[Saul, with his limbs duct-taped and a bag over his head, lies on the floor of an RV.]
Guys, c'mon. Talk to me! Habla, por favor! Yo soy abogado! Abogado, abogado! Aw, crap! You already knew that! Jesus, fellas, there's a better way to do this! Hello? Oh, why–?! Wha–Why are we going off-road? Oh! Whoa! Whatever this is, can we please don't do it in the desert? Anywhere but the desert! Oh—Oh, God, I'm gonna be sick...
[The RV stops and two masked men walk up, cutting the tape at Saul's legs and forcing him upright.]
Alright, fellas... This—We can–we can fix this! Whatever the problemo, we can fix it with dinero. Mucho dinero! Mucho, mucho, mucho dinero! C'mon, please, one of you just, just–You talk, habla! C'mon, b-before mistakes are made! C'mon, talk to me, guys, huh?
[The RV door closes to reveal five bullet holes covered with duct tape]
C'mon, just tell me what you want! Jeez...
[The bag is taken off Saul's head to reveal an open grave in the middle of the desert]
Oh! Oh, no, no, no, no, no! No! It wasn't me! It was Ignacio, he's the one!
[Saul is lying on the floor with his feet in the Swing Master as Mike enters his office]
Ho, enter sunshine! Cast some light into my cool, dark world!
[Mike doesn't say anything, sitting on the couch and looking at a newspaper crossword puzzle]
Hello? You're on the clock, right? So, get with the info any time.
No, I can multitask. Please.
I'm not gonna talk to you while you're on... whatever that is.
You know, LBJ used to have his underlings give him reports while he was on the shitter.
Ah-hah. Well, either I'm gonna leave or I'm gonna put my foot in your skull.
[sighs; turns off Swing Master] Fine. [gets up off the floor] You should try one of these. You walk like Frankenstein after he was probed by aliens. Ha! I can get you one. Would do wonders for your chi. [puts on his suit jacket and seats himself behind his desk] Let's go. Lay it on me.
Alright. First, there's your Mrs. Denise Gabbler. She's cheating, alright.
[whistles] Limber! Ha-ha! Well, at least I know they didn't spot you. No one could stay that aroused with your mug peeking through the window. [Mike stares silently at Saul, stone-faced] What else you got?
Well, next I followed your bus driver. Newsflash: He really does have a broken neck.
Fantastic. That makes my life much easier. Keep it coming.
Second-story guy out of Indianapolis, Lasky? Did a dime at Menard. Now, if you're looking for a talent who will keep his mouth shut, you can trust him. I say he's worth keeping an eye on.
Second-story guy, second-story guy... I–I got more second-story guys in my book than pimples at a junior prom. That... [inhales] What about, uh, that Heisenberg fella?
High school chemistry teacher.
You're shittin' me, really?
Walter Hartwell White. Chemistry teacher over at J. P. Wynne. Working with a former student, current meth head, one Jesse Pinkman.
Wow... Uh, what else about the teacher?
Jesus. That's why he can't quit with the coughing. How bad?
Stage 3A. He's in treatment, more tests to come. But it doesn't look good. Now listen, even if this guy was gonna live, I wouldn't go near him. He's a complete amateur.
Well, you see an amateur, I see 170 pounds of clay ready to be molded.
Well, if the cancer doesn't get him, it'll be the cops or a bullet to the head.
Is that your appraisal, or is that what He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named says about him?
He didn't say anything. The guy is small potatoes.
Yeah, okay. I hear ya. I just–I got a feeling about this. This Heisenberg guy's got something. It's top-of-the-line product, that's the buzz on the street. And I just think with the right management–
You know, years ago I bought a Betamax. Good product, top of the line. Experts said it was better than a VHS. Turned out to be a complete waste of time and money.
[sighs] ...Guy with that mustache probably doesn't make a lot of good life choices.
[Saul learns that Jeff's friend, Buddy, bailed on one of their scams and confronts him in the garage behind Jeff's house]
You're kidding me! Absolutely kidding me!
I'm sorry, man. I couldn't do it.
Do you know how much time, how much effort I put into finding the perfect mark?! I have to weed through all these saps who have wives and families at home! Find somebody who's alone, with money! And what—So you can just wimp out?!
The guy has cancer, man! I found pills in his pocket, okay? The same ones my dad took. For, like, pancreatic cancer.
So a guy with cancer can't be an asshole? [scoffs] Believe me! I speak from experience!
I can't rip off a guy with cancer. I'm sorry.
Do you know how many of the suckers we've ripped off had sob stories?! Every single one of them! Besides, it'll be months before they even realize they've been taken! This guy will already be dead! So please get back in your truck, go back to the house, and finish the job!
[beat] No, man. I can't do that! I can't!
Alright, I get it! You'll get over it, okay? Please, believe me. Before you know it, you'll forget all about it. [softly] Go.
Look, we're doing really well, right? Hear me out, okay? I mean, we're rolling in cash! We can just let this one go!
[sighs] Yeah, but I... I pulled the tape when I left! The door's locked! We couldn't get back in even if we wanted to! [Saul angrily slaps the top of Jeff's car] Jeff, come on, man! Back me up here!
Oh, well, I... I don't know. I mean, I can see both sides kinda.
You know what? Forget it, you're fired. Just go! Just give me the camera and go!
[hands Saul his camera] Fine.
GOOD! Go, we don't need you! And I know I don't need to tell you this, but since you're such a goddamn amateur, I will anyway! Keep your mouth shut.
[Buddy gives Jeff one last glance before leaving the garage]
[to Jeff] If we're gonna do this, we should leave now.
...We're really gonna go back there?
What did I just say? Jeff, are you in or out?!
