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Recapped by Al Lowe · Aired 2005-03-20

Oh, gracious. We open this episode hearing the soft groaning of Al, who is on the floor of his rooms, laid out in his union suit beside the overturned, empty piss pot. Al is in a bad way. A very, very bad way. Shivering and grimacing, he seems truly beside himself with anguish. Outside his door, his employees are oblivious to is condition. The whores are ready to open for bidness, but Dan tells them, morning coffee in hand, that the Gem will open "when me and Johnny fuckin' say so, and you three, hovering around like buzzards outside Al's door, will not hasten the situation." Big words, but Johnny doesn't seem so confident about the unique situation of Al's absence, here. Dan tries to reassure him by whispering out of earshot of the whores that Al's just tired, having worked until sun-up, and deserves to sleep in. Johnny is still worried, though. "He locks the door, Dan, when he leaves his office," Johnny says. "Al does not lock the door when he's inside." Dan's worried but he's not going to let Johnny see it, so he smarts back with, "Well, that's just the exception that proves the fuckin' rule."

Outside, E.B. Farnum is welcoming a new guest to town. The guy seems a bit of a dandy. He also seems...kinda familiar. The same actor who played Jack McCall in Season 1, Garret Dillahunt, is back to play the new guy, Mr. Francis Wolcott. Tricksy Milch with the double-casting. I really like Dillahunt, but what? Are there just not enough actors in Hollywood to go around? This is not a stage play where you can trot out the guy from Act I who played "Gambler Number 3" at the horse track, and now suddenly after intermission he's a waiter at the Hot Box and nobody notices because we're all twenty rows back. I mean, I'm looking right at the guy.

I'm just saying, it's an interesting choice -- Dillahunt is pretty incredible, in both parts, so in that way it's rather fascinating.

Wolcott has a bunch of fancy luggage, and seeing this, E.B. practically licks his lips, clearly thinking he's got a mark. He asks Wolcott what he's doing in Deadwood, and receives a quick answer: "Gold."

In the House of Clench, Bullock is sitting down for breakfast. He notes that his wife, Martha, has bought provisions for the house. She says yes, she bought stuff last night while waiting on him to come home. "Twenty-four-hour camp," he says, and they share a smirk. Ah, free enterprise. I wonder if there's a Super Wal-Mart in Deadwood these days. If so, we learn here that they came by it honestly.

While she prepares his eggs and whatnot, Bullock broaches the subject of the events of the day before -- specifically their moment in the hardware store when Mrs. Garret came in and dropped (off) her basket. I should note that, sitting here with Martha, he is completely UnClenched. Bullock: "Certain things I said yesterday I regret. I'd be thankful if you'd not rely on them." She quietly says "all right," not really asking for an explanation, but he goes on: "Representations I made as to letters I'd written...I didn't." Not skipping a beat, she prepares to dish out his scrambled, saying, "I'll be grateful then if you'd not rely on my...assurance that I got them." He gives her a patented Bullock Family "all right," but she's not quite done. "I'll hold my deepest gratitude, Mr. Bullock," she says, "for what will let us live as we are now." This does make Bullock clench at a mild level. His wife is asking to, you know, be his wife, and she seems pretty serious about it.

In the Grand Central, E.B. is hovering over his newest guest. Wolcott comments that the oatmeal in the breakfast buffet looks old, and E.B. makes a display of berating his lackey, Richardson, for it. Richardson defends himself, saying that there's still 45 minutes yet 'til three hours E.B. normally has him leave it out. Hee. I love Richardson and his big, rheumy eyes. Richardson, Ellsworth, Dolly, and Wu need to have a spin-off.

Wolcott says he'll make do with bacon, and goes to sit, E.B. bowing and scraping all the way. E.B. tries to rise above the oatmeal moment, assuring Wolcott that in a camp like Deadwood, one has to choose one's help from a "small and brackish pool." Wolcott just wants to eat his bacon, but E.B. is already on the make. "Once the pig is digested," he says, looming over Wolcott's shoulder, "perhaps we could pursue a possibility that's come to mind." Wolcott says sure, but after he's eaten. He puts E.B. off, saying, "Let's let your mind ripen and mature the possibility, first."

In the corner of the dining room, we see that Maddie, sitting at a table with Joanie, has observed all. She asks Joanie to confirm that the creature she saw skulking around their place last night -- the same one that now "perches like a vulture" over the new guest -- was indeed the mayor. Joanie does, and explains that he also owns the hotel. "Have you," Maddie asks, "affection for Mayor Farnum?" Joanie: "None." Maddie says that's good, "because the man the mayor expects to digest is going to toy with Mr. Farnum from camouflage, for as long as he finds it amusing, and then make him a meal of his own." Joanie asks who the new man is, and Maddie explains that he's "a trick...a specialist," and that he goes by the name "Mr. W."

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Now, let me say this about Alice Krige, who plays Maddie. She is a beautiful woman. But, I have to ask, what is happening with her skin? Sometimes she still looks like the Borg Queen, with the crazy smoothness and luminescence. The upper part of her face just doesn't move. And I'm not saying it's Botox, I'm saying...it's crazy.

Over at the Gem, which has still not opened, E.B. Farnum has arrived and is "demanding entry." He tells Johnny and Dan to "summon Al." Johnny says Al's "not summonable," but E.B. assures him that for the news he's got, Al should be "plenty summonable." Dan suggests E.B. go on up and summon Al himself. E.B. goes happily to do this, until the boys tell him Al's behind lock and key. E.B. pauses. He does not want to get on Al's bad side, and postulates that Al is either engaged in "fornication, requiring discretion, or a bribe." Dan disputes that theory, saying Al is alone and will stay that way until he desires otherwise, but Johnny finally busts out and admits he thinks Al may be "fuckin' poorly." Al's voice, when telling Johnny earlier to "get the fuck away," has, Johnny says, "got a gravelly timbre."

Dan asks E.B. if he'd like to leave a message for their boss, and after thinking on it, E.B. says he does. He then hilariously looks off to the side and dictates his message, which no one is writing down: "Al, if you're not dead and already moldering, I send news to revive you. A fish, to rival the fabled Leviathan, has swum into our waters. Get well soon, and we'll land the cocksucker together. Your friend, E.B." Satisfied, he goes to leave, giving a postscript that he also has news of the newly-arrived whores Al asked him to report on.

Back at the Bullock house (which, incidentally, is built what seems like right in the middle of everything, with a stream inexplicably running three feet from their doorway), William is meeting a new friend. Don't get used to him, William, the kid is already leaving town. Oh, I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to bust on William's buddy here, just a little. Really, I know he's a kid, and I hate to do it. First of all, the child looks like a reject from the cast of Bad News Bears in the Old West, and his newsboy cap, cocked ever-so-whateverly to the side, is kind of killing me. Second, the dialogue here flows like a stream of hair gel, through no fault of the absolutely precious William Bullock. The gist you're to take away is that the kid tells William about a trout down the stream before tipping his cap and jumping in the wagon to go with his Pa to "Orrygawn!" The conversation does give William a chance to explain his relationship to Mr. Bullock, specifically about how the Sheriff married his brother's widowed wife: "So, now," he says, shrugging, "he's my pa and my uncle." Which makes William his own first cousin, which means, in some states, he can marry himself.

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The dirty kid rides away as Bullock comes out of the house to head to work. He, too, tells the sweet, sad, lonely William about this big trout that idles down in the creek bend, and says that maybe after work, "we can make him pay for his slothful ways." William gives him such a sad look like, "Okay...Uncle Daddy..." and Bullock strolls off to start his day.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Garret is touring her claim with Ellsworth. They have set up a mining operation and it is in full, loud swing. Mrs. G wants to know if her holdings might justify buying a larger machine than the "five-stamp" she has now. Ellsworth says yes, her holdings could justify a 25-stamp for mining, but that they should wait on that until the legalities of the claim are worked out. "Without a title, you wouldn't own no quartz for your 25-stamp machine to crush."

Bullock is standing in the doorway of the Grand Central, looking like he's waiting on the scene to start shooting. We find, though, that he must have asked Richardson to bring down Mrs. Garret, because when the tutor, Miss Isringhausen, descends the stairs with Sophia instead, Miss Is tells Bullock that Mrs. Garret has gone out to survey her claim. She goes on to say that Mrs. Garret has instructed her to return Bullock's watch, on which Sophia has been learning to tell time. She holds it out in her hand, and we see Sophia look to the watch and to Bullock and he to her and all of them to each other before he quickly grabs it, clenching a swift "all right." Before she turns to leave, they have the following exchange. Bullock: "When opportunity permits, you might inquire of Mrs. Garret...as few children as are in the camp..." Miss Isringhausen: "I take your meaning, Mr. Bullock." Bullock: "If she decided it was appropriate, other parties would be delighted, and grateful." Clearly, he is trying to arrange a play-date for Sophia and William. Miss Is says that decision will have to be left up to her employer, and they part ways. Walking out, Bullock passes E.B. on his way in, who takes the opportunity to crack wise at the Sheriff in light of his recent ass-kicking with Al, calling him "the camp pugilist."

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On the boardwalk, Joanie and Maddie are making their way down the thoroughfare while Maddie explains how she knows about Mr. Wolcott, or "Mr. W," as he likes to be called. As a matter of fact, one of Maddie's primary motivations in coming to camp and bringing her girls was to meet up with and make arrangements for Mr. W, who, by the way, is an agent of gold-mining millionaire George Hearst. Maddie felt that with Mr. W in town, the camp was a good bet for business. Maddie is rather familiar with Mr. W's habits with the ladies. He enjoys, she says, "being cranky with his women. And sometimes, when disappointed, his crankiness runs away with him." Joanie wonders whether he'll be disappointed in Deadwood, but Maddie thinks not. "Devious sort that I am," she tells Joanie, "I've got the girl he's interested in on ice." Woo! Mr. W likes it on the flip side. I cannot wait to find out what the hell this is all about.

In the Grand Central, Wolcott and E.B. are meeting in Mr. W's room. E.B. lays out his scam. He explains that he is in possession of Wild Bill Hickok's final, earthly communication (a letter one of E.B.'s employees forgot to mail for Bill before he died). He removes the letter and hands it to Wolcott, who notes its dampness from E.B.'s genetically sweaty palms. E.B. lies that Hickok had confided in him, before his death, that he had come upon an extremely prosperous quartz deposit, but had not told him where it was. Wolcott sees all, and clearly is about to start his little game with E.B. He freaks the slimy little man out by asking, up front, "How much do you want me to pay?" I've got to hand it to Dillahunt. He is already striking a compelling balance between suave and freaky, and when E.B. springs up to close the door for privacy, Dillahunt takes a moment to fluff his mustache in what seems like an effort to keep from laughing at Farnum.

So, here's the scam: E.B. is basically selling Wolcott the letter, for $10,000, the value of which is based on the whereabouts of Hickok's alleged quartz deposit, which may or may not be indicated in the letter. He dresses the proposition up a little, but that's the angle, as all parties are aware. Wolcott makes like he is considering it, tells E.B. he'll have his answer shortly, and E.B. leaves, making an awkward fool of himself.

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Over in the backroom of the hardware store, Sol is waking up, talking to Trixie who is getting dressed behind him. He cracks that he sees now what it takes -- getting hurt -- to get Trixie back in his life. Trixie says she's just passing through. "Even so," Sol says, "it makes a man glad he has three limbs left to be damaged." Cute.

We see Bullock walk into the store, clearing his throat like a gentleman so as to alert the two lovers (if that is what we're to gather from her having to put her clothes on) to his presence. As he approaches, Trixie reminds Sol that a man can get her into his life for five bucks. "Two," she says, "if he just needs a handshake." Poor Sol looks downtrodden by this news, and who can blame him?

Bullock comes back and says his good mornings. Trixie goes to leave, but Sol stops her to say "many thanks," extending his hand for a handshake. A freebie! They smile at each other while Bullock averts his eyes.

Bullock sits and asks how Sol's arm is doing. Sol can barely get out an "it's all right" before Bullock suspends the small talk. "I'm in my house, Sol," he says. Sol: "With Martha and the boy?" Bullock cracks that yes, he chose not to put them out in the thoroughfare. Sol kind of makes a face like, "Uh, biatch, I was just wondering," so Bullock goes on. "Or, I see what you're asking. As far as her having a different opinion, possibly, once I showed up, no. She chose to stay." Sol says that's good, and they nod at each other as men do the morning after a mutually embarrassing night. Sol asks Bullock to go ahead and open the store, and as he goes out to do it, Bullock tells him that Al said the new county commissioners are all from Yankton. Sol wonders when Al told him this. Bullock: "...Juuust before we hit the mud." His face, as he remembers, is just a little bit smug and has a hint of a smile, like maybe he's a tad proud of that fight. He goes on, though, saying it's wrong that the hills aren't being represented. "Even in an Eden like this," Sol remarks, "wrongs sometimes occur." He looks up to see that Bullock has come back into the room, and is clenching righteously. "I meant," Bullock says, "maybe we should try to do something about it." Sol looks up and says, "I'm with you."

Outside Al's door, Doc is mad as hell. They all still think Al's in there ignoring them. Doc yells through the door that goddammit, his arts cannot be practiced at this remove, telling him to stop being a baby. More softly, he says through the door, "Any secrets that you feel need keeping will not be betrayed by me." Just now, Trixie walks up. She asks if Al's poorly from his fight with Bullock or "with the trouble with his prick." Doc: "If you can get him to grant you entry, maybe you'll confide that to me."

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Trixie goes to the door herself. She says she'll give Al the latest news and leave him alone to rest, as ordered by the Doc. She opens with "nobody's dead" and goes on to tell him that Bullock's gone to his new house and that Sol's all right. She says she's going to "stay on the ear" at that hardware store, so she can keep delivering important info to Al. We get a glimpse of him now, as he groans out a "yeah" from his absolutely pitiful position on the floor. The man looks like he's dying. Trixie's trying to think of more to say and talks about the telegraph poles -- America's moving in on them -- and how by the "leap of the creature, they'll be here." She waits for a response, and, receiving none, complies with the Doc's orders and leaves Al, she thinks, to rest. Actually, though, he's still on the floor, whimpering and looking like he just went 18 rounds with a jackhammer.

Trixie knows something's wrong, and goes to grill Dan and Johnny. Trixie: "Where's fuckin' Dolly?" As if it weren't just implied in her name, Dan responds: "Fuckin'." Haaaaaaa! She commands Johnny to brew Al some of her special tea, take it up to him, and that if he doesn't present himself in a few hours, to kick down the door and get the Doc. All this shit is getting to Dan, man.

Wolcott is making the rounds about town. He walks in to the Bella Union and is welcomed by the steaming hot Lila. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl...not absolutely pitch perfect yet on the words, though. Wolcott introduces himself, and Lila at his request introduces him to Cy. Wolcott orders some Kentucky bourbon, and Cy tells the bartender to "pour Mr. Wolcott a bourbon, Jack, and tell him it's from Kentucky." Har har. Cy asks if they should have Lila drink with them, or, nudge, if Wolcott would prefer to drink with Lila alone. Wolcott says he'd like to speak privately with Cy, which leads them to have a jokey pseudo-homoerotic conversation that makes me think of Powers Boothe in a way I'd rather not.

They walk outside to "take the air" and Mr. Wolcott fires his opening salvo: "You approached a group in San Francisco that does business with my employer." Cy: "That 'group' and 'employer' bullshit really quickens me with fuckin' trust." Wolcott describes the group in question as a fraternal Chinese organization. Cy scoffs at his formality, asking if "Tong" is not a clever enough word. Wolcott goes on that this group, which Cy approached with a contract to bring members to the camp, has a pre-existing arrangement with his employer. Cy gets frustrated and asks Wolcott just who he works for, wondering aloud if it's some mining operation or the railroads that are interested in bringing in all these Chinese people to work for them. Wolcott says no, he works for one man, and one man alone. "Jesus Christ," Cy hams. "Doesn't every one of us?" When Wolcott turns and announces with a sort of uncomfortable grimace that no, he works for George Hearst, you'd think from Cy's reaction that Wolcott's boss WAS Jesus, and that he just walked up and slapped him on the back. The words "George Hearst" are like kryptonite to Cy. Immediately, the tone changes. He humbly tells Wolcott that he meant no disrespect, now, or from the moment the two had met and that he as only the deepest regard for Mr. Hearst.

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Wolcott tells Cy that his overture to the group in San Francisco impressed Mr. Hearst so much that he wants to work with Cy there in Deadwood. Cy gets a look like he cannot believe his good fortune, and looks out in the surrounding crowd to see Con Stapleton and Leon coming toward him. Cy calls out to them, wanting to impress Wolcott by showing him how his operation is going to take over Chinatown and dethrone Mr. Wu. As they make their way over to "meet a fuckin' gentleman," Wolcott makes a face as if Cy is trying to introduce him to herpes and gonorrhea and says, "I don't want to meet them..." As a matter of fact, he'll barely look at them as they walk up, and Cy shoos them off to the Bella Union, saying he'll meet with them later.

As they leave, Wolcott says that his only contact in the camp will be with Cy. "As far as they're concerned," Cy says, indicating his dimwitted cronies, "you and Mr. Hearst don't even exist." Straightforwardly, Wolcott tells him, "As far as you're concerned, Cy, in the task that you'll be performing for him, Mr. Hearst doesn't either." This sets Cy up to make the world's oldest scene-closing joke as he plays dumb and asks with mock innocence: "Who?" (How I WISH this would have been set up to where we could see Mr. Wu in the background and that we could have heard him yell out "WU!" right before the camera cut away. Many episodes later and that "Who? WU!" exchange between him and Al will forever remain a favorite.)

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Over at Charlie's freight house, we see someone rustling under what looks like animal skins in what looks like a jail cell. Charlie's coming in to wake Jane. "Wake up," he tells her. "Take account. You're indoors." Groaning, she pulls herself up, as he hands her a cup. "That's water, now," he tells her. "Get it the fuck away from me, then," she mumbles, sleepily. Charlie tells her to drink it and don't be stupid. Taking a swig, she finally does take account of her surroundings, sees the bars surrounding her, and asks, "Oh, Christ! Are we arrested?"

Charlie tells her that he explained to her last night -- Jane: "Well, shut up, then." -- that he's the deputy and that he had fixed up the overflow cell in case she came back and needed a place. She says that "evidently, I don't remember fuck-all." No, Charlie says, like an angry housewife, "because after every other fucking thing we went through last night, you got to make us stop at that new joint across from Nuttall's." Jane's so slungover, she has to ask him to "kindly shut your fucking mouth." Charlie huffs and gets up to walk out as Jane finally realizes that it's not a bunch of skins she's sleeping under at all, that in fact it's Bill's old coat. She asks what it's doing there, and Charlie mumbles about how Bill wouldn't have wanted it to be useless or a souvenir, so Charlie figured he'd use it to keep the bed warm. Jane asks, "Where's it headed, now that I'm the occupant?" And Charlie tells her that "it ain't going anywheres." These two would bring a tear to the stoniest eye, and I love them for it. In an unprecedented move, Jane thanks Charlie, and rolls over, back under Bill's coat. He stands for a moment looking surprised, and we cut away.

Ahhh, the Chez Amie. Deadwood's as-yet-unsullied whore house. Joanie tells the girls that it's cool and they should go and sit outside. She wants to talk to Maddie alone, and as the girls go out, she reminds them to sit with "wide knees."

Joanie's mad that Maddie hadn't shared the information about Mr. Wolcott and his required specialty act before now. Joanie says it hadn't exactly created an atmosphere of trust. Maddie asks, as far as trust goes, if there had been any odds that when she'd arrived in camp with her girls, that she would have found Joanie had changed her mind, been killed or moved along. "No chance on 'moved along,'" Joanie smirks, remembering Cy's "can't live with her, can't live without her" attitude. Maddie tells her, on the subject of trust, that the only way to guarantee an outcome is "contracting to be fucked. Everything else is a chance. Including me, letting you down." They move past the minor betrayal between them, and Joanie asks how they'll bring the girl into it. Maddie: "At the trick's fierce insistence." Joanie: "What's our split?" Maddie says she and Joanie will split the take 50/50. Noting a problem with the math, Joanie asks, "What's the girl's end?" Maddie, bluntly: "I wouldn't rule out a pine box."

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At the hardware store, Sol is complaining that he out-thought himself on his ordering and should have bought in bulk, as advised by his old man "on his deathbed in fucking Vienna." As he and Bullock share a laugh over another of Sol's "my old man" stories, Charlie comes in. Pleasantries are exchanged all around, and Charlie tells Bullock he's come to go through some inquiries they'd received from neighboring jurisdictions. Charlie says they had been about to "thin" the inquiries "before that trouble with Bummer Dan." Bullock: "We've been gonna thin 'em for several weeks." Charlie asks if Farnum's hotel will be okay, as Jane is sleeping her load off at his place. Bullock gets into a kind of nervous clench -- he knows who's over in the hotel. He goes to get his hat, though, saying again that they've been remiss in working on the inquiries. Charlie jokes, "Who's that fella says 'never put off 'til tomorrow what'll wait 'til the day after'?" Sol: "Not my old man."

At the Grand Central, Wolcott has just laid down an envelope stuffed with money in front of E.B. to buy Hickok's letter. E.B. cannot believe this score. He gets all jumpy, but Wolcott cools him off, asking for a bill of sale. "For reasons of legal nicety," E.B. says, "we'll say you're purchasing the right to deliver" the letter.

Back at the Gem, Doc and Jewel are in cahoots to try to get Al out of his office. "You gotta let me get to your piss pot, Al," Jewel yells through the door as the Doc strains to hear any response. "Otherwise when your mood changes, you're fuckin' gonna yell at me for not doing it!" Doc can't hear anything and they're getting all the more nervous -- including Johnny and Dan down at the bottom of the stairs, looking on. Jewel is riled up, now, and at Doc's prompting, goes on. "I think I should get the Doc, Al. You need to let the Doc in. You need to let him see to you. When I was sick, the Doc helped me, and you ain't fuckin' yelled since then my foot's draggin'." Jewel and Doc are about on the verge of nervous tears, and every cut to Johnny and Dan shows the same level of frustration. Finishing her speech, Jewel gets mad and slaps the door. She turns in aggravation, saying, "Fuck this, right, Doc?" "Fuck it," he answers. So, Jewel sounds the alarm, screeching down the stairs: "DAN! YOU NEED TO FUCKING BREAK THE DOOR DOWN!" Dan: "Now?" Jewel: "ISN'T THAT WHAT I JUST FUCKING SAID?"

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And no one has ever moved faster than Dan moves up those stairs, yelling for Al. Johnny's right behind him as Jewel tells Doc that if she was him, she'd get out of the fucking way. Dan slams the door once, hurting his shoulder, and then on the second try breaks it in. The four of them go inside to find Al, laid out in misery on the floor just like he's been all damn day long. Johnny can just about not take it. Jewel asks Doc if she needs to give Al laudanum, and he says "please." Doc is pressing on Al's groin, and we see that Al's barely able to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his skull.

In the hotel dining room, Bullock and Charlie are going over these letters from other law officials. Bullock reads a request from one of his colleagues: "Please don't let up on the Stackpole case, as I'm sure he's out there." He looks blankly at Charlie, who answers with equal blankness, "No idea." Bullock: "I never heard of it, either." Charlie says that with all the portions Bullock had on his plate when these requests came in, he hesitated to even inquire. Bullock says he couldn't have helped, even if Charlie had asked. "Fuck the Stackpole case, then," Charlie decides, pulling the letter from Bullock's hand and slamming it down under his hat on the table. "And the letter from the Arapaho County conservator, which goes in the Fucked Case file."

Mrs. Garret is riding back with Ellsworth from the claim. As they go down the road, she announces that she'd like to buy Mr. Farnum's hotel. Man. Just by looking at her face, it's obvious that Mrs. G is going through that stage of the break-up where revenge on the scorner is not enough. She's looking for revenge on the PLANET. Ellsworth asks why she'd want to buy it, and she says to renovate and make her residence. Ellsworth can think of better locations, he says, but Mrs. G says none of those locations would offer the extra pleasure of "putting Mr. Farnum in the thoroughfare." Ellsworth turns his head, and I know he's thinking "damn, lady," but he just says he expects Farnum wouldn't have too difficult a time finding new quarters. She answers that though that may be true, she figures losing his hotel would make Farnum feel himself dispossessed and unanchored. "I think he'd be very sad," she continues. "And I'd like to see him in that condition." Ellsworth says he guesses that most people don't have enough money to act on those types of ideas. When she asks him what he means, he says, "The type the lowborn would say we get when we're pissed off, although my own aristocratic lineage causes me to use the term 'sore disappointed.'" Mrs. G thinks a moment after being lifted down from the wagon, and says, "I am pissed off."

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Ellsworth says that he figures she's got plenty of good reason to be pissed, and that if punching someone in the nose would help, he'd be happy to volunteer "one that's well broke in." She smirks, blowing him off, and walks into the hotel...right into the line of vision of none other than Bullock, still in the dining room. The look that passes between them only lasts a split second, but the clench is felt 'round the world. Ellsworth freezes, clearly wanting to sink into the floor, and Mrs. G strides forward, shoving her nose even higher in the air. She's almost safely out when E.B., who has seen all from the hotel desk, can't help commenting, with weight and a sound of regret, that she's "safely returned." The sound of his slimy voice gives her pause, though she doesn't lower herself to respond.

At the hardware store, Sol is working when Trixie returns. Does Trixie not have any, uh, clients or whatever, right now? Does the Gem have vacation benefits we've never heard about? Anyway, she walks in, shutting the door, asking Sol if Bullock is there, also. He says no, and she rolls her eyes as if to indicate that he's glad. She's walking around smoking a cigarette a bit awkwardly, like Olivia Newton-John in Grease. Sol sees her look and says, "He's my friend, Trixie." She responds with a puff and an eye-roll, "Among other fuckin' things."

"Anyways," what she's really come about is to ask Sol if he will teach her how to "do accounts." He says he'd be glad to, and she assures him that she'll pay him, "or you can take it out in c*nt." Siiiiiiiigh. Trixie! Sol tells her he won't teach her if she keeps up that kind of talk, and she gets mad again and stomps out, cursing everybody in the world, saying, "I wish I was a fuckin' tree." I can see the Barbara Walters interview now. "Twixie...if you were a twee...what kind of twee would you be?" And Trixie would be all, "I'd be a fuckin' tree, Barbara. Just a fuckin' tree."

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AB Chao is sitting here in my house right now, by the way, reading a magazine and acting scandalized about the cursing on Deadwood. Which is funny, because out of all the people I know in the world who might be able to survive in this town, she's the one who could do it. She'd open Deadwood's first hair salon and make everybody take baths, for one thing.

Back at the Grand Central, Wolcott has come back to E.B.'s front desk, announcing that the contents of the letter he bought from Farnum were "a deep disappointment." E.B. immediately gets shady and starts packing up his money box to hide it away. He tells Wolcott they should speak elsewhere, and leads him out the door. With his hand on Wolcott's shoulder, he points them toward the Gem (obviously thinking that there he'd have Al's protection when this scam reaches its ugly conclusion). Without looking at E.B., Wolcott asks that he please remove his hand from his shoulder. E.B. thinks he's getting away with something -- he tells Wolcott that "some ancient, Italian maxim fits our situation, whose particulars escape me." Wolcott: "Is the gist that I'm shit out of luck?" E.B.: "Did they speak that way, then?"

Inside the Gem, Al is shrieking in pain. The patrons are trying to act like nothing much is happening as we hear Al calling out to God, and see Doc and Dan and the rest of Al's staff stagger around in determination and disgust. E.B. leads Wolcott to a table, where Wolcott asks if he's supposed to take this Hickok letter rip-off as a "lesson learned." E.B. counsels Wolcott to, yes, consider it a lesson learned and not seek redress with violence as so many other residents of Deadwood have when considering themselves victimized. Wolcott explains that he was merely an intermediary in this transaction, anyway, for his employer. "Ah, then," E.B. responds (and you have to LOVE it, because E.B. thinks he's going to get away with the whole thing right here), "having been a pupil, it falls to you now to instruct your principal." And here's where E.B. really steps in it. "I wonder, Mr. Wolcott," he continues, "if some second letter couldn't be drafted, to put some sharper point on the lesson...maybe remunerative to both of us."

And now we watch Wolcott burst the bubble as only a sadist would do. "So," he says, "you're idea would be that we fuck Mr. Hearst twice." E.B. didn't catch the name, clearly. "I can aver as a general principle, my days of fucking anyone are long in the past, whomever you represent." Wolcott brings it home: "George Hearst. Of the Ophir find in the Comstock." SNAP. E.B. goes from zero to sniveling in 1.2 seconds, and becomes a quivering mass of babble. "Of course I know George Hearst," he sputters. "OH," Wolcott digs, "you know him personally?" E.B.: "I do not know him personally. I DO NOT know him personally. But of course, I know OF George Hearst, and his reputation and accomplishments and wealth...and his power...and reputation." Heeee. E.B.'s LOSING it. He digs himself deeper as Wolcott looks calmly on: "And I would say as well, most importantly, I have NOTHING to teach that man. George Hearst need learn NO lesson from me." Nor would E.B. even want ANYONE to TRY to teach George Hearst a lesson, he says, nor any of his agents or intermediaries. He babbles on and on, and leaves the door wide open for Wolcott to get his money back, plus anything else he wants, as E.B. makes clear he is willing to do whatever it takes to fix the thing.

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But, see, Wolcott is evil. So, he twists the knife: "Mr. Hearst doesn't renege on contracts." E.B. is about to go out and panic in the streets. He begs Wolcott to tell him what to do to, saying he can think of nothing but to throw himself on Wolcott's mercy. He emphasizes this with a hand on Wolcott's arm. Once again Wolcott coolly tells him to "remove your hand from my forearm. Do not touch me again." E.B. lowers his head in understanding. By way of explaining himself, he tells Wolcott, "I look poor. But that is a cultivated pose and posture. I am not poor, and I am not stingy when fundamental interests are at stake...as a complete aside."

Wolcott makes the final turn of the screw. "There is," he says, "a service you could do Mr. Hearst that would set off exactly against the funds he might otherwise believe you fleeced him of." E.B. says he'll do anything. Wolcott wants E.B. to circulate rumors throughout the camp calling into question the validity of the gold claims and whether or not their claims will be honored once the government moves in. "Done," E.B. tells him. "Consider me enlisted." Wolcott would also like to know the location, he says, of Deadwood's best brothel. "As it happens," E.B. tells him, "a whorehouse succeeding to that title has just opened." Lunging forward as if to reveal a big secret, Wolcott stage-whispers that "nothing just happens, Mr. Farnum." E.B. is a little beside himself now, and nods fearfully, trying to smile. Replacing his bowler and posing as if for a portrait, Wolcott asks his sniveling companion, "Do you think this hat makes my head look big?" And, like the most nervous ass-kisser in all the Dakota hills, E.B. answers, "No, sir...it makes your head look the perfect size."

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Meanwhile, at the Bella Union, Cy has gathered his employees to listen to yet another of his bizarre speeches. He makes a big, big show of telling his staff all vaguely but dramatically about how no matter what happens, he's not going anywhere, despite any rumors or speculation that may be going around about the camp. He hollers that if any of them want to bail out that two weeks severance is available to them, right now, and all they have to do is "step the fuck up." Since none of them know at all what he's talking about, they all look around at each other in confusion. No one comes forward, and he congratulates them all for being so strong. He tells them to "open the fuck up and get it while we can," leaving them all very unsure and wondering what it is he knows about the future of the camp. How to Start a Rumor 101. Cy must be doing Mr. Hearst's dirty work as well.

At the Gem, Doc is sterilizing what looks like a metal stick. Trixie is there, and asks what Doc intends to do to Al. "I'll pass this instrument through his penis, into his bladder," Doc says. "If he has stones, it will click against the metal instrument." Grimacing, he goes on: "Assuming I can hear the clicks above his screams...I will have identified the cause of his obstruction." Trixie asks to what fucking end, all this instrument-inserting. Doc explains that if he thinks Al will die otherwise, he'll have to perform surgery to remove the stones. "Which," Trixie says, "will probably kill him anyways." Doc takes a stressed-out breath and turns on her. "What shall I say to you, Trixie? That I'm sure of a happy outcome for Al...and every one of us?" He walks away, wielding the stick, leaving Trixie on the verge of tears due to her worry for Al.

Back at the Bella Union, Leon and Con Stapleton come bumbling in to Cy's office, trying to get a bead on the speech they just heard. They betray each other's confidence, each trying to tell Cy it was the other's idea to speak to him, and Cy finally gets sick of their dancing around, saying "somebody better turn over a hole card." They explain that after Cy's other crazy speech last week, in which he told them he was confident of the future success of the Bella Union despite Joanie's exit, they felt good about their jobs and the future of the business. But, in relation to the crazy speech he JUST gave, they are confused. "I guess you'd say a wonderment with us," Stapleton says, "is if we mistook the tone of one talk or the other, and, if so...which?" Cy disputes that anything between the talks had changed. Leon asks if perhaps he's learned that the status of the camp was somehow changing. Cy intimates that he's been privy to a rumor of all the claims and titles being thrown out. "But the only goddamn fact," he says, continuing to reel them in, "is I never knew any man who ate a rumor." Stapleton agrees, nervously, that rumors are not facts. Cy repeats that if any "gutless cocksucker" decides he wants to cut and run, and sell his fucking holdings, he can come sell them to Cy. Ahhh haaaaa. Cy is planning to profit from the rumors. It's not clear at this point whether or not he's doing this of his own accord, or by the request of Mr. Wolcott, but in any case, he's working the evil angle but good. The dramatics are to the extreme as Cy mournfully tells the two idiots to go on outside and do their fucking jobs, as "it's all we can fucking DO right now." As they leave, worried, he cracks a sinister smile.

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What follows is the best moment in television in a very long time.

Leaning up against two posts, across the way, Trixie and Jane are having what passes for a conversation. It's the best Drunk Girl chat I have ever seen in my life, and I must say, I have witnessed a few. For once, Jane is the least drunk member of a combo. Trixie is smoking and drinking up a storm, bitching about Al and what a pain in the ass he was to lock himself away where no one could get to him and help him. "Cocksucker upstairs...whorehouse across the way, where I work..." Trixie says, by way of explaining who she's yelling about. Jane nods, "He IS a fuckin' cocksucker." Jane asks Trixie if she realizes Al had designs to murder Sophia when she first came to the camp. Trixie says, with some belligerence, that no, she didn't. Jane confirms: "Hell yes, he had a design. Charlie and me, spirited her from camp, forced him to a second victim more suitable to his cocksucker's purpose." Trixie slurs at Jane, asking rhetorically if she thinks men are any fuckin' different if "they've had their fuckin' dicks cut off?" Now she's talking about Sol and, I assume, referring to him being circumcised. Jane is looking at her in hard concentration, trying to follow the conversation. "They ain't no fucking different. You gotta like their friends or they won't teach you numbers or every other fuckin' regulation they set." Man, Trixie's having a bad day. Jane is a bit at a loss here, and hems out an "anyways..."

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But Trixie's on a roll, and she's rolled back to Al. "Far as it fucking goes, he also brought the cripple from that orphanage." Jane is lost. "Uh, what orphanage?" Trixie is, of course, now talking about Jewel. She waves her cigarette, drunkenly, rambling on about Al's stupid story about how he keeps Jewel around in case a customer comes in looking for sex but only has nine cents to pay for it. That's a bullshit story, Trixie says, and the truth is "why she's around is...it's his sick fuckin' way of protectin' her." Jane, thoroughly confused, starts to say that she's going to get some whiskey, but Trixie cuts her off in order to wrap up her rundown on the Duality of Al. "There's entries on both sides of the fuckin' ledger, is the fuckin' point," Trixie says, berating herself a breath later for already talking "like a fuckin' Jew." Poor Jane. Who among us hasn't gotten trapped to a Trixie in the line for the ladies' room at a party?

Jane decides to try to change the subject. "Shaping up to be a nice cool evening," she says, looking over at Trixie with a squinty smile. Receiving no reply, she sighs. "Maybe he has a good side to him too that I entirely fucking missed," she says. "It's always fuckin' possible, drunk as I am, fuckin' continuously." She steps off the porch, turning back to tell Trixie, "It's nice to see you."

Urrrrrgh, after that bit of awesomeness, we are plunged back into HELL, by which I mean Alma Garret's room at the Grand Central. She is once again interrogating Miss Isringhausen about Bullock and how he reacted when Miss I returned the watch. Mrs. G is trying to have a little girly chat with her, looking to dish and diagnose his every move, but Miss I is all business, explaining that Bullock accepted the timepiece, "and raised another subject you and I ought pursue at some different moment." Alma busts on the tutor, accusing her of enjoying setting terms. "Terms, ma'am?" her employee asks. "Playing arbiter of the when and why of things." Miss I explains that pursuing the second subject raised by Bullock might be upsetting to Sophia. This ticks off Mrs. G. All she wants is someone to listen to her hour after hour, assuring her that Bullock loves and is obsessed with her as much as she is with him. She tells the tutor that she creates a continual atmosphere of "relentless disapproval" and then that she has "no further need of your services, Miss Isringhausen." Miss I stands to leave, thinking she's been dismissed for the night, but, uh, no. She's just been straight-up dismissed. This makes me hate Mrs. Garret. "I wonder, ma'am," Miss Isringhausen says, haltingly, "if having made so many decisions so quickly, your patience may be short just now. And I'd appeal to you to reconsider your preferences this morning." Mrs. G: "In any case, you'll want to retire to your room." Miss I reminds her that she has traveled from Chicago to work for her, and that she has no "emerging prospects." Mrs. G snarks that they'll come to some arrangement. Miss I: "All right. I'll say good night then."

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And here's where Mrs. G moves into the category of Witch. The woman can't be satisfied enough lording her position and cash over the tutor. And she can't be happy enough denigrating her in front of Sophia. She has to get in her digs. "As is your custom," she says, as Miss I says goodnight, "without having spared one affectionate look for my child!" Whoa, Mommie Dearest. Just, whoa. Your child, who from what we can see has been pretty much raised thus far by drunks, whores, and tutors? Miss I respectfully retorts that her training calls for her not to engender the affection of her charge, so as not to "intrude on the mother's province." Mrs. G calls that a "logical distinction...having nothing to do with the way people live." To you, Mrs. Garret, I say "whatever." How Miss Isringhausen can leave without throwing up her hands and saying, "Ugh! YOU'RE the stupid!" I don't know. But she does.

In Cy's boudoir (as the skeeves crawl up my arms, just typing it), he and the lovely Lila are reclining, post-doin'-it. Lila tells Cy that people downstairs are scared after Cy's talk. "Are they?" Cy asks, with some satisfaction. Lila says people think Cy believes the camp's in jeopardy. Cy says he can't be responsible for what people think, but that the truth is, "the weather's getting' better, and it looks to stay mild a spell." He goes on: "Old Cy has outlasted the cocksuckers one more time. If it was in me to kid myself, I'd take this for a proving God loves me." Lila says she believes God loves us all. Cy wonders if she thinks God's hand led him to buying and turning her out. "That's a lovely thought," he says. "you're in touch, would you put the good word in?" Lila says she does. She prays for him every night. Hearing this, Cy looks askance at her, and sighs. "All right, stupid," he says. "Time to shut your fuckin' mouth." Cy is one evil dude.

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Speaking of whores and the people who abuse them, Maddie is doing some in-house training with her girls over at the Chez Amie, showing them how to position themselves, how to stand or sit for maximum sex appeal -- you know, just like Britney Spears's choreographer. She tells one of them, "In your case, Atlantis, present the tits a little more. Can you hold that for half an hour?" Atlantis: "I've been holding this my whole fuckin' life." Good one, Atlantis.

In walks Mr. W. Maddie tells him he's jumped the gun on the joint's opening by half an hour, but that for him, they can make an exception. He declines her offer to sit, instead asking, "Where is she?" This, in reference to the mysterious girl Maddie said earlier she has "on ice." Maddie explains that "Carrie's been detained." When they hit Cheyenne on their journey, she says, Carrie stopped to see a relative. Joanie walks over to bring Wolcott a drink of Basil Hayden bourbon, and Wolcott, obviously frustrated, asks another of the girls in his line of vision to please get out of his sight. Wolcott: "How close a relative is she fucking in Cheyenne?" Maddie says she'll be there in a matter of days. More frustrated, Wolcott asks how many days are in the matter. It's getting tense, so Joanie steps in. "Would fucking something else fill the time?" Joanie asks, with an edge. "Yeah," he snaps. "How much you cost?" Maddie's giving her a warning look as Joanie says she's not for sale, but she'd have sex with him for free. "Well, I have to say," Mr. W tells her, "you ain't my type."

Come on, now. Joanie's not going to let that stop her. "You stand there, Mr. W, saying you're dead solid sure you'll not ever again be surprised, 'til you've completed your earthly course?" Joanie wonders whether her quoted fee of "free" is not a fair enough price for him. "I always pay for pussy," he says. Joanie: "Well, I may let you then. If you go ahead and twist my arm." She takes his elbow as if to lead him, and he says, "Do unhand me." She lets go, turning back to tell Maddie, "I, Mr. W -- who I just unhanded -- and Mr. Basil Hayden do not wish to be disturbed." Turning back toward the bedroom, she lifts the back of her corset to reveal to Maddie the gun she's hidden there. The girl Mr. W dismissed a moment earlier goes back to her original spot, as Maddie worries, "She kills that fuckin' cocksucker, I'm gonna be working for the rest of my life."

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At the hotel, E.B. observes Richardson cleaning off the dining tables. He takes this chance to start his rumor mill, and sidles over to his employee asking "Richardson, Richardson, Richardson...when will come the quiet hours of our declining years." When he doesn't respond, E.B. goes on, "I'm talkin' to you, dimwit." Richardson says he wasn't listening, and E.B., with false benevolence, tells him to sit down and pass the burden of his labors to E.B. "I am confiding," E.B. says, turning on the dramatics, "that turbulence -- upheaval of the most violent sort -- churning seas, waves of a scale and force to make the most seasoned seafarer vomit [here, he mock-vomits into the mop bucket] are in prospect for this camp." E.B. goes on, explaining like a character in a Greek tragedy that everyone in the camp is at risk -- "pawns in a savage sea, and playthings of the fucking deep" -- and takes the ocean metaphor too far. Too far for me to recap and too far for Richardson to comprehend. E.B. sees this, and yells, "Do you understand me, you repulsive lout?!" Richardson: "Neeeeooohhhh..." Sighing, E.B. explains loudly that people's claims are about to be overturned and everyone plunged into destitution! Everyone, of course, except the people who choose to sell out before the time comes. He then sighs again, and gives Richardson an unprecedented night off, telling him to be sure and keep this info about the claims to himself. Right.

Back in Joanie's room, she is laid out on the bed, under the seemingly bored eye of Wolcott. Joanie wonders aloud if they'd have more fun, naked. Or, she suggests, she could be naked, and Mr. W could stay dressed. Or, she offers, the opposite. He asks her, "Who am I?" Joanie: "You're Mr. W. Your boss struck bigger'n anyone in the Comstock and Mexico, so you being here puts a shine to the camp's prospects." This seems to interest him. He tells her to unbutton his shirt, but not to look at his face. Joanie readily complies. "Shall I tell you who I work for?" Wolcott asks, as we all begin to wonder if he actually works for Satan. "As you wish," Joanie answers, unbuttoning like a pro, "if you do, how shall I occupy myself while you're doin' it?" He tells her, "Same as if I don't." She asks if her activities are for her to decide, and he says yes. She moves on to his pants buttons and asks if she should "hazard an approach I rarely find ill-received." He turns down the offer of oral delight with a constrained "No." Going to her Plan B, Joanie suggests she hazards an approach, you know, ahem, on herself. When he says he's not really interested in that approach, either, she's done. "Nuts," she says in frustration, getting a laugh out of Mr. W. "What a tiny corner of operation, for such an amusing mind," he says. "I promise, during my sojourn here, to bring you stories of the world of men." Sighing, she tells him, "I'll just be here, in my girl's world, diddling myself." Ha! He tells her, before we leave them, that he admires her coming armed.

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Ohhhhhh, my goodness, now we're back at the Gem. And y'all...Y'ALL...Doc is about to insert the INSTRUMENT into the PENIS. He explains how it works to the delusional Al, saying, "I'm only going to tell you this once...I'm sorry for how it hurts." He is sorry, and so am I. Dan's holding Al down, or trying to anyway, and, uh...Doc inserts. Dan's holding, Al's screaming, Doc's sweating, I'm dying. Al shouts out, "Mother of Goooooooood," in a voice that would rival Ricardo Montalban's, and we see Trixie and the citizens of Deadwood out in the street who all stop and turn, cringing. Johnny comes out on the porch, looking like he's about to vomit and cry and vomit again, and Trixie yells up at him, "Fuck you, Johnny! Get in there and fucking HELP him!" Johnny asks what he's supposed to do. She tells him to put his hand in Al's mouth, to let him bite his hand. Johnny can't take it, but goes back inside. E.B., meanwhile, comes out and sees what's going on, and finally sees that something bad is going down at the Gem. Inside, Doc tells Al that he's found the stone, and is going to try to push it aside to let Al release his water. Dan is nearly in tears as Al screams out to God and his mother, begging to die. Everybody in the room is suffering. Dan's fear causes him to yell at the Doc that he'll fucking kill him if he doesn't remove the stick. Finally, finally something gives, and Al is able to urinate a little. "Good for you," Doc tells him, and removes the instrument. Johnny, beside himself, asks if Al's cured. He goes out back out on the porch and tells Trixie that Al's "put somethin' out of him. That's something, anyway." Johnny's just relieved. Trixie asks if any stones were passed. Johnny: "I didn't see no fuckin' stone come out." Trixie, exhausted, walks away, and Johnny, scared and tired, turns back to face the bedroom.

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Provenance

Original URL: http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com:80/show/deadwood/new_money.php?page=1
Captured: 2009-07-23
Page Type: recap (0%)
Wayback Machine: View original capture

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