blood.
 

“Here's to you, Mister Rabinowitz,” Tuff said.
 
He drank a little and spit it out.
 
“Peeewww!
 
What the hell is this shit?
 
It's way too sweet.
 
Don't you have any
real
wine?”
 
He took another sip and rolled it around in his mouth.
 
He swallowed it and said, “I guess it's not so bad.
 
I'll drink it.”
 
He downed the glass and put it on the coffee table.
 

“Well, Mister Rabinowitz,” Tuff said.
 
“You've been very helpful.
 
I thank you for your hospitality.
 
It's been a pleasure meeting you.”
 
He got the stiletto ready and squatted beside Rabinowitz's face.
 
“Now it's time to say goodbye.”

T
he first period bell rang as Diane rushed into the classroom.
 
The students were being rowdy and most of them were not in their seats.

I don't want to deal with this today
, she thought.

“Sit down and shut up!”
  

As their teacher had never used that sort of language or tone of voice before, the teens looked up in surprise and froze.
 
After a moment they slowly moved to their seats and settled down.
 

Diane moved into the room and shook her head.
 
“Sorry.
 
Forgive me, I didn't mean to shout.
 
I have a lot on my mind this morning.”

“It's okay, Miz Boston,” said Jeffrey, one of the African-American students whom she thought was one of her brighter pupils.
 

“Thanks, Jeffrey.
 
Okay, class, let's forget it and get started with your oral reports.
 
We have a lot to get through today.”
 
She gathered some materials from her desk and moved to the rear of the room.
 
She was thankful that all she had to do that period was listen.
 
As each student went to the front of the class, however, Diane found that her mind wandered.
 
She just couldn't concentrate on the reports no matter how hard she tried.
 
Halfway through the period she realized that she hadn't written a single note on two of the students' presentations.
 

What had they spoken about?
 
Diane sighed to herself and decided to give them A's.
 
The two pupils were smart but timid boys who might be called bookworms.
 
They probably
did
make A's but their presentation skills were sorely lacking.
 

Miraculously, she made it through the first hour.
 
At the beginning of the ten-minute break she ran to the office to check her mailbox.
 
She subscribed to the
Chicago Sun-Times
but the office staff didn't get around to stuffing mailboxes until sometime during first period.
 
As expected, the paper was there along with other assorted flyers and school announcements.

She stood and flipped through the newspaper but found nothing that might remotely pertain to her.
 
She wasn't sure why she thought there might be.
 
That reporter's phone call the other day had unnerved her.
 

I'm becoming paranoid
, she thought.
 
But there was no reason to be, was there?
 
It was all a big mistake.
 
Had to be.

Second period was more of a challenge since it was Sociology and she actually had to get up in front of the class and lecture.
 
As she spoke, Diane could see that she wasn't reaching the students.
 
They were completely zoned out.
 
She knew she was normally an engaging speaker and could hold the attentions of a classroom full of antsy teenagers.
 
Today, though, she choked—big time—and had to do her best to cover for it.