Upstairs, Al is still meeting with Miss Iz. They are having a contest of the eyebrows, each accusing the other of being the sneakiest. Al wonders why Miss Iz would be so suspicious of him, since he had originally asked the sheriff to be present during all this document signing for her protection. She postulates that Al could have contrived the whole horse drama outside himself to guarantee she'd have to go it alone. Sheesh, Iz. Al can plot and maneuver with the best of them -- hell, he IS the best of them -- but I don't think even he could have pulled that off. However, now that she mentions it...Al makes a face like he's filing that idea away under "Nefarious Schemes Involving Stallions, Thoroughfare."
Adams enters during this brief moment of silence, and walks slowly over to stand with Al. "Have you come to murder me, Silas?" Iz asks, sickly-sweet. "I wouldn't turn down the chance," he tells her, and Al gives her yet another round of eyebrows as if to indicate even further how alone she is on this battlefield.
Iz is feeling the heat. She swallows hard and picks up the pen to sign the paper, looping down her signature. As she does so, Al hands Adams a document, which he looks at before glancing down at Iz's John Hancock. He shakes his head and sighs with disappointment. "Even swayed at last by my manly composure," Al says, "you sign in a false hand." Ah, the paper he handed to Adams was the register from the Grand Central, taken to compare her sig. Miss Iz suggests that this signature today is her true hand, and the one on the register is false. Crafty to the end, our girl. I hope she isn't crafting herself into the grave.
She and Adams stare each other down as she finishes the signing, and Al takes out a stack of bills, handing it across. "Wish I had five like you," he tells her, ever the smartass. She takes the money, stands, and leaves without a glance back, walking out of the Gem with beautiful posture. Please don't kill Miss Iz, Milch. I mean, I know you're going to do it, but let her go out guns blazing, or something. I'd like to see her stab somebody, even, if that could be arranged. Maybe that dude I hate that's always hanging out down at Nuttall's. Just a suggestion. I really do hate that guy, though.
Down at the Chez Amie, Joanie and Jane are kind of sitting around, talking about the accident, maybe trying to decide if there's something they should be doing about it. "Last thing they require at a child's sickbed," Jane says, "unlubricated drunk, sweatin' and vomitin'." Joanie says her particular issue is that she "ain't one for blood."