Chapter 8: Legal Maneuvers
The laundromat was a time capsule of faded dreams, its blue tiles chipped and dulled, its air thick with the cloying warmth of fabric softener and the metallic hum of ancient dryers. Alex stood in the cramped back office, the rumble of washing machines a relentless pulse that vibrated through his sneakers.
Saul Goodman, in a yellow suit loud enough to cause migraines, gestured expansively, his voice cutting through the din like a carnival barker's. The seller, Mr. Hawthorne, a wiry man in his sixties with a nervous tic twitching his left eye, stood by a cluttered desk, his skepticism as palpable as the steam in the air. This place smells like my grandma's house, if she was laundering cartel cash.
Saul's pitch was a masterpiece of sleaze and charm.
"Mr. Hawthorne, my client sees this laundromat as a cornerstone of community service! Full asking price, cash, today—no haggling, no delays. A clean deal for a clean future!"
Hawthorne's eyes flicked from the stack of cash on the desk—$200,000 in crisp bundles—to Alex, who leaned against a wobbly chair, its metal frame cool under his fingers. Here comes the blunt approach. Let's see Saul spin this.
"Why a laundromat?"
Hawthorne asked, his voice gruff, his tic twitching faster.
"Cash sale, no questions? You're too young for this kind of money. What's your game?"
Alex met his gaze, his voice steady, laced with his signature candor. Running Gag #1, let's roll.
"I need a place to make my money clean, Mr. Hawthorne. A fresh start. A laundromat's perfect—cash in, cash out, no one bats an eye." The honesty hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, and Hawthorne's jaw slackened, his confusion palpable.
Saul swooped in, his grin only slightly strained.
"What my client means is a fresh start! A noble venture to wash away the past and build a sparkling future! He's an eccentric visionary, sees poetry in spin cycles. Plus, he's saving on his water bill—practical genius!"
He clapped Hawthorne's shoulder, his wink disarming the tension.
Hawthorne blinked, thrown by the candor and Saul's spin.
"Eccentric, huh? Long as the cash is good…"
He trailed off, eyeing the money like a lifeline. The deal closed with a handshake, keys jingling, and papers signed, the laundromat now Alex's. My first fortress. A1 Laundromat, cleaning crimes one load at a time.
As they left the office, Alex trailed his hand along a humming washer, its warmth grounding his ambitious surge.
"It worked, Saul. Told him I'm washing crimes, and he still signed. That's the beauty of it."
Saul slapped his back, his laugh rich with awe.
"You're a lunatic, Thorne, but a paying one. A1 Laundromat—simple, clean, and funded by… creative accounting. What's next, a car wash?"
Alex grinned, zipping his jacket. "Don't tempt me. Keep the IRS off my back, and we're golden." They stepped into the parking lot, the asphalt cracked and sun-baked, the air sharp with exhaust. Saul was mid-sentence, planning the next front, when a black sedan screeched around the corner, tires squealing like a wounded animal. Not again. Alex's 2x senses snapped to attention, his pulse steady but his eyes sharp. Saul didn't notice, still jabbering, but Alex was already braced.
The sedan slammed to a stop, its door flying open to reveal a new threat—Hitman #3, a lean figure with a shaved head and a scar slicing his eyebrow, clutching a short metal pipe. His eyes were cold, his movements those of a hired thug, likely sent by a dealer Alex had outbid. Another day, another idiot who thinks I'm easy prey. Alex waved Saul back, his voice calm. "
Stay in the car, Saul. This'll be quick."
The hitman charged, the pipe swinging in a vicious arc toward Alex's skull. Bad move, buddy. His 2x reflexes kicked in, the world slowing as he ducked, the pipe's whoosh grazing his hair. He stepped into the thug's space, his 2x strength surging like a coiled spring. With a sharp twist, he slammed his palm into the hitman's wrist, the crack of bone loud against the sedan's idling engine. The pipe clattered to the asphalt, and the thug staggered, clutching his arm.
Alex didn't pause. He delivered a controlled uppercut, his fist connecting with the thug's jaw in a dull thud that sent him sprawling, his head bouncing off the pavement. The fight was over in seconds, Alex's breathing even, a faint bruise on his cheek already fading thanks to his 2x healing. He straightened his jacket, brushing off dust, and glanced at the unconscious thug.
"Bad day for you, huh? Should've stayed home."
Saul, half-in his car, gaped, his tie askew. "Thorne! What the hell was that? You're a one-man SWAT team!"
"Just a disgruntled customer," Alex said, his tone light, masking the adrenaline. Cartel's getting bolder. This wasn't random. The sedan's driver peeled out, leaving the thug behind, and Alex's system flashed:
[SYSTEM: Challenge Evaluation: Ambush survival, B-Rank. Keep punching. Threats escalating: 1>2.]
Two hitmen in a week. I'm a magnet now. Alex waved Saul off, the lawyer's engine roaring as he fled. The victory was clean, but the escalation was a warning. I need more than a laundromat. I need power. He walked away, the asphalt crunching under his sneakers, his mind already on the next step.
Late that night, Alex sat on the edge of his safehouse bed, the sheets crisp against his thighs, the air cool with the hum of a rattling AC unit. A faint soreness lingered in his cheek, a ghost of the bruise, and he tongued a metallic hint of blood, a reminder of the day's fight. 2x is enough for street thugs, but not for what's coming. He grabbed a burner phone, its plastic cheap and cold, and typed a message for Jesse, his care for the kid overriding his fatigue.
Be careful of people who smile too much. Cartels work through friends, not enemies.
He sent it, vague enough to nudge Jesse away from Tuco's crew without breaking the timeline. Keep him safe, keep it subtle. He crushed the phone in his hand, the plastic splintering under his 2x strength, and tossed the shards into a steel tin, a ritual to bury his tracks. Jesse's my anchor in this mess. Gotta stay noble, not reckless. The act was small, but it reinforced his role as a silent guardian, his bond with Jesse growing stronger with every tip. He stood, the floorboards creaking, and headed for his laptop. Time to plan. Cartels are circling, and I'm not bulletproof yet.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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