No bang. No boom.

Jax exhaled and tipped the can a little more so that the thin stream became thicker, then pulled back a little when droplets splattered the edge of the tin. He didn’t have enough to waste. The can was soon empty, the 150 millilitres or so of acetone now pooling inside the now-sealed pineapple tin. The reaction wouldn’t start until he turned the tin upright.

He threw the empty half-can into his bin before taking a moment to have one last look around. At what his life had become. At why he might as well be dead. He picked up the tin, turned it upright and put it under the waistband of his shorts, his loose T-shirt hiding the bulge.

Tick, tock.

Jax stepped from his cell into the corridor. The wing was brightly lit, the spring sun streaming through the glass roof, brilliant and warm. Inmates went this way and that, some off to the yard, others going to the recreation room, a few with Saturday jobs going to work. Jax would ignore anyone that saw the bulge. He would say ‘For Marsh’ if they tried to stop him. He wouldn’t be lying.

Tick, tock.

The acetone had started to react with the hydrogen peroxide the moment he’d picked up the tin. Jax figured he had about a minute before they combined to form TATP. He turned to his left and walked. Marsh’s cell was at the far end of the wing, at the opposite end to the guard’s station. About forty metres away.

Jax calculated the tin in his pants would be a fully armed bomb just as he arrived at Marsh’s cell. He walked at his normal pace, doing his best not to attract attention. He was thirty metres away from Marsh’s cell when he felt warmth against his skin. He must have calculated wrongly. The TATP had already formed.

Tick, tock.

Jax wanted to walk faster but couldn’t, as it would shake the can, and he didn’t know how much friction was required to trigger the explosion. Then wanted to walk slower, fearful he was already shaking the can too much, but he couldn’t, as the tin was now too hot.

He was twenty metres from Marsh’s cell.

Tick, tock.

His skin started to burn. He wanted to pull the tin out, but couldn’t for fear of it exploding.

Ten metres.

Tick, tock.

His skin was sizzling by the time he arrived. As he walked through the open door, he pulled the tin from his waistband. It didn’t explode.

They were all there: Bluey, Grub, Chunk, Waz, Smack and Deano – of course, they had to be – scattered around the king-size cell, waiting as Marsh flicked through his little black book.

‘Pineapple juice?’ Marsh asked as he looked up at Jax.

‘Thought you might be thirsty,’ Jax said evenly as he tossed the can to Marsh.