My friends, someone told me this story some years ago.

The semi‑final between the LA Cats and the Austin Rabbits had been a knife‑edge battle. With the scoreboard deadlocked at 70–70 and the clock ticking down its final minutes, the crowd watched in breathless silence. Then Gary Smith slipped past his defender, rose with confidence, and dropped in the final two points. The whistle blew. The Cats were through to the National Basketball Cup Final — thanks to Gary Smith. They would be facing NY Foxes in the Final.

The NY Foxes had chased the Cup for years, but Gary Smith blocked their path like a tiger. The LA Cats had won six straight titles, all thanks to him. Gary Smith was so confident they’d win again that he’d already booked and prepaid the celebration lunch, tips included.

Furious, the Foxes’ boss said in front of his staff. “Outrageous. How are we supposed to put up with this? He thinks he’s a tiger. I want you to turn him back into a cat — whatever it costs.”

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At the NY Foxes headquarter, analysts dug through match data and found one pattern: recently, Gary’s performance usually dropped a little on Tuesdays. They didn’t know why, only that it was their clue.

On Monday, they sent Darren Cunningham, an analyst posing as a journalist. Gary agreed to a long “biography book” interview, but after half an hour of stories of being raised in a single-parent family — none of it useful — he abruptly checked the time and left. Darren noticed his slow, stiff walk: injured feet. Darren was wondering why had Gary left so suddenly?

Darren tailed him through the streets. Suddenly, Gary turned right at a corner and vanished.

Ahead, far down the street, stood the Grand Horizon Hotel. But Gary’s injured feet made that impossible — there was no way he could cover that distance in a few seconds. Refusing to believe Gary could fly, Darren studied the street meticulously.

The street was wide, lined with shopfronts and service doors. It was unlikely Gary had crossed to the left side, so Darren focused on the right. He judged that Gary could only have entered one of three nearby doors. He tried each one; all were locked except a metal door stamped with GHH. Darren pulled it open and stepped inside.

It was a hidden back entrance to the Grand Horizon Hotel, favoured by gamblers. Inside, following the echo of Gary’s heavy, limping steps, Darren moved down a service corridor, wondering what Gary Smith was hiding. (To be continued)