Soon, however, he was out of range and then out of sight, inside a fenced-off recreation yard on the other side of the prison. The madness – the hurling, shouting and fence-shaking – had only lasted a couple of minutes. The 138 prisoners that Jax had counted in the yard had had their fun and started turning away from the fence. Moving in small groups, apart from a few loners, they slowly dispersed across their own yard.

HAVING watched the ruckus from start to finish from his cold corner, Jax felt a little better about refusing protection. That could have been him doing the perp walk, or even worse, the man who’d been attacked could have been his cellmate. The paedophile had got what was coming to him, Jax supposed. But Jax wasn’t there to deal out retribution – and who was he to play judge anyway? He’d killed a man he’d never laid eyes on, for a reason he couldn’t remember.

Jax did his best to discreetly study the groups in the yard when they finally formed, sneaking a look when he was sure they weren’t looking at him. He noted the size of each cluster, the racial make-up, who was doing the talking, who was doing the listening.

The biggest group would most likely be the strongest, the gang that ran the yard; the next biggest group would be the next strongest; and so on. But group size wasn’t the only factor influencing power: a smaller group could be stronger if they had access to phones or drugs. But he didn’t have that information. Not yet.

Jax counted the groups, the numbers in each group, and came up with a hierarchy based on the visual information. He would rearrange that order as he learned more, if need be.

He could tell a lot about the dynamics within a group based on their interactions, their body language. He was only close enough to overhear one of the group conversations. Well down the pecking order, a gang of just four, they appeared more user than dealer.

‘I got the cunt right in the face with the biggest piece of shit you’ve ever seen,’ one of them said. ‘Seriously you should have seen the size of my shit. I almost ripped my arsehole pushing out the fucker. Dead-set. It was like I was giving birth.’

‘Ah, I did better than that, mate,’ said another one. ‘I had the squirts, been spray-painting the bowl all week. I hit him with half a litre of diarrhoea. You can’t beat that, mate.’

The first man didn’t respond.

Even from an exchange as short as that, Jax could tell which man was in charge.

Jax scanned the yard again. One of the groups – only a midsize pack – had already descended upon 60077. Jax couldn’t hear them, but judging from the rookie’s reaction, they hadn’t approached him for a friendly chat.