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back together. Through the gloom of
smoke, everything looked filthy, tired, and tattered. Some of the
chairs were broken, the seat covers in the booths were ripped, and
the wallpaper was peeling away everywhere you looked.
    There were a group of men in one corner, clad in
leather jackets. They wore bandanas on their heads and each had a
denim-skirted woman on their knee. They seemed to be playing
cards.
    A group of teenagers were huddled around the pool
table, and a middle-aged couple were dancing by the jukebox, almost
undressing each other. There were four dogs in the middle of the
bar, barking and running in circles, slobbering on everything they
came into contact with.
    Behind the bar was a guy who barely looked old enough
to drink himself. He had blond hair that curled tight to his head,
and he was wearing a black t-shirt that had seen better days. Robyn
sat up on one of the bar stools and beckoned him over.
    “What can I get you?” he asked, giving her a creepy
smile.
    “What’s your name?” Robyn asked, raising her voice
over the music.
    “Milo.”
    “I’ll have a Bud Light please, Milo,” Robyn ordered,
taking in the grime on the bar top before deciding against leaning
her arm on it.
    The bartender popped the cap on the bottle and set it
in front of her.
    “Thanks,” she said, looking at the lip of the bottle
before taking a swig from it.
    “You’re welcome. So, you on vacation?” Milo asked,
leaning on the bar and gazing at her.
    “Nope.”
    “Oh, I thought, because of your accent and all…” Milo
began.
    “Where’s Nancy?” Robyn asked, looking over at the
teenagers as they began to tussle with each other, using the pool
cues as swords.
    “She’s out back,” Milo answered.
    “So who’s in charge out here?” Robyn asked him.
    “Why that would be me,” Milo announced proudly,
sticking out his chest in a desperate show of authority.
    “Ah, I see. So, you let customers smoke pot, bring
dogs in, and fight with the pool cues, do you?” Robyn
questioned.
    “Well, I…you ain’t a cop are you?” Milo asked,
suddenly looking concerned.
    “No. I’m from a much higher authority than that, and
I want you to tell them to leave. All of them,” Robyn ordered
him.
    “Me? You want me to ask them to leave? I…I can’t do
that,” Milo said, shifting from one foot to the other and looking
highly uncomfortable.
    “Well, I thought you said you were in charge here,”
Robyn responded, fixing the bartender with a stare Judge Judy might
use toward a time-wasting plaintiff.
    “Yeah I know, but I meant serving drinks
and…and…fixing the jukebox and stuff,” Milo replied.
    “Oh, just serving drinks and doing maintenance, huh?
Well then, you’d better go get Nancy. Tell her Eddie’s daughter’s
here to see her,” Robyn said, waiting for the shock to hit his
expression.
    Milo’s jaw very nearly hit the countertop, and she
was sure it was all he could do to stop drool from dripping out of
his mouth.
    He stumbled from the bar, knocking into a crate of
empty bottles on the way. When he’d regained his balance and
trotted off, Robyn turned to survey the rest of the cliental. It
wasn’t pretty.
    The youths by the pool table now had one of the girls
dancing on top of it, and the bikers had been joined by the
middle-aged dancing couple. In the furthest corner, near the door
to what had been the kitchen, was a disheveled, bearded man in a
dirty coat and woolen hat, slumped over the table, seemingly
asleep.
    Within a minute or so, Milo returned to the bar.
Following close behind was a peroxide blonde, tottering on too high
heels, wearing a denim mini-skirt and crop top that were at least
thirty years too young for her. Hideous large hooped earrings hung
from her ears and on her arms were an assortment of cheap bangles
and bracelets. Her blond hair was piled high on her head and some
curly tendrils snaked down at the side of a face that was thickly
plastered in make-up.
    “This is Nancy,” Milo