[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.
When you're done.
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?
He has lung cancer.
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.
Hm?
[sternly] Let it go.
[sighs] ...Guy with that mustache probably doesn't make a lot of good life choices.
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