I knew who he was, of course; he had a reputation for being a snob and a cold fish. People were saying he was marked for trouble already. One of the people saying so was Bogs Dismond, a bad man to have on your case. Andy had no cellmate, and I’d heard that was just the way he wanted it, although the one-man cells in Cellblock 5 were only a little bigger than coffins. But I don’t have to listen to rumours about a man when I can judge him for myself.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Andy Dufresne.’ He offered his hand and I shook it. He wasn’t a man to waste time being social; he got right to the point. ‘I understand that you’re a man who knows how to get things.’

I agreed that I was able to locate certain items from time to time. ‘How do you do that?’ Andy asked.

‘Sometimes,’ I said, ‘things just seem to come into my hand. I can’t explain it. Unless it’s because I’m Irish.’

He smiled a little at that. ‘I wonder if you could get me a rock hammer.’

‘What would that be, and why would you want it?’

Andy looked surprised. ‘Do you make motivations a part of your business?’ With words like those I could understand how he had gotten a reputation for being the snobby sort, the kind of guy who likes to put on airs — but I sensed a tiny thread of humour in his question.

‘I’ll tell you,’ I said. ‘If you wanted a toothbrush, I wouldn’t ask questions. I’d just quote you a price. Because a toothbrush, you see, is a non-lethal sort of a weapon.’

‘You have strong feelings about lethal weapons?’

‘I do.’

An old friction-taped baseball flew towards us and he turned, cat-quick, and picked it out of the air. It was a move Frank Malzone would have been proud of. Andy flicked the bail back to where it had come from — just a quick and easy-looking flick of the wrist, but that throw had some mustard on it, just the same. I could see a lot of people were watching us with one eye as they went about their business.