CHAPTER TWELVE
Downtown reminded Eva of a jazz bar from an old movie. A tiny entrance in a small alleyway between two shops in the outer part of the business district. Down a flight of steps into dim lighting and the odour of stale beer, greasy food and cigarette smoke. A band was playing on a small stage, surrounded by intimate alcoves of tables and armchairs. A banner proclaimed them as All That Jazz.
Eva paid her five dollar cover charge, and as there were no spare tables, she perched on a corner barstool and ordered a Scotch on the rocks. The clientele were mainly middle-aged, their dress code casual bordering on scruffy, faces etched with weariness, the sort of place where people came on a Friday night to wind down from the week and forget the boss, the mortgage and the family. Anyo
