CONFLICT DIAMONDS: THE START OF THE BEGINNING

by Verner Jones

  In the basement a group of laundry men watched with mild surprise as the three bundled out of the lift. An offer of help was declined. They asked for directions to the main road and gave an excuse for their appearance. With disbelief the men obliged, then carried on working. It was none of their business and the management would be troublesome if they knew guests with bloody faces were loitering around in the bowels of the hotel.

  Once outside the kitchen, the cold night air seemed to have a sobering effect on Toni, and his senses returned along with the pain of his injuries. They propped him against the wall, and Marta seeing an outside tap grabbed a towel from a pile of unwashed linen, dampened it and started to clean Toni's face.

  “What the hell happened, Stipe? Where did he pop up from?”

  “I don’t know Marta. We collected our things as we said we would. When we went to leave he was there standing beside us with a bloody pistol sticking in my ribs. Before I knew it he had us bungled in the lift and tied up in his room. He wanted to know where you were and the diamonds. When I told him the diamonds were gone and that was all the money we had from them he laughed saying I was a fool if he thought that was the money we got for all those stones. Then he started with a fury to beat first Toni, then me. The cigarettes came later. He burnt us more out of pleasure as to obtain what he called ‘the truth. Toni should have made sure that bastard was dead instead of leaving him on those bloody stairs.”

  “Don’t talk Stipe. Save your strength.”

  “Well at least we are all out of there alive and I managed to pick the bag up as well.”

  “Yea well the bag and a few clothes is all you have. He took the money out of it and put it in his case.”

  “Bastard. Come on. We had better make tracks for Celine’s place. We don’t need that money now and at Celine's we should be safe.” Wait here while I go get a cab and check the front.” Marta weaved her way through waste bins and metal containers, up a short flight of steps and onto the pavement at the side of the hotel. A quick look around confirmed the absence of any officialdom and within a few minutes she had the transport arranged and fetched the others up to the street level. The taxi driver if he noticed said nothing and discreetly minded his own business, taking direction from Marta who gave him their address. Stipe took a closer look at his friend’s wounds. They were nasty burns on his chest and his split lip looked as if it needed stitching as did the cut above his eye. A 24-hour drug store came into view and Stipe ordered the man to stop. He gave a verbal list of things that Marta should buy and waited for her to return. They reached the apartment resting in the silence of the cab.

  Marta paid the driver who acknowledged his tip then disappeared into the night rejoining the league of universal couriers. With strangled steps they made it to the lift and into the apartment. Stipe and Marta sat Toni into a chair. There was as much energy in him as a spent NiCad. Stipe cleaned his injuries, applied burn cream to his chest and made butterfly stitches from sticky tape and repaired the gash in his eyebrow. The lip he decided would self-heal. They took him into the bedroom and amidst his thanks to Marta for rescuing them and Stipe for cleaning him up, they undressed him and put him to bed.

  The mood between them lightened as their ordeal diminished in the warmth of Celine’s apartment.

  “I think I should look at your wounds now.” Marta sat Stipe in an easy chair, took the medications and knelt between his knees. She tended his wounds with angelic fingers, her eyes constantly flicking onto his. There was a longing in them that the bruises couldn’t hide. Stipe reached out and stroked both of Marta’s shoulders.

  “I thought I was never going to see you again. Zoran had murder tingling his fingers.”

  “We were lucky. Maybe now he has all the money he will forget about Toni.” Stipe took Marta’s hands and kissed her palms.

  “I ‘m not much to look at right now, but I really want to be with you tonight. How do you …” Marta leant forward and silenced him with lips that wanted the same. Their kiss was slow, gentle, absorbing; the first link in their physical bond.

  “Shush. Don’t say no more my love.” Marta stood and took hold of Stipe’s hand and led him towards Celine’s bedroom.

  18

  Marta woke early from a sleep that had been serene, curled a leg over Stipe’s and burrowed deeply into the fold formed by Stipe’s chest and the quilt. Contentment abounded. Stipe still asleep, secured the perimeter with an overlapping arm, and Marta felt safe. She lay thinking how lucky she was to have found love after all that she had been through. Stipe melted her mental scars. Her ordeal back in Zepa felt like it had happened to another Marta Obric that only existed in an old black and white movie from a bygone era. Her family she still mourned, but it was a wound that was healing, but like scar tissue she would never quite be the same. Only now she had the strength within her to understand and rationalize the happenings back at her parents home. Insane things happened in wars and she had been a victim and now a survivor, with a future that lay beside her and the money they would have in one week’s time. Marta nestled her head and promised herself five more minutes then she would get up.

  Five minutes turned into one hour and would have been longer except for an insistent rapping on the entrance door that brought Marta back into humanity. Alarm bells rang and Marta quickly slithered from the covers, her first thoughts of Zoran standing in the hall. She slipped on a dressing gown of Celine’s and went into the lounge, heading for the kitchen and a carving knife in the draw. The familiar sound of Henrick's voice made her change direction.

  “Stipe, Marta open the door let me in.” He sounded agitated and was suppressing the desire to shout louder for the door to be opened. Marta rushed to the door checked the spy hole and seeing only Henrick’s distorted image, let him in.

  “What’s going on? I thought you were …”

  “Where is she? Where is Celine?” Henrick brushed past Marta and made for her bedroom. Stipe sleepily sauntered into view scratching his head curious as to what all the commotion was about and stopping Henrick in his tracks. He pivoted and faced Marta. “Tell me Celine stayed here last night. Tell me. Tell me.” Marta looked puzzled.

  “No… no. I, I thought. She said she was saying with you on your yacht for a few days and we could have the apartment to ourselves.” Henrick turned away, the pain cutting him like a cheese wire through soft Brie. His head drooped not wanting to believe the treachery that had befallen him.

  “She’s gone. It’s all gone, everything. The Mostel Star, my life, it’s over.” Marta grabbed Henrick’s shoulders

  “ What do you mean it’s all gone?” Henrick’s stunned expression made Marta wince.

  “Exactly what I said. Celine has stolen the Mostel Star and vanished.” Marta’s initial reaction was to slap Henrick's face believing he was trying to pull a scam on them, but the hurt that she saws in his eyes convinced her that he was telling the truth. She dropped her arms in stunned disbelief.

  “But Celine said she was going to your yacht and that you were staying together.”

  “There is no yacht, no money and no Celine. And I thought that she loved me. What a fool.” Henrick slumped into a chair cradling his head in his hands. Marta turned and faced Stipe who was suddenly wide-awake and making serious headway in her direction. He marched past her giving an unconvincing look of reassurance and sat next to Henrick.

  “Henrick are you sure she has stolen it and …” Henrick looked up.

  “Stipe. She came back to my store and persuaded my manager to let her into my office. She was the only one to enter since I left yesterday until I returned today. Her friend at the apartment she shared said she called and told her that she could keep all her things as she wouldn’t be needing them anymore because she was leaving Amsterdam for good. I couldn’t believe it. That’s why I came around, convinced my Celine would still be here. She’s not and we have been robbed.” Stipe looked over at Marta. She had sat down and was wiping a steady flow of tears with her cuffs. Stipe lef
t Henrick and attempted to console Marta. She had the look of a woman who had just won the lottery but couldn’t find her ticket.

  “What are we going to do now? We don’t even have the money from our first deal with Henrick. She’s robbed our future Stipe. I could kill that bitch Celine and that bloody Zoran too.”

  “Don’t get yourself riled up Marta it won’t help. And we are still together, nothing is going to change.” Marta felt the first flow of comfort since Henrick’s bombshell.

  “Do you have any idea where she might have gone Henrick?”

  “I only know that she lived in France before coming to Amsterdam. I don’t know where exactly. We've no hope of finding her. She could be anywhere now.” Toni entered the room, feeling half the shell of the man he was yesterday and with a thirst that stemmed from his feet upwards. Heads turned acknowledging his arrival but said nothing.

  “Well everyone seems in a happy mood and I thought it was only me who felt like shit.” He made for the sink and filled a large glass with water, drank it and filled another, then came along side Stipe.

  “What’s with all the doom and gloom?”

  “Celine, our compatriot, co-conspirator, seductress supreme, as done a bunk with the Mostel Star. Toni took the glass he was holding and threw the contents into his face and shook is head briefly trying to shock the words he’d heard out of his system.

  “What! Did I just hear you right?”

  “I’m afraid you did.”

  “Damn thieving bitch. Why did she have to do that? We were all going to be rich in a few days.”

  “God knows. She must have had her reasons. Anyway she’s gone, it’s gone and were broke.” Henrick viewed the room and noticed for the first time Stipe and Toni’s bruised faces.

  “What happened to you two?”

  “ A ghost from the past came back to haunt us only his ethereal body had a fist that was real. Anymore you don’t want to hear about.”

  “As you wish.” Henrick took a deep breath. A portion of his composure returned enough for rationale thought and speech and positive action. He got to his feet.

  “Gentlemen, Marta, I have to apologise. I feel as if this mess is my entire fault. To go through all that we have and have nothing for it is outlandish.” He slipped his fingertips into his waistband and hitched up his trousers. “I am going back to my office and make some calls and see if I can’t turn things around somehow. Call me tomorrow. I may have some news.” He checked all their faces and received approving nods, but nothing verbal. “I’ll see myself out.” Henrick paused before moving. “You should see a doctor about your face Toni. You don’t look good.” Then with almost embarrassed haste he left the apartment.

  “Well. What do you think? Is he on the level or trying to pull a double hit on us,” said Stipe.

  “You could see it in his eyes. He’s pretty cut up about Celine vanishing. I think loosing her was more important to him than loosing the money. No. I think he is being truthful. Even so, that doesn’t change anything though does it? Everything has gone and we are in a mess. How much money have we got?” Toni had fetched a towel from the kitchen and was dabbing it over his face. The makeshift stitches Stipe had made had detached from the effect of the soaking and blood was seeping from the wound. Marta took the towel from Toni and started to attend him. Stipe said, “I’ve about 3-400 marks. How about you Toni?”

  “A couple of hundred maybe. Nothing to write home about.” Stipe joined Marta and took the towel from her. “Bring me that bag, Marta love.” Stipe indicated to the carrier bag with the medical supplies in and applied gentle pressure with the cloth onto Toni’s wound frowning at him during the process. Marta obliged. “What did you do that for?” said Stipe

  “I don’t know. It was just a reaction.”

  “Stupid, but understandable.”

  “Well 600 marks isn’t going to spin us into orbit is it?” Marta handed the bag to Stipe.

  “No, that it isn’t. It will buy us a good breakfast with plenty of coffee, and when I have finished fixing Toni’s eye, that’s what I think we should all do. I can’t think straight on an empty stomach.

  The cold of the hallway ceramics had numbed his right cheek, a frozen patch in a body that was rapidly chilling and a forehead that was firing cannonballs at the back of his skull. Zoran opened his eyes and lifted his head. The floor danced in a kaleidoscope of colours. The dizzying effect making it impossible for him to focus. Zoran resisted the call of the floor to rejoin it in a horizontal embrace and slowly pushed himself up onto his knees sending signals to both arms to help and receiving aid from only one. For a second he felt like an invalid. The thought drowned in the up surging swell of pain that full consciousness brings as the effects of Marta’s blows took free reign.

  He breathed deeply, closing his eyes, concentrating the throbbing into a manageable corner. Clawing at the paintwork Zoran lurched backwards against the wall and forced his legs to take his weight. He stood weak kneed and stooping, looking around the hall trying to focus on anything that would stay still. Slowly his vision returned to a discernable level and he made out the bathroom door; a sanctuary calling. Shakily he made it through the opening and rested an arm on the sink and his forehead on the mirror. He unscrewed the tap and let the basin fill with water and plunged his face into its depths for as long as he could hold his breath for. When he raised his head he was in control of his senses, which didn’t make the situation any better, only clearer. There was no solace in the reflection in the mirror. He sloshed water over the back of his head cooling the two large lumps that the fire extinguisher had made. He dried his face on a towel. After a few more moments of controlled breathing Zoran inched his way into the bedroom and over to the mini bar. He took out a bag of ice and a hand full of shots, and leaving the door open, sat against a dressing table. He unscrewed the top of one bottle and drank the contents, not knowing beforehand what it was and not caring. Brandy. Good for the nerves. He placed the ice pack on his cracked skull and whined under his breath. He opened another bottle and drained it. Whiskey, not his drink, but he wasn’t being choosey. The spirits took quick effect warming him inwardly and supplying a much-needed stimulus.

  The room was as much as he remembered it, only the chairs were empty and he noticed that the hold all bag wasn’t on the bed. He spied his suitcase still in the corner and smiled at his own smartness and their stupidity. The girl must have grabbed the bag when they left. Zoran thought about the girl. A resourceful bitch if ever he’d met one, and balls too. She had caught him off guard and had no qualms about putting the boot in as he recalled, touching his swollen cheek along with the memory. His mood soured again at the thought of Toni Popovic having escaped his clutches just as he was getting to the finale of his revenge, the cigarette into the eye; a fitting exchange for the loss of an arm and almost death. The game wasn’t over yet. True he had the money from the sale of the diamonds. But Popovic, and now that fire extinguisher wielding bitch, owed him a debt and he had the means and the knowledge to collect it. The thought of taking his revenge lessened his aching head. A bullet for Popovic squarely in the centre of his forehead , and the cigarette in the eye for the bitch. Nice.

  Zoran put the icepack onto the table and collected the phone and called room service. He ordered a steak dinner and a bottle of the house wine to be delivered to his room, along with some pain killing tablets. Then he set about straightening the worst of the mess. He would have an early night with the rest of the mini-bar and in the morning he would go and check out his new contact that Popovic had squealed about at the Magna Plaza.

  Breakfast receded as the morning progressed into lunchtime and eventually early evening. Ideas had been bantered between trying to track Celine down, to applying for political asylum, and trying to find work in one of the pavement cafés, none of which found unanimous merit. After having the promise of riches, impending poverty looked twice as unpalatable. Hope stemmed toward Henrick for a solution. To there surprise when Stipe called him as ar
ranged, Henrick’s voice was full of optimism.

  “Ah, Stipe. I was hoping you would call me.”

  “Have you any news about Celine?” Henrick's voice took a down turn.

  “No, I haven’t and don’t expect too either, though when those stones do re emerge it is possible I will get to hear about it through my contacts. That unfortunately will not do either of us any good at this moment in time. I think though, Stipe, that a solution has presented itself to us to lift us all out of our financial misery. We should meet. Let’s say I come to the apartment at 7 and discuss it with all of you.” The first flutter of hope sounded in Stipe’s reply and the others noticed his changed mood and edged closer to the phone straining to eavesdrop. Stipe nudged them from his space defending his territory and trying to stay coherent.

  “Make sure you are all there won’t you Stipe?”

  “We’ll be waiting. See you at 7.” Stipe hung up. “What is it with you two? Here I am trying to talk and your climbing over me like a swarm of ants.”

  “What did he say?” asked Marta.

  “He’s got some news or idea that he wants to share with us that apparently is going to solve our problems.”

  “Hmm. Well I don’t think he is about to offer us a job in his store do you, so I’ll give you two guesses what he is planning.”