bar.
He sat, looking at the board, as if studying the game. I commanded my hand that held the dice cup to be still as I waited for his answer. He finally looked at me and said, 'A year ago I would have said there was nothing compulsive about Ned. Now I'm not so sure.'
'Any special reason?'
'Because of things that have happened.'
An enigmatic response, but I had better not push it any more or I would arouse suspicions. I rolled a 3-2, usually not a great roll, but I got my piece off the bar with the two and used the three to hit James' piece.
'If you don't play for money, what's the thrill?'
James smiled a quick smile. 'The thrill of playing any game, I guess. Trying to beat your opponent. Or the dice. Or the cards. Trying to excel. And we do keep rankings in each game, from the biggest winners to the biggest losers over the course of a year.'
That was still unsatisfactory, but I didn't ask any more questions. As the game proceeded, James made what I considered to be several tactical blunders in how he moved his pieces. However, the game was still undecided down to the last two moves.
James rolled a 5-1 and bore a piece off the board with the five. He now had only two pieces remaining, on his two-point and his three-point, and he could move one of them one point. To my surprise, he moved the piece on his three-point to his two-point, leaving two pieces there, instead of from his two-point to his one-point, which would have left them on his one and three.
There are 36 possible rolls with two dice (six times six). With two pieces on his two-point, there were ten rolls that wouldn't move both his pieces off the board on his next turn; they included every roll with a one in it except a double one, since doubles count double. But, if he had left the pieces on his one and three-points, there were only two rolls that wouldn't have cleared the board for him: 2-1 and
1-2.
I won the game because of his mistake.
James congratulated me and said, 'Would you like to play a match to five points for a small stake?'
'You don't play for money.'
'Not for money. If I win you serve drinks for half-an-hour. If you win I'll give you a ride back to your hotel so you don't have to walk.'
Did he know that I'd been a bartender? 'Is that how you get these guys to work for you?'
James laughed. 'No, I pay them real money. They're on my staff.'
I glanced at my watch. It was almost eleven. I doubted that Ned was going to show, and I didn't have anything else to do. It was a screwy bet, but my itch was still there so I accepted.
James' game suddenly improved dramatically. He stopped making silly mistakes. Nevertheless, I wasn't worried because backgammon is 75% luck, and luck seemed to be on my side. I was ahead in points 4-3 when we started what I hoped would be the deciding game.
The game started badly for me and got worse. James was able to set up blocks on all six points of his inner board while I had two pieces on the bar. As long as he maintained those blocks I couldn't get my pieces off the bar, and with pieces on the bar the rules said I couldn't move.
He played it perfectly and gammoned me, meaning that he bore all his pieces off before I bore off any. A gammon counts double so he won the match 5-4.
I offered half-hearted congratulations. James grinned and said, 'You play a good game. Next time we'll use the doubling cube. But before you start serving your penance, why don't you call Ned's hotel and make sure he got back okay. He's very reliable-when he says he's going to do something he does it. I want to make sure he's okay.'
I looked at James in surprise. He and Ned must be very good friends. Ned probably got held up at his business meeting until late and then went straight back to his hotel, but at least he could have called here. I looked at my watch again. It was after 11:30.
James rose from his chair and led me to the control room. When he walked fast he had a noticeable limp. The crowd had thinned out considerably. I suspected that most of them were working people. I followed James through the door to the control room where he handed me a cordless phone.
'I don't know the number of Ned's hotel,' I said. In fact, the only reason I remembered the name of it was because we had passed it on the way to my hotel and Ned had pointed it out to me.
James asked me the name and turned to a nearby personal computer sitting on a shelf high enough so he could use it standing up. I looked over his shoulder and could see that he was accessing the Tartan website on the Internet. As he worked the keyboard I noticed for the first time that the tip of the fourth finger of his left hand was missing, making it difficult for him to key the letter 's.' He found the hotel name on an index page and clicked on it. Ten seconds later he gave me the phone number.
I punched it in and after two rings a clerk answered. I asked her whether Ned Buchanan had checked in and was put on hold. In 30 seconds she came back on the line and told me that Mr. Buchanan had not checked in.
I disconnected the phone and relayed the information to James. His forehead creased in a frown.
'Stan, what restaurant was Ned Mackay's meeting at?' James asked the young man who had welcomed me. He was watching the monitors.
'The Golden Palace,' Stan answered, without turning his head.
James did his trick with the Internet again and punched a number into the phone. He had a brief conversation. By the time he hung up, his frown had grown more intense.
'The meeting never took place,' James said to no one in particular. 'Ned was never at the restaurant.'
Before I could express my surprise James punched in a new number. His side of the conversation went like this: 'It's James. Has Ned been there tonight?' Pause. 'No, I didn't. When was he there?' Pause. 'Did he say where he was going when he left?' Pause 'You're kidding!' Pause. 'He did?' Fidgety pause. 'No, I haven't seen him. I don't know what's going on. I'll call you when I find out.' He jabbed the disconnect button.
James immediately had another go-round with his computer and again punched in a number. He swore under his breath until somebody answered the phone, and then said, 'This is James Buchanan. I was expecting a visitor tonight, but he hasn't shown up. He's in San Francisco but he didn't check into his hotel. His name is Ned Mackay. Could you…?'
James listened and shock registered on his face. He appeared to struggle as he asked several brief questions, including 'Where?' and 'When?' and then said, 'Yes. Yes, I'll be here.'
He turned to me. He said, choking on his words, 'That was the police. Ned was mugged…he's been shot.'
'Shot?' I said, uncomprehending. Then, as it sank in, “Is he…?'
'He…he's dead.'
Chapter 6 DETECTIVE WASHINGTON
'Hello.'
I was surprised at how fast my father picked up the phone. He obviously wasn't asleep. I had expected he would be. I was still preparing what to say to him. 'Oh…hi Dad.'
'Karl? Where are you?'
'In San Francisco.'
'I know that. Are you all right?'
'Of course. But Ned…'
'I know about Ned. The San Francisco Police called me over an hour ago. You weren't with him?'
'No. I was supposed to meet him at ten, but he never showed up.'
