"Get outta here! There's nothing for you to see."
The kid held his hands up obediently and turned to run away from the tape. Grey turned back to his crime scene; and found an old homeless woman at the edge of the police tape; right next to the ambulance. She was leaning on the ambulance wall for support; holding out an empty Styrofoam cup to his Medical Examiner. He wandered over and cleared his throat.
The ME looked up awkwardly. "Forensics has photos of everything. We can move the bodies."
Grey nodded. "Good." He turned his gaze to the hunched over old woman. "You need to move along now."
"Spare some change mister?" Her voice wavered beseechingly.
Grey slapped at his pockets for a moment and found nothing readily available. "Sorry, no. You need to get off my crime scene."
She nodded and turned to go. Grey turned to the waiting orderlies; having already forgot her. He glanced around. No sign of anyone listening. He drew his phone and dialed a number from memory. "It's Grey." He reported. "I thought you should know; there's a small mess you need to look into at the 10th Precinct Morgue."
~oo00oo~
New York City had more than two thousand public chess tables, spread out in over five hundred and thirty parks. It was a popular pastime, and in the south west corner of Washington Square Park, almost all of them played for money.
Checkov was a regular in Washington Square Park. He was a professional player. Cursed with a disorder Vincent couldn't even pronounce, his face was in constant motion with tics and twitches. His face settled whenever he spoke, but would not hold still ever otherwise. Most people avoided him, fear of his condition keeping them away. His illness made finding work difficult, and without medical insurance, he was frequently off his medication.
But behind his twitching drooling face was one of the sharpest minds Vincent had ever known. Whatever else Checkov was, he was a fantastic chess player, and supported himself most days by playing total strangers for money. Ten, twenty dollars at a time, he made enough to buy himself food, and sometimes his medicine. When it got cold he bought hot drinks for himself and his friends.
That was how he met Vincent. On one of his bad days, his face was twitching uncontrollably, and nobody else would play with him. Vincent was reluctant to play for money against a homeless man, but quickly found himself in the middle of a race to simply stop his defeat being humiliating.
It had been a long time since Vincent had seen the Underground. He was still friends with Wotcha, and chess with Checkov had become a regular part of his routine. Even so, he still kept the lantern, still looked through the old archives. The previous year had seemed the most interesting of his life, because that one night had taught him the importance of being observant. In his life, Vincent had never spent a more self-aware year, been more conscious of what was happening around him. He never knew if some of the strange things that nobody remarked on was part of a grander, secret world, or it was just New York, but he felt like he was seeing them for the first time.
"How did you get good?" Checkov asked Vincent as he countered.
Vincent shrugged. "My dad taught me to play, then a few clubs in school. Mostly I learned by playing a lot online." Checkov moved and slapped the clock. Vincent checked the board over and hesitated. "How about you?"
"I learned how in MIT." Checkov shrugged. "The mania was starting then, needed something to keep me from going nuts. There was a professor there, he was Grandmaster level, got me onto it to give me something to do. Funny thing though, he never once played online. His office was full of games in progress."
Vincent nodded and moved, tapping the clock again. Checkov moved faster than Vincent could believe. "CHECKMATE!" He bellowed, ferocious enough to make heads turn. It was a triumphant war cry.
Vincent grinned and put the money on the table. Checkov collected it
The kid held his hands up obediently and turned to run away from the tape. Grey turned back to his crime scene; and found an old homeless woman at the edge of the police tape; right next to the ambulance. She was leaning on the ambulance wall for support; holding out an empty Styrofoam cup to his Medical Examiner. He wandered over and cleared his throat.
The ME looked up awkwardly. "Forensics has photos of everything. We can move the bodies."
Grey nodded. "Good." He turned his gaze to the hunched over old woman. "You need to move along now."
"Spare some change mister?" Her voice wavered beseechingly.
Grey slapped at his pockets for a moment and found nothing readily available. "Sorry, no. You need to get off my crime scene."
She nodded and turned to go. Grey turned to the waiting orderlies; having already forgot her. He glanced around. No sign of anyone listening. He drew his phone and dialed a number from memory. "It's Grey." He reported. "I thought you should know; there's a small mess you need to look into at the 10th Precinct Morgue."
~oo00oo~
New York City had more than two thousand public chess tables, spread out in over five hundred and thirty parks. It was a popular pastime, and in the south west corner of Washington Square Park, almost all of them played for money.
Checkov was a regular in Washington Square Park. He was a professional player. Cursed with a disorder Vincent couldn't even pronounce, his face was in constant motion with tics and twitches. His face settled whenever he spoke, but would not hold still ever otherwise. Most people avoided him, fear of his condition keeping them away. His illness made finding work difficult, and without medical insurance, he was frequently off his medication.
But behind his twitching drooling face was one of the sharpest minds Vincent had ever known. Whatever else Checkov was, he was a fantastic chess player, and supported himself most days by playing total strangers for money. Ten, twenty dollars at a time, he made enough to buy himself food, and sometimes his medicine. When it got cold he bought hot drinks for himself and his friends.
That was how he met Vincent. On one of his bad days, his face was twitching uncontrollably, and nobody else would play with him. Vincent was reluctant to play for money against a homeless man, but quickly found himself in the middle of a race to simply stop his defeat being humiliating.
It had been a long time since Vincent had seen the Underground. He was still friends with Wotcha, and chess with Checkov had become a regular part of his routine. Even so, he still kept the lantern, still looked through the old archives. The previous year had seemed the most interesting of his life, because that one night had taught him the importance of being observant. In his life, Vincent had never spent a more self-aware year, been more conscious of what was happening around him. He never knew if some of the strange things that nobody remarked on was part of a grander, secret world, or it was just New York, but he felt like he was seeing them for the first time.
"How did you get good?" Checkov asked Vincent as he countered.
Vincent shrugged. "My dad taught me to play, then a few clubs in school. Mostly I learned by playing a lot online." Checkov moved and slapped the clock. Vincent checked the board over and hesitated. "How about you?"
"I learned how in MIT." Checkov shrugged. "The mania was starting then, needed something to keep me from going nuts. There was a professor there, he was Grandmaster level, got me onto it to give me something to do. Funny thing though, he never once played online. His office was full of games in progress."
Vincent nodded and moved, tapping the clock again. Checkov moved faster than Vincent could believe. "CHECKMATE!" He bellowed, ferocious enough to make heads turn. It was a triumphant war cry.
Vincent grinned and put the money on the table. Checkov collected it
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