Page 44 of Thick

This is Tate. Leave a message.

Hearing his voice caused me to blubber another emotion-filled wad from my throat. After regaining my composure, I left a message.

“Tate, this is Bobbi. Bobbi Madden. You can call me at 213 383 9199. I want the coffee and the ride. Yeah, I’m selfish like that.”

I no more than finished, and his phone beeped, indicating the message had been accepted. Convinced he was riding down the coast, I hung up and tossed my phone to the side.

My mouth curled into a smile.

If I was lucky, I’d get two hours sleep. I didn’t care. At least Tate wasn’t going to see me when I went to work.

Chapter Sixteen

Tate

If a man had spent so much as one day in prison, he lived every moment of freedom that followed with the lingering fear that one day he’d return. Everyone I knew that had done time, me included, felt that way.

The thought of going back to prison haunted me for five years. Then, my fear became reality when I was arrested for the firearms charge. Being released after the charges were dropped was truly a miracle. Volunteering to go back to prison weeks later would seem ridiculous to most.

It seemed ridiculous to me, too. Yet. There I was, gazing through the thick glass of my cell door’s window, wondering which cell Gravy was in.

The sound of jingling keys gave warning of a guard walking his post. As Officer Turner marched past, I pounded my clenched fist against the door twice. “Turner!”

He paused, turned around, and then peered through the window. “Hell, I almost didn’t recognize you. Didn’t stay gone long, did ya?”

“Missed the scenery,” I said. “And the oatmeal.”

“Bullshit.” He stepped away from the window. “What do you need?”

“Can I get a couple pencils? Tooth brush? Tooth paste? Soap. And some paper?”

He folded his arms over his chest and looked me over. “You didn’t get that shit in admissions?”

I shook my head. “Wouldn’t be asking if I had.”

Truth be told, I’d received all the items. But if they searched my cell, and I was sure they eventually would, I wanted them to find everything they’d given me. What he was going to bring me would be used, and later entered into the prison’s evidence room.

If the issued toiletry items were missing from my cell, I’d be a suspect. If they were accounted for, I wouldn’t.

“Who’d you see in admissions?” he asked.

I shrugged. “All you guys look alike.”

“Lazy bastards. Half the time they forget to give new admissions their fucking pillows.”

“I got shower shoes, a pillow, sheets and blanket.” I waved my hand toward the bunk. “That’s it.”

“I’ll drop it off on my next round.”

“Appreciate it, Boss.”

Having been transported from a county jail through the institutions receiving center once before, I knew they didn’t X-ray the inmates prior to admissions. They were required to go through a metal detector, but the device only alerted them of large pieces of metal, not miniscule ones.

So, while the cop that wasn’t a cop waited, I bought a package of disposable razors, removed the foil blades, and wrapped them in masking tape. Then, I put them in the only place I knew they wouldn’t look. Writing a few dozen biker romance books caused me to do tremendous research on crimes and prisons, this was an opportunity for me to put all the research to work.

An hour later, I had everything I needed to prepare myself for the following day.

First, I needed to start a fire. Then, I would use the fire to melt the toothbrush handle. The molten plastic would allow me to insert the flimsy razor blade into it. Once cooled, the plastic would harden. In doing so, it would cause the razor blade to be as rigid as the plastic.