By Al Lowe
All is quiet at the Gem this very early morning. Not a creature is stirring, except Mr. Wu, who slowly sneaks past the snoring guard -- one of Al's junior minions -- posted outside his door.
On his balcony, Al is enjoying his morning coffee while watching the stage drivers unload George Hearst's belongings from the coach. Aw, yeah. The Big Man is On Campus.
In Blasanov's telegraph office, Jarry is catching a few Zs, presumably waiting on a message. Blasanov's precious apparatus begins to buzz, causing the commissioner to leap up and read over his shoulder as he translates.
Meanwhile, Wu has made his way back to the alley, and some shit is going down. One of his guys strolls up and distracts Lee's huge henchman, while another sneaks up and stabs the dude in the back with an ax. Lee is on the scene in an instant and pulls out his gun to take a few shots to even the score. Wu comes running out of his place, freakin' pissed. He charges at Lee and grabs up a meat cleaver, yelling in Chinese, and staring down the barrel of Lee's gun. They have a little standoff. Wu has torn off his hat and fanned his hair out, warrior-style. You want to talk about East Coast v. West Coast? Here it is, for real: Wu with his cleaver and traditional dress, Lee with is Western suit and gun. It's about to get ugly, too, until Johnny happens to come around the corner, carrying a slaughtered pig on his shoulder. He sees Wu and jumps in, yelling "All Chinese but Wu stay put...or I'll blow your tall Chinese head off." He drags the screaming Wu to the back door of the Gem and calls for Davey to open the door.
Down the road, the Bullocks are quietly sitting down in front of their big picture windows for some morning coffee.
At the Bella Union, Leon has already arrived to give Cy the lowdown on the Chinese fight that just occurred. He tells Cy that Wu has reappeared. "Whence the fuck did Wu reappear?" Cy asks, and Leon says that it seems the guy just materialized. "From the clouds," Cy wants to know, "or some type conveyance?" Leon says that if he had to choose, he would say the clouds. He lays out the story of the showdown for Cy, and finishes by telling how Johnny dragged Wu over to the Gem. Now, this is interesting, Cy thinks, and he starts putting two and two together. Cy looks up to see one of his whores sitting in the corner, reading the Bible, just as Jack the bartender comes over to tell him that George Hearst has arrived in camp. Cy's pissed. "Some as don't know better," he says in frustration, "might mistake me for being on the outside, looking in." He catches the eye of the holy whore and adds, with heavy sarcasm that "then you got your idle snatch readin' scripture, and know there's still hope." Hee. Cy calls Con Stapleton into action to go over to the hotel and spy on Wolcott: he wants the inside story on any Hearst goings-on. Con says yessir and prepares to leave, pausing to glance up at the huge bison head mounted over the stairs. "Can the bison spare you?" Cy asks him. Con sighs. "Something," he answers, "strikes me fuckin' melancholy about that creature."
By Al Lowe
Back at the Bullocks', the unhappy couple is still in front of the window. Out of nowhere, Martha asks if Bullock would still be happy to see her take up the teaching of the camp's children. (Where are these other damn children, though? In the mines?) Stifling an urge to sing with joy, Bullock overly-quickly says that "I would, yes, I'd be delighted," before turning back to face the window. She smiles just a little at his happiness, before saying that whatever she does, she doesn't want to "lose" William. It's an awkward choice of phrase, but I understand. She doesn't want to forget him, or seem to other people like she's "moving on." She's also worried about how disturbing it might be for the children in her school to see her teaching in mourning dress for the whole year. "But I believe if I teach them with love and joy," she says, "then I won't make them afraid." She sighs and again says that she doesn't want to "lose him." Bullock is adamant in answering that she never will. He clenches for a moment, staring at the window, before quickly reaching across for Martha's hand. I like this scene. They are trying to be strong in the face of something so horrible, and are figuring out how to cling to each other for support.
At the Grand Central, Wolcott is having breakfast with Hearst, while being spied on by both E.B. and Con Stapleton in their respective corners. Hearst is pleased with the way Wolcott has handled things. He's a little disappointed that they have not managed to purchase the Garret claim, but Wolcott intimates that they may not have much to worry about, since the title of that claim may be contested in the coming months. Hearst is gratified to hear this. Meanwhile, in his corner, E.B. is rehearsing his introductory speech to Hearst. "Excuse me, Mr. Hearst," he mumbles to himself, "might I escort you across the thoroughfare to meet a local luminary?" He wipes the sweat from his brow, and heads to the table. Hearst sees him coming and says under his breath to Wolcott that E.B. "looks like he stepped out of a specimen box." E.B. makes his introductions -- under the watchful eye of Con Stapleton, who has not-so-suavely taken up a better vantage from which to observe -- presenting himself as Deadwood's "mayor and hotelier." Before he can go on, however, E.B. has to take a pause. Wolcott and Hearst look on, expectantly. "Allow me a moment's silence, Mr. Hearst," E.B. says, leaning over to clutch the table. "I am having a digestive crisis, and must focus on suppressing its expression." Hearst and Wolcott literally throw in their towels in disgust.
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By Al Lowe
Ellsworth is pacing around the hardware store, complaining to himself and to a tin box he's carrying around. "What's ? Pink fuckin' panties, or something?" he says. "Jesus Christ...I can't fuckin' do it."
Ellsworth's found himself in the hardware store, now. Sol -- who is working with a customer -- shoos the guy out in order to help Ellsworth. "This is the prospective groom for today's perspective wedding," Sol says, "and I'm going to wait on him now, in privacy." The guy leaves, and Ellsworth, chagrined, tells Sol that he's surprised he has any trade left as often as he clears the joint. Sol just laughs and asks him what it is he was talking about when he said he can't fuckin' do it. "Any of it, it feels like!" Ellsworth says and, waving the tin box, adds that it's particularly "these fuckin' mittens" giving him the biggest problem. The tailor has told Ellsworth that the lavender gloves are traditional. Ellsworth disagrees. And if he was to imagine, he says, where such gloves might be traditional, it wouldn't be among men preparing for marriage, if you know what he means. "Look at these cocksuckers," he says infrustration. "Lavender! 'The rigor' in New York City'...whatever the fuck that means!" Sol asks if he's told Mrs. G that he doesn't want to wear them. "What if they're her idea?" Ellsworth says. "That's liable to bring the dromedary to its knees!" Sol sighs. "Anyways..." he says, giving Ellsworth a half-hearted thumbs up."Today's the day!" Ellsworth goes out, still grumbling.
Back at the Gem, Al comes downstairs to find Davey, the very guard who was sleeping on his Wu Watch, wiping down tables. Al asks Davey if he's going to the Ellsworth/Garret wedding, but he says no, he wasn't invited. "I was, not that I'm going," Al says. "Vicious rumors I was responsible for her first husband's death...fuckin' woman invites me to her wedding." Davey nervously says that he guesses there's no accounting for why people do things. "The congregation," Al remarks in agreement, "says 'Amen,' Davey." Al goes on, slapping Davey on the back and walking him around the bar for a little chat. "Consider the Chinaman...forsakes safety and even odds in a future fight for immediate fuckin' dubious combat. Here again, what gets into people's heads?" Davey tries to play along: "Uh...the congregation says 'Amen'..." Al's displeased. That's his line. "What?" Al says, in evil mode. Davey explains, like an idiot, that he was being funny. Davey...if you have to explain it...well, you know. Al suggests that Davey not try to be fuckin' funny. Davey stupidly goes on, instead of shutting the HELLUP, saying that he didn't mean to interrupt Al's train of thought. Now, did Davey not learn how to act right in his Gem orientation? Because, surely there's something in the handbook about what to say and do when, not if, Al one day gets crazy on you. There has to be an entry like: 1) The employee should shut up; 2) The employee should practice controlled breathing techniques to survive boot placed on neck; 3) The employee should, at all costs, avoid attempt(s) to be fuckin' funny. Al goes for the gold, now, grabbing Davey by the jaw and interrogating him on whether or not Wu paid Davey to get away this morning while he was on watch. Davey says no, he fuckin' fell asleep from the holding of his three jobs. Al tests him: "He told me he paid you..." Davey: "Then he's a lying fuckin' bastard." Al contemplates this for a moment, but realizes he doesn't have time to stab Davey right now, as he sees E.B. and Hearst coming through the front door. He gives Davey a "friendly" slap to the face. "Don't fall asleep, Davey," he says, fully the magnanimous boss. "Quit a job before you fall asleep on it." Davey says yes sir a few times and beats a hasty retreat.
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By Al Lowe
E.B. brings Hearst up, unnecessarily introducing Al, who aggressively shakes Hearst's hand and suggests that they adjourn to his office. Heading upstairs, Hearst notices the large stag head mounted on the wall. "Your kill, sir?" he asks. Al turns slowly. "Who?" he inquires, all sinister. Hearst indicates the stag. "Oh, no. Fuck, no," Al laughs. "I'm a fuckin' terrible shot...work better closer in." It's all he can do to contain his mirth. They ignore E.B., who tries to insert himself into their meeting, and continue upstairs. Hearst is acting like his back hurts, and Al asks about it. Hearst says, yes, it's sore, prompting Al to one-up him with some medical TMI: "Declining years spare us no fucking indignities," he says. "My latest blessing's a horse apple up my asshole. Half my waking hours are spent trying to pass water." As Hearst follows behind, clearly bewildered, Al yells down for Dan to bring Wu upstairs. The door close, leaving the rest of the crew in silence before E.B. gives one of his awkward pronouncements that this meeting between Al and Hearst has had a "very auspicious beginning." Uh, sure, if inappropriately talking about one's urinary tract is a sign of auspiciousness.
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By Al Lowe
Upstairs, Hearst and Al, the two most powerful business men in the region, are talking about...the weather. Its' not the heat, it's the humidity, apparently. They compare memories about the heat in various places they've visited. Al's inferno, he says, was Australia: "Wasted two years, that was." A knock at the door brings Dan into the room, leading Wu by his braided hair. Al calls him a "yellow monkey," which I hope was just for show, because come on! Wu! Swedgin! Forever! Right? Hearst notes that Wu is an "older fella. Not often you can tell how old they are." Al: "Done a turn or two for me, Wu has, and well liked enough among his own." Now, this is more like it. Oh, except, no -- Al grabs Wu again by his braid, saying that his display against Lee was the first sign he's had that Wu is "irrational." I guess...keeping a sty of man-eating pigs isn't really so irrational, huh? Hearst says that Lee is a good guy, too, and has done a lot for him in various camps. "Well, then, God bless Lee," Al says, "and off with Wu's head."
Al says that Hearst has his finger on the cause of the whole thing, too, as Mr. Lee is clearly forward-thinking. "Set the bodies ablaze," Al says, giving the impression that he is inspired by Lee's business sense, "on with the day's trade." Hearst pulls up short. This is obviously the first he's heard of any blazing bodies. He asks which bodies Al's talking about. Al is all innocence, explaining, "The whores for your workers. Not only does burning the corpses save cargo space as far as the transportin' of their bones back to the homeland -- which, I gather, they hold as their big fuckin' chance at the afterlife -- what a tremendous tactic, terrifying the unburned, here." Hearst is surprised to hear all this, and smirks to show it. He asks Al if he knows anything about prospecting and the securing of gold once it's found. "Fuckin' nothing of it," Al answers. "All I really care about," Hearst says. Al says he hopes so, as he'd hate to think Hearst were this good at something that was "only a fuckin' hobby." Hearst says that most of his finds are in wild places, which he prefers, but when that's not the case (and he is implying, wrongly, that Deadwood is not such a wild place), he wants friendly relations with the people who were already at the prospecting spots before him, so that he can go about his business undistracted. Al nods. "Concentration, see?" Al says. "I suspect that's a key for you hugely successful types." Hearst smiles. He says that if others, meaning Wu, can provide for his labor needs "with less disruption," he's all for it. Al goes in for the final sale, pointing at Wu. "This is the camp's original chink. All subsequent chinks were his imports," he says. "Wu will staff your mines, and those who survive the explosions, he can place in laundries or kitchens." Wu is warily looking on during this conversation, trying to figure out if somebody's about to stab him or give him a job. Hearst asks if he can understand any English, and Al says he knows very little. He has Wu give a demonstration of their favorite mutual word, "cocksucker." "That, 'San Francisco,' and 'Swedgin' is all I've heard him use." Hearing his old comrade's name, Wu leans a little forward with a worried look. "Swedgin!" he says, wondering, but Al tells him to shut up.
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By Al Lowe
Hearst has seen enough. All he needs, he says, is a "demonstration" that Wu is the best man for the job. Ah, so. They don't say it in so many words, but he means that this town isn't big enough for two Chinese bosses -- somebody's going to have to kill Lee. Al makes it clear that he understands what needs to be done, and the two shake on it. Hearst leaves, and is barely gone before Al lets out a cheer: "Kill a rooster, Wu, and offer him up in sacrifice! Then, start honing your weapons for tonight's...'demonstration.'" Y'all ever notice how the word "demonstration" has the word "demon" in it? Yeah. Me too.
Downstairs, Trixie is getting ready for the big wedding celebration. Jewel is pinning her into a pretty, if a little trashy, pink dress. It's not going too great. "Stick me one more fuckin' time, Jewel," she says, "I'll drop you in a pool of fuckin' blood!" Maybe not such a good idea to get the one person in camp with reduced motor control to come at you with straight pins, Trixie. Jewel tells her the problem is that Trixie just can't stand still. Trixie: "I'm moving trying to defend my-fuckin'-self!" She sighs and regards her reflection. "He's getting what he asked for, anyway," she says to herself about the fancy dress. "Loony fuckin' Jew." From a pocket, Jewel produces the piece of jewelry Trixie gave her in the very first episode to use to buy a gun. Trixie is very surprised to see it and asks Jewel how she paid for that gun, which she did indeed purchase. Jewel shrugs her shoulders and smiles. "Sold a piece of pussy," she says.
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By Al Lowe
Emerging from the Grand Central into the thoroughfare, E.B. is sycophantically ass-kissing Hearst, asking how he can further serve him. Hearst wants E.B. to make a price on his hotel -- Wolcott has told him that E.B. "avoids" doing so. E.B. hems and haws, saying he's not sure avoid is exactly the right term, and rambles on and on in this vein for a minute before Hearst asks him directly what he'll take for the hotel. E.B. freaks out like the freak he is. "Get away from me!" he screams, throwing his hands in Hearst's face and staggering back. "Goddamn you!" He realizes immediately what he has said and to whom he has said it and covers his mouth in shame, apologizing and trying to sit down to rest himself. Of course, he bungles that, too, and ends up falling backwards, smacking his head on the boardwalk. Remember that one kid in junior high who fell in the cafeteria and then stood up and slipped again in some ketchup and then busted the seat out of his pants? That's E.B. It's pitiful. With a tear in his eye, begs Hearst's forgiveness for his obvious craziness. "My hotel is my hospital," he says. "I am my own warden! I mustn't sell...lest I then wander the thoroughfare, gibbering like a simian, brandishing my privates in my fist!" Hearst looks on, seemingly unsurprised. He lowers himself to E.B.'s level, and asks the little nutjob if he will take a hundred thousand if Hearst allows E.B. to stay on as manager. E.B. doesn't hesitate to accept. The deal's so sweet, his madness is instantly cured. "Well, where am I?" he says, laughing. "Why am I on my ass?" Because, E.B. that is where you belong.
In Al's office, Jarry has arrived to meet about Yankton's annexation proposal. Jarry puts on the high-pressure sale, but Al's wary. "You smell like cat piss," he says. And, good Lord, any cat owner will tell you that there is no worse insult than that. Cat urine should be used in chemical warfare, seriously. It is the smell that keeps on smelling and a supply of Febreze the depth of the Pacific will not help you if a cat pees on a piece of your property. I don't care if you paid a thousand dollars for that couch. Your only recourse is to burn it. Jarry says that perhaps he smells because he has worked so hard and so long to make Al happy on this deal. "Regardless of the outcome," he says, "I am proud of that advocacy." Al's got his magnifying glass out, now, ready to review, and has quickly grown weary of Jarry's yammering. "Having said [all] that," he snarks, "you liable to say more?" The two now engage in the time-tested classic Bugs Bunny/Yosemite Sam "Shut Up Shuttin' Up!" routine. Jarry says he'll let the document speak for itself, but when Al takes up his magnifying glass to check it out, he can't resist getting in a joke: "The letters may get larger," he says to Al. "The numbers will not." While he is terribly amused at his little tease...Al ain't. His eyebrows make many silent threats, but they only cause Jarry's blabbermouthitis to worsen. "Forgive me," he says, realizing that he's probably about to get stabbed. "Long hours, giddy at the smell of the barn." He folds his hands before him in a show of seriousness, saying that he will now maintain a stoic composure. Al looks on incredulous|
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By Al Lowe
Down at the Bella Union, Con Stapleton has shown up to tattle to Cy about E.B.'s recent exchange with Hearst. Only, he doesn't really have any idea what went on in their talk -- he only saw them walking together, and E.B. falling over. Cy is not impressed. He walks out of the joint, leaving Con there to continue talking about the folks at the hotel getting ready for the wedding. "You know, Ellsworth and the Widow Garret's." He goes on to note to the scripture-reading whore in the corner, that he guesses "that's the last Ellworth'll be seeing of a placer cradle. Looking up, he catches the eye of the bison head, telling it that Ellsworth is "set for life!"
Al is still studying Jarry's document when Adams knocks on the door. Al tells him to come in and help him "parse Yankton's proposal." Adams walks around the desk to lean over the bespectacled Al's shoulder. "We study," Al says, "for our fuckin' lives."
Some mining is going on the thoroughfare. Cy wanders up to the hole and finds Hearst down in it, chipping away at a rock. Cy introduces himself -- smarmily, natch. Hearst compliments him on the work he did to acquire that and other claims before Hearst arrived in camp. "I, uh, been in the mud a bit for you, myself, Mr. Hearst," Cy tells him. "Got my shovel out coverin' the work of your Mr. Wolcott." Hearst doesn't seem interested in whatever Cy's trying to sell him, and instead of asking what he's talking about, just thanks him and keeps walking. Cy, of course, can't leave well enough alone, so he continues. "Scooped and scrubbed, and cleaned up the guts and gore," he says, "'cause I do what the business requires." Shut up, Cy. How is it that Wolcott is the one who murders people, and yet you're the one I dislike? Hearst is still ignoring Cy, pretty much, not wanting to hear whatever he has to say about Wolcott, but Cy will NOT shut up. He adds that the camp elders called a meeting and everything about the unnamed situation. Hearst interrupts, still polite, and says that since he's been traveling and needs to rest, perhaps they should continue later. Cy shrugs. "I guess I can manage a little longer," he says, "to keep the whiff off of him." Hearst still says nothing, so FINALLY, Cy has to drop the passive-aggressive bullshit and lay it out, plain: he drops the bomb that Wolcott cut the throats of three whores. Hearst merely chuckles at Cy's stank of desperation, and walks away.
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By Al Lowe
In his room, Ellsworth is trying as best he can to get himself ready for his wedding. He breaks an old-timey toothbrush in his teeth trying hard to get them cleaned up.
In the street, Ellsworth's bride-to-be is taking her last walk as a single gal. In a voice-over, we hear her talking to her departed husband, Brom Garret. She seems to be saying her final goodbyes to him. She makes her peace with him over coming to Deadwood -- she knows it was as much a beginning for her as it was an end for him. She's afraid, she says, that her life could now becoming something that is not her own, and that her body now tells her that that is "fine and right." Perhaps, she says, she confides in Brom because he can't tell anyone. "He is a good man," she says, of Ellsworth, heading back to the hotel. "And he whom I love is here, as well."
At the Grand Central, Hearst is in his room, checking out the walls, making plans for the changes he'll make when he owns the hotel. Wolcott is there, listening. "Ever since I was a child in Missouri," Hearst says, thinking about his soon-to-be new home, "I been down every hole I could find." Wolcott: "The boy the Earth talks to..." Hearst says, yeah, that's what the Indians call him. He says he knows that the Earth talks to Wolcott, too, and he is appreciative of the work Wolcott does for him. "But this gambler, Tolliver," he says, "has spoken to me about you. He says that you killed women...." Wolcott, who was smoking a leisurely cig, starts to sweat. "WELL?" Hearst screams, causing Wolcott to jump. By way of explanation, Wolcott reminds Hearst of an incident from their past. When he was in Mexico, he reminisces, Hearst wrote a letter on his behalf to the authorities. Hearst says he remembers. Wolcott quotes the letter: "I am aware of Mr. Wolcott's difficulty. You will find me personally grateful for any adjustments you may make in his case." Wolcott pauses while Hearst stares at him, and then asks, "What did you think that was about?" Hearst recoils. He didn't think about it, he says; Wolcott was his agent in Mexico and he was just taking care of his agent. "As when the Earth talks to you," Wolcott says, "you don't need to know its reasons." Hearst says, right, he doesn't need to know why he's lucky. He turns his back on Wolcott and lowers his head. "What if the Earth talks to us," Wolcott says, sadly, "to get us to arrange its amusements?" Hearst: "That sounds like goddamn nonsense to me." Wolcott says that suppose the Earth whispers to Hearst that he is king over the earth, and that the earth exists for his own purposes. Hearst again says this is nonsense. "And to me," Wolcott supposes the Earth says, "'there is no sin.'" Slowly, Hearst turns on him. "It happened in Mexico," Wolcott says, tearing up. "And now it's happened, here." Hearst sits, truly saddened. "We must end our connection -- you understand that, Francis," he says, and tells Wolcott to make whatever severance he sees as fair. "Does some spirit overtake you?" Hearst asks. "Is that what you mean by the 'talk'?" Wolcott is horrified at himself, and holding back tears. "No," he says. Hearst: "It tells me where the color is...that's all it tells me." Then, full of shock and shame, he says "My God..." and before we cut away, we see crazy Mr. W let out a single, gasping sniffle worthy of a thousand Golden Globes.
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By Al Lowe
In Al's office, Adams is still trying to figure out the language of the Yankton agreement while Al tries to relieve himself in his chamber pot. Adams comments that Yankton is trying to be vague by saying "timely fashion" instead of giving a definite date for the deal to go through. Still pissing, Al agrees. Adams thinks of something: it would be a nice "shiv to stick in their fuckin' ribs," he says, to insert a "period of residence" requirement into Deadwood's voting laws, thus quashing any attempts by Yankton to bring in ringers to vote against Al's preferred balloters. "Now you're using your fuckin' noodle," Al says. "How do we put that into words?" Adams repeats: "...a period of residence..." Al asks if he's getting smart with him. "How would you put it?" Adams asks his boss. Al goes with "period of residence," telling Adams to put in that no one can vote in Deadwood unless he has resided there for a period of no less than two weeks. Adams says that sounds good. "I could get this fuckin' thing done," Al says, satisfied with himself. "Now I'll tell you what the fuck else," he says, sitting down. "And it makes me weep to say it...take out the fuckin' fifty from Yankton to us." Adams can't believe it -- Al is turning down a bribe? Al explains that if "we get this thing off the ground, I will be without peer of robbing these cocksuckers senseless. I don't want the final document recording the fuckin' bribe." Adams gets it: "Strike #4 from the original," he says, looking with mock sanctimony back to Al, "with disgust it was even brought up." Al smacks the arm of his chair as if to say that they've conquered the thing at last and tells Adams to "summon that cat-piss-smelling fuckhead and his holiness, the sheriff."
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By Al Lowe
Triumphantly, Al goes out on his balcony, and sees the cat-piss-smelling fuckhead himself, crossing the thoroughfare. "Commissioner," he calls down, brandishing his teacup, "shall we chat?" As Jarry scurries, rat-like, into the Gem, he passes Sol and the pretty-in-pink Trixie heading out toward the hotel. Al calls out that they make a pretty picture, and tosses an envelope down to Trixie. It floats down to fall at her feet, and when Sol stoops to pick it up, Al tell him he "should have let it hit her in the schoz, Star, it'd remind her of escorts in days past." Har har, Al. "That's a gift for the bride" he goes on, indicating the envelope, "from her child's former tutor, in absentia. They head into the hotel as Al calls after Sol not to tread on Trixie's fuckin' toe as he dances with her that evening.
In the lobby of the hotel, E.B. is dusting the desk to prepare for the wedding. There are some pretty flowers arranged, as well. Captain Turner, Hearst's man, delivers a satchel of cash to E.B., his payment for ownership of the Grand Central. E.B. can hardly keep himself together before Turner walks away and he can run back into his hovel to examine his money.
Back at the Gem, Al comes downstairs to find Tom Nuttall, drunk and drinking more. Tom tells Al that there's talk of an offer on Tom's place. "How will you answer?" Al asks him. Tom says he came to take counsel with Al, to decide. "Drunk or sober, is my question," Al says. Drunkenly, Tom says he's got his wits about him. "Maybe then," Al says, sitting and kind sarcastically, but not unkindly, holding up the half-empty whiskey bottle, "you'll want a few more." Tom sighs and tells Al not to talk to him in riddles. "Drunk, Tom," Al says, "and for reasons not to do with business you'll sell. If that's your decision, let me offer. Sober, you know sellin's stupid." Tom boozily asks what his supposed reason is that has nothing to do with business. Al tells him to use his own fuckin' faculties to figure that out. Tom sighs again. "Remorse," he says. "Over that boy that was not your fuckin' fault," Al says. "Again?" he says, offering Tom another shot. The sad old guy covers his glass, saying not right now. Al nods. "Ellsworth and the widow Garret," Tom says, changing the subject. "What odds would you have made on that?" Al smiles. "Every so often," he jokes, "there's a love match." The two men share a hearty laugh.
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By Al Lowe
Those attending the wedding -- Jane, Joanie, Doc, Merrick, and Sol -- are nervously passing around flowers as the mandolin player tunes up. From behind his closet door, E.B. calls out (in a high-pitched voice, for reasons I cannot explain): "Isn't it time to start the ceremony?" Indeed it is. The mandolin plinks out a little "Here Comes the Bride" and from above descends Mrs. G, lead by Sophia and Trixie, down the stairs. She is a vision in a black and white dress. Meanwhile, back in his lair, E.B. makes some disgusting remarks about his money, and then literally rolls in the dough.
Mrs. Garret joins her groom at the foot of the stairs, and the ceremony begins. Jane, by the way, is wearing a dress -- it looks like it is made of burlap, but she's wearing it. She stage-whispers to Joanie about the underwear bothering her. For his part, Ellsworth is not only wearing the lavender wedding gloves, but a big, floppy pink bow tie, as well. Andy Cramed lines reads out the service as Ellsworth and Mrs. G engage in some nervous heavy breathing. Both of them look close to vomiting. (As we listen to the sacred words about unions between men and women as between Christ and his church, we see Al in his office, forming a union with Yankton, while Jarry gestures over the agreement and Bullock looks on stoically.) Back at the wedding, we learn that Ellsworth's full name is "Whitney Conway Ellsworth." Heeeee. No wonder he goes only by Ellsworth. He says his "I will."
As Andy continues, we see Wolcott upstairs in his room, writing out a letter at his desk. On the chair, barely noticeable in the subdued light, is a coil of rope.
Downstairs, Andy only gets through about half of Mrs. G's vows before she bursts out with her "I will." Man, I was so afraid of doing that at my wedding.
Merrick is crying, when Andy asks "who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" Sol pipes up: "I do," he says. "Both."
The service goes on, and we see Charlie Utter arriving back in camp. Yay, Charlie! I missed him.
Meanwhile, Al's negotiations with Jarry have continued upstairs. Bullock has gotten involved now, and seems to be strongly suggesting that Jarry toe the line.
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By Al Lowe
Ellsworth and Mrs. G exchange rings. Sweet Ellsworth. He's taking it very seriously. Mrs. G is...trying...to look happy, anyway.
As Ellsworth and Mrs. G exchange their promises to love, honor and cherish, Mrs. Bullock is cleaning up her garden. By the fence, she finds the first sprout of the sunflower William planted there before his death. Cheesy? Sure? Did I shed a tear? Of course.
Hearst picks perhaps an inopportune moment to start breaking down the walls of his rooms in his new hotel as the sort-of-happy couple are pronounced man and wife. The service is over, though, and the congregation applauds as Ellsworth awkwardly invites everyone to join them for "collation and dancin' in the thoroughfare." Mrs. G does look happy, now, as she accepts the congratulations of her friends.
The happy couple waltzes out in the street as the party gets underway. Meanwhile, another kind of action is going on at the Gem. Wu is, indeed, disguising Al's three henchmen -- Dan, Johnny, and Adams -- in Chinese clothing, to join him in the vengeful killing spree he now has to enact on Lee and his men. Where on Earth they found a robe big enough for Dan is beyond me. Needless to say, they look hilarious. Oh, but not hilarious enough: when Wu pulls out Chinese masks for them each to wear, they get even more pissed about the whole thing. Wu holds them out, insisting. "Swedgin!" he says, intimating that they'll be wearing them on Al's orders. Dan disagrees, but Wu gives the magic word, "Swedgin," again. They all begrudgingly suit up. Johnny gets his on, looks at Adams, and cocks his head to the side. "You wanna swap masks?" he asks. Adams merely shakes his head. They each grab up an axe and follow Wu out the door.
Outside, the party is in full swing, and everyone is having a good time except Jane, who is still self-conscious in her dress. So self-conscious, she punches a guy out just for glancing her way. Ellsworth passes by the tailor at one point -- it is none other than Gordon Clapp, NYPD Blue's Medavoy! -- who asks wasn't he right about the gloves. Cute! Trixie and Sol start a little hoedown (or, since it's Trixie, is it ho-down?) as we cut away.
Back up in Hearst's room -- now a bit more airy from the wall-busting -- a different kind of ceremony is going on. Hearst has delivered two large bags of cash, or gold, to Cy as full and final payment "for what service you conceive you rendered me." Hearst just wants to wash the stank of Cy off his hands, at this point, and be done with him, but Cy can't let that happen, because he's a lunatic. To prove it, he proceeds to have a conversation, at that moment, with the Lord, Himself. It's a fine bit of, uh, one-person dialogue, the gist of which is that Cy is trying to blackmail more cash out of Hearst -- threatening to tell the world about his association with Wolcott. He tells Hearst that there's a letter in his possession, written by Wolcott, confessing all. Hearst sits through this speech as if made of stone. Cy makes his exit, asking for 5\% of Hearst's earnings in the mines, Hearst tells Turner to go and find out if there is any truth to this whole "letter" story. In the thoroughfare, we see Wolcott kind of cringe his way through all the celebration, looking sad and out of place.
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By Al Lowe
Wu, Johnny, Dan, and Adams, now forever to be known by their stage name, Wu and The Gang, walk through the alley looking for Lee and his men. Johnny trips over his robe. Wu points out one of Lee's guys gambling with a large group, and Johnny walks straight over, stabbing him without a moment's pause. Now, it is ON. Axes and knives fly around as they all kind of trip over each other trying to finish off Lee's men.
Back at the Gem, we finally see a handshake go down on the Yankton deal. Finally. I am so relieved. If I never have to recap another Yankton scene, it will be too soon. Bullock immediately goes downstairs and starts shooting back drinks, while Al tells Davey to go and "tell Merrick to go ahead and print."
Al goes back to his office to resume his much-missed conversation with his beloved Head in the Box. "Fraught with contingencies, chief," he says, "is our fuckin' electorial process." Some things never change, Al. He goes on to wonder aloud if Bullock will "climb into a bottle or pursue the widow, stiff-pricked the miles to her Hot Springs honeymoon? Who'll bear the locals' banner then, huh?"
At the Chez Amie, Doc is concluding his exam of Mose Manual. Silently, he gestures for Mose to follow him and, going to the door, demonstrates some breathing exercises the big man should do during his recovery. They practice a few times, together as the party swirls outside.
Well, it ain't swirling everywhere. No, Cy has to seek out trouble, wet blanket-style, which he does when he sees Andy talking to the Jane and Joanie and the scripture-reading prostitute from Cy's joint. "Most men, Andy, once they've brought one fuckin' plague to the camp," he says, "would lay the fuck off. But not you. No, now you've gotta Bible-talk my whores." Andy is not amused. "God is not mocked, Cy," he says, full of scorn. "You got a pestilence for every fuckin' occasion," Cy says, grabbing him by the lapels, which is about his one millionth mistake of the day. Immediately, Cy groans -- Andy has stabbed him in the belly. The preacher repeats that "God is not mocked, you son of a bitch." Dude. Now there's your Christian soldier. Onward, Andy. Onward. I would have done the same. Cy swings back toward the women. "He fuckin' gutted me," he gasps. Jane barely blinks, and Joanie's only reaction is to tell Miss Vacation Bible School to "see to him, honey." "I ain't gonna die," Cy grunts out, strong, before adding, more quietly, "Don't let me die."
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By Al Lowe
I barely have time to register the Cy stabbing when the most awesome of all scenes takes place. Lee is all laid out in some structure or another, hopped up on the opium, getting serviced by some random whore, when Wu...I can hardly explain how great the shot is, RISES UP from out of nowhere and slits Lee's throat. Take that, you Jackie-Chan-come-lately! Their work complete, Wu and The Gang head back to Al.
Doc is finishing his yoga instruction with Mose Manual down at the Chez Amie. The "whale" has caught on pretty well, and continues to practice, wearing his gross bloody shirt. Satisfied, Doc tips his hat and heads back toward the revelers, a skip in his step. Mose watches him go, and then turns to go back inside. He gets one more exercise done in the doorway, and as he crosses the threshold, we see, but he misses, a body fall from the livery roof, hanging by a rope. Oh, Francis Wolcott. I will miss your persnickety, murderous ways.
Charlie joins the party now, looking around, and doing his best to contain his grin when he sees Jane in her dress. Jane welcomes him the fuck back. Charlie smiles, now, along with Joanie.
On his balcony, Al and the HitB observe the party from afar. "The dance on, chief," he says, "however much at home -- as at yours and mine -- comfort and love await." Through the crowd, the very tired Wu and The Gang stagger up beneath Al's perch. "Unhurt...it appears," he calls down to them. "Don't hold for them that went against us," Dan calls back. Al says he should hope fucking not, and asks how Wu did in the battle. "He give a good fuckin' account, did Mr. Wu," Johnny says, giving credit where credit is due. Al asks for word of Lee. "San Francisco Cocksucker!" Wu yells, and gives the International Sign for "I slit the dude's throat in an opium den!" Al is glad to hear all this news, and congratulates them on a job well done. He gives a special thanks to Adams for "a days' full course, indoors and out." Aw. Adams says thanks, and Dan gives him a slug. "You saved my bacon in that fuckin' alley, fuckin' Adams." I guess Adams passed initiation, huh? All he had to do was kill like, a hundred guys, play-act with Al, and translate legalese in Yankton's documents. The fraternity of Fuckin' Theta Cockcuckers is way harder to get into than whatever they've got going on at your school, for damn sure.
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By Al Lowe
Johnny, Adams and Dan head inside, but Wu lingers there, in the street, still looking up at Al. "Swedgin," he calls. "All right, Wu," Al says, pleased with the day's events. Wu holds up a knife, showing it to Al. He then takes it behind his head and cuts off his long braid. Holding it aloft, he declares "WU! AMERICA!" Now, people, that's patriotism. Put your little "W" stickers on your cars all you want, MY "W" stands for WU! Al looks proud, and tells Wu that America will "hold you tight to her tit." Wu raises up his two fingers again, pointing them at Al. "Hang dai," he says, and Al agrees.
The party is still going strong when Merrick bursts from his office with the latest edition of the paper, hot off the presses. "Elections are coming!" he screams, as do his headlines.
Downstairs in the Gem, Bullock is still tossing back the booze. Al steps out of his office, and yells down asking "don't you have a fuckin' home to get to?" Good point, Al.
Ellsworth and Mrs. G -- wait, I guess now she's Mrs. E -- load up into their wagon with Sophia, ready to head off to their honeymoon. The band plays on -- now joined by Tom Nuttall on the wooden spoons! -- as Trixie delivers her gift to Alma, who thanks her, sweetly. The music stops for a moment before we hear Jane, offscreen, call out that "hey, we ain't fuckin' dancin'!" The hootenanny begins again, and now everybody's in on it. Blasanov is teaching the dance of his motherland to everyone as Merrick gets surreptitiously felt up by one of the Gem girls when he tries to take a picture of the scene. Jane, Charlie, and Joanie do a little do-si-do. Doc and Jewel dance around, happy as clams.
Bullock steps out of the Gem, now, observed by Al who is back on his balcony. "I believe," Al mutters, "[your home] is to your fuckin' right." Of course, Bullock can't hear him, but he doesn't need to be reminded anyway. Clenching through one last exchange of glances with Alma, he turns and heads toward home. And, upstairs, even Al bobs his head to the music of the celebration, as he surveys the people of his hard-won town.
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