“How does a chichifo like you land a girl like that, huh?” asks the diabolical drug thug Lalo Salamanca, smiling oleaginously below his unspeakable moustache. Kim has just driven off from her and Saul’s condo, gun and camera in the glove compartment, on a mission they don’t prepare you for in law school. She will whack upstart drug baron Gustavo Fring and return with a photograph of his corpse – else Lalo will terminate her husband, who he’s holding hostage.
Or maybe she will just speed off into the desert, like Jesse Pinkman at the end of Breaking Bad, leaving Saul to eat Lalo’s bullets. Either way, Kim has an hour. The clock is ticking.
