But no knife.

No sliced flesh.

Of course word'd get out immediately in general population how Boggs had run to the guards. And then everybody, even the guards themselves, would wail on him every chance they got. Because if your nerve breaks there's no hope for you Inside. It means you're going to die and it's just a question of how long it takes for the rest of the inmates to strip away your body from your cowardly soul.

"Shit, man," another voice called, breathing hard from the effort of running. "Get him."

"You got the glass?" one of them called to another.

It was a whisper but Boggs heard it. Glass. Ascipio's friend would mean a glass knife, which was the most popular weapon in prison because you could wrap it in tape, hide it in you, pass through the metal detector and shit it out into your hand and none of the guards would ever know.

"Give it up, man. We gonna cut you one way or th'other. Give us your blood…"

Boggs, thin but not in good shape, ran like a track star but he realized that he wasn't going to make it. The guards were in station seven – a room separating the communal facilities from the cells. The windows were an inch and a half thick and someone could stand directly in front of the window and pound with his bleeding bare hands on the glass and if the guard inside didn't happen to look up at the slashed prisoner he'd never know a thing and continue to enjoy hisNew York Post and pizza slice and coffee. He'd never know a man was bleeding to death two feet behind him.

Boggs saw the guards inside the fortress. They were concentrating on an important episode ofSt Elsewhere on a small TV.

Boggs sprinted as fast as he could, calling, "Help me, help me!"

Go, go, go!

Okay, he'd turn, he'd face Ascipio and his buddies. Butt his long head into the closest one. Break his nose, try to grab the knife. Maybe the guards would notice by then.

A commercial on the TV. The guards were pointing at it and laughing. A big basketball player was saying something. Boggs raced directly toward him.