Page 70 of Thick

He raised his index finger. “Wait right here.”

As he walked toward the front door, he dragged his thumb through the inside of his back pocket. It dawned on me that he carried his razor in that pocket, and then I wondered if he might have overheard the surfers.

I watched through the glass walls of the building as Tate approached the three men. Standing a few feet away from them, he gestured toward me, and then lowered his hands. As the blonde appeared to argue, Tate balled his fists.

I couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was apparent the blond-haired asshole didn’t agree with what was being said. In opposition, he took a step back and lifted his hands slightly.

It proved to be a major mistake on his part.

Tate’s right hand plowed into the blonde’s nose, sending him stumbling toward the counter. While he struggled to keep from falling, Tate faced the other two men.

Both of their heads shook from side to side frantically, and their open hands shot into the air as if they were being robbed. Tate glanced at the blond, who now had his hands cupping his bloody nose.

Tate waved his left hand toward the door, and then looked at the blond. He nodded in response.

Tate stepped aside.

The three men walked through the door, around the back of their car, and up to the side of the motorcycle.

“These fellas have something they need to tell you,” Tate said.

The driver, a lanky mop-haired kid about twenty years old, looked up. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

Tate cleared his throat.

The kid’s gaze dropped to the ground. After a few seconds, he looked up. “I’m sorry I said you were fat. It was inconsiderate and childish. I’ll keep my opinions to myself from here on out. It’ll never happen to you or anyone else, ever again.”

“Thank you.”

The blond wiped his nose with his thumb and then looked at his bloody hand. His nose had all but stopped bleeding, but his face was smeared with blood. He looked at me and let out a sigh.

“I apologize for making the comment about what you were wearing. It won’t happen to you or anyone else, ever again.”

“Thank you.”

Tate glanced at the three men. “Have a nice day, fellas.”

The one who didn’t say anything smiled. “You, too.”

As they walked away, I looked at Tate. “Thank you.”

He shook his head and reached for his helmet. “Respect.” He buckled his helmet and lifted his leg over the seat. “It never gets old teaching people how to show it to others.”

Tate Reynolds may not have been able to change the world, but he sure giving it one hell of a try.

One bloody nose at a time.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tate

I was getting out of bed when the phone rang. As it was not quite 6:00 a.m., I suspected it was one of two people. Crip or Michelle. I flipped my phone open and looked at the number. “What’s up, Michelle?”

“I have three things to tell you. First, I’d ask if you’ve seen this week’s lists, but I know you haven’t.”

“What lists?”

“Wall Street Journal. New York Times. The lists.”