Kim's glad she doesn't lose the coolness on her face, even if a streak of helplessness runs through her –– she's only ever been on the periphery of cartel business, and she's sure there's a litany of codes and phrases that could communicate what she's asking more clearly. Then again, maybe he's not involved at all, and this is just a wild goose chase, paranoia about the shape of the future with Lalo still out there. But what the fuck else would they have business in? This kid doesn't look like a retirement home magnate, or like any kind of con artist.

"That's not at all what I'm implying," she replies, a little curt. The way she shifts, refolding her arm in the other direction, is a flicker of real discomfort. She hates gambling. She asks, bluntly: "I'm asking if this is cartel business."

They're the only people who dress business relationships up as friendship, and if she's right, this guy is some low-level dealer.