My pawn slid out in mystique.

“Check,” I said, calculating every move before taking my fingers off the etched wood. Up against the king and the bishop, I was owning the deserted chessboard. “Actually, wait, no, that’s check mate.”

And it was.

Another round in the bag. These ISIS kids might have been pre-teen thugs, but they sucked at chess. At least most of them did.

I hardly got a chance to process what happened the night of the “grand marriage”. Ghada and I talked until the sun came up. Not really talked, but listened even if we couldn’t understand each other. Mostly we were teaching each other. I was just explaining “what’s up” to her when she did something unbelievable. She took off her head cover, and I saw it. All of it. Hair. Face. Everything. She had a red cheeks that were nice and wide, and a really big nose, but not too big. Her make up was down her make because of the crying. She was beautiful, and it made me sad that she put on a bunch of make up just to hide it under some scarves.

I asked her why she wore the make up, but she never answered me. I don’t think she understood me. She just kept trying to teach me things in Arabic, like “isme Hefty.” It means, “Call me Hefty.” She taught me “shukran” for thanks, and “lala” for no-no, and “nom” for yes, which I found hilarious. Things eventually got quiet and I looked at her and I really wanted to kiss her, but, well, it just wasn’t right. So yea, I’m married and I still haven’t gotten my first kiss… and there’s still that poor woman. No one’s even talked about her since. Like what about her family?

I tucked Ghada into my bed and let her sleep. Then the knock pounded on my door for gun training, and I went outside into the brutal sun. During training, a huge delivery came into town. They brought a Taco just to scoop me up and bring me back. The delivery was the new mining servers. They were awesome compared to the rig they had before. I started hooking them up. Kid in a candy factory. Next on the list was definitely more fans. A/C. Those servers were gonna overheat really quickly.

For lunch all the kids came back from training looking beat. Pretty much everyone was in high-five mode. I took it their wives well, you know. Did the thing. Except for me. All the kids were gathered, along with Zeyad. He loved hanging out around us, and I liked seeing him around. I felt like I had a big brother around all these kids. So everyone decided to get together and play chess.

What they didn’t know was that this virgin kicked ass at chess. I won like 7 straight rounds. I was in the Islamic State playing the international game of war with kindergarten killers. And I was undefeated.

“Hefty, I hope you know all these people think you fuck goats,” said Omar. Then he said it, I assume again, in Arabic. All the kids laughed and threw shoes at me.

“Yea, Omar, and next person I beat, I get to fuck their wife.” Omar went silent, then translated. More shoes came tumbling down. Al-Hussein, a super tall kid—more legs than torso—sat down to play.

I was always white. That was part of my strategy. Starting off every game. Al-Hussein was cocky. A little too cocky. I pulled the oldest trick in the book. It was a 3-move checkmate. I let him sit with it for a second.

“I believe that’s your wife, bruh,” I said, but he flipped the board. This dude pulled a knife to stab me, but a sea of kindergarten hands held him back. Maybe a knife wound wouldn’t be the worst thing. I might bleed out and be done with all this bullshit… and done with all this winning.

Once everyone calmed down, I put out my hand. I ended every game of chess with a handshake. Arabs had a really weird way of shaking hands. In the Islamic State, no one wanted to shake after losing. Bunch a sore losers.

And then, a gunshot came out of nowhere. Oh Joy.

The King. the Calipha, with his trademark pistol in hand, appeared. He came with a blank stare on his face. I honestly couldn’t tell if he was happy or pissed. He said something in Arabic, straight-faced. All the kids erupted in laughter, except for the king. Dude was a puzzle. Only thing not puzzling about him was how much he loved his trademark gun. Not even his own children could make him as happy as that tacky golden gun. Actually, come to think of it, I wonder if any of my new friends were the king’s kids.

He started speaking more Arabic, and then forgot himself. Omar motioned to him, and he got embarrassed.

He quickly switched to English.

“nother.”

Another.

That’s what the king wanted. A match. For a moment, I was actually afraid to play. But whatever, the pieces don’t lie. A win is a win, though I’d never played at gunpoint. More bragging rights back home, if I ever made it home.

“nother round Hefty.” The King sat in front of me, gun at ease. He didn’t show a single emotion as we played. The whole game I was trying to size him up. Who was this guy really?

A swirl of kindergarten hands ripped and rearranged. An arm over here, fingers fast at work there, some picking at my body. Almost instantly, the board was rejuvenated. 32 pieces facing one another, ready for war.

I had the white pieces.

The king wore his stoic gaze.

He was black.

Game on.

I led out with my trademark pawn. The pawn in front of my Queen. Always go up the middle, ALWAYS.

The king liked horses, and he positioned both knights first and foremost.

“You got good taste,” I muttered.

The barrage continued. We went a full ten moves without a single pawn killed… and then the king snuck his bishop right up my knight’s ass. I saw it coming, but too late to save him. No worries. In 3 turns, I had the bishop, the pawn, and the knight from across the board. I even pretended to have my King bang his knight. It was awesome

“You play with…” the king didn’t know what to say. He opened his palm, fingers wild. “Boom.”

I was about to mock him but stopped. I didn’t want Al-Hussein to cut some bacon off my ass.

“Shukran,” I replied.

“Shukran!” said the King with disbelief, “Afwan. You learn fast. We make you Arab still. You are hard work, in chess and brain, Hefty,” said the king, stroking his beard, “These boys, la la la,” said the king in English, then muttered something in Arabic.

The kids, who were eerily silent, started a kerfuffle. They didn’t like losing, not to an infidel, not to a blue-eyed bastard from America. They quibbled and quaffed. The king, losing no composure, threw his gun up into the air.

Metal and light rang out into the desert sun.

Quiet ensued.

The king burst into laughter, tear-inducing laughter.

“It warms my breast to see passion put in my boys. There are days not I, not Qu’ran, not put such hate in boys.”

He leaned in, checking his pieces and scanning the board, but cutting into me like a knife. “You special, Hefty.”

And just like that, he opened up his queen. Very easily. My knight could take her and be lost to the rook… but so could my queen, and my bishop, and my pawn. The king didn’t see it.

“You enjoy your home? What is? Oregon?”

I swallowed. It was an arid day.

“No…” swallowing again, “No, we move there. Cleveland. That’s home.”

“Cleveland. That is in…”

“Uhh, Ohio.”

“Ahh. Yes. Ohio. What teams?”

“Teams? Plenty. The Cavs. LeBron James.”

The king made no response, no motion.

“You don’t know LeBRON JAMES?” I nearly lost it. “He’s the KING!”

The king stood immediately.

“Whoa, no not like…”

“I. Am King. I. Am Calipha. This,” and he lifted his gun, “this is the gun of a king. Who is this king?” I was too scared to move below my shoulders.

“Relax. He’s just… it’s just a joke. Not you, no, I mean… LeBron, it’s just a joke. Well, he’s no joke, he’s the man. No, they call him the king, but he’s not like, a real king—“

“RIGHT! Because I am the king.”

That shut me up.

“Is this LeBron your favorite team?” The king sat down, peaceful again.

“No, he’s a captain. He plays on the Cavs.”

“Hmm… I no hear of this. Cleveland not I know.”

“Well, we’ve got the Indians, the Browns—“

“Browns. Ah, I know Browns. WAIT!” the King looked up and smiled. He might as well have turned into another kid in the room. “THE Browns. Doggie Pound. How How How.”

Well shoot. “Yea, you know the Cleveland Browns?”

“I think see on TV. What mean, Browns?” the king asked.

“They’re dogs. Kind of. A city of dogs.”

“I see that. On TV. I know this Cleveland. It city where everyone dress like dog.” The king quickly spoke to the crowd in Arabic, and everyone laughed in unison. I laughed too, not because I knew what they were laughing about, but just to not be that guy.

“Ahh, this make happy king. So, you like this Cleveland?”

“It’s alright. You know, there’s a reason we left. It’s a real shithole. Mistake on the Lake.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s what they called it in the 80s. See they lit the river on fire twice, in the 80s, I think. Anyways, they got this reputation to be shitty, so everyone called Cleveland The Mistake on the Lake.”

I didn’t think he got it.

“It is time, Hefty”

“Um, Time for what?”

“Time hear my offer. If win, you, I let go, you.”

The King stopped there. It was simple. No if…

I didn’t hear that right. I think. I looked at Omar, who was just as surprised as I was. Okay. Maybe I did hear that right. Freedom? Why?

“And if—" I said.

“And if lose you …”

He had this long dramatic pause. My stomach was in my throat. I’m dead? I’m his sex slave? I’m… come on dude, don’t leave me hangin.

“If lose you, promise yourself to me. To Allah.” Wasn’t I already doing that? “When second come, you do what I ask for you. For anyone not but for Allah. Not you, not USA, but Allah.” He stretched out his hand. I see. The only non-sore loser in all of ISIS. Well, freedom, here I come. I grabbed that hand and gripped it tight. His grip was tighter. He crunched the crap out of my hand.

As soon as he did, I was set for battle. Bring. It. On. The game became real, and as soon as I glanced down, I could already see the king’s thick fingers pushing the pawn. The pawn in front of my king in a check. I moved my King up, escaping my own castle, the pawn turned into a queen in the next move. I only had one real move left, and I slid my bishop and declared, “CHECKMATE!” in such a desperate voice that I was dripping sweat. I did it! I was free of ISIS.

Without checking, the king pulled out his pistol. He crammed a round through the chessboard. All the pieces blew out in different directions. And all the kids were silent. I could see Omar’s eyes bulging in my peripherals.

The King just stood there, aiming the gun at the chessboard. He then lowered it, stern-faced and said, “Go. You free.”

I looked around. Omar, and Naif, all my new friends were just staring at free Hefty. I tried to stand but my legs weren’t working. “What wrong Hefty? I say free. Go.”

“I…” didn’t know what to say, because suddenly I didn’t realize what free meant. Aside from being in a desert where I’d already been shot at by the other side, I didn’t know where to go. Which way was up or down? How many people would help me get back home?

“Okay, but…”

“But what? Hefty, you checkmate, you done. You go.”

Why was my life a constant tug of war? I finally get my freedom… but I also have a billion dollars. I mean shit, those servers we just got, those things are priceless. I can’t drop that kind of coin back in Oregon. Hell I can’t even pretend to be in school. Out here school is playing with guns. I mean what about Ghada? I just got a married. I have a bunch of friends, who are nice to me, mostly. I can kind of tell adults what to do.

“Checkmate Hefty,” said the king. “What wrong?”

The bullet hole in the chessboard snapped the sides of the board in two. They reminded me of my choice. I grabbed the two sides and put them back in place. The board was back-in-line. I could fix them. I liked the order. I found my voice again.

“I… I don’t want to leave.”

“Why?”

“I want to stay,” I said.

“Why?” said the king.

“Fuck you, why not? This place… well what else do I have? I stay. I’ll make something of myself. Something good. Maybe even something great.”

“Then you go?”

“No! No go! La la fucking la go!” Are these guys all stupid? I’ve said it a million times!

“Inshallah Hefty.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means God willing,” and then the king said it again in a long sentence in Arabic. The kids all looked at me, but different. They got honest smiles on their faces. It was like they opened up for real this time. “Allah will remember this day Hefty. When time right,” he pointed to the sky, “he call upon you.” The king said “Yullah” and motioned for me to follow him, and I did. “Now tell me, these new computers. They are good? They make me more money?”

I kept up with his pace. We were walking back to the Jankio Shack, followed by a parade of my new friends. “Yea, no, they’re incredible, but we need more fans. It’s gonna get way hot.”

“Done,” he said, “When will make you my first billion?”

“Uh…” I wasn’t expecting that question. “I need a little time. I’ve barely hooked everything up.”

“Well, yullah Hefty. I want you to start buying guns, Inshallah. Lots and lots of guns.”