Hit that Blot

By Alan Cook

Carol Golden is now married and working part time as a volunteer listener on a crisis hotline in Southern California when she receives a call from a man who calls himself Danny, and who says he’s afraid he will be killed. He also talks about being a backgammon player. Since Carol plays backgammon, herself, and wants to help Danny if she can, she disobeys the rules of the hotline by trying to track him down. This leads her into the world of tournament backgammon where she finds it may not be the gentle game she has always thought of it as, because players are dying and there may be connections to a gambling casino and even to a clandestine spy agency. Carol needs the help of her husband, Rigo, her spy friend, Alice, and Jennifer, the daughter of a backgammon player, to figure out what’s going on and to keep herself from getting in so deep she can’t get out. The book has appendices containing backgammon tips.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Cook
• Release date: Jan 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310181498

Alan Cook

After spending more than a quarter of a century as a pioneer in the computer industry, Alan Cook is well into his second career as a writer.ROCKY ROAD TO DENVERThe death of Roger McAllister’s wife in 1984 prompts him to take a break from his accounting firm and join a walk from Los Angeles to Denver, sponsored by Zeus Shoes. The people he encounters will shake him out of his comfort zone, providing comedy, peril and sexual temptation. In addition, his dead wife appears to be keeping an eye on him. Roger’s life will never be the same.DEATH AT MONKSREST--Charlie and Liz No. 3Liz Reid flies to England in the 1960s because of a poem about an ancient curse that her coworker, Charlie Ebersole, has sent her, which may have led to the murder of the sister of Charlie’s English friend, Reggie, whose father is the owner of the hereditary estate of Monksrest. Liz works with Lord Wheatley to find clues in spite of the risks involved.EAST OF THE WALL--Charlie and Liz No. 2Charlie Ebersole and Liz Reid are recruited by the CIA to go into East Germany in June 1963, to attempt to obtain intelligence about a secret project of the Germans during World War II, about which information has been lost. The Berlin Wall and the Stasi (East German secret police) make this a perilous mission, but the two suspect that they are the most appropriate people for the job.TRUST ME IF YOU DARE--Charlie and Liz No. 1Charlie Ebersole is good at his job as a securities analyst for International Industries in Los Angeles in the year 1962, but he is also somewhat bored at being tied to a desk most of the time. He jumps at the chance to join the fraud section of II, and is immediately put on a case that will take him and another employee, Elizabeth Reid, to Buffalo, Fort Lauderdale, and possibly to Fidel Castro’s Cuba, although the Bay of Pigs fiasco is a recent memory, and relations between Cuba and the United States are not good. Charlie and Liz find out that uncovering a Ponzi scheme isn’t all just fun and games, but it can be dangerous too, especially when somebody is intent on them not discovering the truth. Before they are through they may wish they were back at their nice safe desks in Los Angeles.YOUR MOVE--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 7Carol looks for a serial killer who likes to play games. As she attempts to figure out the game and its significance for the killer she realizes that events occurring when she was a college student but are lost to her because of her amnesia may be significant in tracking down the killer. Does the killer want something from her? If so, what? This is becoming too personal for comfort.FOOL ME TWICE--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 6Carol Golden is asked to help Peter Griffenham recover a chunk of money he's lost in a scam, but he doesn't want to go to the police, and by the time she gets involved the prime suspect, a dazzling redhead named Amy, has disappeared along with the money. Or has she? Perhaps that was only the first chapter, to be followed by a much larger scam. Can Carol help prevent chapter two?GOOD TO THE LAST DEATH--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 5When Carol Golden's husband, Rigo, disappears, she not only has to look for him, but elude the FBI at the same time, because there is evidence that she was involved in his disappearance. She doggedly follows a faint trail, keeping her location a secret from everybody except her friend, Jennifer, a spy-in-training, who takes time off from her top-secret job to help Carol.HIT THAT BLOT--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 4The fourth Carol Golden novel takes Carol into the exciting and dangerous world of tournament backgammon. She listens to a caller who calls himself Danny on the crisis hotline Carol volunteers for say he is afraid he'll be murdered. A backgammon player, herself, Carol, disobeys the hotline rules and sets out to find and help Danny. She needs all her experience with spies and detective work to survive this adventure.DANGEROUS WIND--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 3In the third Carol Golden novel, Carol is abducted by a shady government group and required to help find an old boyfriend of hers she doesn't remember (because of her amnesia) who is trying to bring about the "downfall of the western world." She will travel to all seven continents before she can figure out what's going on.RELATIVELY DEAD--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 2Having recovered her identity (lost in FORGET TO REMEMBER) if not her memory, Carol Golden seeks out some of her cousins in the second Carol Golden novel, only to find out they appear to be targeted for murder. While trying to figure out what's going on, Carol encounters the Grandparent Scam and a Ponzi Scheme, and finds out that she may be one of the targets of the murderer.FORGET TO REMEMBER--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 1Carol Golden isn't her real name. She doesn't remember her real name or anything that happened before she was found, naked and unconscious, in a Dumpster on the beautiful Palos Verdes Peninsula in Southern California. After some initial medical assistance, government at all levels declares her a non-person. She can't work because she doesn't have a Social Security number, which she can't get because she doesn't have a birth certificate. She can't even legally drive a car or fly on an airplane. This is the first Carol Golden novel.Alan's Lillian Morgan mysteries, CATCH A FALLING KNIFE and THIRTEEN DIAMONDS, explore the secrets of retirement communities. They feature Lillian, a retired mathematics professor from North Carolina, who is smart, opinionated, and skeptical of authority. She loves to solve puzzles, even when they involve murder.RUN INTO TROUBLESilver Quill Award from American Authors Association and named Best Pacific West Book by Reader Views. Drake and Melody are teamed up to run a race along the California Coast for a prize of a million dollars—in 1969 when a million is worth something. Neither knows the other is in the race before it starts. They once did undercover work together in England, but this information is supposed to be top secret. The nine other pairs of runners entered in the race are world-classmarathoners, including a winner of the Boston Marathon. If this competition isn’t enough, somebody tries to knock Drake out of the race before it begins. But Drake and Melody also receive threats calculated to keep them from dropping out. What’s going on? The stakes increase when startling events produce fatalities and impact the race, leading them to ask whether the Cold War with the USSR is about to heat up.HONEYMOON FOR THREE--GARY BLANCHARD NO. 2Silver Quill Award from American Authors Association and named Best Mountain West Book by Reader Views. Suspense takes a thrill ride. It is 1964, 10 years after Gary Blanchard’s high school adventures in The Hayloft. He and his love, Penny, are going on the trip of their lives, and, oh yes, they’re getting married along the way. What they don’t know is that they’re being stalked by Alfred, a high school classmate of Penny who has a bellybutton fetish. The suspense crackles amid some of the most scenic spots in the western United States, including Lake Tahoe, Reno, Crater Lake, Seattle, and in Glacier, Yellowstone, and Grand Teton National Parks, as well as the redwood trees and rocky cliffs of the northern California coast.THE HAYLOFT--GARY BLANCHARD NO. 1This 1950s mystery, takes us back to bobby sox, slow dancing, bomb shelters—and murder. Within two weeks after starting his senior year of high school in the 1950s, Gary Blanchard finds himself kicked out of one school and attending another—the school where his cousin, Ralph, mysteriously died six months before. Ralph’s death was labeled an accident, but when Gary talks to people about it, he gets suspicious. Did Ralph fall from the auditorium balcony, or was he pushed? Had he found a diamond necklace, talked about by cousins newly arrived from England, that was supposedly stolen from Dutch royalty by a common ancestor and lost for generations? What about the principal with an abnormal liking for boys? And are Ralph’s ex-girlfriends telling everything they know?HOTLINE TO MURDER, his California mystery, takes place at a listening hotline in beautiful Bonita Beach, California. Tony Schmidt and Shahla Lawton don't know what they're getting into when they sign up as volunteer listeners. But when Shahla's best friend is murdered, it's too late for them to back out. They suspect that one of the hotline's inappropriate callers may be the murderer, and they know more about them than the police do.ACES AND KNAVES is a California mystery for gamblers and baseball card collectors. Karl Patterson deals in baseball cards and may be a compulsive gambler, so he's surprised when his father, Richard, CEO of a software company, engages him to check up on the activities of his second in command. It doesn't hurt that Richard assigns his executive assistant, Arrow, an exotic and ambitious young woman, to help Karl, but none of them expects to get involved in murder.PICTURELANDThe second Matthew and Mason adventure finds the boys going into a picture in their family room with the help of Amy, a girl in the picture. The dystopian world they find there with everyone's movements tracked, leads the three to attempt to bring personal freedom to the inhabitants at great risk to themselves.DANCING WITH BULLSIn Alan's first children's book, Matthew and Mason are on vacation on the Greek island of Crete when they are whisked back in time 4,000 to the Minoan civilization at Knossos Palace. Captured, they escape death by becoming bull dancers on a team with other slaves. Beautifully illustrated by Janelle Carbajal.FREEDOM'S LIGHT contains quotations from 38 of history's champions of freedom, from Aristotle to Zlata Filipovic, from George Washington to Martin Luther King, Jr. Included are Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, Anne Frank and many more.Alan splits his time between writing and walking, another passion. His inspirational book,WALKING THE WORLD: MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES, has information and adventure in equal parts. It has been named one of the Top 10 Walking Memoirs and Tales of Long Walks by the walking website, Walking.About.Com.Alan lives with his wife, Bonny, on a hill in Southern California.

Book preview

When the telephone rang I had a mouthful of bagel. I had run the five miles from my apartment in Torrance, California to the LA Hotline office on this sunny spring morning, and needed some nutrition when I arrived. I was the only listener on duty, but I’d hoped the phone wouldn’t ring so soon. I swallowed the gooey mass as fast as I could, barely avoiding choking. As it was, I coughed a couple of times. Then I picked up the phone.

LA Hotline. This is Carol.

Is this line confidential?

The raspy voice was that of a man who’d long since left his youth behind. I didn’t recognize it. I half hoped he was what we called an inappropriate caller, abusing the lines by talking dirty to women, and using the charge it gave him to masturbate. We were trained not to give those guys an inch, and to hang up on them. Then I could finish my bagel.

I gave a wary answer. Yes, we’re a confidential listening service.

You won’t breathe a word to a living soul about anything I say.

No. Whatever you tell me stays with me.

And anybody who read my computerized call report. I was getting more suspicious. I checked for his number on the phone’s readout. It was blocked. We weren’t supposed to answer calls from blocked numbers, but I’d been so busy trying not to choke on my bagel I hadn’t checked. I’d give him about one more minute.

Because if what I tell you gets out I could end up dead.

I had a mixed reaction to that statement. If I took it at face value it would be chilling. However, we received lots of calls from people who were certifiably psycho. I decided to stay with the call, at least for a while. I didn’t react to what he’d said, but kept my voice neutral.

May I ask your name?

Uh… Long pause. Danny.

Where are you calling from, Danny?

We tried to gather information for call reports, but I wasn’t going to tell him this. Another pause.

I’d rather not tell you.

No problem. Just one more question. How did you hear about us?

From 211.

We received a lot of referrals from 211, the number that gave out information about available services. There was nothing suspicious about that. I’d asked enough questions.

Thanks, Danny. Tell me what’s going on with you.

There was silence on the line. In our class on listening skills we were trained to tolerate silence as a natural part of a call, so I waited for Danny to speak. I took a hungry look at the bagel and sniffed its aroma, enhanced by having been toasted in the Hotline office toaster oven and spread with cream cheese, but I didn’t dare take another bite. As sure as I had sweaty armpits, I’d get caught having to talk with my mouth full again.

Finally, Danny started to speak, spacing his words. There’s nobody I can talk to about this. As I said, I’m liable to end up with a bullet in the back of my head.

The call had an aura of unreality about it. Sometimes suicide calls felt weird—listening to people telling about how they were going to kill themselves. But this call wasn’t about suicide. It was apparently about murder.

It sounds as if you’re having a difficult time.

My comment sounded inane to me, but we were supposed to concentrate on the feelings of the caller. I couldn’t very well say, It sounds as if you don’t want to get shot.

Danny was speaking again. Yes. I’ve never been in a situation like this. I’m a peaceful man. I’ve never even been in the army. I’m caught and I don’t know what to do. If I don’t cooperate with them they’ll do away with me. I’m sure of it. All I want to do is to run away and hide.

I still didn’t know whether this was a real call, but I had to act as if it was. I didn’t want to pry too much and have him hang up on me, especially if he felt I was the only person he could talk to.

Is that a possibility?

What? Running away? No. They’d find me. They know everything I do. They’ve got me where they want me. Now I know what a deer feels like when it’s surrounded by wolves.

Think, Carol, think. Would you like to tell me some more about what they’re trying to get you to do? He hadn’t told me anything yet.

Silence again. It lasted so long that I wondered whether he’d hung up. Maybe I’d stepped over the line. Still, I wasn’t getting a dial tone. I ran out of patience and was just about to say something when Danny finally spoke.

You wouldn’t think that playing backgammon could get you into so much trouble.

Backgammon? Had I heard him correctly? He was going to get shot because he played backgammon? I played backgammon. I wanted to quiz him some more, but I couldn’t mention that I liked backgammon. We weren’t supposed to give out personal information. Before I could think of something suitable to say, Danny spoke again.

What’s your name?

Carol.

Well, Carol, thanks for listening to me, but I have to go.

Before I could say anything more the line really did go dead. But what could I have said?

Why the hell would anyone want to kill you just because you play backgammon?

I couldn’t even have told him to call back. We didn’t take calls from blocked numbers. At least, when we weren’t eating bagels.

I hung up the phone and swung my chair around. I realized that someone had come into the office during the last minute or so. It was Darlene, the Hotline Manager. She was the only paid employee and the reason for its success. She’d been with the Hotline for over a dozen years. A recognized expert in listening skills, she was in charge of teaching the classes for the new listeners, bringing in experienced counselors in various aspects of psychology to teach individual sessions, including depression, grief, anxiety, domestic abuse, sexual orientation, and of course, suicide.

Darlene had empathy for the listeners, the young and the old, from teens to grandmothers, and she made us all feel comfortable by repeatedly telling us we didn’t have to talk to anybody we didn’t want to, for any reason whatever. I had immediately been captivated by her when I’d been looking for a volunteer job several months ago. We were kindred spirits.

I said hello to Darlene. She said hello and smiled at me from her desk on the other side of the room.

It sounded like that call ended rather abruptly.

I walked over to her desk. It was one of the strangest calls I’ve had since I’ve been here. I gave her a brief summary of the call.

You’re right. We’ve never had a call like that. At least not that I can remember. Darlene thought for a minute. Do you think it was a crank call?

It’s hard to say. He used proper English. His voice was a bit raspy, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about it, except that he sounded…scared. Yes, he sounded scared. I should have told him that.

Darlene frowned. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do for him unless he calls back.

We won’t answer his call. It’s from a blocked number. I only answered it because I was trying not to choke on a bagel.

I told her the story and we both laughed.

***

I was learning to cook. I figured that was one of the responsibilities of a bride of six months, especially since I didn’t have a job and my husband, Rigo, did. I was starting from scratch. I didn’t have much memory of anything that had happened before a year and a half ago when I got amnesia, but my grandmother, while she was trying to fill me in on my past, had never mentioned cooking. And since that time I’d either been traveling or had people cooking for me—until Rigo and I got married.

Thus, it was with some trepidation that I set the spaghetti and meatballs in front of him that evening. He dove in, obviously hungry, and appeared to be enjoying my attempt at Italian. I hoped it wasn’t like the time I’d put far too much horseradish in the shrimp sauce when we had guests over, and they’d sat with tears streaming down their cheeks, trying not to say anything. Finally, I screwed up my courage.

How do you like it?

Rigo nodded. It’s good. I don’t taste any horseradish in the tomato sauce.

I controlled my impulse to hit him. How was work today?

Not bad. We’ve landed a new contract that’s going to require a lot of computer work on my part.

Rigo worked for his parents’ company. I’d prodded him into taking the job, even though his pride had told him he would be receiving charity by working for his parents. That wasn’t the case. He was a computer genius, and he had been instrumental in boosting profits and expanding the types of contracts they could undertake.

Rigo asked me how my day had gone. I hadn’t looked for a paying job since we’d been married, even though I knew from talking to people that I’d taught math at the high school level before I had amnesia, including a couple of years in England. I’d have to do some work to get a teaching credential in California, and so far I hadn’t been motivated enough to put forth the required effort.

It wasn’t that we needed the money. I had inherited a pile of money from my parents, who I couldn’t remember, and recently, some more from my grandmother who’d died several months ago. I was the executor of her estate, and had made several trips to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where she’d lived, after Rigo and I got married, both before and after she died. I was still grieving for her because she had been my closest living relative.

I was planning to keep the beautiful forty-acre farm she’d lived on in Chapel Hill as a hideaway for Rigo and me. Audrey, the woman who’d taken care of my grandmother for the last several years of her life, was living in the house, rent-free, with the stipulation that she would help to keep the farm in good repair. I was paying all the expenses for doing that.

I answered Rigo’s question about my day by telling him about my phone call with Danny. Although we weren’t supposed to talk about our calls with people not associated with the Hotline, I figured Rigo and I were one person, and he should know everything I knew.

His comment was, Who knew backgammon was such a dangerous game? Although sometimes I have an urge to throw checkers at you when you beat me too badly.

I tried to placate him. You’ve improved a lot since we’ve been playing. Soon you’ll be able to clobber me.

Although, whenever we played I had to practically tape my mouth shut to keep me from commenting on his every move. To some extent it was as if I were playing against myself.

Over a dessert of cherry pie (I must admit I bought it) Rigo brought up another topic.

Dad said a house close to them is for sale. It’s got a view almost as good as theirs.

And a price tag to match, no doubt. The home of Rigo’s parents was on a hillside in Palos Verdes, and its view encompassed the whole Los Angeles basin, the Santa Monica Bay, and several of the highest mountains in Southern California, as well as the Los Angeles Harbor.

I glanced at Rigo, wondering why he’d mentioned it. I decided to keep it light.

Want to buy it?

Rigo frowned. Maybe someday we’ll be able to afford a house like that.

Actually, someday was today. I had a standing offer on the table to buy any house Rigo wanted, but it was his pride again that said we couldn’t buy a house until he could afford to pay for at least half of it. I wasn’t going to fight that battle tonight. However, it was the reason why we were living in an apartment, however nice. It had two bedrooms and the complex had a large swimming pool.

Rigo brightened and got a look in his eye I understood. Among his other qualities, he was a sex maniac.

CHAPTER 2

I couldn’t get the call from Danny out of my head. The next morning was Friday and he was still with me. We weren’t supposed to take calls home with us from the Hotline. We were supposed to have empathy for the callers but not sympathy. We weren’t supposed to feel what they were feeling. That could lead to burnout. But it was difficult to let some calls go.

Was Danny really in danger of being killed or was he hallucinating? We had callers who told us the FBI had planted chips in their heads, so no explanation for what he’d said was too far-fetched. The fact that any additional calls he made to the Hotline wouldn’t be answered because he was calling from a blocked number cut off my only link to him. I couldn’t look at other listeners’ call reports to see if he had called again.

Although Danny hadn’t told me where he was calling from, there was a good chance he was located in Southern California. Our 800 number could be called from anywhere in California, but most of the state’s population was within 125 miles of central Los Angeles.

Thinking about Danny reminded me that I was looking for people to play backgammon with. I wondered whether there were any backgammon organizations in LA. The Internet age provided us with a quick and easy way to find out, as Rigo was always telling me whenever I asked him a question he couldn’t answer. I Googled los angeles backgammon and received 526,000 results in .44 seconds.

I had my answer on the first few websites. Yes, there were regular backgammon tournaments in the LA area, and the person who was in charge of them was named Daniel Tremayne. Actually, they weren’t quite in LA, they were in Orange County, next door to Los Angeles County, in the city of Newport Beach. Only an hour’s drive away, I told myself. Okay, up to two hours in rush-hour traffic.

I looked at the name again. Daniel. Danny. My razor-sharp mind was a little dull so early in the morning, but the similarity finally dawned on me. Was Daniel the Danny who had called me? I was suddenly excited about playing some tournament backgammon.

***

What woke me on Saturday morning were happy shouts and the splashing of water. What time was it? I groped for the clock and realized Rigo wasn’t in bed with me. Where was he? He didn’t have to get up early on a Saturday. Then I understood exactly what was happening. I crawled out of bed and looked around for something to cover myself with. As newlyweds, we didn’t sleep in a lot of clothes. Or any, for that matter.

I pulled on a pair of running shorts and a sweatshirt and walked into our front room. The outside door was open, which explained how the noise was penetrating our apartment. The early morning sun was already shining through our east-facing, second-story window, telling sourpusses to brighten up and face the day.

The sunlight blinded my sleep-filled eyes as I reached the doorway, and it took me a few seconds to spot Rigo who was standing on the balcony with Zach, a neighbor, looking down at the pool. It didn’t take an Einstein to tell what they were looking at. I verified it with one glance. The topless twins, Ann and Betsy, were cavorting in the pool. Young and blond and nearly naked, they drew a rapt audience whenever they decided to get their boobies wet. And they loved the attention.

Rigo was enjoying himself too much. I tiptoed along the balcony toward him. Zach saw me first and was about to warn Rigo. I put my finger to my lips. Then I threw my arms around Rigo from behind and said, Good morning, honey. Enjoying the sun?

The way he jumped you would have thought I’d jabbed him with a pin.

***

Rigo was still acting a bit guilty while we were eating breakfast later, so I figured it was a good time to spring my idea on him. Actually, I’d almost gotten used to him looking at girls, and I figured if he ever stopped it meant his libido was shot, which wouldn’t be a good thing. But I’d forgotten to mention this to him.

I told him about the backgammon tournament that afternoon, and said I was interested in participating. Would he like to go with me? I was afraid he’d say he’d be bored out of his mind, which was probably the case, but I didn’t want to run off without him on a Saturday.

Rigo thought for a moment. You go. I have some work to do at the office.

Are you sure? Now I was the one feeling guilty. If you’d rather do something else…

We argued good naturedly, and ended up with a wrestling match on the floor.

***

It took me a little over an hour to get to Newport Beach. I was glad it was Saturday, and traffic wasn’t any worse. I enjoyed taking my new Porsche for a spin. I’d purchased the silver beauty with stick shift after we got married, my one extravagance so far. I was tired of driving my grandmother’s old Toyota in North Carolina, and had given it to Audrey. Rigo still had his old Toyota. I’d offered to buy him the car of his choice, but he’d declined for the usual reasons. He even said he liked his car, so I’d had it painted for him as a present.

I found the restaurant where the tournament was being held and parked in the corner of the parking lot where, hopefully, another car wouldn’t sideswipe it. The eatery was part of a chain, and had enough tables to seat a small army. However, it was almost empty early on a Saturday afternoon. The hostess directed me to a room off the main dining area where the tournament was being held.

As I entered this room I immediately noticed two things: The other players were much older than I was, some of them thirty or forty years older, and they all carried large, professional-looking backgammon sets. I’d brought my own set, which was dinky by comparison. I stashed it in a corner, out of sight, and wondered what I was doing here. These were obviously serious combatants.

Maybe I should get back in my Porsche, take the scenic route home along Pacific Coast Highway, enjoy the sun and the sea, and forget this nonsense. I could even go for a run along Huntington Beach. It sounded so tempting that I almost picked up my set and left. Almost.

Suck it up, Carol. You came here to play, and by golly you’re going to play, come hell or high water.

That nagging voice had kept me going through some hard times, so I had to listen to it. I noticed there were several women players, for which I was grateful, but they looked just as formidable as the men. No help there. I spotted the tournament director by the papers and money he had in front of him. I walked toward him.

I heard him speaking to one of the other players and had an instant flashback. His was the raspy voice on the phone. He was Danny. Danny was Daniel, and vice versa. I had found him. I observed him while he signed in the other player. He was a middle-aged man with graying hair, what there was of it, and from the shape he was in I gathered his chief exercise was probably hitting blots on a backgammon board.

But what most interested me were his mannerisms. He looked nervous. His hands shook as he wrote something. He had a twitch above his right eye. He cast several glances toward the corner of the room. I looked in that direction.

Sitting at a table all by himself was a man who was probably nicknamed Gorilla, because he was built like one. He was wearing a black, rumpled suit, a black shirt, and, believe it or not, a black tie. His dark hair was the neatest thing about him. It was combed back and shone as if he used the greasy kid stuff advertised in old radio commercials. His face was misshapen, and featured a scar that circled his nose.

Gorilla didn’t have a backgammon set in front of him. He had the latest electronic tablet. Apparently he was literate. He also had something stuck in his ear that was attached to a wire leading inside his suit. There was a large plate of food in front of him. When he glanced at me I quickly looked away. I didn’t want him to catch me staring at him. Fortunately, Daniel became free just at that moment. I went up to him as he looked at me questioningly.

Hi, I’m…

I was stuck for what to say. I wasn’t planning to call myself Carol, on the off-chance that he would associate me with the Hotline phone call, although my voice was no different than the voices of many other women. I had planned to give him my legal name, Cynthia Sakai. Carol Golden was what I called myself when I had amnesia and didn’t know who I was. I had retained my family name, Sakai, when I got married, figuring that taking Rigo’s last name, Ramirez, would complicate my life too much, since I already had more names than most people.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to tell Daniel who I really was. My intuition told me that Gorilla knew the names and a lot else about the other players. I didn’t want him to have any information about me. I had one other name I could remember easily: Aiko Murakawa. I’d used it in England and other places, but there was no record of me by that name in the US. I knew from having done so, that if you Googled it you wouldn’t find any information that would lead you to me.

I’m Aiko Murakawa. I finally finished telling Daniel who I was—today. I found your website and I play backgammon and I thought I’d try your tournament but I don’t have any tournament experience. I got all that out in one quick expulsion of air.

Daniel smiled, in spite of what he was apparently feeling inside.

Welcome, Aiko. The more players the better. But you’re going to have to spell your name for me.

As he was writing down my name he glanced over at Gorilla who gave him a perceptible nod—whatever that meant. Then he asked me for an email address. Email addresses were traceable. After another hesitation that must have made Daniel wonder if I actually knew who I was or anything about myself, I gave him a bogus email address.

I gave Daniel ten dollars to buy in to the tournament. He introduced me to several players who were nearby, and I shook hands with them. They seemed affable. Perhaps they weren’t the monsters I pictured them being. One stipulation of playing in the restaurant was that we were all supposed to order a meal. I ordered a burger and fries from the waitress. I watched several players play pickup games, apparently for money, while I ate. They played fast, and I wondered whether I’d be able to keep up with them. Then the tournament started.

My first match was against an older man with wild hair. He played a wild game too—for example, hitting my two checkers within his inner board early in the first game, and not covering the blots he created. If I’d been able to hit even one of his checkers when I came off the bar it would have given me an advantage. Unfortunately, Lady Luck wasn’t with me, and he won the game and a point. Although I won several points during the match, he was the first to reach seven points, which is what we were playing for.

When we finished the match I offered to shake hands with him. He spurned my hand and said, Women shouldn’t play backgammon. They don’t have the brain power to do all the necessary calculations.

I was surprised. I didn’t know backgammon was sexist. Without thinking I said, They should be kept barefoot and pregnant; is this it?

He stared at me briefly. Apparently unable to come up with a suitable response, he looked away.

My second match was against a much younger man whose idiosyncrasy was that often after he made a move he would leave his dice on the board while he studied the move to decide whether that’s what he really wanted to do. Since I couldn’t move until he removed his dice, I had to restrain myself from rolling my own dice until he was satisfied. He won the match.

After losing two matches, I was allowed to play some sort of consolation match to five points. My third opponent was a small man who looked harmless enough, but when he gained an advantage he was brutal. I lost the match in two games. In the second game I accepted a double I probably shouldn’t have—I had no experience with the doubling cube—and he gammoned me, winning two points for the gammon times two for the double, for a total of four, which, when added to the point he’d won in the first game, gave him the match.

I was through for the day. I could leave with my tail between my legs, but then I remembered I hadn’t really learned much about Daniel except that he was playing in his own tournament. So what? Nobody I’d talked to so far had mentioned any problems with the tournament, and I hadn’t seen anybody even glance at Gorilla. I sauntered over to a woman I hadn’t spoken to yet who was apparently waiting to play her next match, and introduced myself.

Hi, I’m Aiko.

I’m Sandy.

We shook hands. Sandy was tall and thin with her gray hair fastened in a bun. I made small talk about my initiation into tournament backgammon. She said she’d been playing in the tournaments for several weeks. She wasn’t used to the intensity of play yet, either. After we’d been conversing for a few minutes I asked her, in what I hoped was a casual manner, who the man in the corner was.

Sandy motioned for me to follow her, and we walked from the backgammon room into the main dining area. She spoke in a low voice that couldn’t be heard over the conversation of the diners.

"He’s been coming to the tournaments all the time I have. He sits at the same table every time and plays with that electronic thingy. He also eats a lot. I’ve never seen him stand up or speak to