"Can you please tell me what's going on?" Mortimer asked as Sheila rushed him across the street and toward the next block.

"Didn't you hear my conversation with Rosie?" she replied, a bit out of breath.

"No ... you two were whispering and that guy Ike was so loud ... "

"Okay, hold on a moment." Sheila came to an abrupt halt. "She mentioned that there was a gambling den--- a checkers gambling den--- somewhere inside the Sweet Corn Cafe. That's where we're going. She said we could find out more about Bob Pace there. Said he was a gambler and that might have something to do with his ... uh ... demise. She told me what to say so that they'll let us in."

"You sure this is such a good idea?" Mortimer gave an involuntary shiver.

"What can happen? You play some checkers and lose a few dollars? We'll be careful."

Marvin didn't look too convinced but followed along as Sheila started walking again. In the next block they came to a dingy looking storefront that bore a neon sign proclaiming "Sweet Corn Cafe." Some of the elements in the sign lights were burned out and a few others were flickering. Through the storefront window Sheila and Mortimer could see a few people sitting at formica covered tables. The place didn't look especially clean.

"Come on," Sheila said, pushing open the door.

Mortimer followed her up to the service counter where a older woman with gray hair pulled back in a bun, and wearing horn-rimmed glasses with obviously smudged lenses, said in an unenthusiastic voice, "Help you?"

"Yes," Sheila said, "we're looking for Colonel Checkers."

The woman looked up suspiciously. "Is that right? Well then who says he's here?"

"Rosie Double Rye."

During this exchange Mortimer looked on, appearing somewhat baffled.

The older woman gave both of them stares, in turn. "Well," she said finally, if Rosie sent ya, I 'spose it's okay. Through there." She pointed a bony finger at a red and white checked curtain at the side of the counter. "I'll buzz you in."

Pushing aside the curtain revealed what looked to be a very strong oaken door. The woman pressed a button underneath her counter and Sheila heard an electronic lock slip back. She pulled open the door and she and Marvin entered.

They were at the head of a dimly lit staircase that had a landing and a half turn part way down. As they descended they heard the oaken door swing shut behind them and the electric lock engage.

"That doesn't sound very good," Mortimer said, but by then they had turned the corner on the staircase and could see the basement room before them.

It was pretty large, evidently having been expanded and dug out beyond the original foundations of the cafe. There were a couple of doors towards the back which might lead to offices or smaller rooms. But the main part of the room was furnished with numerous ensembles of tables and chairs, each furnished with one or more checkerboards. Off to one side, along the far wall, there was a desk and a man sitting behind it, a big ledger book open in front of him. There was a heavy looking iron safe on the floor behind him. Sitting next to him was another guy, this one needing a shave and wearing a wrinkled suit and stained bowtie. There was a noticeable bulge under his left arm.

"Did you see ... " Mortimer whispered but Sheila squeezed his arm, a clear signal that it would be best for him to keep quiet.

The man behind the counter and the other man, obviously a guard, were staring directly at the couple. Sheila hesitated and then walked up to the counter. "Hi, my fiance ... he's, um, looking for a little checker action, you know, kind of off the books."

"Is he now? Well, boy, step up. What's your level?"

Mortimer moved up even with Sheila. "My ... level? Oh yeah class A amateur. In Denver. I mean we're from Denver. Colorado."

"I know where Denver is, kid. Show me your card. I ain't got all night."

Mortimer showed his US Amateur Checker Association membership card, which had his category printed on it.

"Okay, looks good. We don't want no sandbaggers here, get it? We don't like no funny business at all, ain't that right Slug?" The latter words were addressed to the guard with the shoulder holster, who in turn laughed and opened his jacket just far enough to show the butt of his automatic.

"Uh, yeah, well maybe this isn't quite the place for us, right honey?" Mortimer said to Sheila, a hopeful look in his eyes.

If Sheila was upset or worried, it didn't show, but before she could reply the man at the desk slammed a fist down and said, "You show up, you play. Them's the rules. Hunnert dollar bet, three game minimum. We ain't runnin' this place for no spectators. Who told you to come here anyhow?"

"I already told the lady upstairs," Sheila said.

"Well now you're tellin' me."

"Rosie Double Rye," Sheila replied.

"Rosie, huh? Well, okay, but your boyfriend still gotta play. Class A amateur is he? Hey!" The counter man shouted at someone sitting alone at one of the tables. "Cliff! Game for ya. Hunnert minimum. Says he's class A amateur. You up for it?"

Cliff turned out to be another big guy with another crushing handshake.

"Actually," Mort said after they had sat down, "I was really just looking to learn about the local checkers scene around here. I'm not much of a money player."

"You are now, squirt," Cliff said, laying a $100 bill at the side of the board. "Okay, show me yours. Your money."

Mortimer luckily had brought along enough cash on the trip and laid down a $100 bill of his own. Sheila took a seat off to the side, hoping to make conversation with some of the other players.

Mortimer and Cliff started their game. Sheila looked around the room trying to decide who might be a talker, when a medium sized older man with a sleazy look pulled up a chair next to her.

"Wanna play?" he asked.

"Oh, no, sorry, I'm not a rated player," Sheila replied, and then looked away as quickly as possible.

The man grinned. "I didn't mean checkers," he said.

"Forget it," Sheila snapped, "I'm engaged and not available."

"To that little punk? Aw, some guys have all the luck. Well if you ever get tired of him, Larry Burgess is the name and always ready for a game."

Sheila muttered something about not coming back but then decided to try to get a little information.

Mortimer, on hearing this exchange, looked angry, but decided not to pursue it further, as his game with Cliff was getting interesting.

Meanwhile Sheila pursued her conversation with Larry Burgess. "So, who would have known about this little place down below Sweet Corn Cafe?"

"Well, you musta!" Larry said with a loud laugh, "anyhow, heard you talkin' about Rosie Double Rye. Ain't she somethin'? She sure can put 'em down, them double ryes. Not too many fellas can keep up with the likes a her. Hey, speakin' of which, you want a little drink?"

"No, thanks, I had a few with Rosie over at Checkers on the Cob. But hey, even though I'm not really a player, all of that got me interested in the local scene. Looks like the real action is here."

"Some a the best action in Des Moines, if you got the bucks. And the skill. This ain't no place for fraidy-cat bee-ginners."

Then Sheila circled in on the main subject. "We read about that Bob Pace guy. A real shame getting shot like that. Who would shoot a checker player?"

"Yeah, yeah," Larry said, but his expression had changed. "Hey, don't you worry none about him. I'd worry about your boyfriend losing his hunnert bucks against Cliff over here. Cliff don't lose much."

Actually Mortimer was doing pretty well and Cliff wasn't at all happy about it. But, when Sheila had mentioned Bob Pace, Cliff glared in her direction.

In fact there was a little more tension in the room, and both the guard and the desk man had stopped talking and were listening to Sheila and Larry.

But Sheila, not noticing this, went on, "Did that Pace fellow play here much? There were some rumors about him being, well, something of a high-roller and this sure would be a place that would attract that kind of guy."

Before she knew it, the desk man, whose nametag said "Dale," was standing next to her. "What's with all the questions?" he said gruffly. "Around here people mind their business and don't ask nobody about nothing."

"Oh, I was just curious ... you know ... with the murder and all ... "

"You some kind a reporter?" Larry paused a moment. "Or ... some kind a cop? You look like you could be one. Comin' in here with that wimpy boyfriend for cover ... "

"Fiance," Sheila said.

"A cop for sure. How'd you ever fool Rosie? I gotta talk to that gal ... but I think we better check you out a little closer. Gimme your purse. I wanna see what you got in there, like your cop ID or somethin'."

"My purse ... no, I won't give you my purse. Mort! It's time to leave. Right now."

Mortimer looked up and turned in Sheila's direction. "Now? Aw, gee honey I'm winning this game ... "

"You ain't goin' nowhere!" Dale reached out to grab Sheila's arm but Sheila countered with a swift akeido move and in an instant he was sprawled out on the floor. Larry looked at Sheila and thinking better of trying anything, backed away quickly.

Now, Mortimer!" Sheila shouted. Mort, now definitely getting the message, joined her as they ran across the room to the stairway.

Dale, slowly picking himself up, said, "Slug! Take care of those two!"

"Yeah boss," Slug replied, but being both slow of wit and actual speed, lumbered after the couple while awkwardly drawing his automatic from its holster.

By then Sheila and Mort were around the bend in the stairs and almost to the big door. Mort yanked on it. They heard a yell of "just a minute" from the other side and then heard the lock click. Under Mort's pull the door opened almost quickly enough to knock him back down the stairs.

Sheila and Mort dove quickly through the door and, from the other side, shoved it closed. No sooner than they had done so they heard the sound of a gunshot and a buller ripping into the back of the door.

"Hey you two!" the waitress shouted, but Mort and Sheila were already out into the street.

"This way!" Sheila called out and led Mort down an alley that opened on a side street. Just as they were exiting the alley they heard two more gunshots and bullets zinging by.

"Quick!" Sheila and Mort ran down the sidewalk to the left and at the next corner, miraculously, there was a waiting cab. They jumped in just as they saw Slug exit the alley and look all around.

"Duck down!" Sheila said. She and Mortimer crouched down on the back seat, trying to stay out of sight.

The cabbie, not knowing what to think, simply said, "Uh ... where to, folks? Or are we just playing hide and seek?"

To be continued.

---

Mortimer might have missed the chance to win some money but it seems as if he and Sheila escaping with their lives took a higher priority. We can't really blame them. However, unless something is going on that we don't know about, no one named Slug is chasing after you, so you can take your time with today's problem. You won't win any money (at least, not from us) but you will have an enjoyable challenge. Take a shot at it and then slug your mouse onto Read More to see the solution.

Solution

*16 11---A, 6-9---B, *17 13, 9-14, *13 9, 10-15, *9 6, 15-19, *6 2, 14-18---C, *11 7, 3-10, *30 26, 22-31, *2 7, 31-24, 7 16, 24-27, *16 19, White Wins.

A---Not 17 13, *10-14, Drawn.

B---10-15, *30 26, White Wins.

C---3-8, 11 4, 14-18, move either king, 19-23, *27 24, White Wins various ways.

This problem is titled Alarm Clock and is by Jim Loy. It placed second in Bill Salot's Contest 20 in December 2014. It is derived from the following game:

9-14 22-17 5-9 17-13 1-5 25-22 14-17 21-14 9-25 29-22 10-15 24-19 15-24 28-19 7-10 22-18 11-15 18-11 8-24 27-20 10-15 32-28 4-8 31-27 15-19 23-16 12-19 27-24 2-7 24-15 7-10 15-11 8-15 20-16 15-19 16-11 10-14 26-22 14-17 22-18, (to this point Ron King vs. Phil Schwartzberg, Round 9 Game 1, Masters Division, 2014 National Tournament), 17-22 (corrects Schwartzberg s 30 26 draw) 18-14 19-23 28-24 23-27 24-19, Jim Loy (forms diagram, colors reversed).

Our thanks once again to Jim Loy and Bill Salot for providing us with a great set of problems for this serialized story.