"I'm going to turn myself in, Mr. White. Today. I thought you deserved a warning."
"Gale..." Walt tried. Even as he tried to persuade the distressed man, his hands didn't stop moving, as he continued the delicate chemical process. "You're being rash. Doing this, you will destroy your life. And also my life, everyone's life – and for what?"
"We're killing people, Mr. White," Gale explained, seemingly not comprehending his response. "Did you know how many people die from overusing our product? And – I'm pretty sure that this is not just a business, but — some kind of mafia? With gangs, and, and violence, and people being shot in the streets..."
"There will always be more criminals," Walt pointed out. "That's what my brother-in-law says, and he's in the DEA. If we stop, there's a power gap, and before you know it, it will be filled by some other organisation. And I promise you, they will be worse. In fact, did you know that Gus orders the gangs in any territory he takes over not to use children as dealers?"
Gale looked hesitant, but shook his head. "I don't think we're better at all, Mr. White. Our product is too good. They say it's more addictive than cocaine! And the dealers – apparently some of them are mixing it in with marihuana, getting people addicted without ever knowing what they're doing. We're trapping ignorant people!" He shook his head. "This needs to stop. I – I promise I won't tell them about you, but I will go to the police. I'll wait a few hours, so you can wipe off your fingerprints. I'm sorry, but my mind is – what are you doing?"
Walter, who had been holding his breath for most of the last minute, put a gas mask on his face, and continued moving around the lab as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
"Should I... be wearing a mask?" Gale asked uncertainly. Walt nodded, and gestured behind him, where the masks most definitely were not (he had surreptitiously dropped them at the bottom of a barrel ten minutes ago). But the ploy worked: Gale started to look for a mask, stepping away from the stairs and wasting the last seconds he might have used to get out before the nerve agent that was rapidly spreading throughout the lab took effect.
Gus visited Walt in his apartment later. Walt wasn't sure what to expect from the man, but at this point he was several bottles of wine from sobriety, so he couldn't bring himself to care.
Gus didn't waste any words, just opened with one question: "What happened?"
"He was going to go to the police," Walt explained, staring blankly into space. "Last week, he lost a ring, and he thought it might have ended up in the product when we packed it. It seems unlikely, doesn't it? We're always very careful with contaminants. But he wanted to be sure, so apparently he went to your distribution center to ask if anyone had seen it. It sounds like he witnessed a shootout there?" Gale had been very panicked about that, so he hadn't given a very clear explanation, but to Walt it didn't sound like it had been too intense. Gale hadn't even known whether anyone died.
"Ah," Gus just said. He clearly did know what that was about, but didn't elaborate.
"Apparently," Walt continued. "That made him worried about the business we're working in. He looked up our product on Wikipedia, of all things, and found some things he really didn't like. I tried to persuade him to hold off, but..." He trailed off. He really had tried, even as he'd started to go through the motions of preparing the toxic gas. He had hoped to make Gale see reason, or, if he was honest with himself, at least hold him off for long enough that Gus could deal with the issue. But in the end, he'd failed, and had completed the process without a hitch.
His glass was empty. He looked for the wine bottle, but it had seemingly disappeared. Bloody Gus.
"You did the right thing," Gus assured him.
"He died in my arms," Walt said. His own voice sounded very dead to him, even though he knew there was no point in feeling bad. It was hard to shake the memory of Gale's betrayed look once he had collapsed, as he finally realised what was happening.
"You had no choice," Gus said gently. "His actions would have destroyed so many lives – yours, mine, Mike, Victor, Tyrus, the owner of the laundry... And by extension all our families too. The situation is regrettable, but his own choices brought him to this point."
Don't you think I know that? Walt didn't ask.
A cup of coffee was placed in front of him, and Walt drank it. For a while, they just sat together in silence. He kind of appreciated the support, even though he knew that it was almost certainly entirely self-serving.
"What was that 'shootout' thing he witnessed?" He eventually asked.
Gus raised an eyebrow. "It was hardly a shootout. Just a bid for attention from the cartel."
"The same cartel that went after Hank?" He could use some distraction.
"Yes," Gus confirmed. "I had dealings with them in the past, and as you surmised, I have recently made a bid for independence. They did not take it well."
Walt nodded, understanding. "Anything I should be worried about?"
Gus looked hesitant. "Not yet... but there are some matters I wish to discuss with you." He stood up. "When you're sober. Visit me for dinner tomorrow. For now, I believe that you should sleep."
"I want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday," Walter told Gus as he helped him to cut the vegetables for their dinner. "I should not have drunk so much."
"Indeed not," Gus agreed. He would not reassure Walter that it was acceptable, because it was not. "But I understand. I know that most people experience some difficulty the first time they kill someone."
"It wasn't the first," Walter said. That surprised Gus, but Walter didn't elaborate, and he decided not to ask.
After a pleasant dinner, Gus raised the topic they needed to discuss.
"You wished to know about my dealings with the Juarez cartel."
"I do, yes," Walter agreed. "As they have gone after my family in the past, you can surely see why I am concerned."
Gus nodded. "The Salamancas take family ties very seriously. They targeted you for your betrayal of Tuco Salamanca, and your brother-in-law for his death."
"Betrayal?" Walter scoffed. "He kidnapped me. All I did was get away."
"The specifics hardly matter to them," Gus shrugged. "But the point is moot. The Salamancas have all but died out, leaving only an invalid and a boy barely out of his teens. The rest of the cartel is less concerned with revenge, and far more with control. Which brings us to our current issues."
Walter nodded, so Gus continued. "I used to be the primary distributor for this cartel on American soil. For obvious reasons, they want me back. So, they attack my trucks, my suppliers and distribution centers – small attacks, as they do not wish to endanger my cover. They expect me to see reason and concede to their demands."
"What demands?" Walter enquired.
"A lot of money, of course. Control over half my operation. And they want me to bring them a cook capable of making your product." He smirked inwardly at Walter's consternation. "I have no intention of giving them what they want."
"I should hope not," Walter muttered. "But what if they continue to push you? Can you hold out forever?"
"I will destroy them long before it becomes an issue."
Walter nodded, as though he was thinking in the same direction. "How?"
"I was hoping for your assistance," Gus admitted. "My original plan was to negotiate, appear to give in, and use the resulting discussions to get close to Don Eladio, the leader of the cartel. However, I had not expected the demand for a cook. Eladio has heavily resisted the idea of a move to methamphetamine in the past. Nor are they willing to negotiate at all."
"You want to give me to them," Walter concluded. "Get me into position, and have me kill them all."
"No," Gus said sharply. "Don Eladio is mine." He approved of Walter's response, though. Clearly, he was willing to go along. "But you can have the others if you want."
"Walter gave him a long look. "What's your plan?"
He shook his head. "I only have a rough outline. It is customary to bring an expensive gift when visiting Don Eladio, so my idea was to bring a high-class bottle of tequilla. He likes to show generosity, so he will share it with his top men. I can put in a fast-acting poison."
"That's a little transparent, isn't it? Won't they see that coming?"
"Not if I drink it, too."
Walter just gave him a look.
"I could take an antitoxin beforehand, and have doctors on hand to treat me afterwards," Gus clarified. "But yes, it is very risky, and not only because of the poison." He eyed Walter. He would not have considered this move before yesterday, but knowing that the man was ruthless enough to do what was necessary without being told, even if he did feel bad afterwards, had made him curious to see what he could do. "I was hoping that, with your chemistry expertise and my knowledge of the enemy, we could work together to develop a better plan."
Walter smiled.
It was a highly productive evening. Walter was not a man who normally planned far ahead, Gus thought, but he was an excellent problem solver when presented with a challenging issue.
Once the details of the plan were hammered out, they sat together in a companionable silence for a while, enjoying some of Gus' fine green tea (Walter still had to drive). It was... pleasant. He had enjoyed such evenings with others; Peter and Lydia for a start. A few weeks ago, he would never have expected to reach the same kind of rapport with Walter; but, he reflected, people could surprise you sometimes.
"One more thing," Walter said eventually. "The cartel... they want your cook, right? Couldn't they just try to kidnap me?"
"They do not know you are my cook," Gus pointed out.
"It's not that big a reach, though, is it?" Walter asked. "If they know what I was selling to Tuco, it's easy to notice you're selling the same thing now."
"They probably suspect that Heisenberg is my cook, yes," Gus conceded. Not just because of Tuco – Walter's pseudonym had become well-known on the streets in the weeks before he had come into contact with Gus. "But the Salamancas like to play things close to their vest, and they had no reason to discuss you with the rest of the cartel. For what I can tell, the others do not know of your identity." But even as he said it, he started to doubt himself. Hector knew. If Gaff got the idea of inquiring with the one member of the cartel who had been in the neighbourhood all along... that could be disastrous. Especially now that Gale was dead, and he really could not afford to lose Walter.
"For what you can tell," Walter repeated. "I'm sorry, but I don't find that entirely reassuring."
"Making a move inside Albuquerque would be very risky for them," Gus said, weighing possibilities. "But yes, I will assign some men to guard you – discretely, of course."
"And my family?"
"The cartel does not want to draw attention, so they are highly unlikely to make a move against your family," Gus pointed out. "Especially given your relationship with a DEA agent. But, if you wish it, I will ask my men to keep an eye on your wife and son, too."
"Please do. And let's put this plan into action soon."
"What kind of piss-poor pretend-chemist allows his lab to get into this state? You in your white lab coat and notepad full of inane ramblings – did you buy your degree? I know high-school students who would do better than this!"
Gus watched in satisfaction as Walter went off on the cartel chemist. He wasn't making any friends, of course, but "Heisenberg" was sure leaving an impression. The cartel would respect him for his show of arrogance, provided he could back it up. And by extension, they would respect Gus more for his ability to recruit strong people. It was a good start to the visit.
No one was paying attention to him, so he carefully pressed down on the third button of his jacket. Built in there was a tiny GPS device that could transmit on a mobile network. The battery was very small so it wouldn't last for long, but he only needed to enable it for a short time. The location of this lab would not be a secret after today.
"No, you absolutely may not film me committing a felony. Are you out of your mind?"
"Everyone here can be trusted," the cartel chemist insisted. "And we need to document the steps."
"Why? Isn't the whole point of me staying here that I'll be teaching you?"
The younger man, Gaff, stepped up to him. "The leaders do want a documentation of the process. Would it be acceptable if you wear a mask?"
After a long pause, Walt nodded. "Fine, if you insist. But let's make one thing clear. No one is to use my recipe without my approval. I will teach others, and I will sign off once they learn to do it properly, but I will not have any sub-quality knock-off product on the market. I have a reputation to protect."
On the side lines, Gus gave him a warning look, which Walt entirely ignored. Gaff gave him a long, measuring look, but then agreed, and went to fetch him a mask. Walt suspected that they had little intention of actually following his demands if they found them to be inconvenient, but that would be their own problem.
He accepted the mask, and started the process. The altered process. It would still give as pure a product as normal, of course, but it contained a few slightly different steps. If someone tried to reproduce it and made even a small mistake in one of those places, they were likely to blow themselves up, or cause toxic gas to erupt. Walt knew that he should probably feel bad about that, but he honestly couldn't find it in himself to care. They were pretty bad people, and he had warned them, after all.
Gus stood over the thrashing, broken body of Don Eladio, watching in satisfaction.
Everything had gone smoothly. They had settled on a plan close to Gus' original idea, but with one critical change: Walter had hand-designed some chemical poison that was very slow to act. It was also relatively easy to remove from the system before it "activated", about 20 hours after drinking. And so, they had both attended Don Eladio's party where all the cartel leadership was collected; Gus had gifted his bottle of zafiro añejo, and as predicted Eladio had offered to share it with everyone; Walter had refused, citing medication that could not be combined with alcohol, but Gus had drunk it without hesitation; soon afterwards, he had visited the bathroom to bring it back up; and once the party ended, hours later, he visited his doctors to purge the remainder. If any traces of the poison still lingered in his system, they would not be enough to do permanent harm.
Walter, meanwhile, had stayed with the cartel as agreed. As the cartel's new head cook, he was in no danger; and when the bouts of illness started, Walter had pretended to be sick as well, to ward off any suspicion. Since he had his own GPS button he was easy to find, so Mike and his hired men had extracted him without any trouble.
A few of the poisoned men had taken the risk of going to the hospital, but Eladio had not; Gus' men had intercepted a group of private doctors on their way to his mansion. Gus knew that it was foolish; a completely unnecessary risk. Yet, he had not been able to resist the opportunity to look into Eladio's eyes as he died. So now, here he stood.
Don Eladio might be in pain, might be dying, but he was lucid. And he recognised Gus, and understood what had happened. He was completely helpless as Gus reached forward and yanked the necklace right off his neck.
It was every bit as satisfying as Gus had imagined.
The poison would soon cause unconsciousness, Gus knew, but that was too easy. So he had his men tie Eladio to the bed, and then he set him on fire. When it was over, the room was burning, and the fire was spreading rapidly. Gus moved calmly towards the exit, stepping over the bodies of the various enforcers his men had killed on the way – including Joaquin Salamanca – and left with the house ablaze behind him.
Mike trudged through the desert alongside Gus and Walter. The mission had been a resounding success, and now it was time to go back home. Unfortunately, this meant a 6 mile trek through harsh terrain if they wanted to minimise the chance of running across any border control agents. But so far they were all managing; even Walter, who was the weakest of the three of them.
It was the end of an era, he reflected. For all these years, Gus' goals – and therefore his own – had centered around waging their covert war against the cartel. That was what he had joined Gus' organisation to do. His reasons from all those years ago hardly mattered anymore, though. He didn't feel old enough to retire, and he was quite curious to see where they would go next.
He suspected Walter would play a large role in it. The man had rapidly risen in status and he was obviously a major asset – as evidenced by the recent mission's success. However, he was also unquestionably a wildcard. From his lifespan to his temperament, Walter was unpredictable, and his family situation – particularly his close connection to a DEA agent – had the potential to turn things very complicated.
"How did you explain your absence to your family this weekend?" He asked Walter.
"I had a fight with Skyler," Walter answered. "So I'm staying away for a bit."
"Just an excuse?" He asked. "Or a real fight?" The wife was also an interesting factor. He wasn't sure how much she knew, exactly.
Walter just stared ahead angrily. There was definitely something there.
"What happened?" Gus enquired after a pause.
"Ted Beneke," Walter spat. Oh dear. "Her former employer. He committed tax fraud. And as one of his accountants, her signature is on several of his documents. So now if he doesn't pay his fines, we are getting audited."
Mike became very alert. Walter might be saving most of the cash, but he had spent at least some of it on his treatment, so that would be a major deal. "And he's not paying?"
"He's broke, supposedly. So Skyler went and gave him my money. Without even asking me, she went ahead and got Saul to use six hundred thousand of my money to fake some kind of inheritance."
Because she knew you would not approve, Mike did not say. Walter might not appreciate it, but he had really lucked out in having a wife who would not only refrain from calling the police on him, but even protect his interests. And he knew how much Walter made; the man really shouldn't be whining about two weeks' wages in exchange for his safety.
Gus seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "It sounds like she had your best interests at heart. An IRS audit would indeed be disastrous for you. Is the matter resolved now?"
"No," Walter spat. "Because the greedy bastard tried to blackmail her into giving him more. He's adamantly refusing to pay unless he gets enough to start his business back up."
Ah. Mike made a mental note to get the story out of Saul, because this sounded like there was a bit more to it. For starters, Beneke knowing that there was blackmail material could be an issue.
Walter sighed, disgruntled. "Fortunately, she didn't do that – that's when she told me about the whole thing. We have his signature since he did write a check to Skyler, so I figure we can just ask Saul to have someone forge it on a check to the IRS."
Gus glanced at him sideways. "And what are you really planning?"
Walter stumbled for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"Come now, Walter," Gus spoke calmly. "I know you. You would never agree to spend that money to help the man who slept with your wife."
If looks could kill, Mike would probably not have survived Walter's glare, but as it was he just looked back unapologetically. Had Walter really thought that Mike wouldn't tell his boss about something relevant like that?
Yet, Walter did not answer Gus' question. Mike had a bad feeling about this. Walter had recently killed his coworker – with good reason – and then been pushed into helping Gus kill a large number of strangers. He had seemed to take it remarkably well, but that sort of thing took its toll on one's psyche. And Walter hadn't been all that mentally there to begin with. Mike exchanged a glance with Gus, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion as to Walter's plans.
"We don't kill people not in the game, Walter," Mike warned.
"He's a criminal, isn't he?" Walter pointed out. "Or does tax fraud not count somehow?"
"The police view it differently," Gus explained. "Drug-related murders are all on the same pile, but this – they will not ignore it. And given your history with this man, you would be the prime suspect."
"Not if it looks like natural causes," Walter bounced back.
"Debatable," Gus stated coolly. "And what about your wife? I have known you for a few months, and I can tell that you would never accept this plan. She has known you for decades. If Beneke turns up dead, are you certain she will not suspect you? And if she does suspect, how will she act?"
Walter looked thoughtful, though still mutinous. Gus raised an eyebrow at Mike, who understood what was asked of him.
"How about this?" He proposed. "Beneke goes to prison for a few years. There's plenty we can frame him for, and I'll have that set up in a jiffy. He would have gone for the fraud anyway, so I bet your wife will agree that it's fair. He'll also be far too busy defending himself to question if his debts suddenly go away."
Walter was silent for long moments, then grudgingly nodded. "I suppose."
"He will lose his freedom, reputation, wealth... likely his friends and family, too," Gus noted. "Death might be more merciful than living with the consequences of his actions." He shrugged. "But if you disagree, people often die in prison. That would not be traced to you."
Mike sighed inwardly. He wasn't sure if Gus was more of a bad influence on Walter, or Walter on Gus.
"All of them, Hector. Don Eladio. Don Paco. Cesar. Renaldo. Artuno. Cisco and Luis. Escalada. All dead."
Gus was sitting opposite Hector, dangling Eladio's necklace in front of him. He had been looking forward to this.
"As is your grandson, Joaquin. My men killed him like a dog in his master's home."
Where was Walter? He had brought the man here to torment Hector further; show him the one he held responsible for Tuco's death, and let him stew on the two of them working together now. It would be wonderful to remind Hector that the man who had come to them first – who would have been a Salamanca asset if only they'd played their cards right – had instead been the key to the cartel's demise in his hands. Walter had told him and Mike about his activities during their walk back to the United States (Mike had been subtly interrogating him), and this had stood out to Gus. But while he had brought Walter here, the man had somehow disappeared before coming near Hector.
Well, no matter. He would deal with Walter later; he would not let this spoil the moment.
"It was just you and Joaquin," he reminded Hector. "He was the only family you had left. Now, the Salamanca name dies with you. Will you look at me now? Look at me, Hector." Hector stubbornly refused to face him, which didn't annoy Gus at all, but rather gave him a wonderfully warm feeling of pleasure. "Look at me."
He sat with Hector for a bit longer, and then left to return to his business.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Walter almost yelled.
"Excuse me?" Gus stared at him. He was not accustomed to being spoken to like this.
"Why the hell are you telling this guy all that? In case it escaped your notice, he is completely conscious!"
"I am aware," Gus replied coldly.
"So why are you giving him information?" Walter demanded. "Hell, why is he still alive? He knows my real name! I'm pretty sure he's the one who sent those cousins after me!"
You're only figuring that out now? Gus thought, but didn't say.
"And all this time, he's just been here? Where anyone could visit him? And where he might be able to reach out to people, if he has some way of communicating with the employees?"
"He is harmless," Gus told him. "There is no one left who even knows about him." In the last few weeks, Walter might have had a point, but he had made sure to place a guard here. If anyone had visited Hector, they would not have left the place alive. But no one had. Even when the rest of the cartel was still an issue, they had forgotten all about Hector.
"And what of the DEA?" Walter bit. "You just told him his allies are dead! He's got nothing to lose by turning you in!"
"He won't," Gus explained, forcing himself to keep his patience. It was not an unreasonable concern, for someone who didn't know Hector as he did. "Hector Salamanca would never talk to law enforcement, as a matter of honour."
"Honour?" Walter repeatedly incredulously. "You just told him you murdered his entire family, and a bunch of his friends! You don't think there's a risk he might set aside his principles for revenge?"
"No," Gus said firmly. "He won't." Hector would not consider it revenge. If Hector were actually to give up his principles and turn rat, his victory over the man would truly be complete, but Gus was convinced that that would never happen.
"And you're gambling my safety on that?"
Why exactly am I allowing this man to question me?
"You are in no danger," Gus told him, anger now clear in his voice. He would answer this last question, but that was it. "Several people in my organisation know you. You trust my vetting to keep you safe. Trust me on this."
Walt just ignored his words. "And then you take me here... why? You were going to actually put me near this guy? So that – what? He can hate me even more? That's –"
"You forget you place," Gus interrupted him, barely maintaining his composure. "I have made... allowances for your insolence, but you can only push so far. Be careful what you say next."
Walt stared at him, a hint of fear flashing across his face before he turned around without another word, strode towards his car, and slammed the door shut.
Gus watched him drive off, a hot ball of raw anger squirming in his gut, tinged with just a faint note of regret.
Hank was starting to look better, Skyler thought. It had been a slow, slow process, but now, as he manned the barbecue, she thought she could see some renewed vigor in him.
"Hank's been going back into the office this week," Marie announced proudly.
"Just the once," Hank cautioned. "But yeah – I'm probably going in some more next week, too."
Everyone showed enthusiasm at this news, and Flynn asked him about his work.
"Well, there's this huge case down south – a big pile of corpses, you know? And they want my opinion 'cause I'm an expert."
"You're not... going back to El Paso, are you?" Skyler asked uncertainly. She hadn't been sure exactly what had happened there, but from Marie's vague hints, it hadn't been anything good. And with Hank still unable to walk without help...
"No, no – no need to get all worried, ey?" Hank was quick to reassure them. "Nah, it's about who did this. They're saying it's my guy."
"Your guy?" Flynn asked, curiously.
"Yeah. There's this drug dealer... calls himself Heisenberg. He started right here in Albuquerque. I've been after him for a while until, well, you know. I just knew that he was going to be the new kingpin, and I was right, wasn't I? Now last week, someone up and killed a whole lot of guys that the Juarez police have had their eye on for a while. Burned down a few of their hideouts, shot a bunch of low-level thugs, and several of the big guys ended up poisoned somehow. Then two days ago, a meth lab suddenly blew up – took out another few of the shitheads. Word on the street says Heisenberg is behind it, and other clues point that way, too."
Last week? Like... When Walt said he'd be gone for a few days, last week?
"What sorts of clues?" Walt asked, his face the picture of innocent curiosity.
And she knew. An ice cold feeling settled around her heart.
"Well, the poison for starters," Hank replied. "The doctors still aren't sure what it was, but they say it's some kind of hand-made chemical – not an obvious thing you can easily buy on the black market. And this guy Heisenberg – I said he's a dealer, but he's actually a meth cook. Or meth chef, more like. I mean, we're talking five stars, with candles and white tablecloths. He makes the purest meth we've ever seen, and our guys in the lab can't even figure out how he does it. Hey, I can't believe these words are gonna come out of my mouth, but this guy is a genius, plain and simple. If anyone could make that poison it's him. It's a damn shame he's wasting that big brain of his on doing this kind of bullshit, when he could use it to help humanity or something like that, you know? I mean, how many actual geniuses are there in the world?"
"Oh, I don't know about that, Hank," Walt said with a slight smile, and Skyler looked at him, desperately begging him with her eyes to shut up. He didn't seem to notice. Oh god, how much had he been drinking? He looked quite tipsy already. "Sounds to me like this 'Heisenberg' did you a favour. How many bad guys did you say ended up dead?" He smirked. "I might be playing devil's advocate here, but doesn't that help humanity in its own way?"
"Yeah, well," Hank laughed. "You might have a point, but that's not really how it works. Don't get me wrong, I'll be the last to mourn these shitheads. But what good's that gonna do us if he replaces them, ey? It's just changing the devil we know for the devil we don't."
"Can we... please change the subject?" Skyler pleaded. She had to stop this before Walt said anything else. "I'm really not comfortable talking about drug dealers and people being poisoned over the dinner table."
Marie backed her, and the topic didn't come up again, but Skyler had a bitter taste in her mouth all evening. Walt had been involved in some kind of play that resulted in a pile of corpses. Her husband had killed people. Probably not directly – he wouldn't do that, would he? And he had spoken of his "employers" before; Walt probably worked for this 'Heisenberg'. But he had almost certainly made that poison, and he was proud of the outcome. What had he been doing last week? Had he been hiding out to avoid possible retaliation? Or had he actually been directly involved in the 'play'? She wasn't sure which she thought would be worse. Should she be afraid for him? Or of him?
Questions, and no answers. Walt wasn't likely to tell her much either; she could try, but she honestly wasn't sure if she even wanted to know. There was one thing she did feel sure about, though. She had been thinking of asking Walt to move back in, but that was definitely off the table.
We left things on a sour note last week. I would like to clear the air. Join me for dinner tonight?
Walt hesitantly approached Gus' house once again. He wasn't exactly sure where they stood. Oh, he was quite sure that Gus wouldn't kill him – if only because he was currently indispensable, and Gus would probably not want to do that inside his own house. But would he be friendly, or was it going to be an intimidation session? Had Gus guessed that he had been thinking of ways to quietly get rid of Hector Salamanca? It was a moot point, in any case – Walt had already come to the conclusion that Gus would suspect him if Hector died soon, no matter how he died. He was very aware of how dangerous Gus could be, and for whatever reason he wanted to keep Hector alive; pissing him off would probably pose a greater risk than letting Hector live. Perhaps in a few months, though...
Gus let Walt inside, took his jacket, and led him towards the living room. Walt looked around, frowning as he noted a difference. "No children's toys this time?"
"No," Gus said simply. "My children only visit twice a year."
"Ah," Walt said awkwardly. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be," Gus shrugged. "In truth, they are not mine."
"..."
Gus turned and gave him a wry smirk. "My former marriage was a financial arrangement – to obtain a spousal visa. As part of the agreement, I claim her children as my own. They visit sometimes, and I treat them well. They are part of my cover. But there is little bond."
"That's..." He wasn't sure what to say. Sad? Entirely fitting with Gus' character? It suddenly occurred to Walt that Gus might have deliberately left those toys out there before, to make himself seem more relatable. God, was Gus always manipulating everyone?
"It is for the best," Gus spoke quietly, offering him a knife to help with the dinner preparation. "I understand that family can be a great source of comfort. But in my position, it is a weakness."
"Collateral," Walt observed, remembering Tuco's words.
"Indeed. Those men you met... they would not hesitate to use anyone I cared about against me."
"So..." Walter drew the obvious conclusion. "You just chose not to have anyone you care about? At all? Ever?" That sounded like an incredibly lonely life.
"I used to, once." There was a long pause, as Gus added some spices to the soup, staring into space with a blank expression. Then he continued. "My partner, Max Arciniega. He was a brilliant chemist, like you. Well, to be honest, in skill he was closer to Gale – though not in attitude. We were as brothers – much closer than my brothers by blood. Together, we founded Los Pollos Hermanos." He sighed deeply, stirring the soup.
Walt knew that he was almost certainly being manipulated again. The past tense was a dead giveaway that something bad had happened, and why would Gus be sharing this story if not to elicit sympathy? Still, he wanted to hear it.
"What happened?"
"We had dreams together," Gus spoke. "Max saw the potential in chemical product; he believed that, with the quality he could make, we could raise an empire that spanned the continent. Since he could make it himself, and we had the restaurant as a front for distribution, we would not depend on anyone besides ourselves. We would be rich and powerful beyond our wildest dreams. I was more ambitious. I thought that, with that kind of power, we could go further. Expand globally. Take political power." He smiled wryly. "We were young and naive."
From where Gus' business stood now, Walt thought, the dream didn't look naive at all. But he didn't interrupt.
"As the first step towards our empire, we drew the attention of the local cartel. We were invited to a meeting with the leaders: Don Eladio, Don Hector, Don Juan. We offered to work with them. They were selling cocaine from Colombia, and by switching to a local product, they could triple their profits. They listened patiently to us – and then Hector shot Max, and Juan held me down to watch him bleed out." His voice had turned stone cold. "Punishment for not showing enough respect to the cartel."
Walt realised his mouth was open. Even though he'd been prepared, the sudden twist had hit him like a punch to the stomach. It was all too easy to imagine himself in Gus' position. In fact, he nearly had been there, hadn't he? Tuco had beaten Jesse into the hospital the first time they'd tried to get a deal with him; he could easily have killed him instead. How would he have felt it Jesse had died? Or – a horrible thought occurred to him. What if Skyler had been killed as "punishment" for him? The way Gus spoke of this Max... he wasn't sure, but he wondered if there had been more than brotherly love there.
"They left me alive to blackmail me," Gus continued, in a dead voice. "For years, I served as their distributor. And I bided my time."
And he never allowed himself to get close to another person again. "When was this?" Walt asked.
"1989." Gus turned off the heat and carried the soup to the dinner table. "Shall we eat?"
Walt picked quietly at his food, turning the conversation over in his head. Had Gus really spent the last 20 years plotting revenge? Gus might be manipulating him, but the story felt genuine – and it certainly explained some of his irrational behaviour last week, both towards Hector Salamanca, and his strange choice to burn down Don Eladio's mansion in person. Walt also thought he now understood better what Gus had meant when he said, some weeks ago, that he too had made a lot of mistakes early in his career.
"I'm surprised you let Eladio off so easily," he eventually said. "I mean... In light of your response to Hector..."
"Hector pulled the trigger," Gus explained. "As as I later learned, he had pushed for this punishment, and reveled in doing it. He was always the worst of them. The Salamancas all are." He sighed in resignation. "As for Eladio... he died in great pain, knowing that I caused it, and he spent the months before his death coveting that which Max and I had once offered freely. His life's work is destroyed, or in my hands. I confess I would have preferred more, but it was not worth allowing him to live in luxury for another few years. Or the risk that he would turn to law enforcement. He is not like Hector."
Walt sat back, understanding the point Gus was making. If it was all true, then Gus did have a point that Hector wasn't that great of a risk. At least, not to him.
"If you are concerned that I would go after Hector..." he started to reassure him.
"I am not," Gus interrupted him. "You are not such a fool. But I want you to understand. I do not expect you to agree with my choices. Merely to respect them, as I have respected yours."
Walt ignored the implied threat. He had already decided not to do it anyway.
"Then... There are two things I want to say. If I may?"
Gus nodded for him to continue.
"Hector is a weakness," he pointed out bluntly. Gus might be angry, but he needed to hear this. "At least as big a weakness as a family would be. If any of your enemies found out... well. If someone wants to kill you, all they'd have to do is give Hector access to a bomb and wait for you to go visit. That's what I would do." Gus raised an eyebrow at him, and Walt quickly backtracked. "That is, if I wanted to kill you, I mean. And if you didn't already give me access to your food..." Shut up, shut up, shut up. "But if you are okay with that risk... I won't bring it up again."
Gus nodded. "Thank you. And the second thing?"
"Your enemies might also go after me. Taking me out would destroy your business. So next time you visit Hector, I want you to tell him that you have at least half a dozen cooks." Hopefully, that would be enough. He was still very glad he had spotted Hector and gotten out before the man had seen him, last week. Right now, the man's hatred was probably firmly focused on Gus.
Gus gave him a long look, but eventually nodded. "Very well."
And that was that. Gus got up to fetch desert, and the dinner conversation turned to lighter topics after that.
As the evening progressed, the tension left the air, and Walter seemed relaxed in his presence again. It was time, Gus decided.
"Walter," he began at a lull in the conversation. "Are you happy working in the lab?"
Walter blinked in surprise. "I – suppose? I enjoy the chemistry, and it is a beautiful lab."
Gus nodded. "And yet... you are a brilliant man. You cannot be content to do the same process day in, day out. You want more."
Yes; looking at Walter's face, he had definitely struck a chord. "I want more, too. I have worked for twenty years towards revenge, and to fulfill Max' dreams. Now, with the cartel out of the way, I am free to pursue mine."
Walter was silent for a moment, recalling. "To take over the world?"
"Essentially," Gus nodded. "What is the point of power, if not to set the world to your hand?" He caught Walter's eyes. "Will you join me?"
Walter looked uncomprehending, so he clarified: "We collaborated well, last week. I would like to do so more often. Your talents are wasted, spending all your time in the lab."
"You want to... involve me in other parts of the business?"
"Indeed. As far as you are comfortable."
Gus had thought long and hard about this offer over the last week. Walter reminded him a lot of his own young self. Foolish and ignorant. Smart, but not wise. Full of ambition, and arrogant. Bad with authority, and hungry for control. Ruthless, once he set his mind to it.
Gus liked Walter, and he owed him a great debt for his aid. But he could not ignore that they were natural enemies. A man like Walter would not tolerate staying in his place forever. Some thing or other would happen, and that would cause him to turn on Gus. Eventually, Walter would have to be killed, if the cancer didn't get him first. Yet, Gus didn't want that. Aside from the fact that killing Walter would be a bit like killing his own former self, Walter was useful; incredibly so.
So he had arrived at this alternative. If Walter wouldn't stay in his place, then why not give him a mobile position? Offer him the world, give him the freedom to explore his full potential, and steer him away from foolishness. It would be quite an adjustment – Gus had been used to working alone for a long time, and he didn't normally allow people to question him, which Walter was sure to do far more than even Mike dared. But, he thought, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. An outside perspective could be helpful, and Walter did have good insights. Loath though Gus was to admit it, Walter was right about Hector. He just needed to learn when to drop a subject.
"You know why I do this..." Walter began hesitantly. Gus could see that he was gearing up to lie to himself again. An unfortunate habit, one which Gus intended to squash as soon as he could.
"Security for your family," he nodded kindly. "Which, I believe, you have nearly accomplished." Then he turned more serious. "Yet, you want more. You want to put your talents to use. You want to be a part of building something great. You want people to know you, and respect you for your skill. And why shouldn't you?" He fixed Walter's gaze. "There is nothing wrong with any of that."
Studying Walter's face, he was quite sure that no one had ever told him this before.