‘Fuck knows,’ Johnson replied. ‘I’ve been paying them for protection for a while and everything was sweet until Marsh decided I was a dog. Too many trips to the lawyers, he says. I’m in the middle of a trial and I’m meeting with me lawyers heaps. Heaps too much, he reckons. Thinks I’ve been sneakin’ off to talk to the cops. He couldn’t beat a confession out of me, so he . . .’

Jax saw an opening: Johnson offering unsolicited information. Intelligence. He needed to know what he was up against.

‘So what’s his deal then – Marsh’s?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.

‘Marsh?’ Johnson replied. ‘Serious? You don’t know? Fuck, man, everyone knows Marsh.’

Jax shrugged.

‘The Gypsies, man,’ Johnson said. ‘He is their Sergeant at Arms. At least when he isn’t locked up. He has been in and out of jail his whole life. It’s a murder charge this time, so he’s in for a stint. He went nuts on some poor bastard for parking him in outside a Woolworths. Clubbed him to death with a cricket bat. Dude’s a fucking psycho.’

‘Seems like he’s a big deal in here,’ Jax said.

‘Fuck yeah,’ Johnson said. ‘He’s a fucking big deal, all right. You know how it works, right?’

‘I’m figuring it out,’ Jax replied.

‘Well, it could all change tomorrow, but for now the Gypsies are in charge. It’s a numbers thing, you know? If a couple of Gypsies get released and a few more Angels get locked up, the scales will tip, but for now the Gypsies run the wing. And Marsh is the most senior Gypsy in here, so he is King Shit. But don’t worry too much about who is in charge. Doesn’t make much difference. All the different gangs get on for the most part and stay out of each other’s way. Shit only hits the fan when they beef over business.’

‘Business?’ Jax asked.

‘Shit yeah,’ Johnson exclaimed. ‘Drugs, phones, protection, hits – you name it. They make as much money in here as they do out there.’

‘How much does protection cost?’ Jax asked.

‘Shit, you don’t know? You’re not paying anyone already?’

Jax did not reply.

‘Fucken sort your shit out, man. They will fucking kill you, unless you can fight like a son of a bitch. You think this is as bad as it gets?’ He gestured to Jax’s face. ‘It’s not, mate. I’m only paying like fifty bucks a week. Sometimes they charge more. Sometimes they charge less. Depends who ya are and what ya got. Going rate seems to be $100.’

Jax thought about who he was and what he had. Two hundred dollars a week? He decided that they didn’t want his money. They wanted something else.