Page 6 of Thick

“One more remark…” he warned.

Normally, I would have given him – or anyone who challenged me – two more remarks. Hell, maybe a dozen. Doing so would land me in the Special Housing Unit, or SHU, and I’d be on lockdown for 24 hours a day.

I’d been tossed in the hole plenty of times during my tenure in prison, so his threat fell on deaf ears. The thought of not seeing Officer Madden, however, prevented me from proceeding with my torturous comments. Talking to her for a few minutes each morning was the highlight of my day.

Had we met under any other circumstances, I wondered if things might be different. Without a hung jury or a miracle, the only relationship I’d ever have with her would be a continuation of our five-minute-long conversations through a two-inch-thick piece of glass.

I seriously doubted I’d get a hung jury. So, I pursed my lips, flattened my hands against the table, and prayed for the miracle.

Chapter Three

Bobbi

Perry’s comments came to mind as I pushed the cart to Reynolds’ cell. The thought of him shanking me with a sharpened spoon handle was laughable. I had, however, realized I knew absolutely nothing about him.

I unlocked the slot and reached for his tray. “Reynolds, it’s time for breakfast.”

I peered into his cell. On the floor doing sit-ups, he turned his head to the side. “Ten seconds.”

He did two more and then stood. “I hate stopping short of a set. I feel like it’s cheating.” He looked at me and smiled. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal. Eggs. Coffee.”

He grabbed the tray and set it on his sink. “Sounds filling.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” I said.

He arched an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Keep up your positive attitude. You’re consistently happy.”

“I’m not happy. I’m content. There’s a difference.”

“Okay. I don’t know how you stay content.”

“I don’t like it here,” he said. “No offense, but this place is a shit-hole. But. You know what?”

“What?”

“I can’t change the fact that I’m here. I can either accept it, or I can sulk. I choose to accept it.”

“I like your way of thinking.”

He leaned toward the door, looked me over, and then straightened his posture. “I like your hair. It looks nice.”

I had it highlighted the night before. So far, he was the only one who noticed. It made the money I spent getting it done seem like it was worth it. “I just got it done,” I whispered. “$150. It makes me sick what they charge.”

“Money well spent. It looks great.”

Officer Perry was wrong about Reynolds, I was sure of it. Well, pretty sure of it. I glanced down the cellblock and let out a sigh. There were six more cells to go, and if I took too much time talking, the remaining inmates would start banging on their cell doors.

I shifted my eyes to Reynolds. “Can I ask you a question?”

He crossed his arms. “Sure.”

“Other than riding in the motorcycle club, did you have a job? You know, before you were arrested?” I asked, hoping not to sound too intrusive.

“I do. Or, I did. Kind of. It was unconventional, but a job nonetheless.”