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.