Chapter Text
It doesn’t really hit Nacho until he pulls into the driveway of his ramshackle home in his beat-up van. He’s $25,000 dollars short after paying that old gringo for his services, but he’s never felt so free.
Tuco is gone. Trapped in a jail cell where he will remain for a decade. It’s not the permanent solution he had envisioned, but it will do.
He pushes past the thin screen door and locks it behind him. Grabbing a celebratory beer from the kitchen, he then settles in on the couch. After a single sip from his drink, he breathes deeply, and laughter creeps up through his body, a single chuckle spiraling into a full cackle.
Over a decade, he’s been under that psycho. Every day at his beck and call, at the mercy of his whims, always on alert in case they dragged him into a situation that could lead to his death. For once, he isn’t anxious that the phone will ring. $25,000 has never been so well spent.
There are things he needs to take care of, minimize the fallout. For now, he will give himself an hour at the very least, to relax, drink a beer, and bask in his victory.
He pushes off his couch and goes to the barred window, staring out into the street beyond. Working with Tuco over the years cost him so much. Not monetarily, but he’s got a piece of skull that is not his own embedded in his body, and worse, his relationship with his father has been damaged forever. It’s improved somewhat over the years, after constant careful lies to convince him he had left the game. Even so, the initial scars never left. Papa had kicked him out, shouting that he couldn’t have a criminal living in his home.
At the time, he had enough saved to get his own place. It may have been in a bad area of town, but it kept him close to his work, letting him keep an eye on the inner workings of the streets.
The house was cheap too. It came in handy when he began lying to his father, telling him he was out of the game for good. It wasn’t unbelievable he could keep up the payments on it, especially when Papa had given him a second chance, letting him work the shop for the same pay as the rest of his employees.
Second chance or not, Papa hasn’t looked at him the same since.
He taps his finger on the glass bottle, watching as two street dealers who work under some of their guys head down the sidewalk, lit only by the late night lights. Good, means they’re still working hard but, he can’t help but wonder how far down the chain news of Tuco’s arrest has spread. Considering it had only been that morning, it can’t have gotten far. No doubt when it gets around, everything will shake up. Some will vie for power, while others will scramble around paranoid.
Nacho shakes his head. So much for having an hour to enjoy himself. He finishes his beer and chucks the bottle in the trash. Better make some calls before he gets too anxious about the state of everything.
No-Doze doesn’t answer, but Gonzo picks up after the third ring.
“Hey, got any updates for me? It’s been a crazy day, but we should start thinking about the next steps.” Nacho says, pacing in his small living room.
Gonzo is quiet for a while. Right when Nacho thinks he hung up, he says, “Look, No-Doze, and I have been talking a lot about this all day. We’re going to lie low for a while, since the cops are sniffing around.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about the cops. I saw the report. They busted him for battery. Nothing that would connect back to any of us or disrupt the business. With Tuco gone, that leaves the three of us to make sure it all doesn’t go to shit in the time being.”
“It won’t get that bad. I know his family more than you do. Been working for him longer, and he’s been seeing my sister for a couple of years by now. Anyway, my point being, his family won’t let it all waste away just cause he’s doing time. They will probably send someone to replace him soon.”
Nacho snorts, the words of the old gringo ringing in his head. Fucker should have just killed Tuco if other Salamancas would fill in the gap. “If that’s the case, shouldn’t we be there to make the transition as smooth as possible?”
“It’ll go how it’ll go whether or not we’re there. We’re Tuco’s guys. We don’t owe anyone else the same loyalty.” Gonzo always had a weird sense of honor. It’s good no one else heard him say that.
“Someone still needs to be there to get the next guy in charge up to speed. We have everything working like clockwork, and I hate to see it crumble.”
Gonzo sighs. “Nacho, maybe consider an extended vacation of your own. You’ve been working hard. This will be one of your only chances to step back. Breaks in our business? They don’t come often.”
With that, the line goes dead.
Nacho just stands there, stopping between his couch and his coffee table, staring down at the phone in his hand. The words echo in his head. After the call, he expected to have a plan, a route to charge forward with and execute. But instead? Cracks have formed, making the path ahead rocky, splitting it into several directions. He’s standing on uneven ground, and he has to sit back down before vertigo overtakes him.
When was the last time he had ever gotten a break? Probably a decade ago, in the gap between his father catching him and starting up again only a few short weeks later.
In this job, you don’t get a break. You do your job as assigned. You keep your phone on so you can be at Tuco’s mercy all hours of every day. Even when not working for Tuco, you run your own side hustles.
He has no regrets about dealing with Tuco, but as he sits hunched over on the couch, taking long deliberate breaths, he realizes how much of himself has been defined by Tuco.
Who the fuck is he going to be after this?
——
The next morning, he dons his white and black button down, getting ready for his other job.
His whole life was shaken yesterday, but his father can’t know that. Life goes on.
He hadn’t slept well. It isn’t fair. Dealing with Tuco was supposed to take the weight off his shoulders, not add uncertainty. Not that he can do anything about it, other than splash water in his face and down an energy drink on his way to the upholstery shop.
As he steps inside, he nods at his father with his same soft smile as he does five days a week, and clocks in. He sheds the tough exterior he needs to function in most of his life and falls into his maintained persona of a dutiful son.
“Mijo, the Chevy in the garage is supposed to go out tomorrow. Can you finish up the final two seats by then?”
“Of course Papa.”
His father squeezes his shoulder. “Knew I could count on you.” He says before taking up his spot at the front counter.
Nacho is just glad for the specific assignment to keep his hands busy. After yesterday, it’s exactly what he needs. He gathers the driver’s and passenger’s seat from the Chevy and hangs them above his workstation, within reach for what all he needs to do. No one will bother him. Despite being the owner’s son, he isn’t popular here. Everyone has heard the rumors of his past, and he doesn’t want to get close to any of them and put his relationship with his Papa in jeopardy.
So, he gets to work, keeping to himself.
As he sews the upholstery, keeping the fabric steady, his mind can’t help but sink back to the phone call with Gonzo.
This is his only real chance to step back, and if he plays his cards correctly, possibly even leave the game for good.
He isn’t starving for money. Between working for Papa and supplementing his income with his own side projects, he has a good amount saved up. The $25k barely put a dent in his savings, so if he never went back to work for the Salamancas, he wouldn’t be completely at the mercy of his upholstery job.
Hell, he can’t even spend the money he has saved up as is without raising red flags in his father’s eyes.
Outside his father, though, what life does he have without the Cartel? At one point in time, he would have had Domingo. But as with everything, Nacho corrupts everything he touches.
The sewing machine jams, thread tangling.
“Fuck.” Nacho curses as he pulls the needle back and looks in the machine to locate the issue.
“Everything alright mijo?” Papa approaches.
Nacho rubs the bridge of his nose because nothing can go easily now, can it? “It’s fine. Really. Just a small setback. I can fix it.”
Papa frowns. “Are you sure? You seem... distracted.”
“I just didn’t sleep well last night. There was a group drag racing or something in the middle of the night. Woke me up.” He lies seamlessly.
“I wish you would move out of that neighborhood. Sell the house, get a cheap apartment in a better area. I’d feel safer for you.”
“Papa, it’s fine. It’s not that bad, and I keep my house locked. Moving would be a hassle more than anything.”
“If you say so.” Papa says unconvincingly. “I should get back to the front. I see a customer parking.”
As Papa walks away, Nacho knows he can’t leave the conversation like that. “Wait, what are you doing after work today?”
Papa stops. “Oh, Wednesday poker with the guys. Our weekly thing.”
Nacho has several snap thoughts in his head at once: Without Tuco, he is losing his sense of time. Then, he realizes how little he’s interacted with his Papa outside of the shop. The uncertainty of the future hangs over everything.
Take a break
“Could I tag along? My plans with Mingo tonight fell through.”
Papa blinks, and he seems to process the request before brightening up. “Why you want to spend time with a bunch of crotchety old men, I do not know. But mijo, you are always welcome. After work, we can drive together.”
Nacho smiles at that. “Hey, I like playing cards, but that plan sounds great to me.”
Papa opens his mouth to say something else, but the bell on the front counter rings, and he sighs. “We should get back to work, but that is wonderful. I can’t wait.” He hurries off before the annoying looking couple at the front makes a scene.
Nacho laughs to himself, and after Papa is gone, it only takes a few brief moments to fix the machine and resume sewing.
It’s still early in the day, so there’s still quite a lot of time to pass before he’ll leave with his papa. It’s fine though. Gives him time to sort his thoughts about everything before going, even if it is his idea. Besides, he promised, he’d get these chairs done by tomorrow.
He can have a taste of life without the cartel hanging over his head. Reconnect with his papa, plaster over some remaining holes, work on creating a foundation not based on lies. Papa is all he has. This will be a good thing.
He takes a deep breath and returns to his sewing.
——
Papa closes up the shop at 6:00pm. Everyone else has long since gone home, and Nacho helps take care of the last few tasks. Papa still counts the till, even after all these years, not quite trusting Nacho to do so. Either way, they get out on time and into Papa’s truck together.
As Papa turns on his truck, loud ranchera music plays from the radio and he scrambles to turn it down. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I drove with a passenger.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Nacho chuckles as he buckles his seatbelt.
The first part of the drive is quiet, Nacho folding his hands in his lap, while Papa pulls out and onto the street.
Only when they come to a stop at the second red light, does Papa turn to him, and ask, “Are you sure everything is alright mijo?”
Nacho hopes his father stops digging, part of him already regretting reaching out. “I promise, it is. I had nothing else going on and thought I’d hang out with you.”
“Alright, I’m not complaining. I’ll stop overthinking a good thing.”
“It’s my fault.” He deflects. “I’m usually so busy that we only ever see each other during work.”
“I understand, though. It’s good to have friends, a social life.” Papa pauses before adding, “Keeps you out of trouble.”
Nacho gives what he hopes is a convincing chuckle. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time, Ignacio. You’re an adult with your own life. I trust you.”
Nacho leans against the window, staring off into the streets, not sure how to feel. He knows Papa’s trust is limited, but even if it isn’t, it’s still based on Nacho’s dishonesty. “Yeah, I appreciate that.” He tries smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
The place Papa plays cards at is close, and only a few minutes later, they pull into the parking lot. It’s another family run joint, a small cafe that stays open late into the night for Papa and his friends. The owner even counted himself among their little group.
A bell rings above as Nacho and Papa walk inside.
The only ones inside are three men, all around Papa’s age. Nacho vaguely recognizes them. They’ve all been Papa’s friends as long as Nacho can remember. These poker nights have been a running weekly thing for decades, Nacho having attended before he reached double digits.
“Manuel, you’ve brought a stranger with you!” Mateo, a skinny, bearded man, shouted.
“No, no stranger... this is my son.” Papa patted him on the back. “You all remember Ignacio.”
Another man, top heavy with glasses, Luis, chimes in. “That cannot be little Nachito! I remember when you were this tall.” He leans over and holds his hand a foot off the ground.
The room laughs, and Nacho waves the words away. He settles in an empty chair, and Papa pulls another over.
Jorge, the shop owner, brings over two hot coffees and places the cups in front of them. “It’s been so long, Ignacio. Tell us how things have been going?”
“Can’t complain about anything. It’s been good. Working with Papa, and when I’m free, hanging out with Domingo and a few other friends. Nothing too exciting.” The Molinas have been long family friends, which is convenient when Nacho needs an excuse for his cartel duties. Domingo’s dad also avoided these kinds of gatherings, which helps his excuses from falling apart.
Luis shuffles the deck and deals out a hand to each of them, while Jorge counts out an extra pile of chips to hand to Nacho.
Mateo, however, waggles his brows. “How about a girlfriend? Handsome young man like you has to have a lady friend.”
Nacho cringes at the question, but hides behind his cards, focusing in on his hand instead. Garbage. “Nah... been too busy for that.” He stifles a nervous laugh. It isn’t as if he’s been alone. He’s had a steady stream of girls come in and out of his bed for the last few years, but none close enough to matter. There are the other times too, pressed into the dark corners of crowded clubs. He doesn’t like thinking too much about those moments.
“You’ve been working that boy far too hard!” Jorge exclaims while Luis flips over the first three cards.
Papa frowns. “If you need a break, or more days off, you’d tell me, right, Ignacio?”
Nothing on the table can make his hand playable. His only hope is to bluff his way through. “Of course Papa. I have a social life. Just not too many female friends. Not many girls hang out at the gym.” He tosses out a small stack of chips, not enough to make him seem overconfident, but enough to keep him in.
“To get a girl, you can’t keep going about your business as normal.” Mateo said, matching his bet. “Put yourself out there! Go to places the ladies will be! Like a mall, or a bar.”
Luis flips over another card, which does nothing to increase the playability of his hand. “Exactly, women don’t just fall into your lap. You have to go out and work at it.”
From Nacho’s experience, they do. You only have to flash a little plastic bag of white powder and they’ll flock to your feet. “If you say so.” He shrugs and looks at his cards before pushing a larger stack of chips, bluffing his way through.
Mateo and Luis fold. Papa and Jorge match his bet.
Jorge smiles. “Trust us. We old men know what we are talking about sometimes. We’ve all had very long lasting happy marriages.”
The final card is flipped. Nacho scratches his cheek, thinking for a moment, before pushing forth an even higher bet. Jorge folds.
“You should take as long as you need, mijo. You can’t rush love.” Papa gives him a warm smile, matching his bet. “I’m not worried. I know you’ll find a nice girl and settle down one of these days. You’re young. There’s still plenty of time.”
Papa reveals his hand. A full house.
Nacho shakes his head and chuckles, showing his useless two and three.
“Aha! I knew it.” Papa reaches over and collects his pile of chips, his friends hollering and cheering around him. “You have the same tell from when you played when you were little. Can’t fool your father.”
The amusement drains from Nacho at the implications. “Oh?”
“I can’t tell you what it is.” Papa says, stacking his newly gained chips into neat stacks. “That would get rid of half the fun.”
The game continues on into the night, but Nacho fades into the background, not talking, not even listening. With how much Papa works, he knows these little outings are the highlight of his weeks. Cards with the same friends over and over again. It’s been so long since he joined Papa as a child, but nothing has changed from what he remembers. If he cuts his cartel ties, then is this the only alternative? He only wanted to spend time with his Papa, but now, there’s another pile of thoughts added to the mountain in his mind.
——
Nacho lays in bed that night, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
His mind races, reflecting on the last two days, debating every detail of his life in his head.
He tries throwing up a wall, to not think about anything related to the cartel. If he starts fresh, and cuts all his less than legal ties, where will that lead him? Will it mean settling into a routine? His entire world would shrink down. He’d work in the same building for the rest of his life. He’d shop at the same little family run grocery store between ten hour work days seven days a week. His only haven away would be meeting up with the same people once a week for decades to come. There wouldn’t be time for much else.
He can do what Papa’s friends suggested, put in the effort, find a pretty girl at some upscale coffee joint. Someone boring who doesn’t even know what the smell of weed is, who’s never touched drugs in her life, a good influence. They’d go on cheesy dates doing all the shit Nacho hates, trips to the park, watching awful rom-coms. They’d have 2.5 kids and Papa would be overjoyed that he turned his life around.
An easy life.
Not too easy, though. He might have a great deal of savings built up, but that can only go so far. Things happen, reserves are drained. God forbid if his hypothetical kids ever want to go to college. He’d become his father, taking over the shop, struggling every week just to get by. His pride would get in the way, not letting his supposed wife help. After all, mama didn’t work, so why would she?
He would be safe. He would be able to walk down the street, not worrying about a target on his back. A stable life, honest work, barely paying the bills like so many other American families.
No excitement. No action that reminds him that he is alive.
No side deals and ripping off idiots and thieves.
No more jewelry and tailored clothes. His dreams of a fast car and beautiful home dead before they can ever blossom.
Only settling for mediocre. Stuck in this same old dead end life that has trapped so many in their station.
Papa would be so proud.
But Nacho? He might be safe, but he wouldn’t be happy.
——
Two days later, Nacho gets a text, informing him of a meeting at El Michoacáno that afternoon.
He stares down at his phone, gripping it tight, heart pounding against his ribcage.
His eyes close and he thinks of his Papa, of the alternate life playing out before his eyes. He swallows, pushing down all his guilt and fears.
He types in a quick “I’ll be there” and hesitantly presses send.
——
Nacho has to park in the back at El Michoacáno. The parking lot is full of flashy vehicles, but there’s a wide enough space next to a familiar Tampico furniture van. With it this busy, Nacho guesses today is when they’ll all be introduced to the new boss.
He walks in through the front, and it’s an assault on his senses.
Music blares, so much so that he can hear it outside as he approaches. It’s not too different from the usual fair of the restaurant, ranchera, old people music, but the volume is cranked up to an uncomfortable level.
The scent of fresh cooking, of meat and spices wafts through the restaurant. The smell is heavy and makes his mouth water. Nacho may not know shit about food, but even he can admit it smells delicious. At first, he assumes the restaurant owner is cooking a big meal, a sign of good faith to the organization that takes over his little establishment every now and then. But then Nacho sees him standing in the corner. Who the fuck is cooking, then?
The dining area is crowded, that much is to be expected. Practically everyone involved in running their operation is here, with a notable exception of No-Doze and Gonzo. The chairs are all full of dealers from all levels. Many of the more gaudy and obnoxious members of their business sit and guard their chairs, as if getting to sit is a status symbol. Pathetic. He recognizes everyone, though. No one he’d expect to take over.
Maybe the new boss hasn’t arrived. There will probably be a grand entrance with food, like some sort of fucked up work party. Whatever the case, Nacho has never been one for pageantry and slides against the wall, taking a spot next to Domingo.
“So, uh, Nacho,” Domingo says, looking out of place as always in this crowd, “Any idea why we’re all gathered here?”
Nacho shrugs. “I expect the new guy in charge will introduce himself.”
“New guy?” Domingo gasps. “What happened to Tuco?”
No one else around seems surprised by his guess, so Nacho assumes the information got around to most everyone, except for Domingo.
“I’ll tell you later. Nothing business related, though, so we don’t have to worry.” Nacho says.
Domingo hunches. “…okay, Nacho.”
Nacho crosses his arms and makes himself comfortable against the wall. No need to get stressed out here. Tuco is gone. Nothing can be worse than Tuco.
Several minutes pass, the music changing to another song. Nacho keeps glancing out the front window, waiting in anticipation for someone to arrive. Most of the dealers enthusiastically chat each other up like this is some sort of social gathering. Some talk of a giant party and the embarrassing goings on that happened, others talk about their latest side-whores, hidden from girlfriends who they clearly don’t give a shit about.
These are the people he’s chosen to throw his lot in with.
A man comes out from the back, a new chef from the look of his apron. He brings two enormous platters full of freshly cooked, steaming tacos, and places them down on the restaurant’s counter. “Alright everyone, eat up!” The man says in a far too cheery voice that somehow carries through the chatter and the music. Has he not gotten the memo about who this group is? “There should be enough for everyone, but if you guys are hungrier than I guessed, I can always make more.”
The entire establishment turns to look at the man. There’s a pause, and for a moment, Nacho thinks the man could be in danger, but they have a very explicit no innocents getting hurt rule. At least, Nacho has tried to enforce that rule. Things got loose when Tuco was using.
Carlos, a burly dealer, strokes his beard and stands, crossing the room with an intimidating gait. He takes a taco, biting into it. There’s an odd beat, all attention on him as he chews and swallows. “Its good.” He says, lifting his half eaten taco.
The aproned man smiles, mustache stretching across his face. “Ah, I’m glad you like it! It’s a special family recipe.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and stands tall, like he owns the place. It hits Nacho just then who this man is. “Now, since you’re already up, and I did all the cooking, how about you go into the back fridge and grab everyone a beer?”
Carlos, the stupid arrogant idiot, just stands there, slowly finishes his taco and glares at the man, shoulders wide. “What do I look like? Your little bitch?”
Nacho prepares for the worst, but the man only blinks at Carlos, more amused than anything. “Maybe I should introduce myself. My name is Eduardo, but you can call me Lalo. Lalo Salamanca.”
Carlos pales, losing all his bravado, “Y-yes sir, sorry sir. I’ll get right on it.” And he scrambles to the back, following the order.
The man, Lalo, laughs and turns to watch Carlos run. “Ah man… that guy… hope he enjoys being a janitor for the rest of his life." He shakes his head and turns back to address the group. “Now, I’ll be in town for a while. Make sure everything is in order while my cousin is away, that sort of thing.”
Nacho knew Tuco would have a replacement, had dedicated some of his time and stress into predicting what sort of leader he would be. But none of his assumptions are remotely close to the reality. Lalo, on first impression, is like no other person he’s met in the crime world.
Lalo takes Carlos’s chair, spins it around with unnecessary pizazz, and sits in it backwards, leaning his arms on the back edge. “All of you, grab some food. Not going to start until at least some of you have eaten.”
Half the room hurries up and rushes to the counter out of fear more than anything. They’re all used to Tuco, his deadly moods and unpredictability. Lalo, while he doesn’t seem as short fused as Tuco, still gives off a similar air of danger, unsettling everyone around him.
Nacho, for the moment, stays against the wall, avoiding the chaos.
After most of the room has food and a beer, Lalo claps his hands and gets started. “Alright. Business. So, with Tuco indisposed, this transition will probably be a little rocky at first. But we can still make it as smooth as possible. He’s talked to me a bit about you guys, but I don’t have faces to go with the names. Which of you is Gonzo?”
No one answers. Everyone keeps their head down, pretending to be distracted by the food.
Nacho steps forward. “He’s lying low for a while. Since Tuco got picked up, he didn’t think it was safe for him to keep up with the job while the cops dig around. He’ll be back though once the heat dies down.”
Lalo stares at Nacho, dark eyes narrowing in, studying him. It reminds Nacho far too much of Tuco’s lie detector and prays he hasn’t accidentally said something to set this man off. “You must be Varga then.” He tilts his head, breaking the tension. “Tuco told me about you. You’ll do just fine.”
Nacho breathes in, forcing himself to relax, to not focus in on how this man controls his fate for the foreseeable future. “Do fine with what?”
Lalo grins and spreads his arms wide. “Showing me around! Getting me up to speed! Tuco didn’t exactly leave detailed records, and it isn’t like I can just call him in jail and learn how you guys run everything. I need someone smart and dependable to help out, and from what Tuco has told me, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
From the sound of it, Nacho has been given a promotion. He keeps his cool. “Of course, I’d be glad to.”
“Excellent!” Lalo snaps and points at Nacho. “Varga, you and I are going to do great things together.”
Nacho nods and smiles, trying but failing to match Lalo’s enthusiasm. It’s a good deal. He’s already starting out this new phase on top. However, as the rest of the meeting continues, Nacho can’t help but wonder if he’s just sold his soul to yet another devil.