On the phone that night, Marvin and Priscilla talked about events.

"You did the right thing, dear, by winning your game. Don't get caught up in whatever's going on. You're better than that," Priscilla said.

"Uh, yeah, but I'm kinda scared," Marvin replied, "I mean ... I like just got outta the hospital and stuff."

"I once heard someone say that the definition of 'courage' is being afraid and still doing the right thing. That's you, Marvin ... you have courage. And don't worry, I can hire a security detail to look after you if you wish."

"Nah," Marvin said, "I don't think the mob or whoever it is would try the same stunt twice. Kinda too obvious."

"Maybe, maybe not. But you're my husband and I'll be the one to decide if you need a security team."

"More like my boss," Marvin muttered, although, perhaps for the best, Priscilla didn't hear him.

# # #

Marvin won his game the next night and the Doublejumpers swept the series as the oddsmakers had predicted. The team had a day off after coming home, before their next series with the Baltimore Breeches.

The off day, though, merely meant that the Doublejumpers didn't plan an evening match. There was still afternoon practice; Coach Baba Dudut didn't believe in the team having too much leisure and ran drills and scrimmages at every opportunity. It was towards the end of practice that Coach asked Marvin to come to his office.

"Sit down," Coach said as Marvin entered, indicating a chair on the opposite side of Coach's desk. Coach's tone was noticeably less sharp with Marvin than usual, and Marvin picked up on it right away.

Somewhat surprised, Marvin took the proferred seat. "Wassup, Coach?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, I just wanted to go over something with you, is all," Coach said.

"Uh, sure ... " Marvin answered.

"Well, you see, you've been telling me some kind of odd things that you've observed, and you also told me about this supposed visit from Cliff Arachnida, the National Checker League Deputy Commissioner."

"It ain't 'supposed', Coach, he really did ... "

"Oh, sure, sure I believe you. Certainly I do. It's just a little ... oh, never mind, let's just say 'disturbing' is all."

"You ain't kiddin'," Marvin said.

"Well, you also mentioned some issues with fifth board substitutions and lost matches. Now, I don't let players question my decisions or put me in a bad light. But I will admit to a couple of surprises in those matches. And then you mentioned a couple of other similar things happening around the league."

"Just tryin' to bring stuff up, Coach, when, you know ... "

"Oh I get it, Marvin," Coach interrupted, "but I had to think for a while. It's really easy to get paranoid and jump to conclusions. A lot of trouble can come from false accusations."

Marvin sat upright. "I ain't accusin' nobody of nothin'," he said, "but I sorta thought I oughta tell you and stuff ... "

"Yes, yes, I get it ... and 'stuff'," Coach said, "and I think we can do something about it, without you risking another attack."

Now, Coach had never said or even suggested that the attack on Marvin had anything to do with the strange events in the NCL and on the Doublejumper team. But after the visit from Cliff, who said Marvin won too much, and Coach's reaction saying Marvin needed to look out for himself and maybe not win the second game against Kansas City, the conclusion was obvious ... Coach was definitely connecting the dots for Marvin, even if unintentionally.

"So anyhow," Coach went on, "after you won that game that you were, um, advised to lose, at least according to your story, I wondered just how safe you were ... assuming everything you said is true, which I've taken as a working assumption, at least until I learn otherwise."

If this is a vote of confidence, Marvin thought, it's a pretty weak one. But before Marvin could say anything, Coach continued, "Anyhow, I've taken some action."

"Action?"

"Right. I've been in touch with the FBI to alert them to a possible connection among all these events. Now, the Detroit police didn't get anywhere with your assault and they've already moved on, without trying to put two and two together. But the FBI is quite interested. So I've set up a meeting with them."

"You're going to meet with them?"

"No, Marvin, you are. You can give them the whole story and let them ask questions. I think it's the best way to get to the bottom of this."

Coach steepled his fingers, paused for a moment, and looked Marvin straight in the eyes.

"Unless, of course, you want to change your story." Coach smiled. The smile was neither warm nor friendly.

"No, I ain't gonna change nothing," Marvin said, clearly on the verge of anger. "I told the truth and that's the honest truth--- I mean, about telling the truth."

"And stuff," Coach concluded. "Well, look, given events, you might be at risk. Maybe one of the mobs is involved and is keeping an eye on you. If they saw you go to the FBI offices they might want to ... shall we say ... put a stop to anything further, if you get my meaning."

Marvin did. "So what then?" he asked.

"There's a place outside of town where you're to meet. It will look like you just went for a drive in the country and stopped at an inn for ... well, a beer or something."

"But I don't drink and drive."

Coach looked annoyed. "Okay then, you stopped for a glass of milk and some warm cookies. Whatever. Now, will you do it or will you chicken out at this late stage? Or have you been lying all along?"

Now Marvin was angry again. He stood up. "I ain't no chicken and I ain't no liar," he said forcefully, "and you might be the Coach and stuff but you ain't got no right to say it. Yeah, I'll do it. Lemme know the details."

Marvin turned to go but Coach said, "Hold on there, Marvey-Boy." He took a sheet of paper from his desk and held it out. "Take this. Full instructions. You go after tomorrow night's game."

# # #

Before going home, Marvin read over Coach's instructions. He was to go to a tavern some 20 miles outside of Detroit, out in the country, immediately after his game in the match with Boston, which would probably end by about 10 PM. He was expected at the tavern around 11, where an FBI team would meet with him.

"Should be okay," Marvin thought, but he decided to discuss it with Priscilla when he got home.

Priscilla was also a little unsure, but said, "I think you should go ahead with it. Coach wouldn't set you up with the FBI unless he wanted to see this through."

Now, Marvin and Priscilla knew each other quite well, and Marvin detected something in Priscilla's voice and phrasing. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was more to what she was saying than she actually let on.

"All right, then," Marvin said, and the discussion ended much more quickly than he had expected it would.

# # #

The next evening came around. Marvin, on first board, was to play the Boston star Billy "Baked Beans" Benjamin. The game began but Marvin, thinking of what lay ahead that night, had some trouble focusing.

The game reached the following position, with Marvin to play. Marvin, not doing so well this evening, was a piece down but might be able to find a draw.

Marvin glanced at his watch. It was already nearly 10 PM. He would have to wrap this up and get going.

So, he quickly made his move.

---

Marvin has a lot on his mind; hopefully you are not yourself in anything like the kind of situation he finds himself in. Then you can focus on the position and see if you can pull off a draw. Give it a try, then click on Read More for the rest of this month's installment and the solution to the problem.

[Read More]

Summer in North Dakota is brief and as we've often mentioned, many indoor activities cease during the months of June, July, and August. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, the focus is on tending yards, going camping or fishing, taking a vacation, and for the most part indulging in outdoor activities.

(Of course, there were the frequent thunderstorms, the very hot days in July and August, the mosquitoes ... but as we said, summer is brief and meant to be enjoyed.)

Sal Westerman's Coffee and Cake Checker Club also went on summer vacation. Sal missed the Saturday afternoon gatherings at the Beacon Cafe, where he and the "boys" (all but one of whom were well over 50 years of age) would gather to drink coffee, enjoy baked treats, talk checkers, solve problems, and play informal skittles games. Sal was not a great outdoors type; he hired someone to take care of his yard (which in local terms would just about be a crime were he not over 70 years old), and although he and his wife Sylvia spent a couple of weeks at a lake cabin, Sal preferred the comforts of home and his basement study, surrounded by his checker books and magazines.

Sure, he'd go for walks in the cooler times of the day and frequent the many local parks. But checkers was his great love; and this summer he had something special in mind.

At the last seasonal meeting of the Club, on the Saturday before Labor Day, Sal hinted at a special summer project, but even when prompted wouldn't say anything about it. He told his wife Sylvia, of course, but she simply replied, "Yes, dear, whatever makes you happy" and returned to her homemaker's magazines.

But now that June had come, Sal felt it was time to get started in earnest. For a week, he followed a routine of having an early breakfast, working in his study for a couple of hours, taking a short nap after lunch, and working a little more in the afternoon.

Finally his wife became curious. She of course supported Sal in his interests, as he supported her, but normally she would just let him go his own way. But now she wondered about the much above normal amount of time Sal was spending in his study.

"Dear," she said, "you've been down in the basement quite a lot this last week or so. Are you sure that's good for you? You barely even read the newspaper at breakfast you're in such a rush. Shouldn't you be getting a little more fresh air and exercise? I'm a bit worried about your health."

"I know, sweetheart," Sal said, "but I'm working on that special project I told you about."

Sylvia hesitated a moment. "I remember you saying something about it," she said, "but I don't quite recall. Is it really so important and urgent?"

"In a way," Sal said. "I need to have things ready by July when we go to the lake for vacation."

"Why is that?"

"Well, we'll be having a visitor. Or at least that's the idea."

"A visitor? Usually it's just the two of us ... "

"Oh, just for a day or two," Sal said, "and he's coming all the way from Pennsylvania on the train, on his way to the West Coast. It's my good checker pen pal, Young Ed."

"That's nice dear, and I don't mind us having a visitor who's a good friend, but what has that to do with your hours and hours in the basement?"

"You know Ed is a master problem composer, right?"

"If you say so, dear, then I'm sure he is."

"Yes, he is indeed, and he sends me checker problems from time to time. I take them to the Club for the boys to solve ... "

"Oh, right, you've told me about that and about who buys the treats and so on."

(The custom was for Sal to present a problem to the boys, who would buy the treats for Sal and is wife if they couldn't solve it; but if they could, Sal would buy the treats.)

"So, Ed and I corresponded, and we got the idea of maybe making a book out of the best of some of his checker problems. Only Ed didn't know a lot about making books so I said I'd help," said Sal.

"How nice of you, dear," Sylvia said.

"So I've been going through my notes and some magazines ... actually quite a few notes and magazines ... and I want to have a selection ready, and a first draft of the book as well, when Ed arrives. Then we can go over everything and get the book in shape for printing."

"Isn't that a lot of work? And expense?" Sylvia asked.

"Well, er ... yes," Sal said, "but we'll just print the book on a mimeograph to start, and sell it at just over cost. If we raise enough money that way we can take it to a regular printer."

"Fine, dear, whatever makes you happy," replied Sylvia, and turned back to her own magazines. The matter was settled.

Sal took the opportunity to quietly slip down the stairs and continue work on his special summer project.

---

As regular readers know, The Checker Maven has published a number of problems by the late grandmaster problemist Ed Atkinson. The problem below is one of the last in our stock. We are ourselves contemplating a special project to publish a booklet containing some of Ed's work. There are a number of complications in so doing, but we will continue to pursue the idea. We would like to get in touch with Mr. Atkinson's heirs, but we have no information at all about who they may be or where they might be found. If any of our readers can help, we would appreciate hearing from you at editor@checkermaven.com.

---

And now, here is one of Ed's compositions. He called it Head Bumper.

Enjoy solving and then click on Read More when you're ready to check your solution.

[Read More]

Tommy Wagner was finishing up his sophomore (2nd) year at a large high school in central Florida. Recall that from our last story, Tommy's coach, Coach Schann, had moved him up to fifth board on the Varsity Checker squad's first team. His performance had been solid, and with summer coming up, it wouldn't be long until fall tryouts. As a junior (3rd year), Tommy would like to be able to move up a board or two.

He had good chances. The top three players, a titled Master and two Experts, were graduating. But still the competition would be tough. The fourth board player was also an Expert. Tommy had reached Class A but there were three other Class A players on the second team and they too were wanting to move up.

There was just one little problem: Tommy was tired. He had worked hard all through the school year, not just on checkers but on his schoolwork, and had turned in a series of straight A report cards, earning top marks in nearly every one of his classes.

But he wanted some time off. He wanted to go fishing and ride his bicycle and sleep late in the morning. He wanted to sit out in the shade and read some science fiction. And he wanted to make another attempt at reconciling with his former girlfriend Tina--- or lacking that, find a new one.

He didn't want to study checkers every morning and evening. He didn't want to work as a checker coach at summer camp. And sad to say, he didn't want to go for lessons with Uncle Ben every Saturday morning.

Uncle Ben was a retired checker professional who had had a storied career and had written many well received checker instruction books. He took on a small number of students, generously giving his time for free to promising candidates. Tommy was his star pupil and the two of them had built a close relationship. Although Ben wasn't really Tommy's uncle, Tommy saw him as one.

But Tommy wanted a few weeks, maybe even a month, of pure leisure.

Tommy's mom wasn't too happy about this. "You need to talk to Uncle Ben," she said, "he's been very good to you and you really shouldn't let him down."

"Okay, Mom, I will, but gee ... "

His mom interrupted. "No more, Tommy. We'll talk about this after you've talked with Uncle Ben.

So when Saturday came around, Tommy didn't skip down the sidewalk in anticipation as he usually did when on his way to Uncle Ben's porch, where he knew a fresh pitcher of lemonade would be waiting along with lots of checker material to learn.

Tommy arrived at Uncle Ben's and pretty much dragged himself up the steps of the front porch. Uncle Ben, of course, couldn't help but notice.

"Let's have some lemonade and talk a little," Uncle Ben said in a calm voice. "We don't need to rush to get into our lesson this morning. Help yourself!" Uncle Ben indicated the icy cold pitcher. "Please pour me a glass, too."

Tommy did as he was asked. He had to admit that the lemonade looked and smelled as wonderful as always. When he had handed Uncle Ben his glass and took a seat with his own, Tommy said, "I bet my Mom called you."

"Actually, she didn't," Uncle Ben said, "but it's obvious that's something is ailing you and I know what it is."

"Really?" replied Tommy. "But how could you ... "

"Tommy, I'm an old fellow and I've seen a lot in my days. You've got a case of checker fatigue, pure and simple. It happens to all of us sometimes. Even to me."

"To you, Uncle Ben?" Tommy said incredulously.

"Yes, and more than once. The first time was in college and the second time was when I moved up from AAA checkers to the Majors. I should have been excited and thrilled, and I guess I was, but I had put in so much effort I didn't know if I had anything left to give."

"I kind of feel that way too," Tommy said. "I really think I've worked hard and now it's time to move up, but that means working even harder. And then working still harder after that to do well for the team."

"You're right," Uncle Ben said, "there is a lifetime of work ahead of you."

"What did you do when you felt that way, Uncle Ben?"

"What I did, Tommy, was to take a look back, and took the time to realize hard work had brought me a long way. But I also recognized that things go along one step at a time, and instead of thinking I was facing endless years of work, I focused on the one thing that came next. In the college case, it was making it into the pro ranks. Never mind about A or AAA or the Majors; the first thing was just to get in. And then later when I did hit the Big Show, it was just, let's win the next match. Not, let's win every match this season, but just the next one, one at a time. And ... I also made sure I got some rest during the off-season."

"How did you do that?"

"I took off the first two weeks after the season ended and didn't even think about checkers. I visited home, I went to a few shows, I slept late a few times ... kind of like you're thinking about doing."

"Yes ... but ... don't you want me to continue working hard?"

"Of course I do, Tommy. But I can tell when someone needs a break, too. Now, you've got over ten weeks until the fall tryouts. I'll show you some material today and give you some to take home with you. But I want you to take two weeks off to ride your bike and go hiking and all the things you want to do. However, after those two weeks it will be time to get back to work. And I think you'll be more than ready to do so. In fact, you'll want to get back to work."

Tommy once again thought about what a wise man Uncle Ben was and how lucky he was to have him as a mentor. "Sounds great, Uncle Ben!" he said with renewed cheer.

"All right then, young man, let's look at a problem that involves the notion of a pitch."

Uncle Ben pointed to a position he had set up on an adjacent checkerboard.

"I'll pour us a little more lemonade while you work this one out."

Tommy smiled and set to work.

---

Yes, we all need a break at times, and if we've been working intensely at it for a long while, perhaps even a break from checkers. But let's hold off on that and solve today's problem. Match wits with Tommy and then click on Read More to see the solution, the brief conclusion of our story, a sample game, and no less than 21 additional examples.

[Read More]

It was the next to last Saturday in May, and with Memorial Day weekend coming up the following week, this was the last meeting of the season for the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, led by Sal Westerman. The Club met Saturdays at the Beacon Cafe in Bismarck, North Dakota, from just after Labor Day until just before Memorial Day, with breaks only for the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Summers in North Dakota were very brief and the focus was almost exclusively on outdoor activities.

As usual for a season closeout, turnout was good. In addition to Sal there were Louie the Flash, Larry (also known as Sam), Delmer, Mike, Wayne, Dan, Young Blaine (the only member under 50 years of age), as well as Ron and Old Frank. The group overflowed into a second large booth at the back of the Cafe.

Also as usual for a season closeout, initial discussion focused on summer plans. Louie the Flash said he was taking a trip to the Pacific Northwest with his girlfriend Hortense. He said he and Hortense had been together for a little over two months now, which as Larry observed, was something of a record for Louie.

Larry in turn was going to Florida to visit family. Wayne would spend some time on the family farm up in Wilton, helping his kids with farm work. Delmer, Dan, and Mike didn't have particular plans beyond weekends camping at a lake spot. Young Blaine was going backpacking in Colorado with his wife, Moira, to celebrate their first anniversary.

Ron was going to visit relatives in South Dakota, while Old Frank spent every summer working intensely on his dollhouse business, as demand during the holiday season was increasing year by year.

But when it came Sal's turn, he was uncharacteristically quiet. "I've got something I'd like to work on," was all he said, and no amount of prodding, teasing, or pleading could get him to say anything more than that. (Regular Checker Maven readers will learn more about this next month.)

Sal finally said, "Enough summer talk; let's get down to checkers and make the most of our time. I've got a nice little problem for you to work on."

Deana Nagel, the proprietess of the Beacon Cafe and a blue ribbon baker, was of course listening to every word, and with perfect timing called out from behind her counter, "Fresh strawberry rhubarb pie today!"

The idea was that the "boys" as Sal called them, would try to solve his weekly problem. If they could win it, Sal bought the treats for all. If they couldn't, the boys would buy for Sal as well as an extra serving for Sal to take home to his wife, Sylvia.

Sal laid out the following position on one board at each table, and announced that solving time would be limited to 45 minutes. But the boys, already deeply engrossed, barely heard him.

---

The Checker Maven doesn't pause for summer or holidays, and our columns will continue as always. But can you meet Sal's challenge, and earn yourself some strawberry rhubarb pie (which, alas, you will have to supply for yourself)? See how you do and then click on Read More to see the solution and the brief conclusion of our story.

[Read More]

Marvin lay unconscious in a hospital bed, with bandages and casts all over his body, including most of his face. An IV drip was in each arm.

Priscilla tried to get herself back under control. But the sight of Marvin in the condition he was in was a lot for her to process.

"I told you," Dr. Walters admonished, in a voice that could have been a little more friendly than it actually was. "He's going to be okay, but he was badly hurt and it shows."

"I ... I see that ... ", Priscilla stammered. "Can I talk to him?"

"We're keeping him sedated. Meanwhile, though, there's this detective waiting to talk to you. Perhaps you could do that first and maybe you'll be able to talk to your husband in the morning."

"Uh, okay."

"This way, Ms. Snelson," said the doctor.

A squat man in a rumpled suit was sitting in the waiting room. "I'm Detective Nero Lyon," he said, offering a hand. Priscilla gave it a perfunctory shake. "I've got a couple of questions if you don't mind."

Priscilla took a seat and the detective began, "Quite a beating your husband took," he said, "and he was found under a bridge where he was evidently dumped. Nothing was taken from him, so it wasn't a robbery. So it looks like some sort of mob action. They didn't kill him but they made it as close as possible, like they were sending a message. You know anything about it?"

"Mob action? What would I know about that?"

"Your husband have gambling debts? Maybe loans from loan sharks?"

"Marvin makes $10 million a year. I make five times that, and more with bonuses ... "

The detective showed signs of impatience. "Look, lady, just because you're some kind of hot-shot executive and he's some kind of hot-shot sports guy, that don't mean you don't got no debts. I seen a lot of stuff in my day and there ain't nothing that would surprise me. So just answer the question, okay?"

In the back of her mind, Priscilla wondered why the detective's English had suddenly dropped a few levels of education. "No," she said, "we ain't got no debts or nothing."

"You makin' fun a me? Ah, whaddya expect. Look here, if you think of anything give me a call." The detective handed over a copy of his business card. "I ain't got no more time to waste here."

Marvin was in the hospital for a few days, but he seemed to recover quickly. Meanwhile, a police investigation turned up nothing. A couple of people thought they saw a car in front of Marvin's dive bar, but they couldn't provide any details and there were seemingly no witnesses at the bridge under which Marvin had been dumped. Priscilla thought the investigation was rather perfunctory, and her efforts to get more information from the police ran up against a wall, even when she had her lawyers start making calls.

On the night before Marvin was due to be sent home from the hospital, and just after Priscilla had stopped by for a quick visit, another visitor entered Marvin's room. It was definitely someone known to Marvin.

"Commissioner!" Marvin exclaimed. "Oh, I mean, like, you know, Deputy Commissioner."

Indeed the person who had just come into the room was none other than Cliff Arachnida, who was in fact Deputy Commissioner of the National Checker League.

"How you doing, Marv, old boy?" Cliff asked. "Heard you met up with a kind of mishap."

"I"m gettin' better," said Marvin. "Goin' home tomorrow though they ain't gonna let me play for a few more days."

"A shame," Cliff said. "Look, I just wanted to drop by and tell you that everyone at NCL HQ is thinking of you."

"Real nice of them," said Marvin.

Cliff took a seat in one of the visitor chairs at the side of the room. He scooted it up to Marvin's bed and leaned forward with his hands on the bed's railing. "Well, see, Marvin, there's one other thing. I heard about that story that lady in New York wrote after she talked to you. Shame what happened to her, though. Everyone said she was one of the best investigative reporters in the city."

Marvin suddenly looked alert. "What are you gettin' at?" he asked, his tone sharp.

"Oh, now, relax, Marvin, it's just that--- well, see, it occurred to me that maybe somebody is trying to tell you something."

Marvin, who had already thought that Carol Catchem's "accident" and his beating were too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence, didn't reply.

"I heard the police suspect one of the mobs was involved," Cliff continued. "Pretty serious people, those mobsters."

"How did you know ... " Marvin was sure the newspapers hadn't mentioned the mob in reporting the incident.

"Oh, well," Cliff said, "I'm supposed to know things. That's how I help everyone out, including you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. So you say you'll be out for a couple of days yet?"

"Yeah ... "

"So then you'll be back in time for the Doublejumpers road series with the Kansas City Kelsos."

"Sure, but ... "

"Now, here's the deal. You're good, really good, and you win a lot, right?"

"That's what I'm supposed to do," Marvin replied. "Play to win, score for the team and stuff."

"Maybe you win a little too often. Now, keeping in mind the message the mob boys delivered to you--- in person--- you might want to win a little less. Specifically in the second game of that Kelso series. And you for sure you might want to stay away from reporters, cops, and so on. You get the drift, I'm sure."

Marvin looked shocked. "Are you tellin' me to throw a game?"

Cliff raised a finger to his lips. "Ssh ... too loud. I'm not telling you anything except how it could just happen that you lose in the second match of the series. Of course, you might win, but of course ... well, anything might happen afterwards. Now, I need to get going; I've got a plane to catch back to headquarters in Ohio. Let's not meet again, shall we? Just stay on the path and we won't need to. And neither will you need to meet up with--- certain others."

Before Marvin could say anything, Cliff had left the room.

Marvin didn't know what to do. The threat was clear, and his suspicions that something wasn't right in the NCL seemed to be confirmed.

Marvin went home the next morning and would convalesce for a couple of days before rejoining the team and flying to Kansas City. That evening, he mentioned Cliff's visit to Priscilla, who was as shocked as Marvin. She too, had not thought the death of Carol Catchem and Marvin's assault by thugs was just a coincidence.

"Should I talk to Coach?" Marvin asked. "When I talked to him before he didn't wanna listen, and then there's all that stuff with bringin' in subs who were scrubs and lost matches for us."

Priscilla thought for a little while. "I'd say it's your duty to tell Coach. I'm sure somewhere there's a player rule about reporting attempts to influence games. Coach may have been doing some odd things, but we don't know more than that, really. Coach has never had much of a liking for you so maybe that's all there is to it."

"I 'spose," Marvin said, "but I ain't really so sure. Okay, lemme try."

Marvin didn't get a chance to speak privately with Coach Baba Dudut until after the team's arrival in Kansas City.

Marvin caught up with Coach in the hotel lobby. "Coach, I gotta talk to you."

"What do you want?" Coach seemed quite impatient. "I have strategy to plan for tomorrow's match and I don't have time to spare."

"Over here, okay," Marvin said, grasping Coach's arm and pulling him toward a quiet corner of the lobby. Coach somewhat angrily pulled his arm away. "This better be good," he growled.

Marvin quickly explained the visit from Cliff and what Cliff had said. Coach didn't bat an eye. When Marvin had finished, Coach said, "Quite a story, Marvin. I wouldn't believe it except you have no reason to lie. Well, you do whatever you want. It's your affair. But I'll tell you this, if I were you, I'd think about whether I wanted to win that game in the second match. You already had bad things happen to you once."

At that Coach walked away, unwilling to listen to Marvin any further.

Marvin, once again, was stunned. Things were possibly much worse than he would have imagined.

The Doublejumpers won the first match in the series and Marvin, playing first board against Kansas City's Billy "BBQ" Benson, won his own game without too much difficulty.

But it was now the next day and time for the second match. And Marvin had a decision to make.

Except, that decision came easily to him. Marvin might have his faults but dishonesty was certainly not one of them. The game began and after a little while reached the following position with Marvin to move.

Marvin knew he could easily play a bad move and lose, and avoid--- whatever might be coming his way.

"Nah," he said out loud, and made his move.

---

We have to admire Marvin's honesty and ethical sportsmanship. But nonetheless he's in quite a situation. Hopefully none of our readers face equivalent dilemmas, and you can solve today's position at ease and at leisure. When you're ready, click on Read More for the solution and the conclusion of today's episode.

[Read More]

Marvin made his exit once Coach Baba Dudut finished chewing him out about the newspaper article. He went home fuming. The Leapers were another contending team and Marvin couldn't understand why Coach, despite his anger, would send him home and put in a lower ranked substitute. Surely he knew they needed to put forth their best efforts against the Leapers?

He arrived home around 6 PM after fighting with rush hour traffic. He immediately opened up a beer and sat down in the theater room to watch a movie classic, Gone With The Wind, whose title about expressed his feelings about the Doublejumpers chances against Los Angeles. He was so upset he didn't even want to watch the Checker Television Network or read a checker newspaper or magazine.

An hour or so later his wife, Priscilla, returned home in her chauffeur driven Rolls Royce limousine. Priscilla, as the CEO of the giant international conglomerate, Rust Belt Holdings, nearly always worked late, and 7 PM was a relatively early time for her to return to her 5,000 square foot luxury condo.

She heard the movie playing in the theater room, and when she went to look, to her surprise Marvin was in one of the reclining leather chairs, sleeping, with an empty can of beer at his side.

Priscilla switched off the movie and gave Marvin a gentle shake of the shoulders. "Marvin," she said, "what are you doing here? Don't you have a match tonight?"

Marvin shuddered and woke. "Huh, wha ... ? Oh, hi honey," he said. "Yeah, well about that match ... "

Priscilla guided Marvin into the living room where they sat together on one of the Chesterfields. "Can I get another beer?" Marvin muttered.

"No, dear," Priscilla replied, "dinner will be served soon and you don't need more beer. Now, tell me what happened."

Marvin told Priscilla the whole story, about the phone call from the investigative reporter, Carol Catchem, the unfortunate news story in the New York Times-Herald, and Coach's subsequent anger. "It just don't seem right," Marvin concluded.

Priscilla looked pensive, and after a few moments she said, "No, it isn't quite right. But neither was it right for you to have given that pushy reporter so much ammunition for an attack piece."

"I 'spose," Marvin said, "but now I'm suspended for the whole series with the Leapers and it ain't gonna end well.

Marvin and Priscilla had their dinner, prepared as usual by Priscilla's private chef; the appetizer was Oysters Rockefeller, the main dish was Coq au Vin, and the dessert was Profiteroles au Chocolat. Each course was naturally accompanied by an appropriate wine.

"I think I'll go to bed early," Marvin said, but he couldn't resist checking on the results of the Doublejumper match that evening.

The first four boards had played well against the Leapers but the team had lost the match thanks to poor play by substitute Maxie Minima. She was on fifth board and managed to lose by playing 17-21 in the following position.

It had happened again. A substitute player on 5th board had cost the Doublejumpers the match. Marvin was beside himself. He wanted to call Coach on the phone but in the end thought better of it. Neither could he protest in person, as Coach had banned him from the Checkerdrome until the three match homestand with the Leapers was over.

The following morning after the usual early breakfast with Priscilla, who liked to get to work no later than 7 AM, Marvin poured himself a second cup of coffee and picked up the morning newspaper. He didn't have the heart to turn to the sports section and read further about the Doublejumpers' loss last night, so he browsed the news.

To his surprise and shock, on the fifth or sixth page he saw the following story.

INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER KILLED IN PEDESTRIAN ACCIDENT

"The famed New York Herald-Times investigative reporter, Carol Catchem, was killed in a pedestrian accident last night near Times Square. Witnesses said Ms. Catchem was waiting at a crosswalk for the light to change, when a large black sedan with heavily tinted windows swerved onto the sidewalk and hit Ms. Catchem. She was pronounced dead at the scene. No one else was injured. Police are investigating. Witnesses further reported that they didn't think the sedan bore any license plates."

"Hola mola," exclaimed Marvin, "I just talked to that gal and like, got into trouble and stuff. And now lookit what happened ..."

Marvin gave this further thought and didn't like what he was thinking. He didn't really believe in coincidences, and this was one colossal coincidence--- if that's what it was.

# # #

Marvin went out for a run to clear his head, then took a long hot shower. He supposed he had ought to be doing some checker study, but he wouldn't be playing for another couple of days and so decided to give himself a day off.

He hadn't had lunch, and it was now already two in the afternoon. Priscilla wouldn't be home for a while and dinner wouldn't be until eight. Rather than dig in the fridge (Priscilla's chef didn't serve lunch on workdays) Marvin decided that maybe a little bar food--- and a theraputic beer or two--- would be in order.

So he dressed casually and headed out for his favorite local dive bar. He would never drink and drive so he called for a taxi; dive bars didn't exist in Priscilla's very posh neighborhood, and so there was some little distance to travel.

He made limited small talk with the cab driver, who of course instantly recognized him and wanted to talk checkers, but Marvin was pretty laconic. The cab driver seemed a bit miffed but Marvin gave him a good tip and that seemed to satisfy him.

Marvin was well known at the bar, too, being something of a frequent customer when the Doublejumpers were at home, but the bar patrons and bartenders generally left him to himself unless he invited conversation. Today, he didn't. He just ordered a plate of sliders and a beer and sat quietly on his bar stool.

Time went by faster than Marvin realized, and before he knew it he had had several beers, several plates of sliders, and now it was fully dark outside. "Oops," he said, "Priscilla ain't gonna like this." Turning to the bartender, he said, "Put the tab on my card and call me a taxi, Dan, 'kay?"

"Sure Marv," Dan replied. "Good to see you here. You have a nice evening and say hi for me to that pretty wife of yours."

We'll at least say this much for Marvin; he had drunk his beers slowly and was still mostly sober and reasonably steady on his feet.

"See ya, everybody!" he said, waving in no particular direction. He made his way out the door and stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar, waiting for his cab. It was a cool night and Marvin hadn't brought a jacket.

"C'mon, taxi," he said, wrapping his arms around himself, "I'm kinda chilly out here."

Just at that moment a long black limousine pulled up to the curb. Three large men in leather jackets poured out of the vehicle and ran straight at Marvin. Two of them grabbed him by an arm each while the third one gave Marvin a hard punch to the solar plexus. All the air rushed out of Marvin's lungs and he went limp. The thugs piled Marvin into the limo, with one on each side of him and one on the opposite bench seat.

"Ve take you for leetle ride," one of them said. "Ve teach you someting about talking vit reporters."

The limo sped away from the curb and hurried off into the night.

# # #

It wasn't until maybe one in the morning when a patrol car spotted an inert form under a bridge some miles from the bar Marvin had visited. The car stopped and the two patrolmen manning it got out to have a look.

They rolled the body over. "He's breathing, one of them said, and then the other remarked, "Why ... that's Marvin J. Mavin! Someone's beaten him pretty badly!"

# # #

Priscilla was by now quite worried. Marvin wasn't at home when she arrived and wasn't responding to his cell phone. She was about to call the police when her own phone rang.

"Ms. Snelson?" the voice on the other end said. "This is Dr. Walters at City Hospital. We have your husband here. He's suffered quite a beating but there's a good chance that he'll make it."

Priscilla, in shock, could barely reply. "What ... what do you mean ... "

"I'd suggest you come down here right away," Dr. Walters said. "For one thing, there's a police detective that wants to talk to you."

Priscilla quickly called for her limo and the driver sped as rapidly as possible to City Hospital.

"I want to see him," Priscilla said upon arrival. 'My husband. Marvin J. Mavin. I want to see him. Now."

The reception desk called for Dr. Walters, who arrived in a minute or so. "This way, Ms. Snelson," he said, "but perhaps it would be best to wait ... "

"I want to see him now," Priscilla repeated in a tone that brooked no contradiction.

"As you wish, ma'am," the doctor said.

But when Priscilla entered Marvin's room and saw him, she burst into uncontrollable tears.

To be continued.

---

It looks like this time our hero has run into real trouble and perhaps his life may be in danger. We'll learn more in next month's episode. Meanwhile, though, there's still that checker problem to solve, and it presents no physical danger that we can think of. Risk solving it and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

It was the first Saturday of April 1955, in Bismarck, North Dakota. Long-time readers of our column may recall that in Bismarck, the first Saturday of April was the day residents raked up their yards in preparation for spring. It was something that approached a religious requirement. Yards must be raked on that day, and whomever raked up the biggest piles of dead thatch and other debris was considered the most meritorious.

On the other hand, failure to rake your yard, on-time and properly, was simply unthinkable to nearly all Bismarckers, and anyone who didn't--- well, they became instant social pariahs, incurring the disdain, scorn, and often wrath of not just their neighbors but of anyone who even walked or drove by their properties.

Raking the yard yourself was of course the expected method, but there were allowances made for the sick or elderly. Sal Westerman, whom we know as the unofficial leader of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, was in his seventies and just barely qualified for the elderly exception. Sal generally hired an enterprising young lad to do the raking for him. This was acceptable, but didn't garner any sort of status no matter how many bags of debris the young fellow raked up.

The Club normally met at 1 PM at the Beacon Cafe; they would meet on Saturdays from just after Labor Day to just before Memorial Day. On Raking Day, a smaller than usual turnout was expected, with a couple of latecomers, as not everyone completed their raking by one o'clock, and it simply had to be done before they could think of checkers.

So it was that just after one, Sal was in the big booth at the back of the Cafe with regulars Larry, Wayne, Louie the Flash, and Delmer. Dan had a big yard and might not make it; Mike would likely be there in a half hour or so. Young Blaine hired out his services so he wouldn't be there today as he had several yards to rake.

They were all, of course, drinking coffee and talking about the day's raking. But then in came a stranger. He was about 40 years old (much younger than all the Club members except for Young Blaine).

The newcomer walked back to the big booth and asked in a somewhat brash manner, "This the checker club?"

Sal replied, "Indeed it is. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"My name is Dexter," the newcomer said, "Dexter Werner. I'm new to town but I'm a fan of checkers and some folks told me about there being a small-town club."

"Well, have a seat, and welcome, Dexter," Sal said, "we're always happy to have new members." Sal did introductions and then Dan asked, "So where are you from, Dexter?"

"New York City," he said. "I got a job here as a technician with the phone company. My wife and I had lived all our lives in the city and we were tired of the rat race. So I got this job, we bought a house, and we've been here now for a few months. We finally got settled and it seemed like a good time to look up your club."

"Sounds great," said Wayne, and then asked the question of the day. "So how did your raking go today?"

"My what?" Dexter said. "Did you say raking? What do you mean?"

"Well, Dexter, it's well known that you rake up your yard on the first Saturday of April, you know, to get it ready for spring."

"You're kidding," Dexter said with a sort of half smile. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Because that's what you do," Wayne answered. "You want a nice yard, don't you?"

"Never thought about it. But it really doesn't sound very important. Yard, shmard, who cares?"

"Uh, Dexter, your neighbors will care," said Delmer. "They'll care a lot if they have nice yards and yours ... well, frankly ... if yours spoils the neighborhood."

"Never heard anything so silly as that!" Dexter said. "Why, back in the City ... "

"This isn't the City," Delmer went on. "You said you wanted out of the rat race, well, you got that, but things are done a certain way here."

"Oh, give me a break, willya," Dexter said. "Can we just play some checkers and not fuss about raking the yard, for heaven's sake?"

At this Sal interjected, "Yes, Dexter, we'll do some checkers. But a word of advice from a long time resident such as myself ... it will go much better for you if you try to fit in."

"I don't give a hoot about fitting in," Dexter said. "Now, please, checkers."

Dexter was getting glares from all of the boys. He was even getting a dark look from Deana, the Cafe's proprietess.

"All right then," Sal said with a sigh, "here's today's problem. Nothing to do with leaves but a nice little situation. Deana, what's on offer today?"

The tradition was for the boys to pay for treats if they couldn't solve the problem, and for Sal to pay if they could.

"Old fashioned apple pie," Deana said, "and if you're nice to me, I'll put a dollop of whipped cream on top."

The boys expressed their appreciation although Dexter didn't seem to join in.

Sal laid out the following position.

"Half an hour," Sal said, "starting now."

---

We don't know if you're from New York City, Bismarck, points between, or anywhere else. It doesn't matter; you can try Sal's problem and win a piece of apple pie (which unfortunately you'll have to provide on your own). See how you do and then click on Read More for the solution and the rest of our little story.

[Read More]

The National Checker League season continued on, and it wasn't quite like other seasons. The newspapers remarked on it:

"What's going on this year in the NCL? There have been some strange and unexplained losses. Normally good players are making mistakes that even lesser players wouldn't make. Lower ranked teams are pulling upsets over higher ranked teams. We're wondering; is there something being released into the air at Checkerdromes around the country? Is there some sort of ailment that is striking only professional checker players? Checker fans want to know."

It was puzzling as well to Marvin J. Mavin, the superstar Captain of the highly rated Detroit Doublejumpers. He continued to read:

"We've contacted NCL Comissioner Axel Homeboy, and his comments were suprisingly laconic. 'What makes checkers exciting,' he said, 'is that anything can and does happen.' We didn't find that to be much in the way of an explanation but Mr. Homeboy had nothing further to say."

"Yeah," Marvin muttered, "stuff happens that ain't supposed to happen." He was in his study in his wife's enormous condo in suburban Detroit; she (Priscilla) was at work downtown. The Doublejumpers had an off-day during a home stand and Coach Baba Dudut had given the team the day off with no practices called. He turned back to the newspaper:

"Checker Weekly spoke with a number of Coaches, although a few would not even answer our questions. Those that did said things like, "I don't get it" or "It's rather disconcerting" or "What are you getting at?" as if they were being accused of something. In short, we weren't able to gain any insights. Checker Weekly will inform its readers further when additional information becomes available."

The newspaper story went on to describe various situations which had occurred over the board, such as this one, in a game between Roddy Ruddy of the Portland Paisleys and Suzie Sheeshee of the Denver Dennys:

Ruddy had played 16-12 here and blew away the win. Then after 1-5 he blundered again with 22-18 and eventually lost. The newspaper berated him for amateur play and tried to interview Ruddy but his coach wouldn't allow Ruddy to speak to the press.

Of course some funny things had happened right within the Doublejumper organzation (see our previous episode), and even though Marvin was Captain, Coach refused to discuss it with him, reminding Marvin that he wasn't in charge of the team and instructing him to just worry about his own quality of play.

Marvin briefly wondered if he should go over Coach's head and talk to the Doublejumper team owner, Nelson Chester Abernathy the 3rd. But that could go wrong and get Marvin fired, and after talking it over with Priscilla he decided "it is nought good a slepying hound to wake" a phrase Priscilla liked to quote from Chaucer.

But just then Marvin's cell phone rang.

"Hullo?" Marvin said. "Oh, wait, I gotta press the button first, like, okay ... there ... yeah, hullo?"

"Mr. Mavin?" a voice on the other end asked.

"Uh, yup, but like hey, nobody don't hardly call me 'Mr. Mavin' and them that do, they ain't got this phone number ... "

"Well, I have your number. I'm an investigative reporter and I'm very good at finding things out. My name is Carol Catchem from the New York Herald Star, and I'm working with sportswriter Willie Bill Williamson on a story about the NCL."

"Uh, yeah, so ... like ... ain't you supposed to call our whatchacallit --- media department or something? 'Cause we gotta get permission and stuff to talk with the press ... "

"Oh, this won't amount to anything much. You don't need permission, I cleared it with my people. So it's just a question or two, starting with, do you follow the checker news?"

"'Course I do, I play pro checkers. Hey I thought you said you knew how to find stuff out. Ain't it like obvious?"

"Just doing fact checking," Carol replied. "So for instance have you seen the latest in Checker Weekly? The article asking what's going on this year in the NCL?"

"Yeah, I seen it," Marvin said. 'I just got done reading it in fact. How'd you know that?"

There was a chuckle on Carol's end. "Like I said ... but what I want to know is what you think about the article."

"They wrote it real good," Marvin said.

Now there was a groan on Carol's end. "Sure, sure Marvin, but what about the content?"

"Well, they asked lots a questions and they didn't answer none of 'em because nobody around the league wouldn't tell them nothing."

"So, Marvin, how would you answer their questions? What is going on around the league?"

"Well, now, I ain't sure I oughta ... "

"Oh come on, just a word or two. It won't hurt anything and it's just for information."

"Uh ... um ... okay. It's like, there's all this weird stuff with players making dumb moves and losing games and players who ain't all that good winning games and stuff that shouldn't be happening. I don't get it either but it ain't right. We even had a game or two on our team ... but I better keep quiet about that."

"So why do think this is happening? You say it's even on your own team. What does your Coach think? What do you think?"

"Coach don't say nothing to me cause he says it ain't my business. I dunno. It's just all weird and I don't know nothing more."

Was that a chuckle? Marvin could almost picture Carol smiling. "Thank you Marvin," she said, "you've been very helpful."

The connection ended. Carol must have hung up. Marvin sat a moment, staring at his phone before setting it down and then turning to the latest issue of All Checkers Digest.

Marvin arrived at the Detroit Checkerdrome a few minutes ahead of 1 PM practice the next day; the Doublejumpers would be facing the Los Angeles Leapers in the evening.

"Coach wants to see you in his office right away," one of the attendants said.

Marvin went down the hall and out in the office area. He knocked on the door marked Head Coach.

"Enter," came the voice of Coach Baba Dudut. Marvin opened the door and walked in.

"Close the door and remain standing," Coach ordered gruffly.

"What ... "

"And keep silent. Here, pick this up." It was a copy of the morning edition of the New York Herald-Times. "Read the lead story."

Marvin reached down to Coach's desk and picked up the newspaper. To his surprise and dismay he saw a big headline:

Checker Star Can't Explain NCL Happenings

The byline was "Carol Catchem" and the story began:

"Your reporter spoke with Marvin J. Mavin, noted checker luminary and Captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers. We asked him about the strange happenings around the NCL. Mr. Mavin said he had noticed these things too and that there had even been odd events taking place on his own team. He had tried to speak to his coach about it but was turned away and threatened with disciplinary action ... "

The story went on for a few more paragraphs.

Coach stood up and leaned his fists on his desk. "First, what were you doing talking to this famous muckraker without permission?"

Marvin, now completely taken aback, replied in a stammer, "Uh, she like told me she cleared it with her people and stuff."

"She may have cleared it with her people but she sure didn't clear it with ours!" Coach shouted. "That's number one! Number two is where do you think you get the right to talk about what goes on with our team?"

"Well, gee, I just ... "

"You just what? What you just did was start a big scandal with us in the middle of it! Mr. Abernathy is very upset and chewed me out big time. I ought to kick you right off the team and out of professional checkers, but then I'd have to mess with the union and do a lot of paperwork. So I won't. But you're benched for this series! Maxie Minima will go on 5th board and everyone else will move up a slot. You'll be on the bench, and if anything like this ever happens again, union or no union, you'll never play checkers again! I'll break all your fingers and then kick you out of the league! Do you understand me!"

Marvin could barely speak. "Yeah, I mean, yes, Coach, I get it."

"You better get it! Now go on home, I don't even want to see you in the Checkerdrome, or anywhere, until after this series is over!"

Marvin figured he had better do as he was told. He drove on home. He'd discuss the situation with Priscilla when she got home from work. Maybe she would have some insights.

But Marvin really wondered. Maxie Minima wouldn't have been the top choice to fill in while Marvin was benched. Once again he didn't know what Coach was thinking.

# # #

The New York Herald-Times Overseas Edition was printed in Berlin and didn't arrive in Sofia until a bit later in the evening in the Sofia time zone. She always picked up a copy at the local newsstand as soon as it was available.

But this evening she was not pleased. The lead story would create problems for her. It could even derail the plan if things were left to go on their own. And although more money was starting to come in, that flow could easily be interrupted if things went awry. Action would have to be taken, and it would have to be swift and sure.

She would need to meet with her Bulgarian "associates" and get them to act through their network in the United States.

She angrily tossed the newspaper into a trash bin. It was time to go to their usual meeting place. The boys would be there, drinking their vodka, as they did just about every night. Things would be arranged. A price would be paid. She would not allow her plans to be thwarted or even delayed.

Nothing would stop her.

To be continued.

---

Ruddy should have won and even with his first blunder should have drawn. Can you find the win that Ruddy missed? Click on Read More when you're ready to check your solution.

[Read More]

"I wouldn't mind being a millionaire," said Louie the Flash, "and I'm sure my girlfriend wouldn't mind if I was either."

"Sure," said Mike, "if you were a millionaire you might keep a girlfriend longer than a month!"

"Hey," Louie replied, "I've been with Hortense now for ... uh, well ... I guess it's only three weeks but it's looking really good."

"I watched that new TV show, too," Dan said, "about that guy that gives a million dollars to someone and then we see how everything goes wrong. Like the one the other night about that school teacher ..."

"Too much money all at once can be a problem; people don't handle it well," said Wayne, "but I wouldn't mind trying it myself. Too bad that's just a TV show."

The Coffee and Cake Checker Club had just begun their regular Saturday afternoon meeting at the Beacon Cafe. A number of the "boys" were on hand (all but one of them 50 years old at a minimum). The club met from just after Labor Day until just before Memorial Day to solve checker problems, talk checkers, and play skittles games. However today the talk had drifted off to the topic of that new TV show "The Millionaire" which had just come on the air in the last couple of weeks.

But Sal Westerman, the club's unoffical leader, spoke up and said, "This is all very interesting, boys, but I've got a checker problem that's at lot more interesting. How about you take it on now?"

The tradition was that if the boys could solve the weekly problem, Sal would buy everyone the fabulous baked treats that Deana, the Beacon's proprietess, had on offer. If they couldn't solve it the boys would buy for Sal and his wife.

"I've got fresh fudge brownies," Deana called out from behind her counter, and then added with a laugh, "baked from my million dollar recipe!"

The boys laughed too, and Sal set up the following position on one of the boards in the big booth at the back of the cafe.

"Now," Sal said, "you don't get a million minutes to solve it. But seeing as how this problem is from my friend Ed in Pennsylvania, I'll give you a full hour. He calls it 'Land's End'."

Ed was one of Sal's checker pen pals and was known for his clever, if often difficult, problem compositions.

Deana refilled everyone's coffee mugs and the boys dug into the problem.

---

We can't offer you a million dollars, and neither can we offer you fudge brownies. But do try to solve the problem, and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

The Detroit Doublejumpers were in Tampa, Florida, for a match with the Tampa Tinsleys, a very strong team in the American Conference Eastern Division of the National Checker League. Led by superstar captain Marvin J. Mavin, the Doublejumpers were favored to win, but the odds line was close at 5-4 in favor of the Doublejumpers.

As regular readers know, National Checker League matches are five boards to a side, with the highest rated player on the first board and so on down to the fifth board. Of course, in professional checkers at the Major League level, a fifth board starter was ranked at least as a master and was a very skilled checkerist.

In our previous episode, Marvin had remarked on the unexpected loss of a strong player to a lower ranked player in a match played in Dallas. He had since noted a couple of other similar anomalies, but didn't pursue the matter any further.

But now, with the Doublejumpers on a lengthy road trip, it was time to focus on the match with Tampa. The Doublejumpers would play a three match series here, then move on to Miami for another three matches prior to going to Dallas, and then on to St. Louis before finally returning to Detroit. It would be two weeks before Marvin would get to see his wife, Priscilla, back in the suburbs of the city.

Pre-game practice went along as usual and Coach Baba Dudut then prepared the starting lineup. He announced it to the team.

"Marvin, first board. I better see a good showing with no attitude."

"Yes, coach," Marvin said meekly. "You got it."

Coach glared a little and continued. "Panko Ryder, second board. Jimmy Jack Johnson, third board. Suzie Brankovich, fourth board."

Coach then hesitated a moment before continuing. "And Steve Moscovitch, fifth board."

The team murmured a little. The usual fifth board player this season was Sarah Hotchkiss, and she had played well so far, winning most of her games. Steve Moscovitch was the lowest rated player on the Doublejumper team and had only seen action as a very occasional substitute. He had not played all that well and rumor was he might soon be sent down to the Doublejumpers AAA farm team.

"You people have a problem?" demanded Coach upon hearing the muttering. "I make the decisions around here and I make them in the best interests of the team. You don't like it, go play for some other team."

The muttering died down but the look on the faces of the players told a different story.

It was soon time for the match to begin. The Tampa Checkerdrome was sold out and 50,000 avid checker fans were awaiting what would likely be a close contest. While most of the fans were from the local area and would cheer for the Tinsleys, there was a sizeable group who had come down from Detroit to see their team and take a bit of a vacation near the waters of Tampa Bay.

The starting lineups were announced over the stadium's PA system. When Detroit's fifth board was announced, there was more audible muttering, this time from the Detroit audience. Sarah Hotchkiss was a favorite of the fans and won hearts everywhere she went with her fine play, pleasant personality, and decided strength of character. Steve Moscovitch, on the other hand, was viewed as someone on his way out.

After the National Anthem, the players took their places at their checkerboards and the referee blew his whistle. His cry of "Play Checkers!" resounded throughout the stadium and the match began.

Indeed, it was close. The Doublejumpers drew on first and second board, with both Marvin and Panko unable to get a win against the strong Tampa players. The Doublejumpers lost on the third board and won on the fourth in games that were hard fought and close.

It was now all down to fifth board. Steve had been playing very slowly. By the rules, he needed a win to carry the day for the Doublejumpers. A draw, on the other hand, would leave the score tied at 5-5 but tiebreak rules gave precedence to wins on the higher boards, so the Tinsleys would win the match if Steve only drew.

The fifth board for the Tinsleys, Agatha Agarawal, was a pretty good player. But she tended to play a little too fast. The result was a position in which Steve was to play, and he had a possible win. However he only had a minute left on his clock while Agatha had twelve minutes.

Steve's clock was running and he seemed ready to make his move. He reached out, and then suddenly drew his hand back. He stood up from the board, stretched his arms over his head, moved his legs up and down, and then did a pirouette. The big crowd in the stands again was muttering. What was Steve up to? His clock was now down to ten seconds. Steve grabbed the top of his chair as if to begin to sit down, but he knocked it over, and, rather than just make his move, he slowly picked it up.

"Time!" Agatha called out, pointing to the clock. Indeed, Steve had run out of time and thereby lost the game. The Tinsleys had won by a score of 6-4.

Coach Baba Dudut ran out onto the field and started yelling at Steve. But Marvin noticed that Steve didn't have the scared look that most players have when yelled at by Coach. Neither did he have a defiant look. In fact, Coach's angry look wasn't the same as the one Marvin was used to.

A disappointed team walked off the field that evening. The hometown fans were happy, of course. But the Detroit contingent was left to wonder just what happened.

The next day it was announced that Steve Moscovitch, rather than get sent down to a farm club, had quit the Doublejumpers and made his exit from professional checkers. It was something quite unusual. Players often would be moved back and forth between the major and minor leagues, but few of them abandoned their careers altogether.

Sarah Hotchkiss resumed her usual place on fifth board and the Doublejumper road trip continued. The Doublejumpers split the next two matches with the Tinsleys, but that left Tampa with a 2-1 edge in the three match series, and it was enough to put them into first place in the American League East division of the National Checker League.

It was just a small one bedroom apartment in an old run down building in the Lyulin area of Sofia, but she knew she'd be moving to better quarters before too long. Things were starting to work out and the money, now mostly a trickle, would eventually turn into a flood.

It had taken her a while to settle in Sofia, after some time in other Eastern European cities like Warsaw, Prague, and a couple of others. It had taken her even longer to learn enough Bulgarian to start to make the contacts she needed. But she was good at that kind of thing.

Eventually she found a group with which she could work. The Bulgarian underworld wasn't trusting of foreigners, but she was very convincing and could be very charming or very tough as the occasion demanded. Building out her network took time, but she had enough side hustles to keep her going until things were at a point where she had enough control to start making some moves.

Oh, would they ever be surprised back home. But they wouldn't suspect anything until it was too late, and they would never suspect her involvement.

She went into the apartment's tiny kitchen to make herself some tea. A few roaches scuttled along the kitchen floor and the stove just consisted of an ancient hot plate. Never mind, better days were coming. For her, at least. Not for her victims back home.

She almost laughed aloud. Revenge would be sweet, and the money wouldn't hurt anything either.

It had been quite a long road trip, and except for that one unexpected loss in Tampa, the Doublejumpers had done very well. Marvin himself had played good checkers and was satisified with his performance. Of course Coach Baba Dudut wasn't one to give out much praise, especially to Marvin.

And Marvin still felt somewhat uneasy. He couldn't especially put his finger on just why, but it was a really odd kind of feeling. Something was a bit off with Coach, and there were just other nagging little things.

When he finally returned home, at a late evening hour, his wife, Priscilla, noticed his mood.

"What you need is a nice glass of wine, dear, to help you relax. I'm sure it's all just stress from the long road trip."

"Yeah, honey, maybe I'll grab a can of beer," Marvin replied, "and then hit the hay."

Priscilla scowled, but only a little, as she hadn't seen Marvin for a couple of weeks. Ordinarily she didn't like to see Marvin drinking beer out of a can; she said it was uncouth and low-class.

"Whatever you like," she said.

Marvin had his beer and slept uneasily, dreaming of wrong moves and game clocks that ran out.

To be continued.

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What move should Steve have played to secure the win, had he not done strange antics? His antics are not the only strange thing going on, it seems. We hope nothing particularly strange is going on where you are and you'll have a chance to solve the position. Give it a try and then click on Read More to see the solution.

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