“Not today, John,” Magnolia purred, sweeping her coat around her shoulders. Her heels clacked against the tiled floor of the Third Rail as she headed for the stairs. “It’s been a long day, and this songbird needs her rest. You boys and girls have have fun tonight.”
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Hancock grinned. “I hear Hotel Rexford’s got a real bad infestation.”
“As if Claire would ever mistreat me.” The singer blew a kiss at the ghoul before ascending the steps and clacking away into the night.
“She mistreats everybody!” Hancock called after her, then shook his head and returned his attention to the table. “Charlie. Deal?”
“Everyone settled?” Whitechapel Charlie shuffled the cards in his claws, one dapper green visor balanced precariously on the top of his torso.
Cait stopped mid-swig of her drink. “How drunk should I be before we start?” she asked, brow furrowed.
“Way ahead of you,” MacCready said, and knocked back another shot. His current bottle - his first of the night - was already half-empty.