Page 55 of Thick

“Personal effects for Tate Reynolds,” I said.

“Twice in a week,” MacMillan said with a grin.

“I like the food,” Tate said.

“If you knew what was in the oatmeal, you wouldn’t eat it.”

I laughed. “He loves the stuff.”

MacMillan walked to the back of the cage and quickly returned with a clear plastic bag. He dumped the contents on the counter, and then read from the sheet of paper that accompanied it. “One pair of blue denim jeans. One leather belt with buckle. One wallet with driver’s license. One straight razor. Two hundred and seven dollars in US currency. Two black beaded bracelets. One leather bracelet. One black plastic watch, G-Shock brand. Two sterling silver ear rings. One white ribbed tank top. One pair white socks. One pair black lace-up leather boots. One cell phone, LG brand.” He looked at Tate. “Look like we’re square?”

“Yep.”

I looked at his phone. “You carry a flip phone?”

“I do.”

I looked at the ivory handled razor. “And a straight razor?”

“My dad gave me that one.”

“You’ve got more?”

“I collect them.”

“But you carry it?”

“Everywhere I go.”

I surveyed the pile of personal items. There were no keys.

“You don’t have any keys,” I said.

“Bike’s at the shop.”

“Where’s the shop?”

“Oceanside.”

“That’s what? Eighty miles?”

He shrugged. “Ninety.”

“Long taxi ride.”

He grabbed his jeans, boots, and shirt. “It’s a longer walk.” He tilted his head toward the bathroom. “Is that locked?”

“No.”

“Be right back.”

In a moment, he emerged from the bathroom. The difference was overwhelming. Wearing dark washed denim jeans, the bracelets, a wife beater, and boots, he took a few steps toward me. Inspecting his straight razor as he walked, it seemed he was a different person. Without looking up, he slipped it into his back pocket.

He rubbed his growth of beard, glanced at me, and grinned. His beard no longer looked out of place, it was sexy. It seemed his tattoos were more colorful. He raised his hands over his head, stretched, and popped his back. As he lowered his arms, he hooked his right thumb in the pocket of his jeans and cocked his hip slightly.

Just like in the book.

I looked him over with eager eyes. He was no longer inmate Reynolds.