Chapter 18: The Tuco Rumor
POV: Jesse
March 25th, 2008. Jesse sat in Denny's with Combo and Skinny Pete, nursing coffee that tasted like it had been filtered through old socks while his friends updated him on street gossip that might prove valuable to someone in the distribution business.
The restaurant's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like dying insects, casting everything in the sickly yellow glow that made even healthy people look diseased. Perfect ambiance for conversations about criminal enterprise and the increasingly complicated world of Albuquerque's drug trade.
"So Tuco's looking for new suppliers," Combo said, keeping his voice low despite the early hour and sparse crowd. "Word is he's paying stupid money. Like thirty-five K per pound for quality product."
Jesse's ears perked up. Thirty-five thousand per pound was more than double what Marcus's contacts were paying, enough to transform their modest operation into serious money. "Thirty-five? You sure about that number?"
"Dead sure. My cousin Rico heard it direct from someone who knows someone in Tuco's crew." Combo glanced around nervously, the way people did when discussing someone whose reputation included casual violence. "But yo, the dude's completely crazy. Beat Gonzo half to death last week over twenty bucks."
Skinny Pete nodded enthusiastically, eager to contribute information that might elevate his status in Jesse's criminal hierarchy. "I heard he killed a guy with his bare hands. Just choked him out in front of like ten witnesses, then went back to eating his lunch like nothing happened."
Jesse absorbed this information while calculating possibilities. Thirty-five thousand per pound meant serious cash flow, enough to set them all up for life if they could establish a reliable relationship with Tuco's organization. The violence was concerning, but violence was part of the business anyway—better to work with someone who was upfront about his methods than someone who smiled while planning your destruction.
"How's he getting rid of all that product?" Jesse asked. "Moving that much weight takes serious distribution."
"That's the thing—nobody knows. Tuco's operation is expanding faster than anyone can track. Like he's got some new method for moving product that nobody's figured out yet."
Jesse thought about Marcus and his impossible doors, wondering if there was a connection between Tuco's expanding operation and other people who might possess abilities that defied conventional understanding. Maybe Tuco had his own supernatural distributor. Maybe Marcus wasn't as unique as he'd claimed.
Either way, thirty-five thousand per pound was too much money to ignore just because the buyer had a reputation for violence. Everyone in the drug trade was violent when circumstances required it—Tuco was just more honest about his methods.
"I might know someone who could provide the kind of quality Tuco's looking for," Jesse said, already planning how he'd pitch this opportunity to Walt and Marcus.
"Jesse, man, you sure you want to get involved with that dude?" Skinny Pete's concern was genuine, born from years of watching friends disappear into situations they couldn't handle. "Tuco's not just violent—he's unpredictable. Like, medically insane unpredictable."
"Unpredictable people pay the best prices," Jesse replied, signaling for the check. "Besides, I'm not planning to cross him. Just do business."
Famous last words, but Jesse was too focused on the mathematics of opportunity to consider the psychology of disaster. Thirty-five thousand per pound multiplied by their current production capacity equaled more money than he'd ever imagined earning through legal means.
All he had to do was convince Walt and Marcus that the rewards outweighed the risks.
POV shift: Marcus
Marcus could smell Jesse's excitement before the young man opened his mouth. They were meeting at the RV again, the desert location providing privacy for conversations about expansion that couldn't happen in populated areas.
"We got an opportunity," Jesse announced, his voice carrying the enthusiasm of someone who'd convinced himself that a bad idea was actually brilliant. "Tuco Salamanca's looking for new suppliers. Paying thirty-five K per pound for quality stuff."
Marcus felt ice water spreading through his veins. Tuco Salamanca—the psychotic dealer whose violence was exceeded only by his unpredictability. In the original timeline, Walt and Jesse's relationship with Tuco had ended with kidnapping, terror, and Hank shooting Tuco in a desert standoff that nearly killed everyone involved.
"No," Marcus said immediately. "Absolutely not."
Jesse's face fell. "Come on, man. Thirty-five K per pound. That's more than double what your contacts pay."
"Tuco's unstable. He'll kill you over a perceived insult, then go back to eating lunch like nothing happened."
Walt, who'd been silent during Jesse's pitch, finally spoke up. "The money is tempting. What exactly do you know about this Tuco?"
Marcus realized he was walking into dangerous territory. His knowledge of Tuco came from television episodes, not street intelligence. He couldn't explain how he knew about Tuco's violent tendencies without revealing information that shouldn't exist.
"I know his reputation," Marcus said carefully. "That's enough."
"But how do you know his reputation?" Jesse pressed. "You said you just got in the game, but you seem to know everyone and everything about Albuquerque's drug trade. That's weird, yo."
Marcus deflected by creating a door in the RV's wall, the blue outline appearing with enough sudden drama to change the subject. "I know what I need to know. And I know that Tuco Salamanca represents the kind of risk that gets people killed."
But Walt was already calculating, his scientific mind processing variables that included profit margins and risk assessment in ways that favored greed over caution.
"It's not your decision, Marcus," Walt said, his voice carrying new authority that suggested their partnership's power dynamic was shifting. "I'm the cook. I make the calls about who we do business with."
First major crack in the partnership. Marcus could see the future branching into paths that led to violence and chaos, could feel the timeline pulling toward the same disasters he'd hoped to prevent.
"You're making a mistake," Marcus said, closing the door with enough force to make the RV shake.
"Then it's my mistake to make."
Jesse felt validation and nervousness in equal measure—he'd driven a wedge between his partners, but wedges had a way of splitting things apart entirely. "So we're doing this? We're meeting with Tuco?"
"We're considering it," Walt corrected. "I want to know more about the terms before we commit to anything."
Marcus created another door, this one leading directly back to his apartment. He'd had enough of partnership dynamics that ignored common sense in favor of profit maximization.
"Where are you going?" Jesse called as Marcus stepped toward the portal.
"To think about whether this partnership is worth the headaches it's causing."
Marcus stepped through the door and let it close behind him, leaving Walt and Jesse to debate the merits of doing business with someone whose idea of conflict resolution involved beatings and executions.
"Is he always that dramatic?" Jesse asked, staring at the space where Marcus had vanished.
Walt watched the wall where the door had been, his expression thoughtful and calculating. "I'm starting to think dramatic is the least of our concerns with him."
Back to Marcus POV
Marcus sat in his apartment, gripping the Death Note until the leather binding left impressions in his palms. He could kill Tuco right now—had observed the man's face during reconnaissance, just needed his full name and exact age to complete the execution.
But using the Death Note to eliminate Tuco would reveal his hand too early, would demonstrate capabilities that Walt and Jesse weren't ready to understand. Better to let them make their mistake and be ready to clean up the consequences.
Ryuk materialized in the kitchen chair across from him, yellow eyes reflecting the fluorescent lighting with what might have been amusement.
"Trouble in paradise?" the death god asked, crunching an apple that definitely hadn't been in the fruit bowl moments before.
"Walt's getting greedy. Jesse's getting stupid. Both conditions tend to be fatal in this business."
"You could just kill them and start over with different partners. Plenty of chemists in the world, plenty of dealers who'd work with someone who can teleport."
Marcus considered the suggestion with more seriousness than he'd have admitted. Walt and Jesse were becoming liabilities, their egos and inexperience driving them toward decisions that would complicate everything Marcus was trying to build.
But they were also the protagonists of the story he'd watched unfold, the characters whose fates had driven him to action in the first place. Killing them would save him headaches, but it would also eliminate the reason he'd chosen to intervene.
"I'll let them make their mistake," Marcus decided. "When Tuco proves to be everything I warned them about, they'll be more receptive to guidance."
"And if he kills them first?"
"Then I'll kill him and find new partners who listen better."
Ryuk laughed, the sound like breaking glass in the apartment's silence. "Cold. Practical. Very unlike the usual human attachment to specific individuals."
"I'm attached to outcomes, not people. Walt and Jesse are useful for achieving those outcomes, but they're not irreplaceable."
Outside his window, Albuquerque stretched toward the horizon under a sky that promised another day of desert heat and criminal opportunity. Somewhere in that maze of streets, Tuco Salamanca was conducting business with the casual violence that had made him legendary among dealers and terrifying to everyone else.
Soon, Walt and Jesse would discover why Marcus had tried to steer them away from that particular partnership. The question was whether they'd survive the education long enough to apply the lessons.
Marcus opened the Death Note to a blank page, pen hovering over paper as he debated whether to write Tuco's name and end the threat before it could materialize. The decision balanced on the edge of necessity and convenience, justice and expedience.
Not yet. Let Walt and Jesse learn why their distributor had tried to protect them. Let them understand the difference between partnership and domination.
Then, if necessary, Marcus would demonstrate why crossing him was inadvisable for anyone who wanted to continue breathing.
The pen remained poised over the page, waiting for the moment when education became execution.
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