Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I saw your wallet. You got plenty in there.
As always, I've gone to the trouble of grinding down the serial number.
Or on you.
Take it out.
No more Jimmy McGill, Esquire. Poof.
What the fuck?
I'm not asking you, I'm telling you.
I'm not gonna do it.
Look. The details? That's what I'm paying you for.
So the story is...
...and I'm not gonna let you drive it off a cliff.
I don't mess around with insurance, ése.
Go.
You want me to quit Davis & Main? That's fine!
- You did that. - Oh, come on. That'll buff right out.
Easy.
Hey.
- That's the sound of victory. - Jimmy, stop selling.
- Can you sit--? - Ah, ah. All right.
I didn't say that and I would never say that.
Good bolt-action rifle, if you jammed it, I'd wager you were setting out to do so.
It's all I have until the end of the month.
Don't you walk away from me.
- Tell me how that helps me. - You won't have to talk to the cops.
She wouldn't. No, she wouldn't want to make me look bad.
So I'm locked up with Tuco...
Don't need it. We can handle our business.
Listen, I'm willing to accept responsibility.
Loco, crazy. There's no other way to put it.
Yes, sir.
You would've done the world a favour.
Should throw off your X-ray diffraction and some other higher-end methods.
- I should've told you last night. - You think?