Jesse Pinkman

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It's not, like, something he does every week, but sometimes, just sometimes, Jesse finds himself with a free night on the same night there's a meeting at this one church in town. He knows not everybody's religious or whatever— he's not, that's for sure— but they always seem to do these things in church basements anyway.

He doesn't go in, instead hanging around outside smoking a couple of cigarettes from a fresh pack he just picked up. He hasn't used in a long time now, even though he still thinks about it sometimes, but it's been even longer since he walked inside of one of these. Not since that one kid died and Jesse was sure he got smoked while trying to score... after a guy at one of these fucked up.

It's not fucking worth it. Not if they can't help a kid who needs it.

Still, he ends up outside them, most of the time for the whole time people are meeting inside, getting their chips, not giving their last names, drinking their shitty coffee...

It's only when people start filing out that he tosses his cigarette, crushing the butt under the toe of his sneaker and figures he'd better bounce.

He's gotta stop doing this, or somebody's gonna think he's like, a stalker or something.

He gets the call like a week after New Year's. Jesse hasn't been up to much: still going through the motions like he's dealing the Lobos stuff, making appearances when he needs to. Added into that, he's thinking about moving across town after that stuff with Andrea on New Year's Eve, but hasn't made much progress on it yet.

So when one of Diego's guys, one of the giant douchebags who basically kicked his ass a while back, comes up to him on one of his corners and tells him he's gotta come in, it's not something he's expecting. In fact, when the car pulls up and the guy's calling over to him from across the passenger's seat, he almost doesn't get in. Jesse almost tries to make some excuse to get the hell out of there, but can't come up with one off the top of his head. At least one that won't seem like he's just dicking Diego around or whatever the hell.

They don't drive to the sandwich place where Diego's got his business set up. They head northeast and just... keep going. Darrow's not that big, but Jesse doesn't head this far out like... ever. It's after they pass Candlewood that Jesse starts to wonder whether or not this is supposed to be a one way trip.

The whole way there, as a matter of fact, he's trying to think through how the hell he's going to get out of this. All he's got on him are his keys, which could maybe work as like, something to stab somebody with if it came down to it, but if it's like it was last time, if it turns out the Lobos are about to cut their losses and off him or something, he's gonna be up shit creek. Especially if that other big guy's there too.

Maybe they found out he's been pocketing their product, pumping his own money into the operation just to keep their contaminated crystal off the streets.

Maybe that's what this is about.

He could jump out of the car, roll and make a run for it. He'd probably fuck up his knees, but it's better than ending up dead and buried somewhere in the Darrow countryside.

By the time the guy stops the car, Jesse's ready to haul ass and get as far away as he can, only it's not some secluded place they end up. It's some farm Jesse didn't even know was there in the first place. Meathead stops the car and climbs out, and Jesse sits in the front seat for a second, pausing, not sure whether or not following him will be the worst decision he's ever made.

A loud knock on his window brings him back to the present moment though, Neck Tattoo standing there glaring at him.

"Come on, man," he says, "I don't have all fucking day."

He gets out. He follows, hands in the pockets of his jacket to keep the cold out. There's a farm house out here, some cows. They smell like shit. Jesse's lead past all that to this big-ass barn with two big dudes guarding it.

When they slide open the doors, Jesse's not sure what he expected to see, but it's definitely not Diego, and what looks like a lab. Not like, Gus's shiny as hell superlab or anything, but it's definitely a cook. It still even smells like one, to Jesse's nose. Their cook is smaller than Fring's was, that's for sure, but he guesses they definitely put out more than he and Mr. White did in the RV. Or at least they should be.

"Looking good, my man," Diego says, and Jesse frowns, wanting like hell to say something about the last time Diego came at him with all that fake friend shit, but holding his tongue for now. Something goes wrong out here, and Jesse's guessing he'll just never turn up again. "So, what do you think?"

Jesse can't play dumb, not now, and it's weird as hell to think that he used to deny and avoid like a goddamn master, but that he's gotta do the opposite right now. Because he's right where he wanted to be when he first got his in with the Lobos. Right here in their lab, where they put out 'bad batches' that kill people sometimes. Where they cook stuff that straight up kills people and no one gives a shit.

"It uh," Jesse says, and his eyes land on one of the vats. It's got a smudge of dirt or cow shit on the chrome, "It looks like a lab. Yours, I'm guessing."

"Damn right, it's mine, compadre," he replies, and all Jesse can think is that if he owned a lab this shitty, he probably wouldn't be so proud about it. Like, no wonder their product is so crappy.

Jesse takes a moment to walk through the space, getting a better look at the equipment, what supplies and chemicals they've got on-hand. It's a sudo cook, that's for sure, and Jesse can't even remember the last time he did one of those. With Badger maybe?

"So, why am I here, yo?" he finally asks, daring to ask even though he might get his ass kicked for it. Maybe Diego's expression changes, but he doesn't order any his big dogs to drag Jesse out behind the barn or anything, so that's something.

"You said before that you know how to cook," Diego says, "I had a guy, but one of those weird-ass bees got him on New Year's. Guy lost a hand. So I'm out a cook."

"What, like now?" Jesse asks.

"Either you know how to cook or you don't." Diego replies, and maybe this is what Jesse's been working towards, but he's hesitant anyway. His endgame after this is basically to scope all this out, figure out what their deal is, maybe take them out from the inside.

But he guesses it's gonna take a cook or two before he can figure out just how to do that.

"Yeah," Jesse says, and he starts to pull off his jacket, even though it's cold as balls in that barn, "Yeah, I can cook."

Jesse's beginning to become a regular at the diner near Chelsea Cloisters. He used to just pop in back when Clementine would be there after she got out of school, but these days he finds himself having dinner there when he doesn't feel like heating something up, or turning up when he doesn't have shit else to do.

Today he's ordered take out, and Lucille, one of the waitresses there, tells him it'll be about ten to fifteen minutes before his stuff's ready to go, so he decides to light up a cigarette outside. He's got a lot on his mind right now, between Mr. White and all the other shit going on, but something tells him that pie's gonna be a good way to take his mind off of all of it.

For a few minutes, at least.

The weed, he usually smokes on his own.

The coke, he does with T.J.

The crystal... he's got a couple of guys that he usually hangs out with. Locals. It's not the same as it was with Skinny and Badger, they're just guys he met through his dealer. If he sees them around, sometimes they'll shoot the shit and go smoke a bowl or two, no big. At least until one weekend, when he hears something.

He's at this guy Posse's house. Jesse's got no idea what his real name is; they call him Posse because someone said once he was big enough to be his own posse and it just stuck or something. Either way, Jesse's sitting on the guy's couch as he pulls out a teenth of crystal, and he frowns.

"Yo, so what's up with Roofer?" Jesse asks, because not being able to get into contact with the guy-- he's been holding about half an ounce for him-- is pretty much why he's at Posse's in the first place, "You know his phone's just gone right the voicemail the past few days, right?"

Posse's measuring out enough for a bowl and he pauses. "You didn't hear? He's dead, man. A couple of days ago. He just fell out, like right in the middle of this club. It was crazy as hell."

"What?" Jesse asks, and even though this isn't even near the same thing, the first thing he thinks about is Combo and that corner he never should have been on in the first place. But this is different, because as far as he knows, neither Posse or Roofer never really sling anything. They're like Jesse is right now, just using every once in a while.

Though, once in a while is becoming more often for Jesse than he wants to admit.

"Do they know why? I mean, people just don't die for no reason, you know?" Jesse asks, and he's feeling a little sick to his stomach about it.

"I don't know, I think he probably ODed or something," Posse says, and he blows out smoke as he passes the pipe over to Jesse.

He smokes up. He forgets, at least for a while. He figures it's shitty, but Roofer probably should have been more careful, should have paid attention to how much he'd had. That's like, one of the most important rules.

There's a funeral, but Jesse doesn't go. He didn't know Roofer all that well anyway, as messed up as the whole thing is. He even stops using for a few days, and figures it's probably best to just let that half an ounce go that Roofer owed him, what with the guy being dead and all. At least, until he gets a call that some guy, this Diego Novoa guy with one of the local gangs wants to talk to him. Jesse's heard of Lobos Locos and all, but he stays way the hell out of all that. There's no way he's about to get into any of that shit again after the last time.

He goes to the meet though, only because this Diego guy says he's got Jesse's glass and just wants to make good on the purchase. It's maybe a little weird, but it seems pretty on the up and up.

Two guys with neck tattoos let him into the back room of this sandwich place on Crestview, and for all intents and purposes, it looks pretty much like it's supposed to. Maybe Jesse is expecting something like Tuco's set up, pile of meth on the desk, big ass safe in the corner, but it's not like that at all.

"You Diego?" Jesse asks the guy behind the desk, a Cuban dude with slicked back hair and a tattoo that Jesse can't make out peeking out of the sleeve of his jacket.

"Hay, que rico," he replies, amused, even as Jesse's trying to get a read on the guy. But he reaches into his desk drawer just after that and pulls out a bag of glass. It's cloudy just like every other time Jesse's seen meth in Darrow, but by now, he's figured that's about as good as it's bound to get here. There's no Heisenburg, and by now, Jesse's come to the conclusion that that's a good thing.

Diego tosses the bag to Jesse, and he catches it, turning it over in his hands to get a look before pocketing it.

"Heard that was yours, compadre," Diego says, "And I'm not in the business of fucking over customers. Especially not because some idiot couldn't fucking moderate."

It's a pretty harsh way to put it, but by now, Jesse knows to keep his opinions about that shit to himself. Especially not when he doesn't really know what this Diego guy's deal is. He probably shouldn't have shown up here in the first place.

"He had family I think," Jesse replies, and hates that he can't remember whether or not Roofer did or not. He might've mentioned it a couple of times, but usually they were all in the middle of something already, "It's pretty sad. He was an okay guy. Guess some people are better off just... in a program or something if they can't handle it."

"Just a bad batch," Diego replies, and Jesse frowns, wondering if he's heard him right, "It happens."

"...what do you mean?" Jesse asks, and he knows he's pressing his luck, but it sounds like maybe this wasn't as much of an accident as it might've seemed at first. Did they, like, know before it happened?

Jesse's waiting for an answer, but in that moment, it looks like Diego's hospitality has run out. He makes a show of reaching into his desk drawer, pulling out a gun and placing it on the desk, and he may look like he's trying to be all nonchalant about it, but Jesse knows when he's being told to fuck off.

"Hey, you got your glass," he says, "now bounce, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, right. Sorry. My bad," Jesse says, "Thanks for the crystal."

He turns. He leaves, past the neck tattoo guys and out the door, his hand wrapped around the stash in his jacket pocket, but he knows he's sure as hell not about to use it.

It's been like... a day and he's still not used to it.

He totally should be, though, because it's not like he hasn't had money before. He's had the duffel bag before, hollowed out space under the sink or emptied out a drawer for it. He's more used to paying in cash than with cards. But somehow, being in Darrow and having the kind of cash he used to have back home doesn't feel right. Like those two places should be completely separate or something.

But what's done is done, and however he finally got his money— whether or not Mister White is in Darrow somewhere keeping a low profile or being paranoid for no fucking reason at all— he's not about to ask any questions.

Instead, he's at the mall, because now that he's not broke, he's got some shit to sort out. And one of the most important things for him to deal with is that crappy little TV he's got in his apartment. He doesn't know who thought they were doing everybody a favor, putting shitty little TVs in the apartments, but it's almost insulting. So he's gonna go get a kickass flatscreen, a sound system and some speakers and have them delivered. Maybe he's still convinced that everything on is crappy, but he figures this will make it at least a little better.

In fact, he's already picked up an X-Box, and he regrets not waiting to do it last, since the bag's already gotten heavy. He stops in the food court, setting it down on one of the tables for just a second.

Maybe he'll see if they've got an Orange Julius here.

Jesse doesn't notice the duffel bags when he steps outside for a smoke that morning. He's got other shit on his mind, and who would even think to look down at the doorstep for something like that anyway?

He walks past them again when he goes out to buy beer. He texted T.J earlier to see if he wanted to come hang out and maybe have a beer and watch some TV, only to realize that he was actually out of beer, like some kind of idiot. His TV's still shitty and small because he's pretty broke, but the least he can do is have something decent to drink.

It's when he gets back that Jesse finally looks down at the bags, confused as to why they're just sitting there. He walks into his apartment and leaves the door open, setting a couple of six packs from the store on the counter before he goes back out to look into it.

"Hey yo, anybody leave their bags here?" he asks the empty corridor, as he kneels next to one of them, pulling back the zipper.

He quiets though, when he sees it's full of cash. A shitload of cash, actually. Hundreds in bundles, just... sitting in front of his apartment. It's not but a second before he decides to drag all of it inside. Maybe it's something someone's left there, but either way, he figures it'll be safer if it's not just out in the freaking hallway.

Jesus, it's even too much to count. It's gotta be like... over a million bucks.

And then it clicks. Except there's no way for him to have this money right now unless Mister White is there somewhere. Unless he showed up in Darrow will all the cash from the methlyamine heist just in his hands.

He stands and leaves the open bags on the floor of his apartment, then walks to look out of his front door, like he'll somehow see his former partner out there waiting to be invited in. Like he'll be waiting to apologize for being a douchebag and not giving Jesse the five million in the first place.

"...Mister White?" he calls.