August 13, 1938 Cleveland, Ohio
Checking his watch he takes a mental inventory of his gusto and determination, still good. Years of watching adulterers, thieves then cults and secret societies has given him the ability to work late into the night.
Running his hand a long his face he can hear the bristles of his 8 o'clock shadow rubbing against his palm. Looks worse than he feels.
Looking around to ensure he had a window of opportunity to make his way inside and to room number 3. Once there, if all is still in his favor might as well see if Frank is home.
Jimmy does what he can to make inside to door number three. Ready to sneak if need be but the concept of "act like you belong here," comes to mind.
Once at Frank's door the plan is to try the handle oh' so slowly to check the lock. In his right coat pocket is his lock picks if needed.
The adrenaline starts to pump. Not only sneaking about in the middle of the night but if Frank is as big of a hot head as he keeps hearing he could be in for a bruising.
"Maybe life isn't about avoiding the bruises, maybe it's about collecting the scars to prove we showed up for it." The words repeated in his head, something Kitty once said as she dabbed a cold cloth across his bruised face after some thug mistook him for a punching bag.