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It was the most adrenaline he’d felt in a long time. Even during the lead up, finding the distance from the train to the water tank, click of the measuring wheel echoing through the boundless sands. Click. His hands had been shaking in a way that rivalled anything an artificial high could bring, and the tightness in his chest spoke made the anxiety and anticipation coursing through his veins physically apparent to anyone who watched him breathe.
When the morning came, the air had felt cool and dry; the sun beaming down and reflecting offensively off of his cotton t-shirt. Perfect weather. It was the sort of climate that would’ve sent him and his parents to that lake near the house if it were a few years back, and they’d be waving away mosquitoes and flicking specs of dirt off of homemade sandwiches before throwing the leftovers to the ducks. Back when they could still stand each other, or at least pretend that they did. Jake was too young to notice at that point - the dynamic between the family that was wearing down pretty quickly, and Jesse and his parents had all been naive enough to ignore it. But that was the past - his gloves gripped tightly onto the rubber hose in his hands as he squinted his eyes at the oncoming train, barrelling through the sunlight.
The teacher’s radio crackled to life, spewing updates of how the truck was perfectly situated on the track and how their accomplice was already waving his arms like a madman to alert the locomotive to grind to a halt. Mike had been situated in the bushes, binoculars clutched in his weathered hands, overseeing. And then there were the three - Jesse, Mr White and the new guy. Jesse had been a little hesitant in bringing him in. The guy seemed helpful enough, and possessed enough physical capability to lug around the equipment they needed, but he was still an outsider, unfamiliar with the verses and codes of conduct that the group had developed while in this line of work.
So he versed him in them.
"No one other than us can know that this went down."
And when he had received a vigorous nod in return, blonde hair falling over his eyes with the exaggerated movements, he let himself feel a bit more relaxed about the newcomer. And when the train stopped, and the pair of them jumped into action, he convinced himself that maybe, just this once, it might work out. And it did at first. The metal of the tracks was warm when he laid upon it, hands turning at stoppers and clips, working to get that fucking hose going in and holding it place when it eventually did. Seconds ticked on in synchrony with the numbers on the gauge and he could hear the rush of fluid as the tank drained and the droplets of water spraying harshly from the hose held by the one above him - spillage.
Mike’s voice crackled over the radio again. His speech lacked his usual, relaxed temperament and before he’d even formed his sentence, Jesse knew that something had gone awry. The rumble of the train when the engine ignited had confirmed his fears spectacularly. They had practiced the days before with similar machinery, timing how long it would take to remove stoppers and bolts and fit them again, calculating their speed and doing it again until they were all positive that it could not be done any faster. It didn’t feel fast enough when he had fastened the final bolt and caught a glimpse of the train’s forward motion. There wasn’t much else he could do besides lay down and shut his eyes, and reassure himself with the macabre idea that if he were to die there, the train would kill him faster than he could comprehend.
But he remained lucky there. Jesse laid still for a few moments longer, anticipating more compartments to come running over him, but, when met with the brisk wind and not the movement of the air pushed by the locomotive, he allowed himself to stand up. And the gravity of their success felt immaculate.
The three pummelled through the sands to watch the train’s departure, hollering and jumping at the intensity of their victory and how (essentially) smooth it had been - albeit with some troubling, unforeseen circumstances. "Occupational hazards", Saul would’ve called them. His face was glowing and his hands were still shaking, but they had done it, and it was over.
The hum of an engine, though small, had interrupted his blind, excited stupor. And when he turned to see a kid, face scrunched in obvious confusion, he kicked himself mentally for tempting fate and glowering over the efficiency of what they had done. But it’d be fine, he didn’t see anything. They’d spin a lie and send him on his way - riding back home; he might mention seeing three construction workers next to the train tracks to his parents, he might not but-
Click. Their minds are on two different tracks when it happens.
A stream of “NO NO" had fallen out of his mouth before he had really even registered what was going on. And the kid had hit the ground before he even realised who had been the one holding the gun. The new guy turned around, almost puzzled with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape, before turning to the teacher for praise or confirmation of the right thing done. There was a telling silence, only interrupted by the soft breaths of the old man, the - now sinister - whistling of the wind, and the sound of retching as Jesse turned to vomit. The only thing he could think about was the steadiness of the new guy’s hands as he slipped his gun back into the waistband of his jeans.
When Todd had saw Jesse’s face, he knew he’d fucked up somehow. He was always pretty bad when it came to taking things too literally - as a kid and as an adult. He remembered hearing his Uncle Jack talking about one of his guys, saying he’d "cut off his nose just to spite his face" and had wondered for weeks exactly why someone would do that to themselves. It wasn’t until he had asked his uncle about it and, promptly receive a gentle smack upside his head, he realised what an exaggeration of speech was.
When Jesse had told him "no one other than us can know that this went down" he had taken the words literally, and had shot the kid with that phrase in mind. It wasn’t like he’d enjoyed it, but if you’re driving down a road and a deer leaps in front of you and there’s a ditch either side, you don’t swerve. You’ve got to hit the thing don’t ya? It’s not like you want to - it’s the logical thing to do. He’d never been good at deciphering the mood of a situation either, but even he could tell that the car journey back to Vamonos Pest was as awkward as the day was long, even if he couldn’t quite understand why. Jesse had refused to sit in the back with him like he had on the way there and Mike, with an understanding expression, had rode next to him instead. He spoke of the weather on the drive home. Polite chitchat about how warm it was today, had fallen on deaf ears.
When they unearthed the kid from the soil in the back of the dump truck, Todd wondered if it would’ve been easier to just bury him and his bike where he lay in the sand, but he knew better than to chime in with his suggestion - his uncle had taught him that too. When he should speak up, and when he should shut the fuck up. But it was pretty fascinating watching a body dissolve in acid, like cotton candy dissolving in water. The barrel went pretty red after that, and the metal from the gun he used to shoot him let off so much smoke he was thankful for the respirator - even if it did hurt his cheeks where the straps dug in.
It was night time when he finally emerged from the building and, thankfully, Jesse had been stood right in his line of sight: smoking what looked like one of many, many cigarettes judging by the butts littered around him. He knew he’d upset him that much was obvious- but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. He’d done what he said - didn’t he? But he learned from his mother, sometimes it’s better to apologise, even if you don’t know what you did. When he stood next to him, he could see his arms tense in his jacket and he didn’t really know what to say. So he tried something vague.
"You guys didn’t tell me that stuff stank like cat piss."
He laughed a little but it was true, and he pondered what sort of detergent would get that ammonia smell out of his clothes. When Jesse didn’t respond to him, he took another drag of his cigarette, formulating something else to ease the tension.
"Man. Shit happens huh?"
For a pretty small guy, Jesse’s right hook had hurt - nearly knocked him to the ground at that. All he could do was touch the rapidly warming side of his face as Jesse stomped off, movements angry and exhausted, like a child being sent to his room.
He was fucking irate when he entered the building, and nothing short of outraged when Todd had trudged right after him. The discussion hadn’t left him feeling that much better either. Fuck him, whether he thought he was doing the right thing or not - some poor fucking kid had been dissolved because of him. Somewhere in the state, there’d be two parents besides themselves, crying and screaming with worry at their little boy who hadn’t returned home yet, probably talking to some police officer with nothing but the worst case scenario running amock in their minds. And they were right. And yet, when Todd had finally left the room he could not, despite all the urges settled deep in his belly, find it in himself to kill him. It was nothing to do with whatever, fuckass connections he had - christ, he’d take them on himself at that point, it was some strange, remnant of virtue deep inside him that didn’t want more blood to be on his already sticky, scarlett hands. So they kept him on payroll. And Jesse would regret not killing the freak bastard when he had the chance more than anything else.
Mike’s tone had been enough to get through to him, shoving him against a locker - cold wiring digging into his back and the hands on his collar seemed like overkill.
"If you bring a gun to a job without telling me again I will stick it up your ass sideways."
He should’ve focused on the threat, the knowledge that his mistake, whatever the hell it was that he had done wrong, was pretty damn bad. But, instead, he forced a smile down at the the admission that there might’ve been other jobs in the future. "That would be pretty cool", he thought, much more interesting than fumigating houses and cloning keys for later.
Seeing the dopey bastard at Vamonos wasn’t exactly a shock to Jesse - to be moving the volume they were, he’d deduced that Mr White must’ve taken on a new sidekick. But that stare, the obedient retreat when he said he wanted to talk in private with Mr White, only pissed him off. And if he’d have known what (or who) was in the trunk of the car in front of him, when they spoke, he’d have killed the pair of evil pricks on the spot. Or at least he told himself that.
Todd enjoyed having a new friend, or at least somebody who didn’t laugh or jeer at whatever it was that he said. His crew were family sure, but a person could only take so much. Jesse would talk to him normally, even if it was with a customer service voice - a tone that made clear it feared repercussions much more than it wanted a friendly converse. When he dragged him back into the clubhouse on his uncle’s orders, he tried to be as vague and as nice as possible. He still held respect for them both - for Jesse and Mr White - and he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them. But hey, it was his uncle’s orders. When he peered through the window, gaze as casual as someone searching for food delivery, he knew he was gonna die. He’d been raised not to fear that. And with everyone else gunned down, there wasn’t much point trying anything else.
"Jesus Mr White!"
He paused for a moment.
"How many rounds does that hold?"
The clinking of chains around his throat had interrupted his question.