Francis leaned back, listening to the shuffle of tourists and the clack of chess pieces echo through Washington Square Park. The summer heat hung over lower Manhattan like a weight. It roasted skin, soaked shirts, and slowed everything to a crawl. He sat on one side of a stone chess table, with sunglasses shielding his eyes and a Mets cap keeping the sun off his face. He looked at his opponent, then down at the board. Fra...