Gibe: An aggressive remark directed at a person like a missile
I watched as the three men at the table all took out their guns and placed them on the table near their glasses. The dealer, the man beside me, dealt out our hands, and I peeked at it nervously. I took a swig of the glass in front of me, and then placed a few chips to the middle. The men all around me also opted to play. Time stood still as the cards finally unfolded. I had a chance, I thought. Two pairs, seven and eight. I played in, a hundred. The men all around me looked at their cards again, one taking a swig of his glass. One of them folded, and my heart calmed, and then, another matched. The fourth card flipped. Six. No problem. I had a seven and eight, on the board, seven, eight, six, king. Another player folded, just one more to go. I raised two hundred, and he plays five. I match with another three. The turn moves on, the final card being an ace. I have two pairs, and I smile, but the man grips on his glass, and takes another swig. Raises another hundred. I match. You think you can beat us in a game on our turf you red face? The man said to me. We unfold our hands. He has an ace and a king. Serves you right for trying to swindle our money, look at you now all pale. He says. He grabs his gun and points to the door behind him. Now get out.