The Ninth Wave by Eugene Burdick Page A

there. Everyone at the table

sensed how neatly Hank had trapped him. If he picked the poker it looked

as if he were afraid to fight Hank. If he picked the fight Hank wouldn't

have to play poker and the whole conversation between Osborne and Hollis

was a silly stunt.

"I'll do both of them," Hollis blurted out. "I'm not afraid of you,

Moore."

Hank looked up and laughed.

"One or the other," he said. "I haven't got time for both of them."

Hollis looked around the table once more.

"We'll play poker tonight," he said slowly.

Mike counted all the money in the cigar box. It came to two hundred and

fifty-two dollars. Hank reached across the table and picked it up. Mike put

the coins back in the box and closed the drawer. A thin tinkle of pennies

and nickels echoed in the room. Hank smiled. "Let's go," Hank said.

They walked out of their room, down the corridor, and into Hollis' room.

There were six of them waiting around the table. They were all eastern

boys. Three of them were wearing seersucker suits and all of them wore

ties. They looked up curiously at Hank, smiled at his sweat shirt and

blue jeans. Hollis did not introduce Mike or Hank to the men at the table.

"We pay up at the end of the evening," Hollis said crisply. "By check

or cash. It doesn't matter."

Hank slumped into the empty chair. His long white fingers hung on the

edge of the table. Mike stood behind him and for the first time he was

aware that in the dim light around the edge of the room there was a ring

of freshmen. They were pressed against the wall, sat on the two beds,

crouched on the dresser. They sat quietly, but their eyes gleamed in the

reflected light. Mike could not recognize any of them; all he could see

was the pairs of eyes and the occasional shift of hands as someone lit

a cigarette.

"What stakes do you want to play, Moore?" Hollis asked.

"Are there any house rules?" Hank asked.

"Do you want some?" Hollis asked.

"Yes," Hank said quietly. His face was back out of the light, only his

long limp fingers showed. "Dealer's choice, but games limited to five- and

seven-card stud and five-card draw. No jokers. No wild cards. No misdeals

. . . every card is played even if it is misdealt. Three bumps. Declare

a time limit at ten o'clock with the big loser setting the time."

Mike heard the men around the room take a collective breath. Hollis looked

slowly around the table.

"That seems all right," he said. "What kind of stakes do you want?"

"Anything you say."

"How would one dollar for whites, three for reds and five for blues

be?" Hollis asked.

Hank did not say anything. The white fingers reached for a cigarette,

struck a match and suddenly Hank's face was illuminated by the small

light from the match. He blew out the match and threw it in an ashtray.

"Well, how about two dollars, five and ten?" Hollis asked. "That all

right?" His voice was a little tense.

"Anything you say," Hank replied.

"That's it then." Hollis said. "How much do you want to start, Moore?"

"Five hundred dollars," Hank said.

The eastern boys stirred in their chairs. Hollis hesitated and then

counted out five hundred dollars in chips. He stacked up thirty-five blue

chips, twenty reds and fifty whites and pushed them over to Hank. Hank

did not touch them; he just let them rest between his hands.

Hollis counted out five hundred dollars in chips for the rest of the

players without asking them what they wanted.

You better be good, Mike thought. You've got twice in chips what you've

got in cash. You better be good.

"We won't cut," Hollis said. "You can deal first, Moore."

He broke open a deck of Bicycle cards and threw them over to Hank. Hank

peeled off the two jokers and dropped them on the floor. Hank shuffled

the cards slowly. He did not do it skillfully. He held the two halves

of the deck together and riffled them and then pushed them awkwardly

together. Mike felt a slight pang of doubt

"Five-card stud," Hank said. "Everyone ante two