GOOD PARTNER

CHAPTER 1

RE YOU GONNA MAKE a move or stare at the pieces all night? You can ponder all you want, kiddo, but it ain't gonna change the outcome. Should I wind up for my winner's dance?"

Retired Detective Sergeant Abraham Valor's stormy gray eyes were focused on me and not our game. A knowing smirk teased the corner of his mouth. He'd won, and he knew it. Either I accepted the loss or played out the final moves until his queen and rook trapped my king.

Three wins in a row. It was embarrassing. I was better than this.

"I'm telling you. It's checkmate in two. You don't believe me? Have at 'er." He started with a seated butt-shuffle, arms pumping like an old locomotive's wheels.

"Just give me a minute. Let me think. I swear your tactic is to distract me with your bad dancing so I make a mistake. There has to be a way out." I squinted, scanning each piece, maneuvering them in my head, strategizing and playing through the various outcomes.

But he was right, as always. Game over.

Dad chuckled and flopped back on his chair, the wood creaking and complaining at the joints. "Always stubborn. Can't admit to losing to your old man even at your age. Some things never change."

I tipped my king, forfeiting the game. "I'm done. No more. This is humiliating. You're a cheat." I shoved the game board toward him with a playful scowl as I shook my head. "Winner cleans up. I'll start dinner."

The chair legs scraped against the linoleum as I pushed away from the small kitchenette table. Late-afternoon sun spilled through the windowed nook and over the old hand- carved chess pieces as Dad fit them into the individual slots of an old wooden box. The wooden chess board sat on top. This particular set had once belonged to my grandfather, a treasure he'd brought home from one of his countless trips overseas when he'd served his country. A family heirloom that would one day be mine if Dad and I didn't wear it out first.

We'd been competing for as long as I could remember. I had yet to beat him. The day that happened, he'd probably never touch the game again. I got my stubbornness from him.

"I'm afraid to ask. What's on the menu tonight?" Dad stood with a groan, clutching his thigh above his bum knee as he hobbled over and joined me at the open fridge, peering over my shoulder.

"Lemon and herb grilled chicken breasts, roasted asparagus, and baked sweet potatoes."

"Wrapped in bacon?" "Not wrapped in bacon."

He sighed, long and heavy. "What?"

"Can I have sauce on my grilled chicken?" "Yes. It's called lemon."

"That isn't sauce."

"Sauce is full of salt and sugar. It's not good for you."

"Some of us like salt and sugar... and bacon," he said as an afterthought.

"Your organs don't. Trust me. I'm doing you a favor." "How about a nice juicy hamburger?"

"No."

"French fries? I'll concede to having them baked in the oven even though it's not the same."

Ignoring my old man, I pulled the chicken breasts from the fridge, setting them aside before searching the crisper for the asparagus I'd bought on my way home from work the previous night.

"We could make some spicy chili and smother it with cheese. Eat it with those corn chips I like." Dad was always trying to change the menu.