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across town for her bartending shift at The Garage.
    The traffic swelled with housewives running errands and grocery shopping. The west side of Miami Beach was mostly a residential neighborhood, with few tourists. It was unlikely that her sister would have come here, but Robbie still looked closely at each young woman with long dark hair.
    The Garage was located just off West Avenue in an industrial neighborhood of one- and two-story concrete block auto repair and car painting shops.
    Just outside the lounge, Robbie chained and bar-locked her bike to a post and took her satchel filled with flyers of Kate and Joanne out of the basket. She propped open the front door of the lounge to let some of last night’s carcinogens clear out. The main bar area was dim and thick with the lingering smell of smoke, perfume, and spilled alcohol. Although the trash and cigarette butts had been cleared away, the room had the sad feel of a basement rec room after a party. The sofas and chairs were actually bench and bucket seats from cars modified to stand firmly on the unfinished concrete floor. They were arranged in groupings or pushed against the walls beneath blown-up photos of junkyards, crashed cars, and auto repair bays. In the center of the room was a worn billiard table, chalk dust suspended above it in the diffused sunlight that leaked in from the windows and open door.
    Robbie arranged small stacks of “Missing” flyers on scratched tables and on the bar. On good nights, the lounge attracted several hundred people. Maybe someone would recognize Kate or Joanne.
    She went into the office and turned on the music—hip-hop and indie rock—then grabbed some lemons and limes from the kitchen. She settled herself on a stool behind the curved bar with its varnished dark wood, glasses sparkling above it, and began cutting the limes.
    “How’s it goin’?” Robbie’s boss asked, coming in from the back with a case of beer. He put the case down and gave Robbie a kiss on the cheek. Leonard was a cranky, fifty-something man who liked muscle tees that showed off his thick arms, and unfortunately, his beer belly. He wore his white hair short and a single diamond stud in his left ear.
    “Why are you carrying that?” she asked.
    “The new barback called in sick and I sure as shit don’t want you lugging a thirty-six pound weight.”
    “I can handle it.”
    “Maybe, but weren’t you the one who told me to try to avoid potential worker’s comp claims?”
    “Well, good. I like it when you’re cost conscious. And by the way, I was looking into the lounge’s health insurance coverage and I found a couple of options for you that are cheaper with better coverage.”
    Leonard grinned.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “Last week you were telling me how to control beverage costs. The week before that how to manage inventory. Are you sure you don’t want to take over a manager shift?”
    “I like bartending.”
    “Right. You can still tend bar, but you’d be so great managing.”
    “Thanks, but I don’t need the title. I’m happy to do it this way.”
    “I get it. No commitments.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “No you didn’t say it.”
    Robbie didn’t like the sarcastic edge to his remark, but let it pass.
    Leonard picked up one of the flyers on the bar. “What’s this?”
    “They’re a couple of girls from back home. They’re missing.”
    “It says Deland,” Leonard said. “I thought you were from Boston.”
    “Deland before Boston.”
    The door to the bar opened. It was Ben, one of Jeremy’s friends. Robbie checked behind him, but no one else came in.
    “A celebratory rum and coke, Robbie,” Ben said, approachingthe bar with a big smile. He held up his fist, punching it against hers. He’d shaved his head since the last time she saw him. “You’re looking at a free man.”
    “Free from what?”
    “The chains of oppression,” Ben said. “I quit my job.”
    “Really?” she said, turning to fix his drink. “So