Play Poker Stud Game

Seven-Stud

Seven-stud was the game that night. He had mastered many of the finesses and applied a comprehensive set of minimum calling and raising standards. But his luck was terrible. By the time the game broke up at eleven, almost an hour earlier than usual, Bobby was losing all but $700 of his bankroll. Then Bill Hickle suggested they play heads-up. The play free poker game was ace-to-five lowball. For about an hour they stayed almost even.
In fact, they were exactly even when at three minutes till midnight, they agreed to one last hand of showdownfor $718 everything Bobby had remaining.  n to deal, a six to himself, a four to Bill. A jack for him self, a ten for Bill, then a deuce and holdem ...
Startled by a sudden crashing sound of metal, Bobby leapt from the table and headed for the rear exit. It was a sound he’d been dreading in his imagination.
Again the clang. An axe was colliding viciously with the steel door and the metal bolt that secured it.
The whole building seemed to shake. There were now only a dozen members in the club,
Eleven male and the girl friend of Bill Hickle. A murmur of apprehension echoed though the room. Was this a raid or what? The woman grabbed Bill’s arm for s while most of the men hurried toward the back of the building away from the axe.
Bobby went out the rear, urging the others to follow him out. It’s not a police raid, he worried. It’s the kidnappers! Instinct told him this beyond any doubt whatever.
He was into the cold of night now, running along the alley. Just as he cleared the back door of the Bridge club, gun shots powered their way though the exit. Bobby looked around. His silhouette was against the half open rear door. Bullets had pierced his shadow!
He hurried across the alley. There were back yards and a lot of trees. He worked his way between these, heading toward a cross street. But there was a long way to go.
Someone rushed out of the rear of the Bridge club. It was a guy who sometimes dealt the play poker game, and heran down the alley away from where Bobby hugged a tooslender elm tree. Could the kidnappers see Bobby there?
He chanced being spotted and ran deeper into a back d, then veered across several lawns, increasing the distance between him and the club.
He thought he heard someone coming down the alley. Maybe it was just the wind teasing the trash cans. He ran. His foot collided with the exposed root of a tree. He crashed to the grass, rose almost without hesitation. He was like an animal, motivated by instinct. Running, needing a place to hide.
Parked twenty yards ahead in the alley was a sports car. Dashing in its direction, he looked over his shoulder. No one. Only the chilly blackness of an empty alley, broken by a slice of light streaming from the partially opened back door of the Bridge Club. Then appeared masked figure spotlighted within that thin piece of whiteness. Bullets cracked off one by one, and Bobby could see the muzzle flashes, the strange combination of artificial light against shadow causing a bizarre blend of power white and blazing orange.
He reached the sports car and wedged himself beneath lot an easy thing to do. The frame was so close to the ground that Bobby tore his ear getting under it. The car had recently been driven, and the heat of the exhaust pipe  brought pain against his shoulder. He remained still, his heart thudding. He listened. Voices came from inside the club, but it was too far away to make out what was happening...