Angel slides it over. Flaco takes it, eats it in one bite. FLACO (CONT'D) > Tomorrow, your tray. All of it. They leave. Angel sits frozen.
HARPER walks in. He closes the door behind him. No cameras in here. HARPER > You’re an idiot. Cain keeps working. HARPER (CONT'D) > You had 18 years of peace. No enemies. No debt. You were invisible. Then you pick up a stray? CAIN > He’s a kid. HARPER > They’re all kids. And they all die or become Corrigan. Those are the options. CAIN > Maybe there’s a third. Harper laughs—no humor. HARPER > Not in here. You know what’s gonna happen. Corrigan’s gonna lean on you. You’re gonna lean back. And I’m gonna have to fill out a dozen forms. CAIN > Then don’t watch. HARPER > I don’t watch. I count. And I’m telling you—Cain versus Corrigan? You lose either way. You fight, you go to the SHU for a year. You don’t fight, the kid gets carved. Cain stops. Turns to Harper. CAIN > What do you care? Harper is quiet for a moment. He takes out his toothpick. HARPER > I don’t. I just hate paperwork. He leaves. Cain stares at the spinning washer. The water churns. The weight of the choice settles on his shoulders.
OFFICER HARPER (55) sits behind a scratched plexiglass window. He’s chewing a toothpick, bored. HARPER > Name. ANGEL >(whisper) > Angel Reyes. HARPER > You ain’t an angel anymore, kid. You’re 38179. That’s your name. You got a gang? ANGEL > No. I... I’m not... HARPER > Then you’re meat. Next. Harper slides a bag of linens and a thin blanket through a slot. HARPER (CONT'D) > Pod 3C. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t owe anyone. Don’t look at anyone’s cards. ANGEL > Cards? HARPER > You’ll learn. Move. A two-tiered cell block. Catwalks. The sound of a dozen conversations, a TV blaring a soap opera, and the constant CLANG of locks. prison life script
CORRIGAN stands there, smiling. He’s holding a folded towel and a bar of soap. CORRIGAN > Easy, little man. You just got here. Name’s Corrigan. I’m the welcome wagon. Angel just stares. CORRIGAN (CONT'D) > You need a friend. I got friends. You need protection? I got that too. But nothing’s free. You understand? ANGEL > I got nothing. CORRIGAN > You got a body. You got a commissary account your mama’s gonna fill. That’s something. Corrigan puts the soap in Angel’s shaking hand. CORRIGAN (CONT'D) > Think about it. But don’t think too long. Night’s coming. He walks away. Angel watches him go. Then he looks up.
FOUR TABLES OVER: Cain watches. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Angel is being walked back to his cell by two COs after a “shower” (we didn’t see it—but his lip is split and he’s walking stiff). Angel slides it over
Angel sees this. He stops breathing.
The top bunk creaks. Cain drops down. He lands silently—a big man who moves like smoke. All of it
Two younger inmates, FLACO and D-RAY, fold nearby. They eye Cain. FLACO > Heard Corrigan’s got new stock. Pharma grade. D-RAY > Cain don’t care. He’s retired. Flaco snickers. FLACO > Ain’t nobody retired. Just waiting. Cain doesn't look up. He places the folded sheet on a stack. His eyes meet Flaco’s for a split second. Flaco looks away first.