Chapter 2
“What the hell is she doing here? Saul?” Jesse asks, anger and panic flashing through his voice.
“She gave me a very interesting proposition, Mr. Pinkman. I think you would like to hear it. You may not know her as well as she knows you.”
“And what exactly do you mean by that, Saul? I know this bitch well enough to know that I don't need to hear a stupid sales pitch from her to already say no.” he says, pointing accusatory fingers at me.
“Just listen to me, Jesse. I know I was a really shitty person to you in high school, but trust me, we can turn a huge profit if you can put this behind you.” I say.
“Have you put it behind yourself? How do I know you won't rob my ass blind as soon as I trust you?” he looks at me with wild, paranoid eyes. Something tells me this isn't his first rodeo.
“Obviously I have put it behind me. I'm here, asking to work with you, right? Does that not speak any volumes to you, Jesse?” I asked, hand over my chest to mimic sincerity. I'm not lying to him, but I sure know how to work people.
“Fuck off.” he waves his hand to shoo me away. “I've already had enough of you today, and I haven't seen you in years.” Okay, I'll have to work a little harder with this nut.
“Jesse, all I'm asking is for you to hear me out. Then, if you don't want me to work with you, then I will be on my way.” I say, with pleading eyes. I speak to him with my eyes, saying 'but Jesse, I'm a struggling college student, I need help. Please, help me.'
As expected, I hit that soft spot of his, I know he acts really tough, and in this business, you have to. But Jesse always wants to help in the most subtle ways. This nut is cracked.
“Fine. You have 60 seconds.” His plops down on a cushioned chair and crosses his legs and arms.
“That's all I'll need.” I say, I pull out a small baggie from my purse.
“What the hell is that?” Jesse inquires, glaring curiously at the little plastic case containing none other than “Adderall” I say, giving it a small shake. “There are 4 pills in this baggie.” I say “no shit, I know how to count.” he says, interrupting me.
“Didn't intend to insult your intelligence, Jesse.” I say, continuing on, “Do you know how much I can sell these 4 pills for during finals week?” I asked.
“Are you trying to sell me Adderall?” He asked. “No, I'm telling you that I can sell these 4 pills at a minimum of $200 just before finals week, for the early buyers.” I say, beholding the attentive pills.
“So what? That ain't jack shit for what my product sells.”
“I don't think you understand, I can sell these 4 pills for a minimum of $200 each, just before finals week.”
“$200 a pill?” He asked, sightly baffled.
“Yes, sir. I won't even mention how much it skyrockets during finals week. I've got a budget to make, you know.” I say. Trying not to smirk. My harpoon has shot.
Jesse sets back into his chair.
“Okay, so what does the sale of Adderall have to do with my product?” He asked.
“Fantastic question, Jesse. Adderall is the child's version of meth. I listen to what people are saying in the halls, and you know what I hear? Whispers of trying to obtain something stronger. Believe it or not, meth is hard to come by in my neck of the woods. And if you're asking for good meth, then you might as well move out. There is not a single reliable product of methamphetamine in UNM.”
