CHAPTER TWELVE
I take it slow driving up North Central. I could make the Concho Room of the Westward Ho Hotel, but I can’t remember ever seeing George there. I pull into the parking lot at Durant's Restaurant and slip in through the kitchen to say hello to my favorite chef, Jim Yancy. Harry Wolf, who makes the greatest Caesar Salads anywhere, pops into the kitchen long enough to say hello and tell me that Jack Durant is up front greeting the customers.
Jack is tall and slender. His hair, which he wears longer than the current fashion, is turning grey on the sides and gives him a distinguished look. I always call him "Smilin' Jack," but that's just a needle. I have never seen Jack smile. One of the cops told me that Jack smiled the night he belted his wife in the chops, but I don't belie
