IA: Initiate (20 page)

Gruff laughed, as if he knew Naz was lying, and responded, “Join us!”

“Um …,” stammered Naz.

“Join us or else,” said Mohawk.

“But why … why me?” asked Naz, his fear turning more to curiosity than anything.

“Let’s just say, our family could use you,” said Gruff. “We’ve seen what you do at the Market Merchants. We could use somebody on the inside.”

“Well, I’m not really on the inside.”

“Plus, you and me, we’re the same,” said Gruff.

“I don’t think so,” said Naz.

“Where’s your little sister?” asked Gruff.

“She’s not here. I came by myself,” Naz invented.

“You’re lying. I can see it in your eyes.” Gruff looked at Naz intently. His eyes trailed down to find the scar on Naz’s neck. “No hard feelings, right?” he said pointing to the scar. “So, what do you say? Join us.”

“I … I don’t think so,” stammered Naz, now worried about Meri returning.

“You misunderstand,
amigo
. We not askin’.”

“Yeah, join us or die,” said Red as he moved toward Naz aggressively.

Gruff stopped Red with the palm of his hand. “Easy,” he said, still looking at Naz intently. “So much hostility. You have to excuse my friend here. He’s not as patient as me.”

Now, up close, Naz could clearly see the symbols on Gruff’s forearm. One was a sword with a serpent wrapped around it and the other, an eye. The way the symbols were shaped and designed formed the letters, IA.

“But …,” continued Gruff. “We do insist that you join us.” With his free hand he began to pull out the knife that he had used on Naz five weeks earlier.

Naz was speechless. How could he go his own way, like Dr. Gwen said, when it didn’t seem like he had a choice? Just when he knew the voice was about to return, he heard an unfamiliar, but appreciated voice.

“Hello, boys,” said a passing police officer. The festival was filled with them. It was the one place near the Exclave you could find police officers in abundance. This beef-up in law enforcement was necessary in order to keep strong festival patronage from the suburban population.

Gruff slowly put the knife back in his pocket as he noticed another officer making his way over to the scene. He made a motion with his hand and the three boys walked away casually, as if they were minding their own business. “We’ll see you soon,” Gruff finished to Naz.

Naz was so stunned by the appearance of the gang members and their boldness that when Meri returned, he didn’t notice that her hands were behind her back.

“What?” Naz asked, clearly rattled.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“N … n … nothing. What is it?”

“I have a surprise.”

“What?” Naz asked again, still reeling from his confrontation with the gang members.

She withdrew her hands from behind her back to reveal Naz’s shoelace in one hand and a thin leather rope with what seemed like an unbreakable black clasp in the other. She had already put Naz’s key on the rope.

“Perfect,” he said as he slowly calmed down and put it around his neck. “Thank you. This was really starting to annoy me,” he continued, pointing to his shoe.

As he finished lacing his shoe, someone tapped him from behind.

“What?” Naz jumped up, as if he were shot out of a cannon, ready to defend himself.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ARTIE

Standing
over him was one of Naz’s classmates—the round, candy bar-eating kid from his first-hour math class and from Fears’ class. “Sorry,” he said.

“Hey,” Naz said surprised.

“What’s up, Naz?” asked the boy casually, as if he and Naz were best buddies. “Who are you here with?”

“My sister,” Naz replied, still slightly rattled by the gang members and distracted by the tables.

The boy and Meri looked at each other.

“Excuse my brother. I’m Meri,” she said, shaking his hand.

“RD,” said the boy exuberantly.

“Yeah … Meri, this is Artie,” mumbled Naz.

Even though they were in two classes together, Naz had no idea what the boy’s name was, and he was a little embarrassed the boy knew his name, and it surprised him. After the first week in school the teachers didn’t call the class roll anymore, and he couldn’t remember anyone ever saying the boy’s name. To Naz, the boy was as invisible as he was. Apparently, Naz hadn’t been as invisible as he had thought himself to be.

“Not Artie,” the boy said. “RD … as in Raleigh Duplessis.”

“Oh … RD,” said Naz.

“Yeah, Artie,” said the boy.

Naz and Meri gave each other a quick, silly look.

Naz turned his attention back to the tables as two more people, an older man and a girl about Naz’s age walked over and put down the remaining two flags.
It must be his daughter,
Naz thought. Something resembling a dinner bell sounded, and they sat at their tables. Meanwhile, others headed over to the tables.

“I’m here with my mom and dad, and my little sister and brother, Ryan and Rodney,” said Artie as he pointed back over his own shoulder.

Naz looked over Artie’s shoulder to see four figures. The only words that came to his mind were “a matched set,” as they all looked the same just in different heights, even the mother and sister. They all had curly, dark hair, only his mother and sister wore their hair longer. The smallest one, Rodney, was almost as wide as he was tall, and they were all carrying something to eat or drink.

“I’m here to see Mr. Ledbetter,” said Artie. “He’s gonna play the Chess Master. Did you know Mr. Ledbetter was the chess club coach at Lincoln? This is my third year in the club.”

Norman Ledbetter was also their math teacher. He was an extremely friendly, middle-aged man with a nervous tick who walked with a limp. He was also a war hero who had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and could often be seen talking to himself.

“Do you play?” asked Artie.

“A little,” Naz replied, still watching, as people began to take their places at the chess tables.

“Are you any good?” Artie looked at him quizzically.

“Pretty good,” said Naz, modestly nodding his head.

“A little? Pretty good? He’s the best,” bragged Meri. “And today, he’s gonna prove it by beating the Chess Master.”

“Doubt it,” countered Artie. “Nobody ever beats the Chess Master. The best you can ever hope for is to be the last one he beats … or the last loser,” chuckled Artie.

“We’ll see,” Naz said coldly.

“Raleigh!” They turned to see a frail Mr. Ledbetter approaching.

“Now you can’t even hope for that,” Artie said, taunting Naz. “Hey, Mr. Ledbetter,” Artie continued, eagerly shaking his teacher’s hand.

“Glad to see you could make it. Ready to take some notes?” asked Mr. Ledbetter as he noticed Naz.

“Yes, sir!” said Artie. “Look who else is …”

“Andersen,” said Mr. Ledbetter surprised. “What brings you to the festival this Saturday afternoon?”

“Mr. Ledbetter,” nodded Naz respectfully, and then he pointed to the tables. He just now noticed the Chess Master had appeared, standing silent and still in the center of the tables, and with praying hands at his chin, he waited for everyone to be seated.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE CHESS MASTER

The
Chess Master wore a tattered tweed sports coat and a thick wool scarf, over a gray, Henley T-shirt that was missing buttons, a pair of oversized gray cargo pants that were frayed at the bottom, fingerless wool gloves, and a pair of barely worn loafers. Some of his matted coils of hair could be seen sticking through a large hole at the top of his old fedora. There was something contrived about his appearance, Naz thought, almost theatrical. He had a mangy beard and wore sunglasses,
probably to hide his glassy, bloodshot eyes
, Naz thought. Naz saw eyes like those every day on every street corner in the Exclave.

“When did he come?” Naz muttered under his breath.

“You a fan of the game, here to take some notes as well, Andersen?” asked Mr. Ledbetter.

“He’s come to play,” said Artie mockingly.

“Is that right?” asked Mr. Ledbetter.

Naz nodded.

“And he’s gonna win, too,” said Meri again.

“Meri,” said Naz embarrassed.

“Nothing wrong with a little confidence,” said Mr. Ledbetter, smiling at Meri. “Shall we? We wouldn’t want to keep the Chess Master waiting, would we?”

They all walked over to the tables, and Naz and Mr. Ledbetter took their seats.

Naz looked at the field of chess players around him. To his immediate right, making up one side of the triangle with Naz were the father and daughter. On the three tables to Naz’s left, and making up another side of the triangle were an older lady, another homeless man that reeked of something awful, and some kind of nerd or bookworm that Naz affectionately termed, the Nerdsman. Making up the third and final side of the triangle were the distinguished-looking gentleman Naz had greeted earlier, Mr. Ledbetter, who was already talking to himself, and an extremely old man that must’ve come on the same bus as the older lady, thought Naz.
No wonder the Chess Master’s never lost
, Naz thought.
His competition is two senior citizens, rejects from a daddy-daughter dance, a basket case, and another homeless man. I’d be undefeated, too.
Besides himself, only the Nerdsman and the distinguished-looking gentleman could possibly have a chance, Naz thought. But he also knew, oh too well from experience, that looks could be deceiving.

The black chess pieces were on the outside of the tables in front of Naz and the other eight players while the white pieces were on the inside. The Chess Master would make the first moves.

The bell sounded again, and the Chess Master wasted no time. He moved to the table to the left of Naz and moved a pawn two spaces forward. He then continued clockwise, moving a different piece at every table until he reached the father and daughter. He obviously figured them as related, decided not to distinguish them from one another, and would play them as one until their play dictated otherwise. He smiled at them and moved his same knight on each of their boards simultaneously two spaces forward and one to the left, which seemed to confuse the father and daughter.

Finally he got to Naz. Even though Naz couldn’t see his eyes, he could feel the Chess Master looking at him through those dark glasses.

“Get ’em, Naz,” said Meri.

The Chess Master turned his head slightly, obviously looking at Meri, he smiled then made what seemed like a random move of a pawn two spaces forward and quickly moved to his right for the second round.

Naz made his move immediately in his mind so he could watch how the Chess Master operated as well as see how the other players were doing. He figured he could tell pretty early on who would be leaving the tables first, but the Chess Master’s play was erratic and unpredictable, and this made it hard for Naz to figure out what was going on. The Chess Master didn’t seem like a master at all to Naz. He was letting weaker players off the hook when they were in obvious trouble and struggling with the stronger players. And there was something else about him, his fingers, his shoes, the way he smelled that puzzled Naz, and something even more that Naz couldn’t quite work out.

By the eleventh round, the first to be seated was the first to rise as the distinguished-looking gentleman was eliminated. And Naz knew then the Chess Master was targeting the stronger players. Naz learned somewhere that the first rule of war was to eliminate the greatest threat, and the Chess Master had done that, or at least he thought he had.
Boy is he gonna be in for a big surprise
, Naz thought. As Naz looked at the vacant table across from him, the now standing little white flag took on a new meaning: surrender. And then there were eight.

In the very next round the homeless man eliminated himself by passing out from inebriation. To the delight of the older lady and the Nerdsman, festival security removed him from the tables. And then there were seven.

Two rounds later, the old man’s number was up, and so went his flag. And then there were six.