It was Christmas in prison. Tennessee insisted on new uniforms for all the fellow inmates for his last famous Christmas dinner. All the police officers on duty were there too, apart from the guard. The sheriff himself requested a seat inside the bulletproof glass cabin by the corner of the small dining hall. Twenty-five trays filled with precise cuts of pork medallion, turkey breast and roast veal. Delicious, as they should be. Seventy-six glasses of non-alcoholic cider followed. The radio was on, the sheriff decided to make a toast. To the best cook he had ever known, may his abilities now conquer the world in this new beginning God had permitted. To Chef Tennessee! To Chef Tennessee! Eighty-five seconds. He walked slowly through the hall, collecting all those happy last smiles – how he had missed seeing all those happy last smiles! He took a small key out of his pocket and opened the glass cabin door. Five more happy last smiles. He put his hand on the sheriff’s jacket’s inside pocket and took the big key and the green leather wallet, then got to the front door, suitcase in hand. Merry Christmas, Ike. Good luck, Tennessee. Gestured goodbye.