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suits and expensive Italian shoes and were always well barbered, cared for. They were a kind of aristocracy for that place and that time, exuding power and a feeling of danger—things Pitera was drawn to.
    For the most part, Pitera was a loner; he was ideally suited for what they wanted. Tommy inevitably began fantasizing about going that way, becoming a respected mafioso. He knew that even with his Mickey Mouse voice, nobody would make fun of him anymore, thatpeople would speak to him respectfully, look the other way when they saw him coming. That if you fucked with Tommy Pitera, you would be dead. To some, this might seem like a fanciful stretch, but when you look at bullied young boys taking up firearms all over the country and attacking their schoolmates and teachers, killing them, killing them without guilt or remorse, killing them in the light of day, you can begin to understand the hateful seed that had been planted and was growing in Tommy Pitera. They say the soul of a man is in his eyes. Well, when you now looked at Tommy Pitera, you saw hooded, bright blue eyes that had the cold, flat depth of ice. One could readily liken his eyes to those of a predatory animal that knows no fear, an animal that would readily tear open your throat—that is its nature.
    Martial arts gave Tommy Pitera a calling. It gave him a belief system that would, he was sure, serve him well for life. Naturally competitive, he became so adept at throwing punches and kicks and avoiding being hit that he won contest after contest. When a large martial arts bout was held in Brooklyn’s Sheepshead Bay, Pitera competed. In order to win his weight class, he had to fight seven different opponents and, ultimately, beat them all. This was no small task. There was not only a substantial cash prize but a large amount of prestige went along with the win. Tommy was also offered a “scholarship” to go live in Japan and study under one of the country’s most revered martial arts masters. For the young Pitera, this was an exciting, monumental event.
    Initially, Tommy’s parents didn’t like the idea, but they changed their minds and gave him their blessing. They felt it would be good for the boy; he would further learn discipline and strengthen his character. The trip would give him a rare opportunity to see the world outside of Brooklyn, an opportunity that few boys in that neighborhood were afforded. His winning the tournament and the prospect of traveling to Japan further bolstered Tommy’s commitment to martial arts. He not only surrounded himself with, immersed himself in, martial arts but he embraced the Eastern culture’s way of thinking, eating, and behaving. Interestingly, he also embraced Eastern cuisine. He began eatingsushi before it was fashionable; he shied away from Italian food with its emphasis on dairy products and pasta.
    When finally the day came for his trip, the Piteras drove their only son to Kennedy Airport and, tearfully, said good-bye to him. He was not only going to a foreign country but he was going to a country where they didn’t speak English, a country far removed from anything he had known. They were worried for him.
    However, as Tommy made his way to the gate, there was joy, a quiet rejoicing, in his every step. He was not sure where this trip would lead, but he viewed it as an exciting adventure that would bring him in touch with the best martial artists in the world. He felt blessed. All the bullying, all the barbed, vicious taunts, slaps and punches and kicks he regularly suffered, were now a thing of the past. The plane taxied and took off, and Tommy Pitera was soon high above Jamaica Bay. The sun was setting and it laid a flaming blanket on the wide expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Tommy Pitera of Gravesend, Brooklyn, was soon speeding toward Japan and his violent destiny at five hundred miles per hour, the dormant, fire-breathing dragon in him slowly awakening.

CHAPTER FOUR
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