CHAPTER 16

Long Bay Correctional Complex, Sydney, NSW, Australia

THE BUY-UP form looked like a high-school exam answer sheet, the multiple-choice type that was marked by a computer. But instead of using a 2B pencil to colour in a little circle that contained A, B, C or D, Jax was using a 2B pencil to colour in a little circle that contained 1, 2, 3 or 4, and he wasn’t answering multiple-choice questions about maths or science, but choosing quantities of products like; ‘Shower Gel: Lynx Africa’ or ‘Toothpaste: Extreme Clean McLean’. With his face on the mend and movement back in both his leg and his arm, he finally found the courage to move around the jail and was visiting the D-Block recreation and leisure room for the first time.

Apparently, his act of violence had worked. More than a week had passed since Jax had stabbed Elliott and George, and neither man had given him up. They might have been thugs, but they weren’t dogs. They’d both needed stitches and tetanus shots, but other than that they were okay. Jax had made sure he kept clear of their organs, stabbing away from their livers and the pancreas. He’d probably put a few holes in their small intestines, but that was a minor fix.

Jax hadn’t been hauled in for the stabbing either. He’d been waiting for the knock on his door – resigned to having a couple of years added to his sentence if it meant he was left alone – but it never came. Johnson told him that another inmate had scooped up the shivs and claimed them for himself. Apparently, he was planning on trading the used weapons for drugs. There were no witnesses of course, never were.

More importantly for Jax, there were no more threats. He had been left alone. He’d even walked past George, freshly released from hospital, earlier that day. For once it was someone else looking at the floor.

He had picked the right men. They were tough enough that Jax had proved he was both dangerous and could handle himself, that he was no easy target. And no one cared enough about them to retaliate.

Up to now, Jax had taken no interest in food; if he could have done without it completely, he would have, as every trip to the mess hall was a game of Russian roulette, just another chance for someone to get him. Eating also seemed to be an admission of hope, which he thought was equally dangerous. But now, looking at this list – Mars Bars, Snickers, Tim Tams, Burger Rings, Barbecue Shapes, Twisties – he was salivating. There was real food too, things that could be eaten in between meals in his cell: cans of tuna and baked beans, noodles, bread. Apparently, he could even buy his own microwave and toaster.