Jesse might have been there first, but getting Walt back into her cage had proven to be an unexpected struggle. Luckily, he was beyond rich enough to afford the armored night taxi, so he arrived at the club just about on time. He didn't need to pay his way to the front of the line, though. The bouncer and several of the would-be patrons in line recognized their favorite meth dealer, and after a few fistpounds and high-fives, he was inside.

A partiers' welcome always put him in a good mood, so he was beaming when he came through the door. He paused for a second to let his eyes adjust to the flashing lights, bobbing his head along to the beat of the music and looking for a familiar face. She would probably be easier to spot than him, since he was dressed low-key in black jeans and his signature black leather jacket. (A year earlier, that would be an entirely different story.)

- There she was, facing away from him. A fauxhawk and a flash of tattoo. Jesse wove through the crowd and reached out to touch her shoulder.