Free Memoirs of a Karate Fighter by Ralph Robb

my problem,” said Leslie. “I wasn’t the one who asked you to come out with us in the first place. You and Ralph can share, or you can get out and get yourself a life.”
    I gritted my teeth: Leslie’s harsh remark was more evidence that what remained of our childhood gang was fracturing still further. My cousinTrevor and a couple of his friends were the first to fall away as four of us joined the YMCA; they had neither the inclination nor the necessary discipline to subject themselves to the harshness of karate training. Cousin Errol kept at it for a while but at green belt stage he discovered he liked cars and girls a lot more than being kicked and punched.
    A rap on my window broke my thoughts and I was surprised to be confronted by a very voluptuous figure straining the seams of a very skimpy garment. Leslie laughed and opened his door before he tilted his seat forward and offered a hand to the two women who clambered onto the backseat alongside a bemused and wide-eyed Clinton. “This is Ruth,” said Leslie, as the bigger of the two got in. She stood at least six inches taller than Leslie. Her friend was small in comparison; it was the first time I had laid eyes on her but she made an immediate impact. Her tight white dress hugged her body and contrasted with her cool dark skin. The long, braided hair complimented her angelic face. “And this is Cleo,” Leslie added, before he retook his seat.
    It took a while for me to get the car moving. Whatever Leslie’s shortcomings, he was a truly amazing master of psychology – and these were not even the same girls we had taken out on our previous double-date. Just as he could get under a man’s skin and have him bawling out in frustration, he could also charm good-looking (and tall) women into doing exactly what he wanted. He made use of this gift during his competitive career to gain a psychological advantage over his opponents, once getting a world champion so worked up that by the time Leslie met him on the mat he was already a beaten man.
    I was looking into the rearview mirror for a glimpse of Cleo when Leslie said, “Right, let’s head for the Rising Star.”
    The presence of two such young and attractive women had the three of us competing over which one of us could hold their attention for the longest. Of course, Leslie’s charisma meant that he was winning, and he had all of us in stitches. But the laughter came to an abrupt halt when he shouted at me to stop the car. I slammed on the brakes, frantically looking around and half-expecting to see a cyclist or a pedestrian sprawled out in the road. Without a word of warning, Leslie was out of the car and running across the road to a bus that had just pulled up to a stop. It was then I saw who had attracted Leslie’s attention. All of us watchedin silence as Leslie raced down the aisle of the bus, before, in one motion, he swung on one of the hand rails and kicked a young man in the head. There was a brief flurry of kicks and punches and the next we saw of Leslie was as he sauntered back towards my car. “C’mon, Ralph,” he said nonchalantly, “drive.”
    Cleo ruined the angelic image I had of her by letting out a string of profanities as she demanded to know what was going on. For the remainder of the journey, the girls did not so much as utter a word, but I could tell that they were unsure if it had been wise to accept Leslie’s invitation to go clubbing with us.
    I knew exactly what had happened and why. I had spotted the young man at the bus stop as Leslie had run across the road. He was the ex-boyfriend of a girl who Leslie’s charm had lured away. Not being brave enough to take out his frustrations on Leslie, he had made threats of violence and stalked the girl – or so Leslie had told me. But like the two girls in the back of my car, I was not impressed by Leslie’s course of action. I couldn’t help thinking