Ultraviolence

Russian roulette

•~

Lead in your shoes as you walk to the entrance Los Pollos. You think about what Lalo said yesterday. He wants you to quit. You didn't ask him why, your brain was way too foggy. What a rollercoaster that was. One moment you're on the back of a motorcycle with your hands in the air, something you didn't think you'd ever do, next moment you're.. And he.. Jesus.

You can't decide what was more intense. The conversation or what came afterwards. The fact that he didn't deny it when you asked him if he's a criminal still makes you shiver when you think about it. You're not stupid. You know the answer would be yes. You just hoped he'd say it.
How the hell did you get the guts to ask him like that anyway? Where did that come from? Guess you're really an adrenaline junkie now, because damn. If Lalo intimidating you doesn't get your blood pumping, nothing does. That man can be scary, with his dark eyes. Black, almost.

You push the door open. You had a hard time deciding whether to wear your uniform or not. In the end you went with yes, but you're wearing a tanktop under the yellow shirt. In case you don't have to come back. You'll just leave the shirt.

Lyle warmly greets you at the register.
"Hey! Whatcha doing here, you're not scheduled for today, are you?" The two of you haven't really talked much lately.
"No, I uh, I have a meeting with Mr. Fring." Your eyes shoot left to right anxiously.
"Oh.. Okay, he's in his office." He wants to ask, you see it in his eyes. Too hard to explain.
You nod, and walk towards the office. Hundreds of little voices in your head are screaming at you to turn around and run. To flee, like a gazelle being hunted.

Knuckles on the wooden door.
"Mr. Fring?"
A moment of silence.
"Come in."
You hesitantly open the door. A familiar, friendly smile and a less familiar stare, or more like glare, greeting you as you step inside.
"Thank you for coming today."
He gestures you to sit down. You look at the man sitting next to Fring. An old, bald man. He looks like he's seen some things. You hold out your hand for him to shake, but he keeps his arms crossed.
"Just sit." He says instead.

You sit down, feeling uneasy.
The light tapping of your foot fills the silent room. You're not sure if you should say something. Fring is still slightly smiling, albeit not as genuine as a minute ago. The old man still has that same stoic expression.

You decide to break the ice.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Fring. I know I should've called in sick earlier, it will never happen again. I apologize." You look at your boss, then at the old man, eyes filled with desperation and fear. He doesn't say anything for a while.

"I know it won't." You sigh, relieved.
"That's not what this meeting is about." he pauses. You swallow thickly, the uneasy feeling has grown quite a lot.
"Lalo Salamanca." The old man says. His voice gravelly.
The feeling of your stomach dropping and your heart shooting up your throat makes you bite down on your cheek. Instead of saying anything, you just stare at him. The whites of your eyes showing your shock.
"What are you to him?"

You shake your head in confusion with a hint of disbelief. Your brain is trying to put the puzzle pieces together, but you refuse. If reality is what you suspect it to be, you don't want to face it right now.

"He's.. I'm.. I don't know."
A beat.
"You don't know?" The man says, it sounds like he's mocking you, but you're not sure.
"I mean, we're pretty close, I guess."
"Pretty close, huh? That's what you'd call it?"
"Yeah, but he's not my boyfriend or anything." You cringe at your own words. It makes you sound pathetic. And childish. Like you're still a naive teenager.
The old man doesn't respond, instead he just looks at you. You feel his eyes burning like lasers.

"He seems to really have taken a liking to you. Which is rare, coming from him." You stare at the table.
"Why are you asking me all of this?" The question comes out less confident than you anticipated. Your eyes shooting from the old man to Fring and back.