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There were better things to do on a Saturday night than follow a neon-lime tart around the clubs. Cary was sure of it. There had to be; even staking out The Most Boring Man in the World was starting to look good after this.
But the boss had said to Follow the Rabbit, and the Rabbit was following the neon-green tart, so Cary and Usha were following her, too, and trying to ignore her ignorance.
The Rabbit, now, she was something else. She was dressed like the main course in an all-you-can-eat-pervert’s buffet: kitten-mittens and fuzzy cuffs, a tall leather collar shaped like the top of a tux and a tiny dress to match. If she weren’t with a pack of girls, she’d have gotten eaten alive in the first club they’d gone into. In the pack, however – the only reason Cary was tolerated was that he appeared to be totally under Usha’s thumb. Other guys didn’t get close.
“Where next?” They hadn’t so much gotten kicked out of the last club as moved gently aside – too young, too out-there, too loud.
“What about the Deck?” That was the Rabbit, voicing an opinion for the first time. “I want to go to the Deck.”
“The Deck is boring.” Lime had opinions. “And kind of skeezy. I want to go to The Briton.
“The Briton’s boring.” Wytton was smitten with the kitten-mittened Rabbit. “How about the place on Leviton?”
“Too much grit. I like the Briton.”
“There’s the vampire club? Bitten?” He didn’t know why Usha was putting in an opinion, but maybe she just wanted to annoy Lime. Maybe she didn’t think their goal was going to be at a stodgy pub. Maybe she just wanted to rhyme with kitten.
“Let’s go to the Dutchman.” He tugged on Usha’s sleeve: two short tugs, one long, and just in case, reached out a hand to the Rabbit. “Come with us? It’s right behind the Deck.”
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