I CAME ACROSS THIS LITTLE JAZZ PLACE

      It was late at night.  I was tired.  

I had been on a six day search for my rich client. 

 She wanted me to find her missing husband.  

I had little to go on. 

 I pulled my red Schwinn bike into the dirty parking lot of the local hangout.
  I just wanted to sit and numb my thoughts.  

It was smoky and dark.  It smelled like a zoo...but I didn't care.  

 A cranky server asked me what I wanted to drink.  
"Water-on-the-Rocks," I answered. 

 The cranky server asked for ID. 

 It was noisy...but I didn't care.  

My blurry-eyes focused on the stage.  I was on my third 
Water-on-the-Rocks.

Musicians headed for the stage.  

The clamber of feet on the stage was loud. 

The cymbal player warmed up.

It was jazz night.  

 The  sultry-singer sang about broken romance. Her voice cried heartbreak. 

I hated to leave.  The jazz was good.

I stepped out into the morning's blinding sun.

I hopped back onto my faithful red Schwinn.  
The ice-cold seat jolted my brain...but I didn't care.

I had a job to do.  

My client was waiting for some answers.

And I still had none.