Jesse sits cross-legged in his lawn chair, enjoying the last drags of his cigarette. Though it's his only one, he's grateful to have found it in the crumpled pack at the bottom of his duffle. He definitely needs it after today's cook, which had been awkward and harsh. Jesse is still unsure as to what the cause was, whether it was him offering Badger's money early or something else in the cancer patient's life that had made today so horrible. Jesse had been smacked in the head no less than seven times for making "mistakes" within the first ten minutes before he learned to keep out of that asshole's reach. Everything had evened out into barbed comments after that, which Jesse preferred over bruises. Though, when Mr White hadn't been insulting him, he had been eerily quiet, like a storm gathering strength before another strike. It had all left Jesse exhausted, feeling edgy and utterly inept.
He flips the cover of his new lighter open and shut rhythmically, focusing on the soothing sound while his cigarette burns down to nothing between his lips. He takes his last draw – regretting briefly that it isn't a hit of something stronger – and stubs it out on the sole of his shoe, finally pocketing what's essentially a filter. He isn't much for recycling or being environmentally conscious, but he figures if they're going to be frequenting this spot, the last thing they need is to leave stuff behind like they did last time. It's easier to imagine these trips as the short camping excursions he went on as a child – few and as infrequent as they were. His father always insisted that they leave their site as they found it, and it only took one beating for Jesse to get that his dad was serious. He'd never left another wrapper or anything that wasn't biodegradable behind again.
He digs around his pockets and exchanges his lighter for his roll of Life Savers. It's not as good as gum, but it'll help get the acrid taste of smoke outta his mouth. He can hear Mr White stomping around the Crystal Ship but he doesn't pay him much mind; they have a good four more minutes until they can pour the batch to let it rest and Jesse won't be needed until then. He tears open the roll and without fail, his least favorite is first. He snaps it off from the rest and promptly flings it out into the desert. The ring that follows, he happily eats.
"What are you doing?" Mr White's question booms through the empty air.
Jesse jumps in his seat, still too tense to mask the motion for anything than what it is. He clears his throat and scrubs at his right ear through his beanie to rid it of the tickle from slanting back to his ex-teacher's voice. "Takin' a break here, boss," he tosses back casually.
The blond can feel the older man's frown.
"I can't tell if you're being a smartass or if you truly just quoted a movie you're far too young to know."
"Dad's a movie nerd," Jesse offers in place of a solid answer, crunching his way through another candy. Badger's a movie nerd, too, but Mr White doesn't need his whole life story.
Mr White finally steps out of the RV and takes a seat in the adjacent lawn chair, mopping sweat from his brow.
Jesse slips two more candies into his mouth and discreetly glances over to determine the man's mood. He's quiet but not eye-of-the-storm quiet. He seems tired, and Jesse imagines if Mr White raised his hand to him, Jesse could duck outta the bastard's way easily enough.
After deeming Mr White's mood as currently stable, the blond glances down to his roll of candy again. He clicks his current candy – cherry – against his teeth as he snaps the next one free, only to throw it into the desert in a wide arc.
"That," Mr White says. "Why are you doing that?"
Jesse blinks and glances over again. "The candy? I'm getting rid of the gross ones. The purple ones? They're supposedly raspberry but they taste like death."
Mr White shakes his head and looks out into the desert, approximately where Jesse's been throwing his rejects.
"Why, afraid we're gonna get ants?" Jesse grins when his comment pulls a small chuckle from Mr White.
"I'm surprised you've lived this long, smartass," he mutters, removing his glasses for a moment to wipe his face down again. "Can you even taste them?" His face appears bored but his voice betrays his interest.
"Yeah…" Jesse stretches the answer out a bit in his confusion. "You mean, am I taking the time to taste them? Sometimes I like to crunch them." Jesse admits with a shrug.
"No, the sugar. Can you taste it?"
"I like sweet things," the blond replies, pawing at his nose for a moment to stop it from wrinkling in confusion.
Mr White hums lowly in thought and the sound mimics purring just enough that Jesse's attention is now riveted on the man. "Cats lack a fully functional Tas1r2 gene, which is involved in the network of receptors to taste sweets."
Jesse blinks. Huh. He isn't going to even ask how the other man knows that – he'd only get a sharp retort and he doesn't want to tempt the man's ire. He glances down at the candy again – orange is next and he happily bites it off the roll with his teeth. "Well, I'm still human, yo."
"I suppose I assumed with the recessive feline genes so prominent in your genetic code, other traits would follow."
This is the first time they've talked about Jesse's differences outright and it makes him fidget uncomfortably, lawn chair squeaking. It's much better when they pretend there's nothing noteworthy about him, when Mr White only addresses it in vague insults.
Mr White looks to his watch. He sighs and struggles to stand, enough that he could be mistaken for a seventy year old.
Jesse glances away to give him some semblance of privacy, thoughts drifting to Aunt Ginny. Cancer treatments had made her weak, too. It had made her skin thin, and she'd been ill a lot, often sick even with the bland foods Jesse consistently failed to perfect for her. She slept so often and deeply that Jesse had spent quite a few of his days checking on her apprehensively just to ensure she was still breathing. Tip-toeing to her bedside with trembling hands and ears pinned back in dread, always fearing the worst but despite that, still completely unprepared for the day it actually happened. He still remembers pleading with her to wake up, promising to try harder for her. He'd been coming down from another high and could almost convince himself he was hallucinating it all, that she was simply sleeping and his mind was exaggerating everything. He'd tried shaking her awake; his hand had seemed enormous on her delicate shoulder as he'd begged her to please wake up.
Jesse yelps and springs out of his seat when Mr White shakes him by his shoulder. He stumbles back a step; eyes flicking up to Mr White's to find his surprise reflected there.
"Jesse, I…" Mr White watches him for a long moment before he frowns and looks away.
The blond stares with hyper-aware senses in his rush of fear as the muscles work in Mr White's jaw while he grinds his teeth.
"It's time to finish the batch," the man finally says, retreating to the Crystal Ship before Jesse can respond.
Jesse takes a moment to collect himself, scrubbing a hand down his face and forcing himself to unclench his fist from around the roll of candy he's stubbornly held on to in his fright. He checks out of habit to find which is next in line: pineapple, his favorite. He pockets the roll but not before popping that one in his mouth, briskly following after Mr White to avoid any reproach for delay.
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With only three sellers, their turn for profit is understandably low, but Jesse can't help thinking Mr White's suggestion to add more people to the business is a really, really bad idea.
The bastard doesn't seem to get that these things take time. You can't go muscling into someone else's territory unless you were in the market for a Colombian necktie, and they'd only gotten lucky in their past encounters with higher-ups. Jesse couldn't imagine running an operation without absolute trust among his sellers, which equated knowing them, so introducing strangers into the equation made for too many variables.
Jesse doesn't envision himself ruling his sellers with an iron fist, can't be Tuco, because that would require rewriting everything about himself. He would never want his friends to look up to him in fear, and that doesn't make him submissive or weak, dammit, it makes him human.
They all had a good thing; it was just going to take time. For some reason, Mr White was insistent; more so than usual. It had to involve something at home, which would also explain the mood he'd been in during their cook this morning.
The blond rubs tenderly at a sore spot he can feel at the base of his skull – the swats he'd gotten with Mr White's left hand had stung all the more for the man's wedding ring.
Bottom line: there's a time to be aggressive and there's a time to let things ride.
If Mr White wants faster turn-around then Jesse will just have to help carry some weight. The name Heisenberg is gaining power and a few junkies know Jesse is moving up, but he doesn't feel that anybody's made the connection yet. Besides, Jesse is known as a seller regardless, so his regulars are used to seeing him. He just has to stay under the radar and avoid the DEA at all costs.
Slinking around a corner, Jesse slips into a crowd of known buyers standing just out of range of the liquor store's front-facing cameras. He passes a couple bags over in exchange for bundles of cash in quick, practiced movements disguised as greetings – fist-bumps that slide into loaded hand-offs and side-hugs than result in product being slipped into skinny girls' jeans and cash into his hoodie pockets.
He quickly makes his exit to avoid getting caught up in their plans for the night – he figures he can make a few more rounds before the night is through. Ducking into a dim alley besides the liquor store, Jesse flips through the cash, sharp eyes catching the flash of every note. He's been paid in full and the relief of not having to chase anyone down is an awesome feeling.
He slips back into the open and nearly runs into a wall of muscle, a guy that calls himself 'el Caballero.' The guy currently has a couple B&E charges against him as well as a handful of sexual assault charges, all of which he brags about and then denies in equal measure. Jesse's seen the way the guy's 'friends' flinch at his exaggerated gestures and how they avoid being alone with him. The enormous man turns to Jesse and smiles predatorily. He reaches for Jesse but Jesse's smaller and more agile, slipping just out of reach and behind the 'roid freak into the open. Even without all the stories, there's something about this guy that makes the hair on Jesse's neck stand up.
"¿Qué pasa, gatito?" the man rumbles from above him, taking another step into Jesse's space.
"Cierra la boca, pendejo," Jesse growls, flashing his teeth briefly.
"Hey, vato, I only mean love," el Caballero says genially, grinning broadly. "You got anything for me, gatito?" His smile drops into something lewd and he makes another grab for Jesse, a slow, controlled movement meant to coax him into being docile.
Jesse dances out of his reach again, shaking himself despite not having been touched. "Nothin' for you, caballo." Jesse grins when his insult lands, when Caballero realizes he messed up intentionally. Jesse watches the man's face twist into rage and he springs into motion, gliding between the parked cars in the lot and sprinting across the street, just missing an SUV that speeds past him, horn blaring. He can hear the man thundering behind him, cursing him and his mother. Adrenalin rushing through his veins, Jesse can't stop the slightly nervous laugh that bubbles out of his chest. He vaults over the stone partition on the other side of the street, disappearing into a backyard littered with some kid's toys. He jumps over a tricycle, a soccer ball and a Frisbee before he flips over the chain link fence into the next yard, hand touching the bar precisely between the woven triangles on top and hood falling down over his head with gravity's pull. He checks his pockets quickly for any loss of cash or glass before he slips into the bushes lining the house and quiets his breathing. He watches as el Caballero finally reaches the stone partition, hauling himself up just enough to look over into the yards.
"¡Te veo!" he calls into the wrong yard. "¡Corre, gatito!"
Jesse doesn't fall for the bluff, peering through the leaves of his hiding spot, patient and motionless as the other man scans the yards, breathing harshly into the night air.
The blond's view is restricted by his hood; all he can see in his narrow view is the hulking man watching for any movement in the dark, but Jesse knows their eyesight doesn't even compare and he's not worried. He just has to stay still and silent.
El Caballero gives up at last, letting loose a nonverbal yell of frustration before shoving off the wall and returning to the liquor store.
Jesse waits another moment, ears tracking any unusual noise in the night for signs of a trick. He eventually slips a hand under his hood and beanie to groom his mussed hair and fur, and wriggles out of his hiding spot. He hops onto the edge of the chain link fence he jumped earlier and walks that edge on tip-toe into the front yard, careful to move consciously to prevent the metal from shaking nosily.
When he reaches the opposite end, he drops down to the pavement and hustles up the block. No one's come out to check on the noise – odds are these homeowners are used to commotion living next to a liquor store, but Jesse doesn't want to risk it. He laughs quietly at his daring escape and for a second reflects on Mr White's comment; it is surprising he's lived this long.
Jesse turns and follows the sidewalk further into residential, just to zig-zag a bit before he moves onto his next stop for the night.
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Jesse's been busting ass all night. He's eighteen large, nine ounces and five hours in. This was definitely easier back when he had a car. He's just wrapped up his last deal when the junkie suddenly runs back toward him.
"Run! Cops! Cops!" she screams, pushing past him into the alley.
Jesse swears between his teeth, and darts into the alley with her, but skids to a halt after the second time she glances back; she's looking at him not toward the mouth of the alley. Jesse's hackles immediately rise. Growling, he breaks away from her and lunges to snag the drop ladder of a nearby fire escape. He tugs the metal down roughly and scrambles up the rungs. Rather than deal with all the steps that follow, he makes a split decision to grab the vertical bars caging the outside of the landing above him and pulls himself up while jumping. He successfully launches himself high enough to grab the next landing's side frame mid-leap and he repeats the maneuver a couple times, eventually winding up on the roof. He doesn't waste time to look for cops, despite his curiosity. He dashes across the roof and only panics a beat when he reaches the edge, thoughts of all that could go wrong spiraling through his head, but he's already made the decision to jump and he allows his muscles to take over, blanking his mind at the feel of air rushing past his face before he tumbles onto the next rooftop, limbs tucked tight as he rolls.
He scrambles to his feet and gauges the distance between this roof and the next, finding it too much a risk. He swears again and sidles up to the edge to finally glance down; there aren't any cops that he can see but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He finds the fire escape easily enough, metal glinting in the moonlight, and slides down it in a reverse move of his earlier ascent. It's loud but less than tripping down all the steps would have been. When his feet hit pavement again, he checks warily around the corner of the alley. It's clear. Nothing strikes him as odd and though his heart is in his throat, he makes the call to duck back into the sparse crowd out tonight.
"Lying bitch," he mutters when he finds that there's absolutely no cops anywhere. He sighs in relief – probably saved himself a knifing by getting away from her, though. She seemed sketchy as all fuck.
Just as he finishes that thought, a uniformed officer steps out of the Blake's across the street. Jesse stops so suddenly that the couple behind him slam into him.
"Shit, uhm, I mean sorry," he side-steps them and retreats the way he came, glancing over his shoulder past the disgruntled couple to watch the cop's progression. The cop makes his way down the street to another cop exiting an unmarked car. By the time they meet up, a second car pulls up alongside them, this one marked.
"Hey, apologize, asshole!"
"Sorry," Jesse offers easily, dipping his head toward the couple slightly. He already apologized but he doesn't want to argue that fact, doesn't want to draw attention to himself, doesn't want those cops to take an interest.
A white Cadillac pulls into the parking space Jesse was just about to cut through. The blond nervously glances in to find a slightly older man at the wheel drinking from a fast food cup, oblivious to Jesse as he shifts the car into park. His appearance doesn't scream cop – he looks soft; he has laugh lines and he's wearing a suit that a cop wouldn't wear even while undercover.
The cops start conversing boisterously behind him and Jesse's heart rate kicks up again. The sudden urge to be invisible is overwhelming. He tries the sedan's door and finds it unlocked, quickly ducking in and landing in the seat in one fluid move.
"Whoa, hey, hey!" the man exclaims, dropping his drink in his surprise.
Jesse snatches the cup out of the air before it can make a mess of anything. "Be cool."
"I don't want any trouble," he chuckles nervously, lifting his hands timidly.
"Knock it off," Jesse thrusts the cup back at the man so he's forced to lower his hands to grasp it. "It's okay, you're okay. Just be cool, alright?"
The man smiles disarmingly, eyes a ridiculously warm shade of blue, and agrees, "Yeah, sure, whatever you want. I'm cool. We're cool."
The man's attention wavers between Jesse and the world outside the car, and he looks ready to bolt.
The blond panics. The pissed off couple would be nothing compared to a guy claiming a carjacking. The cops would have him cuffed in seconds. And once the DEA got a hold of him…
Jesse fishes out a bundle of cash and frees three bills. "Here, three hundred. A hundred for each minute. Please, please just be cool."
The man eyes him silently, but at least he's not reaching for the door handle. "You're not with Bustamante, are you?"
"Who?"
He plucks the money from Jesse's hand and settles again in his seat. "So are you in some trouble, or what?"
Jesse sighs in relief, slouching in his own seat. "Yeah, something like that." He stares into the side mirror, gradually relaxing when the cops slowly begin to disperse. They aren't chasing after him, nor has he drawn any attention to himself. Even the angry couple has disappeared down the street.
"Well…" the other man breaks the silence, startling Jesse. "I might be able to help with that. I'm Saul. Goodman. What's your name?"