Chapter Thirty-FiveJIMMY’S HOUSE,
September 1930
“What the . . .?”
The Duesenberg sat in the driveway with four huge dents in the side. The windshield and headlamps were smashed.
“Jimmy?” I called as I opened his front door and dropped the keys into the dish on the hall table.
“In here.”
Clara and I had driven all night and all morning. It was lunchtime when I pulled up, exhausted after dropping her and the Isotta at Bedford Drive. I’d taken the Whippet downtown to put a stop payment on the checks, then come back here to finally get some sleep.
Jimmy was sitting on the couch with a game of solitaire and a glass of Paw’s finest.
“What are you doing home in the middle of the afternoon?” I said. “And what happened to the car?”
“I’m playing cards,” he said without much emotion. He sla
