Ultraviolence

Chica nerviosa

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Lalo scratches his soul patch as he stares at the text on his flip phone. The ignored text. He has to admit, he does not like being ignored. Especially not by you. Sure, he understands being fired might be something someone like you would find enough reason to curl up into a little ball. He can't help but chuckle at the thought of his pouty girl, rolled up into a blanket.

Besides mild amusement, the only thing Lalo feels is annoyance. Anger, even. El Pollero making his girl all sad. He wonders how he broke the news to you. Probably all professional, maybe with some fake empathy sprinkled in. He can almost hear the tapping of your foot.

Speaking of El Pollero, Lalo took the knowledge of Fring being at Los Pollos as an opportunity to scope the "chicken chiller" again. Took some notes of anything that seemed out of order while thinking of a plan of action. He considered getting someone from back home to sneak in, but quickly threw away that idea. Who would he even get to do that. Ciro? No way.

Seems like his best bet is to just keep an eye out. Maybe he'll pay Hector a visit, ask him what he thinks. Sometimes Tío's the only one who takes his plans seriously. It pains Lalo to see a man, once so strong, now so weak and.. Ridiculed. Having to drink juice and wear party hats. He squeezes his hand into a fist at the thought, his nails digging into the palm of his hand.

Rubbing his hands on his legs, he gets up. It's not too late, Casa Tranquila is still open. It's a sunny day. The warm rays feel good on his face. Not as good as Mexico sun, but it'll do. He gets into his car and drives off, one arm nonchalantly hanging out of the open window. He softly hums a Spanish tune.

The nursing home looks as depressing as always. Beige walls, a greyish blue roof. A few cars parked outside. Probably some lowlifes visiting their elderly parents, trying to ease their feelings of guilt for dumping them at a place like this. Maybe he's reflecting a bit. It wasn't Lalo's idea to make Hector live here. He hopes Tuco will take him in when he gets out. Sure, Lalo loves his Tío, but he doesn't have the time to take care of him. Not right now, anyway. Least he can do is visit him.

He pushes open the door and checks in with the receptionist. A young woman, about your age, maybe a bit older. Not as pretty, though.
"Hola, I'm here to visit my uncle." He says. The woman recognizes him. Face like his is hard to forget, he guesses.

"Ah, mister Salamanca! Good to see you again. Hector's missed you." Lalo doesn't know why she annoys him. Come to think of it, everything in here annoys him. The dull interior, the ugly chairs, the yellow light, the nurses who treat the elderly like babies, the list goes on and on.
He smiles and nods as he walks into the.. What would you call it, living room? Dining hall?
Bunch of old people gathered together.

Most of these people look like empty shells. Sipping their juice, staring at the walls. Some are accompanied by a nurse, some by their family. Others are alone, their wheelchairs parked in a corner. Their mouths slightly agape as they stare into nothingness.

Lalo would rather die than ever end up in a place like this. Maybe he'd rather die than get old in the first place. The lines on his face and the grey streak of hair are the only things reminding him of the fact that he's not the youngest anymore. He doesn't feel old at all, guess that's all that matters. And you don't mind, either.

It doesn't take him long to notice Hector. The sound of his bell ringing is hard to miss. Lalo chuckles. Glad to hear his Tío appreciates his little gift. He follows the sound and there he is, angrily demanding.. More juice, apparently. A nurse hurries over with another glass and carefully puts the straw in Hector's mouth. Lalo sees his finger hovering above the bell, slightly shaking. He doesn't press it. Guess he's content.