He passes Cain coming back from laundry. CORRIGAN > Cain. You look good. Rest suits you. Cain stops. He doesn't speak. CORRIGAN (CONT'D) > I’m serious. No gray. You figured it out. The secret is: don’t need anything. CAIN > I need air. Cain walks past. Corrigan’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes go cold. CORRIGAN >(to himself) > That’s what I love about you, brother. The poetry. A heavy steel door slides open. CHAINS rattle.
Then—a tray SLAMS down next to Angel. It’s FLACO and D-RAY. FLACO > You lost, pup. D-RAY > This is our table. ANGEL > I just sat down. FLACO > And now you get up. After you pay the tax. Flaco points to Angel’s dessert—a small, sad cookie.
Corrigan watches. He’s no longer smiling.
