ON CATCHING A CHICKEN:
One must first acknowledge that the most important step in capturing a hen is knowing the proper way to hold them. Never hold a chicken by its neck, wings, or legs, as this may injure it. The bird needs to feel secure in your grasp, otherwise she will panic and attempt to flee.
ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
JULY 14, 2009
The sun glimmers off the letters printed on a frosted glass window.
Casa Tranquila.
Sparrows flutter in a nearby young tree, talking to one another playfully. Below, a girl waits, slumped stiffly in the passenger seat of his Volvo. She bites her thumb nail, riddled with anxiety.
Though she has been sitting for so many minutes anticipating it, the sound still rattles her thoroughly. It's what she imagines it must be like to have your house struck by lightning. A thick, earsplitting crack followed by a whole lot of nothing. No echo, no rumbling.
The birds have flown away. She can't even hear herself breathing because she isn't. The glare off of the glass front doors of the nursing home blind her momentarily before she sees him.
Gustavo strides out of the building, composed as ever. His coattails catch the gentle wind as he slips his free hand into his pocket nonchalantly. The girl lets go of the breath she was holding and watches the lock on the car door release. She steps out at once with a colorful vintage suitcase in each hand. Gus, rolling his own luggage, pops open the back door of the car, picks up a large duffel bag, and turns around to unzip the wheeled suitcase.
"So this is it, yeah?" the girl asks quietly. Gus looks up, his eyes meeting hers in response. She nods and gazes across the parking lot sadly as he shuts the car door.
The walk to the freeway is quiet, but not tense. He offers to carry one of her bags, she kindly refuses. Minutes pass in the heat and she then asks him anyways, to which he kindly obliges. They stand among the blades of yucca shrubs, relishing in the breeze brought by passing cars.
A red minivan pulls over at the curb. Toyota, early '90s. Tinted windows. Inconspicuous, the girl thinks. The door glides open and Gus touches the small of her back, urging her inside.
FIVE MONTHS AGO
Gus sits poised in his office, his fingers laced in front of him properly. Walter taps his foot as he speaks, telling Gus everything he already knows.
"Therefore, what conclusion am I left to draw?" Walt asks matter-of-factly. "That you believe I have some...proprietary kind of selfishness about my own formula. Some sort of overweening pride, I suppose..."
Gustavo wordlessly agrees.
"...That you think simply overwhelms me—clouds my judgement."
"But it doesn't," Gus pans the question as if it were a statement.
"Absolutely not. I simply respect the chemistry," he assures the both of them. "The chemistry must be respected."
Gus inhales and raises his eyebrows, preparing himself to throw Walter a bone.
"I apologize for being so transparent."
Walt acknowledges this; he's been waiting for it. A strained silence is thick in the air.
Gus has already made up his mind. "Would you take a drive with me? I'd like to show you something."
"There are molds and bacteria that can live in volcanoes, you know."
Mariana sets her supplies down on the porch as she speaks, reaching into her apron pocket for the house key. "In a thousand years after man is long gone those little creatures will still be thriving."
The young woman behind her nods shyly, her arm straining from the weight of her vacuum cleaner as she follows closely. The two ladies clamber into the house and drop their things at the entryway as the tall front door swings shut behind them.
"You been to this house yet, mija?" Mariana asks, digging through her sack of clean rags.
"No, not yet," Bonnie replies quietly, looking around at the dark wooden furniture in relief. "Looks like an easy one, yeah?"
"Sí, pero..."
She trails, following the younger woman's gaze. "It's thirty-five hundred square feet, weekly. And you'll be working it alone."
This catches Bonnie's attention. She turns her head, long hair messily tucked into a twist at the back of it.
"Alone? How does that make sense?"
"Owner's request," Mariana answers. "He's very cautious who comes in, told me he had people stealing before, entiendes...?" She catches onto the subtle worry in the girl's eyes and steps closer, squeezing her shoulder amicably.
"Don't worry, mija," she nods, "I know this man, he's good—you'll like him. Handsome, too," she jokes, causing Bonnie to smile sheepishly and roll her eyes.
"Okay, vamos!" Mariana says suddenly, waddling into the living area on her bad knee. "You can start here, I work on the kitchen."
The girl nods, shaking a dusting rag out of her apron pocket. As she runs it carefully over a bookshelf, her eyes naturally fall onto a framed picture of two men frozen in a handshake as they stare into the camera lens.
Assuming that Mariana was being truthful about the homeowner's looks, she instantly knows which one of the two he must be.
The blue Volvo pulls neatly into the front of the laundry, both men stepping out into the red New Mexico sun. Walt gazes at the building apprehensively. Sensing his nerves, Gus beckons him inside.
"Please," he urges, gesturing forward. The pair weave between the workers silently before finding their way to the industrial washing machines. Gus holds down the button to roll the washer forward, leading Walt behind it.
Red light blankets the two men as they descend a flight of stairs leading to a steel door. Walt's eyes dance around anxiously until the light is flicked on. He scans the room in bewilderment.
"What is this?"
Gus lives to impress.
"Your new lab."