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.

Solution and Conclusion

Marvin could have lost with 29-25 30-26 Black Wins. But he took the high road and the game went on in this manner.

*5-1 30-26 *1-6 7-10 *19-16 20-18---A 6-31 White Wins.

A---10-19 16-30 White Wins (pointed out by Lloyd Gordon).

Marvin had won.

# # #

In the locker room after the game, Coach asked to see Marvin in a side room.

"Wassup, Coach?" he asked, having a suspicion about what might be coming.

"I see you won that game of yours, and that gave us the win. Nice work, but I just hope ... oh well. I think you know what I mean."

Before Marvin could pose a question, Coach had walked away.

# # #

She was so angry she wanted to smash something. Those fools! Couldn't they get anything right? Her plans could be ruined. She hadn't delivered on her latest promise because that long haired beer drinking fool of a checker player didn't get the message! It had cost her a lot of money and really set her back.

Well, she stopped and thought, the Bulgarian mob doesn't understand subtlety. And anyhow, another beating--- or another accident--- would now raise too many questions. It was time for something a little more clever.

And wouldn't you know it, Cha Cha had an idea.

To be continued.

---

Today's problem is by the late Roy Little and appeared in Bill Salot's Composing Championship Contest #5.