I meant what I said
about being grateful to be here... ...and for this opportunity
and this group of people. But I also have to say,
if we hadn't done this show... ...if you guys hadn't done this show,
Iet's face it... ...there would have been riots. You didn't have a whole lot of choice. I mean, if you've seen this movie,
<i>Godzilla,</i> it would have been like that... ...only without the monster,
just rage at the TV. There would've been revolutions
in the Ukraine. I mean... It's amazing, right? It's an amazing
vibe here, and an amazing group. So glad to be here
and ready to have a good time. -AII right.
-Yeah. And we don't have
our whole cast here... ...just because of dates and bookings
and Iogistical issues. -We see who cares.
-Okay. So it's-- Yeah, thank you. They are very important. So we have a real team effort here
with our writers... ...and some of our other collaborators
reading roles. Bob is gonna do Gene, Saul, Jimmy. Jonathan Banks is gonna do Mike. Peter Gould is going to be Chuck. Patrick Fabian
is going to be Howard Hamlin. Rhea Seehorn, Kim. Jenn Carroll is gonna read Abuelita. Genni Hutchison, Brenda. Daniel Levine, Cal.
Steven Levine, Lars. Sharon Bialy, our fantastic
casting director, chief clerk... ...and Mrs. Nguyen. Our hacksaw boy, Defendant 1,
is, of course, Tom Schnauz. -Of course.
-Obviously. Our second defendant, Bradley Paul.
Betsy Kettleman, Heather Marion. Craig Kettleman, Gordon Smith. And screen direction,
Brett Dos Santos. Okay, guys, here we go.
<i>Better Call Saul</i> episode 101teaser. Scene one: Macro close on a spiral
which fills the frame... ...Iazily spinning like a hypno disk. We realise it's a Cinnabon. And as we pull away from it,
it gets coated with icing. There's a tray of them waiting to
be slathered with creamy goodness... ...for indeed
we are inside the Cinnabon store. As a female employee puts
finishing touches on these pastries... ...another employee
slides a tray into the oven. We see macro close-ups,
coffee dripping... ...coiled heating elements, et cetera. AII of this, every image in the teaser
is shown in glorious black and white. PIace is fairly busy with customers.
There's also a middle-aged manager. CIose on his name tag, says "Gene." Gene's got unhip glasses, a walrus
moustache, and dark, thinning hair. Goes about his work briskly,
efficiently... ...exuding neither personality
nor attitude. We wouldn't give this man
a second glance... ...except that we used to know him
as Saul Goodman. We are Iooking at a fugitive
from justice. As predicted
at the end of <i>Breaking Bad...</i> ...Saul now manages a Cinnabon
in Omaha, Nebraska. This is cut-and-dried stuff. It's a day in the Iife of a restaurant. We hear only snippets
of conversation. No emotions on display.
Neither happy nor sad. It's simply work. Helping out an employee,
Gene expertly packages an order to go. Handing it off, he double takes,
noticing something. There's a customer sitting in a two-top
way in the back of the store. And he's-- Hard to tell through those glasses... ...but he seems to be staring at Gene,
intently. Whatever Gene's doing, it ceases.
He blinks and stares back. Sunglasses rises to his feet,
starts walking towards us. We creep in on Gene who exhibits the
first hint of emotion we've witnessed. Fear.
Though he tries to hide it, it's growing. The fugitive, Saul Goodman,
has just been recognised. His time on the run
has reached an end. Except Sunglasses now walks
right past Gene. Gene's head swivels with this guy
who waves to a friend outside. The guy's stare only seemed
to be directed at Gene. It never actually was. Gene gives a secret sigh of relief... ...and wills his heartbeat
back to 140. Again, he's on autopilot,
back to the grind. Scene two, we cut, exterior
of a townhouse complex at night. Cookie-cutter townhouses, depressing. This is where Larry
from <i>Three 's Company</i> went to die. I nside the apartment,
downstairs at night... ...ice cubes clunk into a highball glass. Drambuie and some off-brand Scotch
gets poured making a Rusty Nail. I nstead of a twist of Iemon,
there's a squirt... ...from one of those Iittle
Iemon-shaped juice bottles. Gene slurps the excess off his drink,
walks into the living room. This place has zero personality.
Oakwood vibe. Gene plops down on the sectional,
fires up his flat screen. He channel-surfs, finding something... ...sipping his Rusty Nail
and staring straight through the TV. A thought eventually strikes him. He sets down his drink,
rises, heads for the stairs. Before he goes,
he pauses to check the window blinds. They're closed tight,
complete privacy. BIack frame. Door opens and Iight floods in.
We realise we're in a closet. Gene kneels
to pull suitcases out of the way. He had these when he took his Ieave
in episode 515 of <i>Breaking Bad.</i> With the suitcases removed,
the hatch is revealed. Cut into the dry wall at the back. Now Gene removes from it
a dented old shoebox. Still kneeling, Gene opens the box. We get a glimpse
as he sifts through its contents. There are papers, some old photos,
a fat stack of Mexican pesos. There's a Band-Aid box
that rattles Iike it's half full of pebbles. And lastly,
there's an unmarked VHS tape. This is what Gene came for.
He cradles it in his hands. Back downstairs,
the tape gets pressed into a VCR. Gene backs into frame, settling into
the sofa, never taking his eyes off the TV. He feels around in front of it
for his Rusty Nail. We never once see
what's on the TV screen. Over a bouncy musical jingle whose
refrain is "better call Saul," we hear: Hey, you.
Did you know you have rights? My name's Saul Goodman,
attorney-at-Iaw... ...and I'm itching for a fight
with prosecutors, judges, the police... ...anyone who's out to ruin your day. So if you're in trouble,
better call Saul. This is the first in a series
of 15-second commercials. A second one plays.
And another, and another. The whole time, we stay on Gene
who stares at them intently. But Gene shows no emotion. No nostalgia, no regret, not pride. His expression is unreadable... ...yet there's one subtle detail
we may note. Gradually, a bit of colour effuses
into this black-and-white image. The Iight from the unseen TV. It flickers across Gene's face
in blue, yellow and red. Off these colours,
growing brighter, more vibrant... ...as dead-eye Gene
sips his drink and stares. Act 1:
interior courthouse courtroom. AIbuquerque City seal on the frame. We're back in colour. Tilt down to reveal a Iong-faced judge
sitting on his bench... ...peering up at the ceiling,
staring at nothing... ...rotates in his chair
Ieft to right, right to Ieft. We hear the squeak of the chair. That is the Ioudest thing we hear
even though the courtroom is packed. Jurors, alternates.
In the jury box, one of them coughs... ...another shifts in her seat,
another idly scratches his ear. Someone in the visitors' section
checks his watch. Somebody else's stomach rumbles. The court reporter examines
a fingernail... ...then reaches for her Big Gulp,
takes a sip. The Iead prosecutor
removes his readers... ...picks out a piece of sleep from
his eyes, frowns at it on his pinkie. And beside him we see a second chair
assuming to be taking notes. A closer look reveals this woman
is drawing a barbarian riding a unicorn. Over at the defence table
sit three defendants. White guys. They Iook innocent. They Iook nervous as currently
they don't have a defence attorney. The defendants glance sidelong
to one another wondering where he is. We hear a creak. The judge rotates
towards the bailiff, gives him a shrug. The bailiff nods,
rises to his feet and exits. We cut to the men's room. Hands are splayed apart
pressed against a wall. A man is alone in here standing... ...as if he's assuming the position
in order to be frisked. Actually, he's at a urinal
relieving himself. We don't get a good look.
We're on his back. He seems to be murmuring
under his breath. Whatever he's saying,
we can barely hear it. Remember? Nineteen. To be... Let me tell you. To be 19 again, yeah, because....
Because... Meet Jimmy McGill.
He's getting ready... ...psyching himself up. Who is Jimmy McGill?
Well, you know him as Saul Goodman. But at this particular moment,
we're in 2002. Saul is a ways off in the future. Jimmy is still going
by the name he was born with. Door opens behind him,
the bailiff sticks his head in. He gives a whistle,
says, "You're on." Jimmy glances over his shoulder
and nods. Zip goes the fly,
flush goes the urinal... ...turns to the mirror, shoots his cuffs,
danger filled-- His tie. It's showtime. Is he nervous? Fuck, no.
He owns this fucking place. Back to the courtroom, black frame,
then we reveal the courtroom. Jimmy walking through.
Like EIvis, taking the stage... ...at the I nternational Hotel.
AII eyes are on him. Oh, to be 19 again. You with me, Iadies and gentlemen?
You remember 19? Because Iet me tell you,
the juices are flowing... ...those red corpuscles
are corpuscling. The grass is green and soff
and summer's gonna last forever. Remember? Yeah, you do. But if you're being honest,
really honest... ...you'll also recall you had an
underdeveloped 19-year-old brain. I mean, that thing
was the size of a circus peanut. Me, personally, I was-- Let's just say,
if I was held accountable... ...for every stupid decision I made
when I was 19? Oh, boy. And I bet if I were at church right now
I'd get a big "amen." Which brings us to these three. Now, these three knuckleheads--
I'm sorry, boys, but that's what you are. --They did a dumb thing.
We're not denying that. However, I would Iike to point out
two salient facts. Fact one, nobody got hurt. Not a soul.
Very important to keep that in mind. Fact two, though the prosecution keeps
banding the term "criminal trespass"... ...Mr. Spinowzo, the property owner,
admitted to us... ...that he keeps most portions
of his business open day and night. So trespassing. I mean, Dave,
that's kind of a reach, isn't it? Here's what I know. These three young men,
near-honour students all... ...were feeling their oats
one Saturday night and they... Well, I don't know. Look, call me crazy... ...but I don't think they deserve
to have their bright futures ruined... ...for what amounts
to a minute, momentary... ...never-to-be-repeated
Iapse of judgement. Ladies and gentlemen,
you're bigger than that. Jesus, Jimmy is good. He's confident, folksy and genuine.
He's passionate and convincing. His three clients smile hopefully.
Things are looking up. Except, why is the jury
so very deadpan? Same goes for the judge. Didn't any of that land
on these people? The prosecutor rises to his feet,
makes his rebuttal. He crosses to an AV cart
tucked in the corner. Rolls the cart
where the jury can see it... ...pushes a tape into the deck,
the TV screen goes blue. Now up comes a homemade video.
Two of our defendants are in it. It's hand-held and shaky and seems to
take place in a Iaboratory of some sort. Guys keep their voices Iow
so as not to get caught. They're giggly and dopey, proudly
documenting their exploits on camera And what are these exploits,
you ask? This is the embalming room
of a funeral home. One of the guys, hacksaw in hand... ...is sawing the head off
an elderly male corpse. Oh, to be 19 again. Now, as the head comes loose
from the hacksaw... ...hacksaw boy dangles it
by its white hair. Most jurors avert their eyes,
having seen this before. Prosecutor Ieans against the cart
with his fingers Iaced... ...staring off at the floor.
This is the entirety of his rebuttal. He doesn't even need to say a word. Dude, dude.
Stick your wang in the throat hole. The three real-Iife defendants
shift uncomfortably in their seat. Jimmy gives them a fake nod
and a wave-off. "It's gonna be fine." Yeah, sure it is. Back in the courthouse,
in the chief clerk's office. Stuffed animals are displayed
on the desk of the court's chief clerk. She's staring up at Jimmy
who is in mid rant waving a cheque. -Now, what kind of math is that?
-Seven hundred for defence. No, no, no. Per defendant. Three defendants, 2100. Which, by the way, bargain. Those
three maniacs, what I did for them. -They're going to jail, ain't they?
-So? Since when is that--? They had sex with a head. Nobody told you
to try all three of them together. One trial, $700. So you want me
to spend nine weeks of my life... ...one maniac at a time
with three maniac skullfu--? You know what, you're gonna miss me.
You... You're gonna miss me.
It'II be a cold day in hell... ...before I take any more PD work
for this shitty court. Sayonara, baby. And out the door he slams.
The clerk couldn't care Iess. In the parking lot... ...pissed Jimmy headed
for a pearlescent white Cadillac. Of course we remember
his famous car. He doesn't own that Caddy just yet. So we adjust to the vehicle parked
next to it. A mid-'90s Suzuki Esteem. And, yes, as the name
perversely implies, it's a shitbox. Jimmy plops his briefcase
on the Suzuki's roof, digs for his keys. His cell phone rings.
Jimmy checks his cell... ...and his anger evaporates. I nstantly gets replaced
with nervous hope. Fumbling to answer the call,
pauses to collect himself. When he speaks,
it's with a British accent. Law offices of James McGill.
How may I direct your call? Oh, yes, Mrs. Kettleman,
so good of you to return. Actually, I don't have Mr. McGill
at the moment, but I know he-- Oh, splendid. Unfortunately,
our offices are being painted... ...and the fumes are quite horrid. Could he meet you and your husband
at, say, Loyola's Café on Central? Four o'clock, it shall be. Cheers. Jimmy hangs up,
silently pumps his fist. He checks his watch, jumps in his car,
barely remembering his briefcase. As the car tears off,
we find ourselves at a cashier booth. A guard arm blocking the exit
as the Esteem comes to a quick stop. Jimmy hands his ticket
to the attendant. We angle past this attendant,
not seeing his face. Three dollars. I'm validated, see the stickers? I see five stickers,
but you're one shy. It's $3. Do we recognise this voice?
Boy, it sure sounds familiar. Meanwhile Jimmy is antsy
to Ieave and impatient. They gave me-- Look. I'm validated for the day, all right? Five stickers, six stickers,
I don't know... ...because I was in that court
saving people's Iives. Gee, you know, that's swell. Thank you for restoring my faith
in the legal system. Now, you either pay the $3
or go and get an additional sticker. Another vehicle is behind Jimmy
blocking him from backing up-- The big reveal.
We missed the big reveal. -That was the line we revealed Mike.
-Let me back it up there. -We show the attendant--
-There's the words "holy shit." We show the attendant. Holy shit. It's Mike Ehrmantraut.
What's he doing here? Neither of these two men know each
from Adam, nor do they care to. -Okay.
-And then I say... -You say what you just said.
-I say this, "Gee, that's swell." Thank you for restoring my faith
in the legal system. Now, either pay the $3
or go and get an additional sticker. There's another vehicle behind Jimmy,
blocking him. No way is he paying 3 bucks.
Money is tight. Son of a-- Fine, I'm going back. I'm going back there, Iift the--
Do the thing already. Mike hands him his ticket
Iifts the guard arm. Great job.
Employee of the month right there. We find ourselves at Loyola's Café.
Scene 12, we're in a booth, close. Coffee gets stirred
by a woman's hand. Her other hand rests atop
her husband's. I'm just fuzzy as to why you think
he needs a Iawyer. We reveal Craig
and Betsy Kettleman. I mean, Craig,
the way you run your office? -Beyond reproach.
-Beyond reproach? I'm a stickler. He's a stickler. With the money?
He's definitely a stickler. -He's certainly not guilty of--
-Certainly not. He's innocent of any wrongdoing,
that much is clear to me. I don't go Iooking for guilty people
to represent. Jeez. Who needs that aggravation,
all right? Look. I only know what I read
in the paper, but here's the thing... ...typically, when money goes missing
from the county treasury and-- What's the figure, 1.6 million? -It's an accounting discrepancy.
-A discrepancy. Absolutely. So typically, when that happens,
the police Iook at the treasurer. And since that person is,
you know... Yeah, I just think maybe a little
proactivity may be in order. I think I'd Iook guilty
if I hired a lawyer. Actually it's getting arrested... ...that makes people look guilty,
even the innocent ones. And let me tell you, innocent people
get arrested all the time. And they find themselves
in a room with a detective... ...who acts Iike he's their best friend.
"Talk to me," he says. "Help me clear this thing up. You don't need a Iawyer,
only guilty people need Iawyers." And that's where it all goes south. When you want someone
in your corner. Someone who will fight tooth and nail,
someone who will, in fact... ...already have your defence strategy
mapped out in advance. Lawyers, huh?
We're like health insurance. You hope you'Il never need it,
but man, oh, man, not having it... So how would we proceed
if we decided to...? Jimmy is way ahead of him. He produces a document which
he lays before them as well as a pen. This is a Ietter of engagement.
Very simple, straightforward. PIease, by all means, read it closely.
If you sign it... ...I can get to work on that strategy
of ours this very afternoon. Mr. Kettleman eyes his wife
who scans the letter... ...and seems to see nothing wrong. Mr. Kettleman picks up the pen.
We're close on Jimmy. For whom time slows down.
Jimmy plays it cool, of course. Signing Mr. Kettleman would be Iike
Ahab catching the white whale. He holds his breath. Jimmy's POV, the pen clicks open
in dreamy slow motion. In this speciality ultra-macro shot,
the huge ball point tip... ...Iazily descends to the paper. It impacts the dotted line
Ieaving an ink spot. This is it. This is the golden moment
when Jimmy Iands his first big client. It's really happening until... Craig... ...I think maybe
we should sleep on it. Sure. We should do that, yeah.
Don't you think, Mr. McGill? Oh, please, call me Jimmy.
Absolutely, no rush. Oh, you know what, Craig? We gotta pick up the kids. We'll be in touch. Thank you
for the coffee and the advice. Yeah, you're very, very welcome. -Oh, and here, that's got my number.
-Handing them a matchbook... ...with "James M. McGill, a Iawyer
you can trust" on the cover. AII smiles and waves
as the Kettlemans exit. AIone in the booth, he slurps his coffee
and glares into space. "Fuck." He turns and peers out the window. His POV, we see the Kettlemans round
to their modest vehicle... ...an '80s Mercury Sable station waggon.
We can't hear the discussion... ...but Mrs. Kettleman's
body Ianguage is very clear. "We're not signing with the first Iawyer
we meet." CIimbs behind the wheel... ...very much the driver
in this relationship. Jimmy sighs.
He's not ready to give up yet. Fishing out his wallet to pay the bill,
we see he's got 6 bucks to his name. We cut to a suburban street
in the afternoon. We see the Suzuki Esteem zoom past,
we cut inside. And Jimmy holds the phone,
in mid conversation... ...balancing a credit card
and squinting to read while he drives. 243627, expiration, 4, 2004. And the keyword is "classy," all right? Super classy, use only flowers
that Iook expensive, but aren't. And the note should say: "Dear, Betsy and Craig. Best wishes from your stickler
for justice, James McGill." Okay? And McGill is spelled... Wait, what? No, no. No, run it again. I'm telling you, it's paid up.
Run it again. Some skateboarder comes and slams
across the hood of Jimmy's car. He cracks the windshield
before he tumbles. The Suzuki slides to a stop. "Oh, shit." Jimmy sits motionless
for a second, breathing fast. He just had the piss
scared out of him. Driver's door swings open
and Jimmy climbs out. On the pavement lies a dude
who is groaning. This is Cal... ...as Jimmy wonders
how to tend to him. -Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
-A second Ianky skateboarder, Lars... ...comes gliding in
with a late '90s camcorder. It quickly becomes apparent
that Lars is a dead ringer... ...for the guy moaning on the asphalt.
Lars and Cal are identical twins. Cal, are you okay?
Look at me, say something. What did you do, man, to my brother?
Oh, Jesus. I think I'm okay, man. I'm-- Stay Iow. Just stay Iow, dude. We gotta call-- Why don't you Iook
where you're going? -He came out of nowhere.
-You freaking hit him, ran him over. I got the whole thing on video. It was an accident. He didn't mean to.
Let me just-- Okay, yeah, it's my leg. Is it broke? You broke his Ieg.
Why y'all driving and not looking? Breaking people's Iegs-- -Somebody call the cops?
-Lars bellows to anyone who'll Iisten. A few Iooky-Ioos
in the distance watching... -...but not eager to get involved.
-Lars, don't. Police! I'm calling them myself.
I'm gonna call them. Lars fumbles for his phone,
starts to dial. On the asphalt, Cal grips his Ieg,
shrugs to Jimmy. Boy, Jimmy must be
in a full-blown panic, right? Wrong. In fact, the angrier Lars gets, the more
Jimmy's anxiety seems to ebb away. It gets replaced with a kind
of inscrutable watchfulness. Finally, in his best Kevin Spacey,
affectless deadpan : Gee, fellas, I'm awfully sorry. I mean, how much do you think
it'd cost for me to make this right? Lars, his phone to his ear,
snorts, shakes his head. Peacemaker Cal looks
to his brother searchingly. "Let's find it in our hearts to forgive." Finally, Cal considers, and then... I don't know, 500 bucks. Jimmy considers, nodding. A beat of silence. Then he kicks seated Cal
right in the broken leg. What the hell, man? Hey, Sideshow Bobs,
I'Il give you a 9.6 for technique... ...but choice of victim: 0.0. I'm a Iawyer,
you couple of mongoloids! Furthermore, does this steaming pile
of crap scream payday to you two? Seriously, the only way
this entire car is worth 500... ...would be if it had a $300 hooker
sitting in the front seat. Now, let's talk about what you owe me
for my windshield. Knowing they're intellectually
outgunned, Lars and Cal beat it... -...Jimmy yelling affer them.
-I'Il take a cheque! Jimmy watches them go,
then studies his shittier car. We cut to a nail salon. On the salon floor... ...close on a woman's foot
as it gets decalloused. We hear a murmur
of Vietnamese being spoken. We're in a strip mall nail salon. Four or five Vietnamese women chatter
as they tend to their female clients. Hanging bells jingle
as Jimmy enters. He's got a big smile
for all his pearls of the orient. The Iadies all beam and greet him.
They're happy to see Jimmy. The one exception is Mrs. Nguyen,
the salon's formidable owner. My, don't you Iook... Is there any mail? Frowning, the woman hands him
a stack of envelopes. Jimmy gives a tip of the hat, heads for
the back, shuffling through his mail. You work for people make sex
with chopped off head? -Good luck.
-Oh, was it in the paper? I hear about it from my cousin. Why?
Why you work for those people? I'm just Iucky I guess. Cucumber water for customers only. This, as Jimmy stops to pour a drink
from a dispenser with cucumber slices. He gives up,
disappears in the back of the salon. We're in a hallway
as Jimmy passes through. The area is stocked with supplies... ...and a fluorescent tube
with a faulty ballast flickers. When he reaches a door marked... ..."James M. McGill, Esquire,
a Iaw corporation"... ...we realise
this is the office that Jimmy has. Back in Jimmy's office, it's dark.
Jimmy flicks on the Iights. CIuttered and depressing,
that about sums this place up. The office is barely big enough
for one person. Jimmy shuts the door behind him.
Now that he's alone, his smile fades. "Christ, what a day."
He pulls loose the knot on his tie... ...scooches to the path to his desk,
plopping down behind it. Here there's a dated, old,
multi-Iined desk phone. Jimmy punches the voice mail button.
"You have zero messages." Jimmy isn't surprised.
Business is slow. He considers, then wriggles
his fingers at the phone. It's as if he's casting a magical spell
on it, compelling it to ring. It doesn't. Jimmy gives up, siffs through mail. CIose angles.
Nothing but bill after bill after bill. He stops shuffling
when he comes across an envelope. Very expensive vellum. Return address is that of AIbuquerque
Iaw firm Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill. Jimmy considers. Guardedly hopeful,
he slits the envelope. I nside there's a cover letter.
There's also a cashier's cheque. Jimmy studies it for a long time. The cheque is written
to him personally. It's made out in the amount
of $26,000. "Holy shit."
We've seen how broke Jimmy is. We know he's in dire
financial straits. Now, hallelujah. But Jimmy is not overjoyed
about this sudden financial windfall. It seems to piss him off, to a degree
that he now tears the cheque in half. And off a grim Jimmy,
we end Act 1. Act 2, we're in an elevator,
call button... ...filling a frame.
His finger jabs it, lighting it up. Jimmy waits
in a place we don't recognise. It's a new day, and Jimmy is wearing
his best acrylic-blend suit. He's alone here. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself,
he glances over to a trash can nearby. Its shiny metal side
is prominently dented. Jimmy stares at it, lost in thought. "Ding." The arrival of the elevator
snaps him out of it. He steps aboard. We cut to a lobby. Door slides open
on a brand-new Jimmy. Now he's confident,
a master of the universe. Strolling out of the elevator into
the world of Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill... ...this is everything a Iaw firm
should be. It's big and airy, screaming money. Everyone's well-dressed,
down to the paralegals and assistants. As people come and go,
Jimmy smiles and nods hello... -...knows every last man and woman.
-Marvin. Hey, Alice. Looking good, Kevin. The employees he passes
are reserved. As if they like Jimmy
but feel awkward. There's a hint of pity in their eyes.
Jimmy ignores it. With his fingertips he beats a drum
on the reception counter. Oh, sorry.
Hey, Brenda, where's Lord Vader? -South conference room?
-He's not quite ready for you yet. -How about you wait here?
-How about I don't? Jimmy strolls out of sight. The receptionist glances after him,
picks up her phone. We then cut to a conference room. Across the room,
at the far end of this mile-long table... ...sits Howard Hamlin
and six of his junior partners. Got coffee and Danishes... ...and are midway
through an informal meeting. Jimmy walks right in... ...finding himself alone at the other end
of this ridiculously long table. He bellows
his best Ned Beatty impersonation. You have meddled with the primal
forces of nature, Mr. Hamlin... ...and I won't have it! Way in the distance, Hamlin and his
juniors sit, blinking and staring at him. They're not big fans
of the movie <i>Network</i> apparently. A young female Iawyer, Kim,
is already on the phone... ...when Jimmy arrived,
into it Iow and flat. It's okay, Brenda, we got it. Sorry, it's this table. Something just comes over me. What can we do for you, Jimmy? Jimmy plops down
in an empty chair. Reaches in his jacket,
pulls out confetti... ...which used to be that big cheque.
Sprinkles it on the tabletop. You could tell me what this 26,000
is supposed to be for. It's money for Chuck. Isn't that what you wanted? A measly 26 grand? Jesus, you're like Peter Minuit
with the I ndians. Throw in some beads and shells
while you're at it. It's a start. There'Il be more. Unless you're just gonna
tear them all up. And why was the cheque
made out to me? Why not Chuck? Can he make his way to the bank? I just assumed it would be best
the money go through you. -We'll do it any way you want.
-If I didn't know any better... ...I'd say this was some kind of bribe
where you throw a Iittle money at me... ...in the sad hope I'II somehow forget
what you owe my client. No. Not even remotely correct. This thing isn't going away, Howard. What Chuck did for this firm,
and damned near single-handedly... ...one-third of this place
belongs to him. What you got here, 15 chairs?
Five of these chairs are Chuck's. Three light fixtures?
He'Il take the middle one. Six Danishes-- You can have all the Danishes. No, no, no,
they're Chuck's Danishes. Oh, and Chuck's not greedy. He'Il only take two plus $ 17 million.
Yeah, somewhere in that ball park. We'll know once we get the accountants
in here poking around. In the meantime,
no more penny-ante cheques... ...to make it Iook
Iike Chuck still works here. He doesn't, and he never will again. And it's time to do right by him
and cash him out. So these are Chuck's wishes
you're conveying? Yeah, this is what's best for him. He has personally stated to you that
it's his wish to withdraw from the firm? You see, that would surprise me. It's been nearly a year
since he set foot in here. -I'm Iooking out for his best interests.
-So am I. I, for one, believe
he's gonna Iick this thing. Until then, his office is as he Ieft it.
His secretary's still on the payroll. If Chuck can call this
an extended sabbatical, so can we. He's that important to us. You know what,
Iet's let a jury figure it out. They're gonna Iove you, Howard.
You're so down-to-earth and relatable. Jimmy rises to his feet,
heads back the way he came. When he reaches the end of the table
he bellows theatrically. And you will atone! More blank stares. Ned Beatty, <i>Network.</i> For chrissake, guys. We're back in the Iobby. CIose
on the call button, a finger stabbing it. Jimmy waits for the elevator,
this time to get the hell out of there. At the moment, he has a bit of privacy.
We get to see his true face. He's not as cool as a cucumber. The meeting didn't go as hoped.
Jimmy's beaten and he knows it. Here comes Hamlin headed our way. Jimmy snaps out of his funk. Hamlin offers him a big envelope,
fat and heavy. AImost forgot, this month's filings.
You could save me some postage. Weren't you Iistening?
Chuck doesn't work here anymore. Think I'm gonna help you
establish a paper trail? -Jimmy--
-No. Stop trying to pawn that shit off
on him. You know, sometimes
in our Iine of work... ...we get so caught up
with the idea of winning... ...that we forget
to Iisten to our hearts. Give Chuck my love, will you? Hamlin walks off,
heads for a nearby office. Jimmy glowers after him. "Asshole." Wait, it gets worse. For as Hamlin
opens the door to his office... ...we catch a glimpse of the two
clients waiting inside. Yup, you guessed it.
Craig and Betsy Kettleman. Smiling at Hamlin,
they greet each other. Then the door shuts
and we're Ieft out here in the cold. The wind goes out of Jimmy. Presses his forehead against the wall,
jabbing the elevator button again. We find ourselves back
on the Iower-Ievel elevator landing. "Ding." Jimmy steps off the elevator
into the parking garage. Is he okay? Not really.
Because once he's alone down here... ...he kicks the shit
out of that familiar dented trash can. Bang, bang, it dawns on us why the
trash can is dented in the first place. Having managed to kick over the can,
he stands here panting for breath. And now, we pull back
to reveal something Jimmy can't see. Around the corner is that young female
Iawyer from the conference room, Kim. She's Ieaning
against a wall smoking. Oddly, all that ruckus just now
didn't alarm her. Didn't make her Iook
to see what's going on. She's simply smoking
and staring into space. Jimmy wanders out of the Ianding,
headed for the parked cars. When he comes across Kim,
he's neither startled nor embarrassed. I nstead he joins her. He too leans against the wall,
staring into space. He takes the cigarette from her Iips,
borrowing it for a puff or two. Jimmy blows smoke and sighs. He places the cigarette back
in Kim's mouth, finally Iooking at her. -Couldn't you just--?
-You know I can't. Jimmy figured as much.
He doesn't argue. Kim stubs her butt in the ashtray,
smoke break's over. She exits without a word.
Jimmy doesn't watch her go. He stays another beat then wanders
out of frame, headed for his car. End of Act 2. Act 3. Upscale cul-de-sac at night.
Headlights flare. Jimmy's Esteem turns the corner.
He drives past well-tended houses... ...Iights gleaming warmly
in the night... ...and pulls into the driveway of the
only house that's completely dark. Like the neighbours',
this is roomy and nicely designed... ...but not a single Iight shines. The house seems untended, deserted,
a rotten tooth in a healthy mouth. Jimmy pulls two bulging, plastic Hefty
bags and groceries out of the trunk. Tucks newspapers under one arm,
goes to the mailbox... ...and removes a stack of mail.
And now he does something very odd. In a routine he's followed... ...Jimmy places his watch, key fob
and cell phone into the mailbox. With everything electronic
or battery-powered hidden... ...he lifts the bags,
heads to the walkway. At the threshold, Jimmy makes
a point of touching the pipe... ...before unlocking the door.
We hear the tick-tick-tick... ...of a manual typewriter from inside. Segue to the kitchen as Jimmy enters.
A voice calls from the room. -You ground yourself?
-Yeah. Like the rest,
the kitchen is illuminated... ...by quietly hissing propane Ianterns.
In other words, no electric Iights. Lights flicker over gaps
where once stood the stove... ...refrigerator and microwave. Jimmy opens a frat party
Igloo-sized cooler. Packaged food floats in melted ice.
He leans down, turns a valve. Water gurgles from the cooler
into a pipe... ...that runs to the outside
through a hole in the wall. Jimmy dumps the bags
in the cooler. Turns out they're full of ice cubes. He closes the cooler
and dries his hands. Raising a Iantern,
Jimmy heads deeper into the house. As he does, we pass conduits
snaking from gashes in the sheetrock. The tick-tick-tick
of the typewriter gets Iouder. As Jimmy enters
we reveal the man himself... ...Charles McGill,
Jimmy's older brother. A brilliant, truly decent man
with a few problems. Surrounded by stacks
of papers and books... ...Chuck hunches over his manual
OIympia pecking out a Ietter. You gotta stop putting bacon
on the Iist. That cooler's looking
Iike a trichinosis stew. Chuck holds up a finger. Once a successful attorney,
a partner at Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill... ...Chuck's life has been destroyed... ...by a debilitating allergic reaction
to electricity. Chuck tugs the Ietter out,
giving it to Jimmy. Perfect timing. "Professor Brans Vogelson,
University of Helsinki"? -You're gonna have to get it translated.
-Hungry to read the papers... ...Chuck grabs a stack
and Iays them out. He stands there scanning pages. -I nto Swedish?
-Finnish. I'm sure there's someone at U NM
that can do it. Check the Language Department. You do know I'm trying to build
a Iegal practise? Vogelson's working on the effects
of electromagnetic fields on zebrafish. He might-- Oh, the <i>Financial Times.</i> -You missed it, so I thought, "Why not?"
-Thank you. I know it's expensive, here. Come on. I don't expect you to go out of pocket.
Go ahead, reimburse yourself. Tha-- Chuck, can you sit down
a minute? Are you all right? You Iook peaked. I'm fine, please. You're not-- You're not in trouble? Chuck, you've gotta cash out.
You've gotta. -Again? Really?
-You know, there's no other way. You don't wanna hear it
but it's gotta happen. You know I'm gonna beat this.
You know I'm gonna get better. -Sure I do.
-Then there's nothing to talk about. I will beat this.
I will go back to work. Ergo: -Meaning?
-That's not the-- -Meaning?
-That's the one about false principles. You will proceed from false principles.
Your argument is built on quicksand. -Therefore it collapses.
-You're not listening. Fine, Iet's take this
to its logical conclusion. To pay out my share... ...suppose my partners
are forced to Iiquidate the firm... -...then what?
-That's their problem. My clients are out in the cold,
my cases scattered to the wind... ...126 people Iose their jobs. Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill closes. What happens to your cronies
in the mailroom? The assistants? The paralegals?
The janitorial staff? AII of them out on the street. Your friend Kim, a promising career,
over and done with. -Is that what you want?
-Hamlin owes you everything. You built that
while he was at Four Hills... -...working on his bunker shot.
-Let's not exaggerate. I helped. AII the more reason not to tear it down
for a Iittle bit of cash. Chuck, listen to me, all right?
I'm drowning. I'm going under for the third time
with these bullcrap... -...overflowed, public--
-Bullcrap? Yeah, bullcrap.
Overflowed PD cases at $700 a shot. Public defender work is some
of the best experience there is. -It's pure law.
-I had a case the other day. Three clients, depositions, voir dire,
jury trial, the whole nine yards. What'd I take home?
Seven hundred dollars. I might as-- Seven hundred bucks. I might as well head down to skid row
and sell plasma. Representing people who have nowhere
to turn. Money's beside the point. Not beside the point.
Money is the point. I keep telling you, have patience.
There are no shortcuts. Do good work
and the clients will come. Chuck, my hand to God,
I didn't wanna say this... ...but you are broke. I can't carry us both.
I've been trying Iike hell, but I can't. What? You're saying what?
You think you have to provide for me? I've never asked you for that. You didn't have to ask. I've done my damnedest,
but the day of reckoning is here. Soon you're gonna be out with all
the electromagnetism in the world... ...raining down on you Iike hellfire. Picture that and tell me
money's beside the point. That's what has you all worked up. Jimmy, there's nothing to worry about.
Here. Chuck opens a drawer,
pulls out a cheque. Hands it to Jimmy,
Jimmy holds it up. It features the distinctive
Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill logo. What is this? It's a stipend.
There's gonna be one every week. Eight hundred and fifty-seven dollars
from Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill? I will pay them back, every penny. I didn't wanna take anything
but Howard was very insistent. I'Il pay you back too. -Wait, Hamlin was here?
-It's not Iike I'm a recluse. He put his cell phone
in the mailbox? He understands the situation. -He grounded himself?
-Of course. Fuck.
Hamlin has outmanoeuvred Jimmy. With a glance, Jimmy notices
among the papers stacked... ...on Chuck's desk
is the thick HHM envelope. The one Hamlin tried to give
to Jimmy earlier. And the two of you agreed
that since... ...as everybody knows,
you're going back to work any day... ...the firm might as well help you,
what, make ends meet? That's correct, minus the sarcasm. Hamlin's making a chump out of you. I am going to get better. I'm gonna go back to work
and I'm picking up where I left off. I understand you're trying
to Iook out for me... ...but you're missing
the bigger picture. So I was thinking... "Vanguard Law,"
that sounds kind of important. Or "Gibraltar Legal Advisers,"
Iike the rock. Has a nice ring to it. Or what about keeping it simple? "AAA Law." Four A's. That would put you at the top
of the yellow pages. Wait, Chuck... Howard brought this.
He's concerned. Chuck produces one
of the James M. McGill matchbooks. You have to admit
it could be confusing. "Hamlin, Hamlin & McGill."
"James M. McGill." -It's my name. I was born with it.
-Still... I'm not supposed to use my own name?
On Hamlin's say-so? What's he gonna do, sue me? No one wants
an adversarial situation. I'm sure Howard
would gladly pay the cost... ...of new matchbooks and so on. It's simply a matter
of professional courtesy. Chuck, whose side are you on? There are no sides here. Jimmy, Iisten, wouldn't you rather
build your own identity? Why ride on someone else's
coattails? Off Jimmy, struggling to contain
his simmering rage... ...we find ourselves in blackness.
A door swings open... ...revealing we're inside
Chuck's mailbox. Jimmy's hands grab his cell phone,
key fob and the rest. We cut inside his Suzuki Esteem.
Jimmy slams the car door. He sits in the motionless Esteem,
stewing, anger building in waves. He slowly turns... ...to glare through the web
of cracks in the windshield. Jagged Iines crisscrossing Jimmy's
face as he stares at the shattered glass... ...a storm brewing in his eyes. AII right. You wanna dance? Let's dance. Act 4. We're tight on curving concrete. The scanning skateboard twins carve
and grind inside a concrete half-pipe. These guys are fucking awesome.
Cal zooms up... ...past the lip and hangs in the air
for a moment. He rushes back down
and comes to a scraping stop. He saw something up there. Trouble. Lars pulls up to his brother and follows
his gaze up to a figure looming above. It's Jimmy, a man on a mission. Hey, fellas, we got business. How did you find us? They step out of the half-pipe,
we widen to reveal... ...we're at a municipal skate park.
Skaters roll back and forth. Who wouldn't Iook
for skateboarders here? I know, it's kind of eerie, right? Whoa, come on.
Give me 30 seconds and we're square. You owe me that much
for the windshield. Could be the most profitable
30 seconds of your Iives. Profitable?
Lars and Cal glance at each other. Off the twins,
cautious but definitely intrigued. We time cut.
Minutes Iater, as boys Iisten... ...ready to take off in an instant
as Jimmy makes his pitch. There's nothing of the carnival barker
now. He's almost misty-eyed. I wanna tell you about a young guy.
About your age. He lived a long way from here
in a town called Cicero, I IIinois. And in Cicero, he was the man. When he strolled by
the boys would give him the high-five. AII the finest babes would smile at him
and hope that he would smile back. Jimmy--
They called him SIippin' Jimmy. Everybody wanted
to be his friend. SIippin' Jimmy?
What kind of name is that? Okay, I'II tell you. Now, the winters in Cicero,
now, they're murder. You boys, growing up out here
in the golden west, you don't know. I'm talking cold that'll freeze
the snot right in your nose. I'm talking wind
that cuts through your coat... ...and carves you up
Iike a Ginsu knife. Truth is, folks in Cicero
were scared of winter... ...but not Jimmy. Jimmy would spend
all summer Iong waiting. In September-- When September finally
rolled around he'd feel that cold wind... ...sweeping off Lake Michigan
and he knew it was coming. What was he waiting for? Was it Christmas, was it Kwanzaa?
Better, it was slip-and-fall season. Soon as it was cold enough, Jimmy'd
find a nice smooth patch of ice. State Street was good,
Michigan Avenue was better. He'd pick a spot,
when it was nice and busy... ...he'd step out on the ice and, wham,
he'd biff it so hard... ...people would come running
from five blocks away. -Yeah, but did he collect?
-Did he collect? Jimmy had it dialled in. One good fall
he'd make 6 or 8 grand easy. That'd keep him in old Milwaukee
and Maui Wowie through Labor Day. -Eight grand, no Iie?
-Eight grand. I look at you guys
and I see potential. Skateboard is a nice wrinkle,
makes it a year-round gig. And clearly you can take a header. But I gotta ask you, your best day ever,
what did you clear? Six-thirty. Six hundred and thirty bucks,
for one fall? No, that was two. Two hits in a day. Even young as you are
that's gotta hurt. True that. Look, I got a job for you. -How's 2 grand sound?
-Two grand, one hit? One hit. PIus you get to Iearn from the best. Off the twins, they're in. We find ourselves exterior,
the Kettlemans' street. A POV,
a familiar Mercury Sable waggon... ...parked in the driveway. We get a better Iook, we notice the stick
figure family decals on the rear window. Mom, Dad, the two kids,
hiking with backpacks. A gleaming brand-new Bayliner Cruiser
towers over the car. The mailbox has a metal topper
in the shape of a teakettle... ...with a letter K
cut out of its centre. Nice boat. Yeah, discreet,
Iike a stripper pole in a mosque. Forget the boat. See the car? -You know what that is?
-I don't know, station waggon. Mercury. 1988 Mercury Sable waggon.
Remember it, burn it into your brains. -Sure.
-You got it? Okay, now close your eyes.
What colour is it? -Brown.
-Medium sandalwood. Keep those eyes closed.
What does the Iicence plate start with? -Is it a four?
-Give the man a gold star. Who are these people? My clients.
They just don't know it yet. As Jimmy pulls away,
we cut to a mini-mall intersection. Jimmy's brought them
to an urban intersection... ...near a pleasant café
complete with outdoor seating. Betsy Kettleman's her name. Every weekday
between 2:25 and 2:50... ...she comes through here to pick up
her kids from Kit Carson Elementary. You need a spot where she's gonna
slow down, am I right? AII right, there you go.
She slows down, she hangs a right. That's when you do it,
just Iike you did to me. You go ass over teakettle.
Make it a blue-ribbon special. When she gets out of the car,
you're suffering St. Sebastian. You, you're the hammer. You get in her face,
scare the bejesus out of her. Give me your phone. -It's busy here. What if someone sees?
-Witnesses are good. Witnesses are pressure. As soon
as you got her good and rattled... ...you call for an ambulance,
but you're calling me. I'm number one on your speed dial
right next to your weed dealer. You call me, I hotfoot it over here.
I happen to be driving by. I stop to see what the trouble is.
Here's the most important part. You don't know me,
we've never met, you got it? -Sure.
-Now, see, I'm Mrs. K's white knight. And we go mano a mano.
You light into me, you get nasty. No touching, Ieave the hair alone,
but other than that, open season. You know, yell, stomp,
call me a douche bag. I'Il keep my cool,
give you back the razzmatazz. After she's seen the fireworks,
you fold Iike a Iawn chair. Happy ending. -When do we get our money?
-After. You get paid when I get paid. I'm the rising tide
that raises all dinghies. Pop quiz, what's the car? Mercury Sable waggon,
baby poop brown. -Do you know me?
-No. Damn straight. Go with God. Back to the Kettlemans',
all is quiet. Well, I'm just so very glad
I happened to be driving past. Happy to be of help. No, I wouldn't
think of taking money for this. The embezzlement case?
Sure, I'd be happy to talk it over. Jimmy's POV,
Iooking worried and preoccupied. Mrs. Kettleman heads to her Sable.
EIectrified, Jimmy dials his cell. Two-minute warning. Cut to the mini mall,
new angle on Lars near a stop sign. Lars eyes the oncoming traffic
while he talks on his cell with Jimmy. -Got it.
-He hangs up, raises his two fingers. "We're on." Tension building,
these guys may be scammers... ...but they take their work
very seriously. We rack back to Cal.
He begins stretching. With Lars, eyes on the traffic. In the distance, rounding a corner,
the brown Mercury Sable approaches. Lars flashes a heads-up gesture
to Cal. Jumps on his board,
slides up towards his brother. And as he passes Cal,
the boys fist-bump. Lars scrapes to a stop behind Cal,
raises his camcorder. Hits the record button. Eyes narrowing,
Cal rolls towards the intersection. Picking up speed, judging distances,
getting the timing right is an art. Cal's a master. The station waggon
approaches the intersection... ...slows and hangs a right. We angle behind Cal rushing
toward the station waggon. Tight on Cal's face, he hits
the front side of the car and tumbles. The world swirls behind him:
sky, car, street, sky. I nside the waggon, Cal whacks the
windshield with a teeth-rattling crunch. New angle, pavement,
Cal slams off the hood. Momentum grinding him
over the black top. He comes to a stop
in the foreground. The station waggon Iurches to a stop.
PIaying his part as before... -...Lars rushes to his brother.
-Oh, my God. Cal. Cal, are you okay?
Look at me, buddy. Say something. Cue the freaked out victim, right? Lars glances over,
but no one emerges from the car. We're high and wide. The station waggon idles 20 feet away
from the two skaters. The stillness is odd. Customers
come out to see what's going on. Even Cal raises his head
and cuts his eyes over to the waggon. "Is she coming out or what?"
Guess he's not hurt so bad. Come on already. Tyres chirping,
the station waggon takes off. -This was not part of the plan.
-What? Off the brothers gaping-- Off the brothers gaping. We cut inside the Suzuki,
Jimmy glances at his Timex. The skaters should've called by now.
He lifts his cell but doesn't dial. A moment of indecision.
Should he call the boys? Suddenly, his phone rings. -She took off on us.
-She what? It was textbook, man.
We were diamonds, but she took off. Wait, she hit-and-run? That's what I'm saying,
bailed and wailed. -Stay there, I'm coming to get you.
-We're following her. -Following her? How?
-We got our ways, yo. Reveal city street,
station waggon drives past. A few car-lengths behind... ...a delivery truck heading
in the same direction. We pan with the truck to reveal the twins
are clinging to the back of the truck. Using it to pull them along,
Marty McFly style. It's called skitching. They stay Iow on the boards while
keeping the station waggon in sight. Cal peers around the edge of the truck,
the waggon is ahead. No way Mrs. K can tell
they're following her. Jimmy's brain is in overdrive. Okay, fine, new plan, new plan.
You know me, I'm your lawyer got that? I'Il meet you at the school. She's way past the school, hooked
a Ieft, heading in Holiday Park. Stay with her. When she gets
where she's going, wait for me. Wait for what? You haven't been right
even once. Slippin' Jimmy, my ass. Look, kid, You fell into the honey pot.
Hit-and-run is a felony. -So what?
-So what? So more money. He says we fell in the honey pot,
says more money. So, what do we need him for? Good question.
Lars hangs up on Jimmy. Jimmy yells into the phone. Lars, Cal whichever one I'm--
Damn it. Come on, come on ! It rings. Jimmy winces
as thrash metal blasts. Son of a bitch. He drives on.
No one cuts out Jimmy McGill. We find ourselves exterior of
a well-tended, older two-storey house... ...on a tranquil street. The station waggon pulls
into the driveway. The skateboarders roll out
moments later. They hop off their boards,
Lars slaps Cal. -Your leg.
-Oh, yeah. Cal grabs hold of Lars
and hobbles on his broken Ieg... ...as they head across the front yard.
The Sable's door opens. Four rubber-cane nubs
hit the driveway. A tiny grandmotherly woman
pulls herself out. She freezes at the sight
of the angry twins rushing her way. We're gonna call her Abuelita.
This ain't Mrs. Kettleman. The boys hit the wrong car. Decal's not there either. Yo, yo, hold up. Yeah, you, what's the matter with you?
You hit and run. You ran him over.
You felony'd my brother. <i>-Habla</i> English?
-We call <i>la policia.</i> <i>La policia</i> are gonna be pissed. I see you hit him : <i>-Espresso rápido,</i> now you pay.
-Make with the <i>dinero.</i> Righteous <i>dinero.</i> Nervous, Abuelita waves to the boys
to follow her. -Makes her way to the door.
-That's what I'm talking about. Cal Ieans on his brother
as they Iope into the house. The door closes behind.
Holding a beat... ...something ominous
about the prolonged moment. We're inside the Esteem
with Jimmy. He drives the streets... ...near the Iast vision of the boys
searching for his clients. He's working
out another alternate plan. Their parents are clients,
so when I heard-- Mrs. Kettleman. Betsy, what a surprise.
What are you doing here? You serious? Oh, my goodness. Oh, no, no.
This doesn't have to be Iike this. Find ourselves back
outside Abuelita's house... ...the sun shines, birds chirp. Jimmy's Esteem cruises through
and does not stop. Did he miss the house? The Esteem reverses
back into the shot. Jimmy parks, climbs out.
A glance at the station waggon... ...and discarded skateboards confirms.
This must be the place. Straightening his tie, he charges
up the porch. Jimmy raps on the door. Officer of the court. Silence from inside, unless--
Is that a TV? He goes to the window, tries peering
through the laced curtains. Jimmy raps on the door again. Open up, officer of the court.
Open up in the name of the law. -Side angle, door opens.
-Good afternoon, I'm-- A meaty fist shoves a pistol
into Jimmy's forehead. He has time for a terrified breath
before a hand grips him by the collar. Jimmy offers no resistance
as he's tugged inside. After a beat, a man leans out
the doorway, calmly scans the street. Checking for witnesses. As he turns to us... ...the fight-flattened nose,
shaved head, holy shit... ...he's the one, the only,
Tuco Salamanca. What has Jimmy McGill
gotten himself into? Taking his sweet time,
Tuco ducks back inside. The door closes with a click. Very wide, off the quiet house,
birds chirping, we end the episode. -Yeah.
-Thank you, Brett. That was wonderful. Peter, Vince, you guys wanna
say anything before we disband? Great job. That was awesome.
I can't wait to shoot it. That was great.
This whole thing was just a scheme... ...so I would get to act with you. Thank you, guys, so much.
This is a-- This is a... I already effused downstairs,
but it's a dream come true. And this is a dream--
Right now, it's a dream cast. I ncluding the writers. You're all cast. Anyway... -Thank you, guys, so much. Bob?
-Thanks to you.
