So somebody scored.

Suddenly, Remo's facial muscles tightened and he sat up again. His eyes, focussed at no particular range, suddenly detected every line in the floor. He saw the sink and for the first time really saw the solid gray metal of the bars. He crushed out the cigarette with his toe.

Well, damn it, they didn't score... not through his slot. They never went through the middle of the line. And if he left only that, he left something.

Slowly, he leaned forward and reached for the burned-out butts on the floor.

One of the guards spoke. He was a tall man and his uniform was too tight around the shoulders. Remo vaguely remembered his name as Mike.

"It'll be cleaned," Mike said.

"No, I'll do it," Remo said. The words were slow in coming out. How long had it been since he had spoken?

"Do you want something to eat...?" the guard's voice trailed off. He paused and looked down the corridor. "It's late, but we could get you something."

Remo shook his head. "I'll just finish cleaning up. How much time do I have?"

"About a half hour."

Remo did not answer. He wiped the ashes together with his big, square hands. If he had a mop, it would go better.

"Is there anything we can get you?" Mike asked.

Remo shook his head. "No thanks." He decided he liked the guard. "Want a cigarette?"

"No. I can't smoke here."

"Oh. Well, would you like the pack? I've got two packs."

"Couldn't take it, but thanks anyway."

"It must be a tough job you have," Remo lied.

The guard shrugged. "It's a job. You know. Not like pounding a beat. But we have to watch it anyhow."

"Yeah," Remo said and smiled. "A job's a job."

"Yeah," the guard said. There was silence, all the louder for having been broken once.

Remo tried to think of something to say but couldn't.

The guard spoke again. "The priest will be here in a while." It was almost a question.