“Jimmy ...” He smiled. “You don’t seem happy to see me.” Farr had shed the trappings of his past. At one time he was open silk shirts with medallions on heavy gold chains, and rings big enough to serve as brass knuckles. Now he was in an olive-colored summer suit, a button-down collar, and a conservative tie. The teased wave of his hair was gone; it was now cut short with an Ivy League part. “I’m happy to see you,” she lied. “And surprised. You don’t usually show up until there’s money to be had. I’m still the penniless widow.” She walked past him into the living room, and glanced around in search of the leg-breaker who had always accompanied Jimmy. There was no one else there. “Where’s Steve?” she asked, referring to the bodyguard. “In Attica,” he answered with a chuckle. “He went out on his own but didn’t do very well.” He made a great show of taking in the apartment with its obviously expensive furnishings and decorations. “Not nearly as well as you seem to have done.
