Better Call Saul Scene Opening

(Note from the future: This was an exercise to improve my prose by transcribing a random scene from a TV show. In this case, the first scene of Season 2 Episode 8 of Breaking Bad)

Badger sat on the park bench, in front of the playground. The only thing punctuating the soundscape was the occasional hum of a car driving by. Emblazoned across the park bench was an ad: “BETTER CALL SAUL” “SAUL GOODMAN - ATTORNEY AT LAW” with an obligatory phone number underneath. Badger took in the sights of suburbia, earphones in and rhythmically whispering lyrics under his breath.

A lanky man hurriedly walked towards the bench, catching Badger’s attention. He stared out across the road, scanning the opposing walkway and planted himself on the other side of the bench. Another car blew by, and neither man acknowledged each other. The guy shifted around on the bench, and only acknowledged Badger’s existence once Badger looked at him.

“Hey,” He said, nodding at Badger. Badger nodded back. The two continued to not acknowledge each other for a time longer. “You, um… You selling?”

Badger shook his head and smiled. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, that’s cool.” He bounced both of his knees and wrung his hands out. “I’m just saying, y’know… If you were selling, I could maybe do with a teenth.”

Badger sighed and took his earphones out with one hand, keeping the other firmly planted in his jacket pocket. He plopped it in his lap and stared at this guy with disdain. A car playing smooth jazz drove by to punctuate the moment. “You’re kidding, right?” The guy froze and stared at Badger. “Dude, I so smell bacon.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Badger threw his arms up and put them back in his lap. “Oh, gee, I dunno. Uh, how about over there,” He said, pointing to the street corner, “That brown van?” The guy craned his head around, narrowing his eyes. “That’s yours, right?”

“What brown van?”

Badger pointed again. “Parked all inconspicuous. It’s a cop van!” He stared past the guy and he straightened up, pointing the other way. “Yeah, another one right over there.” He laughed to himself. “Duke city flowers!? Come on, can’t you at least be original?”

“Dude,” The guy eeked out as Badger continued laughing, “I just wanna get high…”

“A flower van,” Badger said, “You know what you should do? A garbage truck. Seriously, and I don’t mean to disrespect, but you put a bunch of cops in the back of a garbage truck there’s no way I’m seriously thinking there’s cops in the back of a garbage truck.” He shook his head and sat further back on the bench. “It’s a freebie, yo, just think about it.” He leaned into the guy’s chest, “Think about it, boys,” He said, chuckling to himself.

“Alright,” The guy said, putting his hands on his legs and standing up, “I’m hittin’ it.”

“Woah, you dudes give up that easy?”

“I’m not a cop!”

“Then lift your shirt, show me you’re not wearing a wire.”

The guy scoffed and looked around. People were walking about, couples and kids. “Alright, you know what? Just to show you you’re being an asshole.” He hiked his shirt up and rotated his pale, skinny frame a full 360.

Badger threw his arms in front of his eyes, “AH, I’M BLINDED BY WHITE!” He shouted, laughing.

“Douchebag.”

“Aw, come on I was joking c’mon. Don’t walk away angry, sit down.” He motioned to the other side of the bench. “I mean, what are you complaining about? You got abs, man…kinda.”

“Whatever, dude,” The guy said, defeated, “I’m not even sure I wanna buy anymore. I-I think you turned me off to the whole thing.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that. I just…I just need you to prove it to me, y’know? Prove you’re not a cop.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” A blue truck playing bouncy hip-hop drove past them.

“I dunno.” Badger fixed his gaze across the street and lit up. “Hey, I got it. Go over there and punch that dude right in the face.”

The guy looked timidly the same way, scanning for who Badger was talking about. “Which dude?”

Badger pointed.

“That dude?”

“Yeah.”

“No way, he’d kick my ass!” The guy said.

Badger laughed. “True that.” He continued scanning around the landscape, looking for an answer in the sea of random people. “Ugh!” he grunted, “This is so hard, y’know?”

The guy let out a pathetic, “Yeah…” He looked down for a few moments, and the inspiration hit him. “I know, it’s simple. Uh, if you ask a cop if he’s a cop, he’s, like, obligated to tell you. It’s in the constitution.” He said, growing more confident with each word he said.

Badger paused for a moment. “Constitution of America?” The guy nodded. “Huh.”

“So, so go ahead and ask.”

“You a cop?”

The guy scoffed. “No, no, not like that. Ask it, like, official.”

Brandon sighed and sat up straight like he was in a courtroom. “Are you a police officer?”

The guy straightened up in kind and raised his right hand in the air. “No, I am not a police officer.”

“Okay then, 175 for a teenth.”

“Woah.”

Badger shrugged. “Price is the price, yo.”

The guy considered this for a few moments but hesitently reached into his pocket. “All right,” he said, defeated. He whipped out a wad of bills and took the few he needed, pocketing the rest. He stared intently at the van as he slapped the money in Badger’s hand. Badger slid the bills into his pocket, counting them before he let them stay and hauled himself off of the bench. He walked over to the nearby beat-up garbage can and took the white paper bag off of the top layer of garbage. He sat down, looked around, and without seeing what he was doing discreetly held a plastic baggie on the bench between them. The guy snatched it up.

“There you go, enjoy.” As the guy stuffed the drugs in his pocket, Badger rolled the white bag up and placed it beside him.

“Thanks, man,” The guy said with a big grin on his face. Badger relaxed himself, splaying his elbows behind the bench. The guy got up and took a few slow steps away.

He locked eyes with Badger for a few moments before planting his left foot on the bench and snatching a gun from his ankle holster. “Alberqueue Police, you’re under arrest! Get on the ground!” He shouted, motioning to the ground with his pistol.

“Oh man, come on,” Badger said, hands in the air and sliding down to the floor.

“Get on your stomach, now. On your stomach, NOW!” The guy shouted with more vigor each time he said it. Two vans fired up their sirens and, on opposing sides stopped on a dime to assist their colleague in a cacoffany of tire squeels and shouting. One was a cream van with an ad for a locksmith, and the other was a brown “Duke City Flowers” van. The doors flung open and four more cops ran out to point guns at the prone and ready to be cuffed Badger. One of them slapped the cuffs on Badger in front of the Saul Goodman park bench.