Fanning saw that Murph’s chest was not heaving so much now.

“Like, we’re talking people with no morals or anything,” Murph went on. He leaned in.

“Mental issues, you know? Nutters. I mean a lot of these people got hard going when they were kids. Abuse and all that? So, like, now, well I mean to say — would you turn out normal after that? You know?”

These people, Fanning thought. If anything crystallized Murph, with his delusions, that had to be it right there.

“Am I getting through to you at all?”

“Oh sure. I forgot, I suppose. I get it.”

Murph’s straining and bloodshot eyes still bored into his.

“So did he?” he murmured. “Malone…?”

For a moment he thought Murph would actually hit him.

“No he didn’t,” said Murph between clenched teeth. “And he told me to stop annoying him with it. He doesn’t want anything to do with it.”

Fanning took a step back but Murph’s sour breath seemed to have stuck on him. He spoke in a low voice.

“I don’t know if I want to go in there with you. I mean, what’ll you come up with next?”

“It’s okay. I know, now.”

“But do you? Really, do you?”

“Let’s just go in. Look, I spoke out of turn. Bad timing. Okay?”

“But you’re the fella with the degrees and the books and everything. And what am I? Kicked out of the school. Haven’t read a book for years — but at least I know reality from fake, from, from fantasy.”

“I hear you. Can we go in now?”

“If you make a promise to keep your trap shut, maybe, just maybe.”

“I promise.”

He watched Murph search his face for any sign of irony.

“Remember me telling you, my turf, my rules?”

“I remember.”

“You better. You don’t ask anybody anything in here. Not even ‘what day is it.’ None of that, you know, what do you call…”