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Poison for people who don't care
Aug. 31st, 2013 08:29 amThe 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.
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.
(no subject)
Jan. 12th, 2013 09:26 pmJesse doesn't know how he hasn't been to this place sooner. Maybe it's because the shitty name, "Funville U.S.A." doesn't exactly sound all that awesome. But today, sober and headed nowhere in particular, the arcade over on Maple Street seems like a really good idea.
Somewhere, back at his apartment, there's several copies of a half-finished application to the local college, and a sketch pad full of half-finished drawings for a portfolio or whatever. He'd been deep in it the night before, but after a few bumps of coke, had ended up down the street at a bar instead. So maybe he should be home, working on all that, trying to get the lines right-- Jane told him once that he had good lines-- but right now he's forgotten about all that because holy shit, he can see a Pacman machine from the door.
Somewhere, back at his apartment, there's several copies of a half-finished application to the local college, and a sketch pad full of half-finished drawings for a portfolio or whatever. He'd been deep in it the night before, but after a few bumps of coke, had ended up down the street at a bar instead. So maybe he should be home, working on all that, trying to get the lines right-- Jane told him once that he had good lines-- but right now he's forgotten about all that because holy shit, he can see a Pacman machine from the door.
(no subject)
Dec. 6th, 2012 02:05 amIt'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.
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.
For Andrea
Dec. 4th, 2012 10:35 pmHe goes to find her at work instead of at her apartment, because he figures it's probably better if Clementine's not around. Not that he thinks there's anything shady about all of this, but Jesse just thinks it'll go down better this way.
And something like this isn't even about to become a regular thing, but suddenly he misses having Saul around to do this kind of stuff.
It's weird though, walking into a gun store, if only because he's never actually bought one legally. It was usually shady hand-offs for untraceable guns for Jesse, and he only ever did it a few times. And even though he knows he hasn't done anything wrong, Jesse's still got 100 G's wrapped up in a paper bag in his jacket pocket, so he feels like somebody's gonna bust him for something anyway. You know, just for the hell of it.
He starts looking at a display, his hands stuffed into his pockets, and waits for Andrea to turn up.
And something like this isn't even about to become a regular thing, but suddenly he misses having Saul around to do this kind of stuff.
It's weird though, walking into a gun store, if only because he's never actually bought one legally. It was usually shady hand-offs for untraceable guns for Jesse, and he only ever did it a few times. And even though he knows he hasn't done anything wrong, Jesse's still got 100 G's wrapped up in a paper bag in his jacket pocket, so he feels like somebody's gonna bust him for something anyway. You know, just for the hell of it.
He starts looking at a display, his hands stuffed into his pockets, and waits for Andrea to turn up.
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.
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.
