“You trust him?”

“As much as I trust any skanger, I suppose.”

Breen smiled.

“Plus he keeps telling me how well-in he is. Mr. Untouchable.”

Breen‘s smile faded into a dreamy look.

“‘Spring cleaning,’” he said. “‘The Rites of Spring.’ Plenty grotesque.”

He rearranged himself in his chair. His eyes slipped out of focus for several moments, and then snapped back to Fanning’s.

“Tell you what, Dermot Fanning: you’ve got the makings of a damn good documentary here. A damned good one.”

The anger detonated into Fanning’s chest. He tried to match Breen’s grin.

“We need the whole ball of wax,” he said. “Inside out. The full emotional whack: characters, levels, conflict. Family, feuds. Revenge. The voices, the faces. You won’t be able to take your eyes off them.”

“It sounds huge.”

“There’s a series in this, for sure. I’m telling you, I started out with the usual, you know: a knockout pilot, and eight episodes ready. But that won’t be enough, it just won’t. There’s so much.”

Breen smiled again.

“You are the real McCoy, Dermot. By Jesus. You’ve got the fire in you.”

“I hope that’s a good thing?”

“Of course it is, don’t be silly. Of course it is.”

“‘Stories tell the higher truth.’”

“I was waiting for that one,” said Breen.

Fanning didn’t want to notice that a tail of Breen’s shirt had become dislodged, and now hung over his belt.

“We’re talking The One,” he said. “Look, I know I’m just rabbiting on here. But have a look over the summary, the first chapter. I know you’re a busy man.”

“No sweat, Dermot. Never a problem. It’s the story, the writing, in the final analysis — always. And by God I know you have it in you.”

Fanning watched Breen’s hand resting on the folder, as though to guard it. He knew he should leave it at that, but he couldn’t resist.