Oh, my God. Christ!| Shit.| Oh, God. Oh, my God.| Oh, my God. Oh, my God.| Think, think, think.| Oh, my gosh.| Okay. Come on,| come on, come on.| Come on.| My name is| Walter Hartwell White.| I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane,| Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104.| To all law-enforcement entities,| this is not an admission| of guilt.| I am speaking to my family now.| Skyler.| You are the love of my life.| I hope you know that.| Walter Jr.| You’re my big man.| There are… There are going| to be some things…| Things that you’ll| come to learn about me| in the next few days.| I just want you to know| that no matter how it may look| I only had you in my heart.| Goodbye.| – Money before the panel| earlier this year.| Happy birthday.| Oh.| Look at that.| That is veggie bacon.| Believe it or not.| Zero cholesterol| and you won’t even| taste the difference.| Mm.| What time do you think| you’ll be home?| Same time.| I don’t want him| dicking you around tonight.| You get paid till 5,| you work till 5. No later.| Aha.| Hey.| Hey, happy birthday.| Well, thank you.| You’re late again.| There was no hot water again.| I have an easy fix| for that.| You wake up early,| and then you get to be the first| person in the shower. Hm.| I have an idea.| How about buy| a new hot-water heater?| How’s that idea?| For the million-billionth time.| Did you take your echinacea?| Yeah.| I think it’s getting better.| What the hell is this?| – Hey.| – It’s veggie bacon.| We’re watching our cholesterol,| I guess.| Not me. I want real bacon.| Not this fake crap.| Too bad. Eat it.| Phew.| This smells like Band-Aids.| Eat it.| So how does it feel to be old?| How does it feel| to be a smart-ass?| Heh. Good.| Eat your veggie bacon.| – You’re all set?| – Yeah, I’m fine.| All right, see you at home.| Okay, see you.| Chemistry.| It is the study of what?| Anyone?| Ben.| Chemicals.| Chemicals.| No.| Chemistry is…| Well, technically, chemistry| is the study of matter.| But I prefer to see it| as the study of change.| Now, just…| Just think about this.| Electrons.| They| change their energy levels.| Molecules.| Molecules change their bonds.| Elements. They combine| and change into compounds.| Well, that’s…| That’s all of life, right?| I mean, it’s just…| It’s the constant, it’s the cycle.| It’s solution, dissolution,| just over and over and over.| It is growth, then decay,| then transformation.| It is fascinating, really.| Chad.| Is there something wrong| with your table?| Okay, ionic bonds.| Are you done?| Ionic bonds. Chapter six.| One, two, three makes 10,| and 10 makes 20.| There’s your receipt.| Just hand this claiming disc| to your car-wash professional.| Thank you. Come again.| He’s not coming.| He says he quits.| I’m gonna run the register.| Bogdan, no.| We talked about this.| I’m short-handed, Walter.| What am I to do?| Walter?| What am I to do?| Hey, Mr. White.| Make those tires shine, huh?| Oh, my God.| You will not believe| who’s cleaning Chad’s car.| Mr. White.| From chemistry.| Surprise!| Happy birthday, Dad.| – Happy birthday.| – Happy birthday.| Oh, you’re so very late.| Really, I’m serious, Skyler.| I mean, you’re flat| as a washboard.| Oh.| You look awesome.| She’s not showing at all,| is she?| She’s showing a little.| Carmen, this is my sister,| Marie.| Nice to meet you.| Hi.| Glock 22,| that’s my daily carry, okay?| I mean, unless you’re talking,| what, Plus P Plus loads,| you can forget the 9 mil,| all right?| Shit, I seen| one of those bounce| off a windshield one time.| Yeah, with you shooting.| Hey.| If you’re gonna bring a gun,| baby,| you gotta bring enough gun.| Forty caliber.| Uh…| This is awesome.| Nice, isn’t it?| Yeah. Dad,| come check this out.| Yeah, I see it.| – Come on, take it.| – Yeah. Check it out, Walt.| Ooh.| No, no, it’s just heavy.| That’s why they hire men.| Hey, it’s not gonna bite you.| Looks like Keith Richards with a| glass of warm milk, doesn’t he?| Hey, Walt.| Everybody, listen up,| listen up, listen up.| I’m gonna give a toast,| a little toast| to my brother-in-law.| Come here.| Walt, you got a brain| the size of Wisconsin| but we’re not gonna hold that| against you.| But your heart’s| in the right place, man.| Your heart’s in the right place.| We love you, man. We love you.| Everybody, to Walt.| Oh, shit. Turn on channel three.| At which point, we apprehended| three individuals| and placed them into custody.| I’m proud to say| the outstanding professionalism| of my fellow agents at the| Albuquerque District Office| resulted in a substantial| amount of methamphetamine| being taken off the streets.| – Were any shots fired?| – No, ma’am.| Our agents took the suspects| by surprise.| Damn. The TV does add 10 pounds.| Ten pounds?| Hey, sit and spin, both of you.| Hank.| What?| Sorry. You didn’t see that.| So charming.| – Clearly an ongoing operation.| – One which was well-organized…| – Hank, how much money is that?| – It’s about 700 grand.| It was a pretty good haul.| As I say, it’s a good day| for the citizens of Albuquerque| Wow.| When we can put this big a dent| in the local drug trade.| Well, that’s unusual, isn’t it?| That kind of cash?| Mm. Well, it’s not the most| we ever took.| It’s easy money,| till we catch you.| Heh-heh.| Walt, just say the word and| I’ll take you on a ride-along.| You can watch us| knock down a meth lab,| huh?| Get a little excitement| in your life.| Yeah, someday.| Which one’s this?| Um, that faux-Lalique vase| I picked up at the Super-Swap.| Oh.| How’s it doing?| Well, I met my reserve| and there’s still two minutes.| Oh.| What’s up?| You tell me, birthday boy.| Oh, hey, so, what’s up| for Saturday?| Mm. Car wash.| Bogdan says he needs me.| Till what time?| Noon, 1 -ish?| Probably 2, more like it.| And then what after that?| Um, actually,| ahem,| I was thinking of driving| up to Los Alamos.| They’ve got this…| The visitor center| has an exhibit on| that’s really supposed to be…| You’re not gonna paint?| No, I’ll paint.| It’s just that this…| You know, this exhibition| on the Mars-rover| photographs are…| I mean, the detail really is| just supposed to be amazing.| It’s just that I really need you| to paint at some point.| The sooner that back bedroom| gets finished…| I know.| And I’d do it myself, except| you said you don’t want me| standing on the stepladder.| I will paint.| Okay.| What is going on down there?| No, it’s…| Is he asleep?| No, it’s…| No, it’s nothing. He’s just…| You know. Well, you gotta be| careful about the baby and…| Well, don’t worry about| the baby. This is just for you.| We are just doing you tonight.| So just close your eyes,| relax, and let it…| Close your eyes.| Oh, okay.| Okay.| There you go.| That’s it.| There you go.| Keep it going.| Keep… Yes! Fifty-six. Oh.| This is so embarrassing.| I am fine, honestly.| It’s just some bug going around.| First, my wife had it,| then my son, and now me.| It’s just…| It’s just like a chest cold.| Could be some low| blood sugar as well.| I didn’t have the greatest| breakfast this morning.| Honestly, I didn’t.| Hey, listen, can you do me| a favor? Can you just, uh,| drop me off at a corner| somewhere?| Uh, no, sorry.| It’s just that I don’t have| the greatest insurance.| Take a couple of deep breaths| for me.| Is there anybody| you want us to contact for you?| Ha. No. God, no.| Lean forward for me,| would you?| Mr. White, are you a smoker?| No, never.| Why do you ask?| Mr. White?| Mr. White?| Yes?| You understood| what I’ve just said to you?| Yes.| Lung cancer. Inoperable.| I’m sorry.| I just need to make sure| you fully understand.| Best-case scenario, with chemo,| I’ll live maybe another| couple years.| It’s just| you’ve got mustard on your…| Right there.| You got mustard there.| Right there.| So my records show| that I paid it| and I certainly don’t feel| that we owe any late…| Yeah, all right. Um…| Well, I’ll check with the bank| and maybe the post office| if they lost it or something.| Yeah, let me look into that.| Okay.| Thank you.| Hey.| Um,| did you use the MasterCard| last month?| Uh,| fifteen eighty-eight at Staples?| Um… Oh, we needed| printer paper.| Walt, the MasterCard’s| the one we don’t use.| Okay.| So how was your day?| Oh, you know.| I don’t know. It was, um,| fine.| Hey, Walter.| Walter.| Walter. Tomorrow night| I’m shorthanded.| I need you outside| to do wipe downs.| Come on.| What?| I said I need you outside| to do some wipe downs.| Are you here to work,| or to be staring at the skies?| Come on. Let’s go.| Come on, man.| Fuck you, Bogdan.| What?| I said, “fuck you.”| And your eyebrows.| Wipe down this!| Yo.| Uh, Hank?| Hank, it’s Walt. Hey.| Oh, listen. I didn’t wake you,| did I?| Oh, good, good.| Oh, no, no.| Nothing’s wrong. I just…| I’ve been, uh, thinking about| that offer| of that ride-along.| It’s the last house| on the right. See it?| Not the two-story one,| the one next to it.| Kind of, uh, I don’t know| what do you call that? Um,| green?| Sage.| “Sage?”| Do you work at the| fucking Pottery Barn?| Jesus.| Sage.| That’s the word for it.| My fault the only word| your dumb ass knows| is “green”?| “Cheese-dick.”| I know that one.| How about that?| Anyway, it’s the, um,| sage one. See it?| So, what tells you| it’s a meth lab?| Just our snitch.| Says some dude who| goes by “Cap’n Cook”| lives up to his name in there.| Says he always adds| a dash of chili| powder. Heh-heh.| Ah, you exuberant Mexicans.| Uh-uh. “Cap’n Cook?”| That’s a white boy’s name.| Dopey as hell too.| Yeah? I’ll tell you what.| I got you 20 bucks| that says he’s a beaner.| All right.| You’re on.| All right. Come on,| come on, come on.| All right. School bus is clear.| You got the green light.| Copy that.| Watch this. Makes them shit.| Go, go, go, go!| Meth labs are nasty| on a good day.| You mix that shit wrong| and you got mustard gas.| Phosphine gas.| I think.| Yeah, exactly.| One whiff will kill you.| That’s why the respirators.| – House is clear.| – One suspect in custody.| Copy that.| The suspect,| might he be of| the Latino persuasion?| Driver’s license says| “Emilio Koyama.”| Asian. Pay up, sucker.| Hey, hey. First name, Emilio.| That’s at least half a beaner.| Tell you what,| I’ll let you off for a 10.| Whoa. Heh, heh.| Cheer up, Gomey.| You people still got J. Lo.| Hank.| Do you think I might| get to go inside?| See the actual lab?| Uh,| yeah.| Yeah, I’ll tell you what,| we’re gonna go peek| our heads in| check it out first.| Stay here a minute.| Let’s go, Frank.| Oh, God.| Oh, God.| Oh, my God.| Pinkman?| Hey. Uh, it’s me.| I’m alone.| How’d you find me?| You’re still| in our filing system.| So your… Your aunt| owns this place, right?| I own it.| Look, no one’s looking for you.| Why are you here?| I was curious.| Honestly, I never expected| you to amount to much…| but methamphetamine?| L…| I didn’t picture that.| There’s a lot of money in it,| huh?| I don’t know what you’re| talking about.| No?| Not a clue.| Cap’n Cook?| That’s not you?| Like I said,| no one is looking for you.| Look, I don’t know what| you think you’re doing here,| Mr. White.| I mean, if you’re planning| on giving me some| bull-winder about getting right| with Jesus or turning myself in.| Not really.| High school was a long time ago.| You ain’t Welcome Back, Kotter,| so step off. No speeches.| Short speech.| You lost your partner today.| What’s-his-name.| Emilio?| Emilio is going to prison.| The DEA took all| your money, your lab.| You’ve got nothing.| Square one.| But you know the business| and I know the chemistry.| I’m thinking| maybe you and I| could partner up.| You, uh…| You wanna cook crystal meth?| You.| You and, uh…| And me.| That’s right.| Wow.| Either that,| or I turn you in.| What the hell is this?| Damned if I know.| I described it| as mosaic folk art.| And somebody bought it?| Yeah, some guy in Minneapolis.| Fourteen dollars plus shipping.| Yes.| At this rate,| in 50 or 60 years| you’ll be rich.| So how goes the novel?| It’s not a novel, actually,| which l…| You’re not writing a novel?| You told me you were.| No. Short stories.| I said that if eventually| I have enough good ones,| that maybe I’ll try| and publish another collection.| Those really didn’t sell.| I just thought a novel| would be easier to sell.| Yeah, well, maybe so.| Ever want me| to read anything,| I could critique it for you.| Oh.| No.| I mean, I’m just not| at that stage where I…| No.| Open offer.| So, what’s up with Walt lately?| What do you mean?| He’s fine.| He just seems,| I don’t know.| Quieter than usual.| Well, turning 50 is a big deal.| I mean, I’m sure as hell| not looking forward to 40.| You’re gonna be a| complete basket-case.| So it’s a mid-life crisis.| No. He’s just quiet.| How’s the sex?| Marie, Jesus.| I guess that answers that.| You just gonna sit there?| Look at this. Look at this.| Kjeldahl-style recovery flask,| 800 milliliters. Very rare.| You got your usual| paraphernalia,| Griffin beakers,| there’s your Erlenmeyer flask.| Butthe pièce de résistance,| a round bottom boiling flask,| 5000 milliliters. Huh?| I cook in one of those.| A big one.| One of these?| No, this is a| volumetric flask.| You wouldn’t cook| in one of these.| Uh, yeah. I do.| Uh, no, you don’t.| A volumetric flask is for| general mixing and titration.| You wouldn’t apply heat| to a volumetric flask.| That’s what a boiling flask| is for.| Did you learn nothing| from my chemistry class?| No. You flunked me, remember?| No wonder.| Prick.| And let me tell you| something else.| This ain’t chemistry.| Okay, this is art.| Oh, ha.| Cooking is art,| and shit I cook is the bomb,| so don’t be telling me.| Shit you cook is shit.| The shit.| I saw your setup. Ridiculous.| You and I will not| make garbage.| We will produce| a chemically pure| and stable product| that performs as advertised.| No adulterants.| No baby formula.| No chili powder.| No, no. Chili P’s my signature.| Not anymore.| Yeah, well,| we’ll see about that.| What the hell is this?| Lab safety equipment.| We’re also gonna have| an emergency eye wash station.| These chemicals and| their fumes are toxic.| In case you didn’t know that.| Well, you can dress up like| a faggot if you want. Not me.| Listen, this stuff| doesn’t stay more than a day.| What?| I thought we were| gonna cook here.| No, we’re not| gonna cook here.| Okay, this is my house.| I don’t shit where I eat.| Well, then where| are we gonna work?| You tell me.| This is your deal, man.| You wanna smoke it up,| smoke it up at your house.| No, I didn’t think so.| Oh, well.| Well,| what if we rented one of those| self-storage places?| You know,| those little orange garages?| Worked out of there?| No, they’re onto that.| They’ve got dogs| that sniff around.| RV, that’s what you want.| What, like a Winnebago?| Yeah.| I know a dude| who wants to sell his.| He just goes camping with it.| But a mobile meth lab?| That’d be the bomb.| I mean, you can drive| way out in the boonies.| Be all evasive.| Dude, this isn’t even| seven grand, all right?| My guy wants 85.| This is all the money| I have in the world.| You’re a drug dealer. Negotiate.| You are not| how I remember you| from class.| I mean, like, not at all.| Yeah, well, I gotta go.| Wait. Wait. Hold up.| Tell me why you’re doing this.| Seriously.| Why do you do it?| Money, mainly.| There you go.| Nah, come on, man.| Some straight like you,| giant stick up his ass| all a sudden at age, what, 60,| he’s just gonna break bad?| I’m 50.| It’s weird, is all.| Okay, it doesn’t compute.| Listen,| if you’ve gone crazy| or something,| I mean, if y… If you’ve gone| crazy, or depressed.| I’m… I’m just saying.| T… That’s something| I need to know about.| Okay, I mean, that affects me.| I am awake.| What?| Buy the RV.| We start tomorrow.| How’s it coming in there?| Fine.| Do you want me or your dad?| Dad.| So how are those feeling in| the waist? Are they too tight?| You don’t want to get them| if they’re too tight.| They’re…| They’re pretty shrunk.| Are you sure you| don’t want to get the…?| Like a different kind?| Like, you know,| the skinny jeans,| because those are in style.| The skaters wear them.| Do I look like a skater?| All right.| Mom, get them, my big boy pants.| Mommy, could you zip up| my big boy pants?| – Don’t.| – What?| Don’t.| Walt.| – Where…?| – I have no idea.| No, you know what?| Don’t even look at them.| They’re obviously very stupid.| Yep.| Yeah.| I think that, um…| I think those jeans| look really good on you.| I think you should get them| if you like them, okay?| You know what?| Why don’t you hang out here| for a second. I’ll be right back.| Fine.| Hey, Mommy,| I think I pinched a loaf| in my brand new big boy pants.| What are you doing?| What’s wrong, chief?| Having a little trouble walking?| Get off me! Get off me!| I’ll mess you up, man.| You’ll have one shot.| You’d better make it good.| What, are you waiting for| your girlfriends? You better go.| You’d better go. Take it.| Take your shot. Take it!| Come on. Come on.| Come on,| let’s get out of here.| Let’s go.| Psycho.| Yeah, nothing but cows.| Got some big cow house| way out that way,| like two miles,| but I don’t see nobody.| “Cow house”?| Yeah. Where they live.| The cows.| Whatever, man.| Shit, yeah. Let’s cook here.| Cow house.| God help me.| Uh, what are you doing?| These are my good clothes.| You can’t go home| smelling like a meth lab.| Uh, yeah, you can. I do.| Those?| Wow. Those, uh…| You’re keeping those on,| right?| Come on. Daylight’s burning.| Oh, my God.| Wow, this is… This is| a good look for you.| I mean, you’re maybe only| the world’s second-biggest homo.| Would you shut up and help me?| Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.| Work it. Baby, work it.| Turn that off.| This is glass-grade.| You got…| Jesus, you got crystals in here| two inches, three inches long.| This is pure glass.| You’re a goddamn artist.| This… This is art, Mr. White.| Well, actually,| it’s just basic chemistry,| but thank you, Jesse.| I’m glad it’s acceptable.| Acceptable?| You’re the goddamn Iron Chef.| Every jibhead from here to| Timbuktu’s gonna want a taste.| Man, l… I gotta try this.| No. No.| No. We only sell it.| We don’t use it.| Okay, since when?| Listen, you’ve been watching| way too much Miami Vice.| That ain’t happening.| So, what now?| How do we proceed?| We cook more tomorrow.| Meantime,| I know just the guy to talk to.| Get him. Come on.| Hey, yo. Kraze,| how you doing, my man?| Hey, you got a new dog.| Right on, man.| What’s his name?| Yeah, I had a dog like that| once,| except maybe like twice as big.| Super-purebred.| Now, me personally,| I would train him to go| straight for the nutsack.| Just shut your mouth| and show me your money.| I ain’t buying, ese.| I’m selling.| Tell me that ain’t the finest| scante you ever laid eyes on.| Go ahead. Try it.| Hey, poochie. How you doing?| Jesus Christ.| Yeah. Booya! See, what’d I say?| It’s all right.| It’s all right?| It’s all right?| Yeah, it’s all right.| So what?| You’re back in business?| Hell, yeah, I’m back.| With a vengeance.| Vato loco gotta make a living.| You know, with your cousin| gone away and all…| And listen, homes,| about that…| Really broke me up about Emilio.| That dude is like my brother.| You okay? You talk to him?| Yeah, I talk to him.| Said when the feds came,| you were out sticking it in| some neighbor lady.| Hey, you know,| I got lucky twice.| I don’t know, man.| Emilio…| he thinks maybe| you dimed on him.| Whoa, whoa, hey, hey.| That is bullshit.| That is bullshit, Krazy-8.| I should kick his punk ass| for even thinking that.| You know what?| Next time you talk to Emilio,| you tell him for me, all right?| Why don’t you tell him yourself?| Made bail this morning.| Go ahead, pendejo.| Kick my ass.| Hey, listen…| Where did you get this?| Hm?| Because I know your little| punk ass didn’t cook it.| Damn, man.| What are you,| some kind of nudist?| Yeah, that’s some| stone-fine tick-tick| you been cooking there, ese.| How about you come| work for me?| I’d be willing to sell it to you| if… If the price is right.| Out here all by yourself, huh?| Hey, I know you.| He was there| when I got busted.| He’s with the DEA.| No.| You rata snitch motherfucker.| Run, Mr. White! Run!| Ah.| I say we cap them both.| You really cook up that batch?| Yeah.| You an artist.| It’s a damn shame.| Wait.| Wait a minute.| Listen to me.| I’ll teach you my recipe, huh?| What do you say?| You wanna cook like me?| You let us both live,| and I will teach you, huh?| Put the cigarette out.| Please…| Move it, homes. You got all day?| Okay.| Shit.| Shit!| What happened?| Hey, what’d you do to them?| Red phosphorus in the| presence of moisture| and accelerated by heat| yields phosphorus hydride.| Phosphine gas.| One good whiff and poof.| We gotta…| We gotta clean this up.| Where were you?| Walt…| I don’t know what’s| been going on with you lately| but…| Nothing, honey. I’m fine.| Whatever it is,| I’ll tell you this.| I do not like it| when you don’t talk to me.| The worst thing you can do| is shut me out.| Walt…| Oh, Walt, is that you?|