Chapter 3: Building the Foundation
Two weeks later, Alex had carved out a rhythm, each deal a meticulous step toward wealth. He met Walter and Jesse in rotating spots—an abandoned laundromat with flickering lights and the faint smell of bleach, a storage lot reeking of rust and motor oil—always handing over $25,000 in crisp bills for their meth. Each batch sold to the system for $50,000, the drugs vanishing into the digital void. His operation was a ghost, leaving no trace, but the cash was real, piling up in a safe under his motel bed. Seventy grand and counting. I'm either a genius or the luckiest idiot in Albuquerque. He adjusted his new jacket—properly fitted, funded by his profits—a small ritual of control that made him feel less like a fish out of water.
Today's meet was in a dusty lot behind a shuttered gas station, the air thick with the scent of old gasoline and sun-baked asphalt. Walter counted the bills with a chemist's precision, his lips a thin line, his windbreaker rustling as he shifted. Jesse leaned against their car, fiddling with a loose thread on his hoodie, his eyes darting to Alex. The tension was thicker than usual, Walter's ego radiating like heat from the ground, his pride bristling at Alex's growing presence.
"This volume is unsustainable without clarity," Walter said, his voice clipped, almost academic, but laced with a sharp edge of irritation. "Who's your buyer? No one moves this much product without a network, and I hear nothing on the street. Explain yourself."
Alex leaned against a rusted pole, the metal warm under his palm, and flashed a sardonic grin. "My buyer's a ghost with excellent taste, Walt. Loves your work, hates publicity. You're building a chemistry empire, right? Consider me your silent partner, keeping the streets clean and your wallet full." Keep it vague, keep it cool. Don't poke the ego too hard. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back, his nerves humming beneath the sarcasm. Walter's pride was a ticking bomb, and Alex was dancing on the fuse.
Walter's eyes flashed, his voice low and intense. "Silent partner? You're a middleman, nothing more. I need to know the scale of this—my product deserves recognition, not some shadowy handoff."
"Yo, Mr. White, chill," Jesse interrupted, his voice a mix of exasperation and relief, his fingers still tugging at the hoodie thread. "Dude pays fast, no hassle. We're making bank. Let's not screw it up." He shot Alex a quick nod, a silent thanks for the cash, his eyes flickering with gratitude.
Alex caught the look, his fanboy heart skipping a beat. Jesse's on my side. Timeline's safe for now. He handed over the briefcase, the exchange complete, and walked away, feeling Walter's stare boring into his back. Rift's coming. Ego versus cash. Classic Walt. He kicked a loose stone across the lot, the clatter a small release of tension, and headed for his car, the weight of the deal settling into his bones.
Saul Goodman's office was a shrine to sleazy ambition, its waiting room reeking of lemon air freshener battling stale coffee. The plastic chairs squeaked as Alex sat, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on his knee, a nervous tic that kept him grounded. A garish poster of the Constitution hung crookedly, and a bobblehead of Lady Justice wobbled mockingly on the reception desk, its base buried under a mess of crumpled receipts and coffee-stained files. The desk itself was a chaotic sprawl—pens, sticky notes, and a half-eaten donut, its glaze hardening in the stale air. This guy's my ticket to legitimacy. Let's hope his sleaze is as good as his commercials.
Saul emerged, all loud suit and louder grin, his hand outstretched like a game show host. "Alex Thorne! The man with the cash and the mysterious aura! Welcome to the house of Goodman!" His voice was a salesman's dream, dripping with charm, his tie a garish shade of green that clashed with the room's dim lighting.
Alex stood, shaking Saul's hand with a grip that hinted at his 1x Strength. "I need a lawyer who can make a lot of money look legal, Saul. Fast. I'm acquiring… goods, and I need fronts—laundromats, maybe a car wash. Clean, quick, and bulletproof." He slid a thick stack of cash across the desk, the bills landing with a soft thud amid the clutter, a mundane anchor in the chaotic moment.
Saul's eyes lit up, his grin widening as he snatched the cash. "You're speaking my language, kid! We're talking high cash flow, low scrutiny. A laundromat's perfect—chemicals, cash, no questions. I'm your laundry guy, turning dirty dollars into sparkling legitimacy!" He leaned back, hands behind his head, his chair creaking under his weight.
Alex smirked, matching Saul's energy. "Truth's free, Saul, but my money's cleaner than your suit. Get me those fronts, and you're on speed dial." Their wits clicked, Alex's sarcasm meshing with Saul's sleaze, and the deal was struck. Alex pocketed one of Saul's gaudy business cards—yellow and black, screaming tacky—a small ritual of control that made him feel like a real player. Legal cover, check. Now I'm building something real.
Later that night, Alex stood in a liquor store parking lot, the asphalt still radiating heat from the day. A minor dealer—Krazy-8's associate, a wiry guy with a nervous twitch—counted a wad of cash by his beat-up car, oblivious to Alex's approach. The distant wail of a train horn cut through the quiet, and Alex adjusted his jacket, his grin dark and mischievous. Time for a test. Chaos is a great teacher.
"Hey, man," Alex called, his tone casual but urgent, his hands in his pockets. "Word is, the feds are planning a sting on Mesa tonight. Big DEA sweep, targeting low-level guys like you. My source is solid—skip the exchange."
The dealer's head snapped up, his hands fumbling the cash, his eyes wide with panic. "What? Mesa? You sure? I got a drop in an hour!" His voice cracked, his twitch worsening as he stuffed the bills into his pocket.
Alex shrugged, his grin sharpening. "Truth's free, my friend. Risk it if you want, but I'd rather not see you in cuffs." Teaching through chaos. Love it. He watched as the dealer scrambled into his car and peeled out, nearly clipping a curb, the screech of tires echoing in the night. The prank confirmed the network's jumpiness—valuable intel for future moves. Alex walked back to his car, the adrenaline of manipulation buzzing in his veins. His empire was growing, and with Saul in his corner, the next step was clear: bigger deals, bigger profits, and a path to that million-dollar upgrade.
[SYSTEM: Stat Update: Funds $70,000. Strength 1x, Stamina 1x. Keep stacking, noble crook.]
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