Chapter 178: Pinkman's Friends
Frank returned to Pinkman's house and, upon opening the door, heard voices inside. It sounded like Pinkman was talking to someone.
Standing behind the door, Frank paused, contemplating something. He then closed the door quietly and took the path to the backyard, where he peeked through the window to see what was happening in the living room.
Inside, Pinkman was chatting with three distinctive characters on the sofa.
One was a gaunt, dark-skinned man who looked like he hadn't washed in years, clearly a junkie.
Another was a chubby guy wearing a yellow plaid jacket, sporting a lip ring and a small goatee.
The third was a tall, lanky fellow with long curls almost covering his eyes, resembling a big, goofy monkey, standing over six feet tall.
The four of them were casually chatting, surrounded by snacks and drinks.
Their ease with each other suggested they were longtime friends, with no formalities, just relaxed camaraderie.
"Try these fake jelly donuts. They're delicious, imported from Canada," Pinkman said, munching on a donut.
"I'm stuffed. By the way, Pinkman, are you still cooking? Haven't heard from you in ages," the chubby one asked.
"I heard your partner got busted, right? Wasn't his name Emilio?" the skinny one chimed in.
"No, he's out. His cousin bailed him out, and I guess he's skipped town. Not just him; even Crazy Eight is gone. Guess they heard something. It's been a rough crackdown lately," the chubby one explained.
"I'm not concerned with them. I've been busy with my own stuff," Pinkman said, pausing as unpleasant memories surfaced, ruining the taste of his donut. He changed the subject.
"Do you have a new partner now that your last one is gone?" the tall one asked.
"Sort of, but we're still in the planning phase, haven't started cooking yet," Pinkman replied.
"What's there to plan? Need raw materials? We can help," the chubby one offered.
"It's not about that. It's more complicated. Don't ask," Pinkman said.
"Got any stash? I'm heading to the bar later for a good time. With Crazy Eight gone, it's hard to find a steady supply," the chubby one asked.
"Count me in for the Sunday night party," the skinny one added.
"No, I've quit. No stash left," Pinkman stated.
"You're kidding, right? We've been using together for years. How could you quit?" The others were skeptical.
As addicts, they knew quitting wasn't easy, almost impossible.
"Come on, if you don't want to share, just say so," the skinny one said.
"No, really, Pinkman's clean now. I can vouch for him," the tall one chimed in.
"Huh?" The others looked at him.
"I told you before, Pinkman's changed a lot. I was on probation recently, trying to prove I've turned over a new leaf, and I saw Pinkman suited up, looking for work, too," the tall one explained.
"Yeah, after quitting, I wanted to start fresh, so I looked for a job," Pinkman said awkwardly.
"Hahaha, you actually tried getting a job? People like us can't find real work!" They laughed as if it was the funniest thing.
"So, I returned to the old trade, but I'm out of stock for now. When I get new stuff, I'll let you guys have a taste," Pinkman assured.
"Cool, I've got some here. Not the best quality, but it'll do," the tall one said, pulling a small baggie from his pocket.
"Want some, Pinkman?" the others asked, enjoying their high.
"No, thanks," Pinkman swallowed hard, then shook his head.
"You guys should quit too. Life feels different after quitting," Pinkman urged.
"Quit? No way, it's not that easy. Only extraordinary people can quit. Pinkman, you're one of those. We'll rely on you!" They joked.
After a while, they left for the bar.
Pinkman considered joining but stopped when he noticed Frank outside the window.
"What's up? Let's go," the chubby one said as Pinkman hesitated.
"You guys go ahead. Something came up," Pinkman said.
"Alright, see you," they waved, leaving the house.
Once they drove off, Frank entered, first opening the windows to air the room.
"I didn't join them," Pinkman hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed but explained to Frank.
"I know. I was watching from outside. You did well," Frank affirmed.
"Oh," Pinkman felt an inexplicable relief.
Yet, the feeling irked him, like a student under a teacher's gaze or a son before a father. He lit a cigarette.
"They're your friends, right? Keep in touch but find excuses to leave when they start using," Frank suggested.
Normally, Frank would advise cutting ties with bad influences.
People are shaped by their surroundings, which is why parents warn against bad company, though it sounds harsh, it's true.
In school, if you hang out with those who don't study, your grades might suffer, even if theirs don't, due to natural talent or family background.
(End of Chapter)