Jewel scrubs the bloodstain left on the floor of the Gem by Dan's jealousy-inspired killing. "You might, Dan," says Al, where the two men sit in the quiet office, "want to learn how to indicate interest in a girl, other than murdering another person." You know, just one homicidal maniac to another. Al ought to make sex-ed health class films. Dan stops trying to get the blood stains out of his tie and shamefacedly apologizes for the disturbance he caused, as well as the free drinks Al had to give out to restore order. Off camera, we hear E.B. change the subject. He exclaims that it's already false dawn and that they'd better hurry if they're going to get their mission accomplished. Apparently, said mission is to get rid of Bullock and Mrs. Garret. "The question is, do we act?" E.B. says. "And to me, the course is clear." Al, sipping his tea, asks what's the course. "Murder them where they sleep," E.B. intones like he's on a 1940s radio show. "Dan," Al says. "Loan E.B. your knife." But, well, E.B. isn't really in the mood to do the knifing, himself. He will, he says, wield the key to Mrs. Garret's hotel room -- at that point in his plan, Dan is supposed to creep up, kill Mrs. Garret, go across the road, climb a ladder to Bullock's room at the store, and bushwack Bullock. Then, E.B. goes on, they can forge a pre-dated bill of sale, Al can allocate him the percentages they previously agreed to, and they won't even have to bother spending any money to continue trying to legitimately buy the claim.
He finishes laying it out and smiles. "Bold?" he asks. "I suppose. But when boldness is called for, bold men do not shrink." As if you could shrink any further, E.B. "That's what the 'B' in E.B. Farnum stands for," Al drones. Dan: "Bold." Al: "You're goddamn right." E.B. doesn't like playing the fool. "Say the words my bones already know," he says, anxious and pissed. "You're gonna back off that fucking claim." This backchat might have earned him a shank, but E.B. is saved by, of all things, the ringing of gunfire in the thoroughfare. They rush to the balcony to find the riding party, sent out to get smallpox vaccine, returned at last. "Well done, fellas," Al says, "and congratulations to the entire fuckin' settlement." He tells E.B. to go down and pay these guys their promised fifty dollars a man. "And if you don't spend it in my joint," Al tells them, "I'll turn the morning over to weepin'." Al is thrilled, but he's got better news coming. The Sioux (to their great detriment) have agreed to sign a treaty and leave the hills to the whites. Al's so happy, he tells Dan to give each of the men ten dollars in bonus credits downstairs: "Ten in pussy; ten in faro; ten in booze." The men whoop it up. "God bless you, Mr. Swearengen," they yell, but Al shakes his head. "Well," he says, "not likely. But my short-term prospects just improved." Back in the office, E.B. is still moping over the Garret claim, but Al's mood cannot be dampened. "The dam has broken, young man," he says. "And only ourselves can fuck up." He tells E.B. that that with the smallpox eradicated and the peace treaty signed with the Indians, they are about to be swimming in money. "And how can we fuck up?" he goes on. "By engaging in open fuckin' bloodletting." E.B. is chagrined, but continues to listen. Al explains that Bullock, that "priggish fuckin' douchebag," is the perfect front man to have on display to any questioning government faction. "Much as we might want the widow's claim," Al says, "it's a luxury now to forgo." Aw, E.B. is heartbroken. Al gently smacks his cheek, telling him to find somewhere to lie down until his depression passes, and as E.B. shuffles out to pay the riders, Johnny comes in. "Go find that fuckin' whore," Al tells him, speaking so fondly of Trixie. Johnny gives him both the "OK" and the thumbs-up signs, and Al asks what his problem is. "I lost my voice," Johnny croaks out, and Al rolls his eyes with contempt. I don't get why Johnny had to lose his voice, but whatever.At the Bella Union, Joanie opens her door to find a crying Flora. She tells the older woman about the murder in her honor at the Gem. Joanie is sympathetic, perhaps a bit overly much, giving her whiskey. Flora bats her eyes, saying she'll go in a minute, but then breaks down, saying she doesn't know if she can deal with the violence of the camp. "One thing leads to another," she says, "and you never know when it's gonna happen." Joanie tells her that, mostly, you can steer your way through life there. You just have to be ready for those few seconds of notice that you get before bad turns to worse. Flora dramatically lays her head in Joanie's lap. "Can I stay?" she asks. "Can I sleep here with you just this last little while before we have to get up?" Joanie tells her she can, and Flora sits up to undress, always keeping one scheming eye on Joanie, who looks at her with such a mixture of longing and sadness, I really have to hand it to sweet Kim Dickens. They lie down together in the bed, and Joanie holds Flora, whose face is like a stone.
Things are busy the day as the hooples line up at the hardware store to be vaccinated. Andy Cramed has volunteered to sign people in and move the crowd along. Inside, Charlie Utter sits to take his shot from Nurse Jane, and when he stands to leave, doesn't get out much more than an hilarious "uh oh" before he faints. Jane is flabbergasted. Johnny comes in to get his shot, and croaks out a question to Doc, asking him if he's seen Trixie. Doc says no, and grumbles to Johnny that he should take tea with honey for his throat. Bullock follows Johnny out, asking if Swearengen sent him any message about finding an assayer for Mrs. G's claim. Johnny frogs out that no, he didn't, but he'll ask him after he finishes his errand to find Trixie.
Bullock sees Mrs. G, done up in black, in the line with the little girl. She tells him that her plans have changed yet again; she plans to go back to New York as soon as possible. She tries again to release Bullock from his responsibilities to her, and says she intends to take E.B.'s most recent offer on the claim. "And I would be very grateful," she says, "if you would tell Mr. Farnum so, as speaking to him directly makes me ill." Heeee. But, see, Bullock can't let it go down like this. He doesn't even clench when he tells her that nope, he's going to see her claim assayed, and that's that. She tells him again that she specifically has said she's going to sell. "And you do tend to change your mind," Bullock says, dismissing the very idea. He tells her to get the squarehead kid inoculated and they'll revisit the whole mess subsequently. Mrs. G looks surprised, but of course, what's a bigger turn-on than a man bossing you around about your own money? Oh, that's right. Anything. Not to Mrs. G, though. She loves it.
At the Gem, Al is instructing Dan on how to handle this whole assaying business. He's chosen Ellsworth to do the job. He wants to make sure they handle it right, giving a discouraged front to Bullock. Speak of the clenching devil, Bullock walks in now, and Dan stands, saying he's going to lead him to the claim. They tell him about Ellsworth. "Nice fucking guy," Al says, "and a dead eye for the fuckin' color." Bullock, after demanding with threats that Al be the one to set up the assayer, has the balls to look openly suspicious. Stiff as a board, he follows Dan out.Back at the hardware store, Mrs. G talks to Doc as he prepares to give the child her shot. He is delighted, he says, that they will be leaving Deadwood. "It was Trixie," Mrs. G tells him, "that made me realize that my reasons for staying weren't sound." Mrs. G says sincerely that she wants to write Trixie a note of profound thanks, and hopes that Doc will deliver it to her at the Gem. Doc looks a little worried -- he knows that Trixie has not returned to the Gem. Covering, he sticks his tongue out at the little girl, before sticking her with the needle. Doc tells Mrs. G that Charlie can probably see to her travel arrangements and she thanks him again, for everything he's done. He smiles, but when she leaves, his worried look returns -- he is joined by Sol in the doorway, who asks what the widow had said about Trixie. "Nothin'," Doc says, hiding his worry, again.
At the Gem, Al is thinking about Trixie, as well. It's put him in a mood. He asks Jewel how she did with the bloodstain, and is pissed that she hasn't made much progress on it. He makes her get him the bucket and brush -- "every fuckin' thing I gotta do myself." He asks Jewel where "she" is. "Trixie?" Jewel asks. "No," Al smarts. "Queen fuckin' Victoria." Jewel says she hasn't seen Trixie since she came in the day before to meet with Al. He asks Jewel what Trixie said to her last time she saw her. "She said her pussy hurt where you grabbed it," Jewel answers, truculent. Al says that has a ring of fuckin' truth, and Jewel goes on, saying that Trixie claimed that Al nearly killed her. "She said to me," Al says, "she'd be right back." Al begins to scrub, mad. He says the whole thing stationing of Trixie in Mrs. G's employ was pointless, anyway. "I found out what I needed to know when I looked in that cocksucker, Bullock's, eyes," he says, "while Dority was spilling blood that you have failed to adequately clean up." Jewel asks him if he wants her to do more, and he tells her to shut up, continuing to ruminate on Trixie. "What's she doing?" he asks, squinting. "Is she making a point? 'No grabbin' of the c*nt'?" Jewel says she doesn't know, that Trixie just said she hurt. "Point's made with the snatch-grabbin', okay," Al says, grumbling that he has too many more important things to worry about than any of this. "There," he says, throwing the brush into the bucket. "Now that's how you scrub a fuckin' bloodstain." Johnny picks this moment to return, saying he couldn't find Trixie. "You see her," Al says, turning viciously on Jewel, "you send her the fuck back to me. 'Cause if I see her outside, she'll wish I had fucking killed her before."
Doc makes it back to his cabin to find Trixie laid out, unconscious from an opium overdose on his floor. He is trying to wake her when Merrick bursts in. Doc blocks him from seeing Trixie, but Merrick is only there to say he thinks he has smallpox -- he has a pain in his back that he thinks is a precursor symptom. Doc feels his forehead and asks him the general questions, but quickly grows tired of Merrick's hemming and slaps him to get his attention. Doc tells him he does not have a fever. "Have you put on weight?" he asks. Merrick looks slightly offended. "May I ask that query's relevance?" he wonders, and Doc says that putting on weight will cause back pain. "So..." Merrick says, trying to ignore this sound advice. "in concert with the symptoms I'm already experiencing, you'd say be alert for fever?" Doc shoves him out the door. "And work hard on your paper," he says, "and get yourself inoculated, and try to eat less." He slams the door and goes back to Trixie. "You botched this job pretty good, didn't you, young lady," he says as he pulls her in his lap. Pinching her wrist hard to be sure she is awake and can hear him, he tells her that if she wants, he will do the job for her, the right way. But first, he says, he wants her to know that Mrs. G is leaving town. "She told me," he lies, "that she'd take you with her." He tells Trixie that she does have a way out of Deadwood, and it's with Mrs. G. She squeezes his hand. "Is that a vote for New York City?" he asks, and she squeezes harder, to confirm.Morning dawns at the Bella Union, and Flora wakes up with Joanie's arm still around her. She gets up to get dressed, putting on her corset with a look of determination. Going downstairs, she passes Cy. He is interested to see her coming out of Joanie's room, and she gives him her sob story about seeing someone murdered at the Gem. "You're brave to even be in a joint like that," Cy says. "And after, you sought refuge with Joanie, did you? No better port in a storm." Ugh. As she goes to get changed for her shift, Cy tells her she's "settling in real good." He turns back to Joanie, who has joined them. "Mmm mm, Joa-nie Stubbs," he smarms. "Is that a fresh scalp I see hanging from your belt?" Siiiigh, Cy. Joanie pushes him away, saying that she held Flora in the night because she was upset. Cy, it seems, is beginning to question the wide-eyed innocence of Flora. And rightly so -- she's downstairs now, buying an apple and cheese off two whores in the dressing room. One of them offers to sell her a knife for cutting the food, as well. "I've got a fucking knife," Miss Priss says, and goes back out, turning on her sweet little girl act once again. She tells Cy and Joanie that she's going to go and take her brother some lunch really quick. In the thoroughfare, she looks back up at the saloon, noting the most convenient exits. Her most devoted john approaches her again and asks repeatedly when she's going on duty. "You geek-looking fuck," she says, not even glancing at him. "Get away from me before I cut your fucking heart out."
Mrs. G is packing for her return to NYC when the Doc knocks at the door. He gets right to it. "Trixie tried to commit suicide," he tells the shocked Mrs. Garret. "She punctured her vein, and that's the only reason why she's still alive." Mrs. G asks who's with Trixie. "No one at the goddamn moment is with her, Mrs. Garret," he answers, incredulous. "Her situation in this camp isn't such that that would be safe." He says that's why, when trying to dissuade her from making another attempt to kill herself, he told a little fib, saying Mrs. G had offered to take her to New York with her and the child. Mrs. G tells him that the night before, she had offered to send Trixie to New York with the girl, promising to make the proper introductions. Doc can't even roll his eyes. "Is it possible, Mrs. Garret," he says, "that leaving this camp and heading to New York City in service to you and the child, might to a girl like Trixie appear a more realistic proposition than being dispatched on some cruel masquerade?" Mrs. G understands. She asks that Doc please tell Trixie that she is welcome. "Tell her she's necessary," she says, breathless. "If her indisposition doesn't preclude it, I'd be happy to tell her myself." Doc thanks her, and leaves, and Mrs. G sits down, heavily.
Out on the widow's claim, Bullock strides straight up the hill while Ellsworth and Dan lag behind. "If I'm to get my throat cut, Dan," Ellsworth says, "I'd rather not exert myself further. If had any choice in the matter, I'd prefer one behind the ear." Dan tells him to keep climbing. "You're off the hook," he says, "for seein' that New York dude's accident." Ellsworth thanks him, saying that he knows Dan must have put in a good word for him with Al. "Well," Dan smiles, "I didn't speak against you." He tells him, also, to take a gander to his right -- there's gold in that there hill. "You don't have to tell me where to fuckin' look," Ellsworth says, just as Bullock grows impatient up on his perch above them and asks if he's going to have to assay the thing himself. Ellsworth tells him to head back down, he's got something to show him. I know he and Dan both wish they could show him the inside of a knuckle sandwich, because Bullock's being a special brand of ass today.Flora enters the Gem with her apple and cheese, greets Al, and says she's come for lunch with Miles. She acts intimidated by the blood stain still on the floor, but when she and Miles sit, she immediately says, "Let's do it, now, and get the fuck outta here." Miles wants to wait. "If we do it slow and right," he says, "we're fifty miles gone before anyone knows we blew." She says she thinks Cy is on to her, and he tells her she's full of shit. "You want to do it fast and dirty," he says, "so you'll have to cut somebody's throat." She peels him a piece of apple with her evil little knife. Miles assumes it's the Gem that she'll want to "take." She shakes her head. "Where I work," she says, to his surprise. "Where your boss is on to you?" he asks. She nods. "I can move the dyke," she says. "Held me in her arms all night like I was little fucking kid." Miles, nervous as hell, says he assumes there's some kind of plan. To this, Flora sinisterly stabs a piece of apple, places it between her sharp teeth, and chomps.
At the hotel, Bullock strides in under the ever watchful eye of E.B. to see Mrs. G. He knocks on the door to her room and, dispensing with formalities, simply says, "Don't sell, Mrs. Garret." He silently shows her the satchel full of GOLD he's found, and she goes to the silent child of the corn to try and explain that she'll be going downstairs for a moment to discuss it with him. The kid doesn't understand anything she's saying and stares blankly at her as she leaves, but I like to imagine, in her head, she's like, "Yeeeeah, Fake Mom, you do him -- I MEAN, you do that." They descend the stairs, and E.B. inquires as to the assay's outcome. Bullock tells him to ask the owner, and he turns to Mrs. G. "Is the technical term 'bonanza'?" she smarmily asks Bullock. He confirms it is. "It's a bonanza, Mr. Farnum," she says, sticking it to E.B. where it hurts, causing him to murmur his barely concealed anguish as they walk away.
In "Mr. Farnum's absurd restaurant," as she calls it, Mrs. G and Bullock talk about the bonanza. She sits with her head propped on her elbows, the better to stare deeply into his clenched eyes. He asks if the outcome of the assay changes her mind at all about going to New York. "I can't see why it would," she says, with mild hesitation and wild flirtation, and he says he can't see why it would either. "But," he says, "I don't count." Au contraire, Bullock, you count for everything, seeing as how you have bewitched this lady with your incomparable posture and wavy mustache. She tells him that of course he counts, but he says he's not good at keeping up with her changes of mind -- he had thought yesterday that she was staying in camp. "I was made to understand," she says, "that my reasons for wanting to stay were completely selfish." She says that she had wanted to stay in Deadwood, unencumbered, when she really should be going to New York to care for the little girl. "Why," Bullock asks, "can't you care for her here?" Yes, certainly, why not? I mean, raising a child across the street from two whorehouses is every mother's dream. I know my mother has deep regrets that I had to grow up not seeing a man's throat cut at least once a week. Al's getting nervous waiting for Bullock at the Gem. Dan tells him Bullock said he was going to tell the widow about the find, but Al wonders what's taking him so long. "I don't know, Al," Dan says. "I'm here with you." Al turns the eyebrow on him: "What, are you getting smart with me, now?" Dan shakes his head, as Al's anxiety mounts. "Cocksucker, Bullock," he says. "When you can't stand the sight of him, he's nowhere but underfoot." Miles walks up, saying that his sister has been told of a man in Lead who resembles the picture of their father. He asks if he can go there with her this afternoon and take a night shift to make up for it. "If I said no," Al says, "I'd hope you'd walk out and go looking anyway." Miles says that he would. Al must be feeling pretty nice today, because he tells him to go and to tell Arnette down at the livery stable that he's good for a horse. "If your sister looks with you," Dan chimes in, "tell Arnette I'm good for her mount." Al shoots him a look. Miles nervously lingers until Al sarcastically salutes him, giving him "permission to leave the bar, trooper." Miles stupidly returns the salute, thanking them both, and leaves as Bullock comes in. Al pours him some whiskey.
"Big, huh?" he asks. "Rich, fucking thick that vein is?" Bullock says he's no expert, but it appears to be so, and in any case, Mrs. G will not be selling. "Course she won't," Al says, amiable, but with evil in his eyes. "I should fucking think not, eh?" He grabs the whiskey, telling Bullock to come and drink with his vanquished foe, and leads him to table. He thanks Bullock for opening the store so that the hooples could get vaccinated against the smallpox. "I was the second hooplehead stuck," Bullock says. Al nods and mentions the news about the Indians being called back to the agency. "And in a spasm of good sense," he says, "they're fucking going." Bullock says he heard that news. "Before you know it," he says, "we'll have laws here and every fucking thing." Al says that brings him to the subject of the widow -- he wants all that claim-buying business to be behind them. Bygones. He says he needs Bullock on his side when laws and such start getting established in the camp. "Tics of habits of behavior either finds dislikable in the other," he says, "gotta be overlooked or taken with a grain of salt." Bullock asks if Al's magnanimity extends to guaranteeing Mrs. Garret's future safety. Al gets serious. He raises a glass: "My oath on this. Every day that the widow sits on her ass in New York City, looks west at sunset and thinks to herself, 'God bless you ignorant cocksuckers in Deadwood, who strive mightily and at little money to add to my ever increasing fortune,' she'll be safe from the wiles of Al Swearengen." On that, he downs the shot, but nearly spit-takes it back up when Bullock deadpans that Mrs. G is staying. With effort, Al tells Bullock that the promise stands, as a gesture to him. Instead of saying thanks for any of that, Bullock asks if he can get a shave from Barney, over in the corner. Al jokes to Barney to be careful in the area of the throat, though you know he wants to tell him to razor off Bullock's head, especially when Bullock smugly tells Al that E.B. never raised the claim offer to the full twenty thousand, but merely to nineteen-five. "I wouldn't trust a man," Al says, forcing out a wicked smile, "that wouldn't try to steal a little." Sighing, he goes back to the bar, slamming down the bottle and asking no one, "Where's that fucking whore?" Well, she's still over at Doc's, recovering. Mrs. G is there, too, apologizing to Trixie for any part she may have played in this suicide attempt. "I don't remember you being the one that made me a whore, Mrs. Garret," Trixie says, and Mrs. G has to fight back tears. She tells Trixie that she's going to stay in Deadwood after all and raise the girl there. "Doctor Cochran," she says, "has explained to me the difficulties your extraordinary kindness to me has put you in, in relation to Mr. Swearengen." She goes on, saying that if Trixie wishes to stay in Deadwood (though I don't think there has been any chance that she'll be leaving), she wishes Trixie would stay with her and the kid. "But perhaps," she says, quietly, "you want to go, Trixie." And, placing a huge nugget of gold in Trixie's hand, she continues. "If you do, take this as your earnest claim on the future," she says. "I'll send you more. I appear to have struck it rich. I'll send you all that you need." Mrs. G is so sweet here, but I can't help feeling even worse for Trixie, who went through this whole debacle only to come out on the other side almost dead, in dutch with Al, and with the rich lady even richer.
The little girl comes to the bedside now, saying Trixie's name in a worried little voice. Trixie tries to reassure her, but the tiny squarehead has come to say something else. "Sophia," she says, pointing to herself. "Sophia." For some reason, possibly because my heart is not actually made of stone as hard as diamonds, this little moment has caused the tears to flow not once, but twice. I'm not a statue, people. Sometimes even a strangely bewigged child actor can bring on the waterworks. Trixie says the little girl is so beautiful, she should have guessed it. "Take her home, Mrs. Garret," she says, smiling. Mrs. G rises, asking what Trixie thinks of her suggestions. "You sure that gold's real?" Trixie asks, and when the widow says she is, Trixie asks her to leave her to think things through.
Miles is loitering around with a buxom whore on the floor of the Bella Union when Flora walks straight to Joanie to announce that she's quitting. "All right, Flora," Joanie says, not questioning this. "I left a pin up in your room," Flora says, rudely. "I want to go look for it." Joanie tells her to go ahead and look, and as she goes upstairs, Cy comes over and angrily asks when Flora is going to finally get into her "work clothes" and make them some money. Joanie flatly tells him Flora has quit. "Yet that seems to be your room she's walking into, once again," Cy smarms. Joanie tells him about Flora looking for her pin. Cy ain't buying it, at all. Joanie merely rolls her eyes, however, and heads upstairs herself. Flora, as expected, is rifling through all of Joanie's things, and when the older woman walks in, neither seems at all surprised. "Can you tell the stones from the paste?" Joanie asks dryly. Flora only smirks, telling Joanie to show her the difference. Joanie says she doesn't think so, no, and tells Flora to put down the things and get out and she won't raise hell. "Why don't you let me go with your things," Flora smarts off, "and shut your fucking mouth because I remind you of whoever the fuck I remind you of." Oh, girl. First of all, it's so weird to see Kristen Bell dropping such a vicious series of F-bombs, but what's even weirder is how much I enjoy seeing her do it.Joanie gives her the dead eyes. "No," she says. "Now what are you gonna do, Flora, kill me?" Flora goes for her knife, and all Joanie can do is look even more heartbroken and sick. "Do you think you're going to get out of here alive?" she asks. Flora says she'll give it a goddamn whirl. "You're not gonna get out alive," Joanie says, so very miserably. "You're gonna die here." Despite this emotional display, Flora is unmoved. She steps closer to Joanie, asking who it is she reminds Joanie of: "Your little baby? Your little sister? You?" But Joanie can't even answer, so aware is she of how things are bound to work out. She lets Flora leave the room with all her jewels, and the girl doesn't even make it to the bottom of the stairs before Cy cuts her off. They have a little small talk -- Flora tells him she's just not cut out for it after all -- and things quickly get nasty. Flora tells him to step aside and let her do her business, and Cy loses it. "What is your fucking business?" he yells, furious, just as Joanie comes out to try and salvage it. "She just came to say goodbye, Cy," she says. "She's moving on." Smug, Flora gives Cy a look so cold, my TV screen fogs over. Cy can't take it. "Don't feel right to me, babe," he says, maximum evil, and smacks Flora across the face, knocking her to the floor, "but if I am mistaken, may I regret what I just did for the rest of my life." Joanie pleads for him to now let the girl go, but Flora won't risk that. While on the ground, she fishes out her knife and drives it straight into Cy's leg. I applaud her quick thinking, but the rest of this plan doesn't go so well. Screaming, she runs back up the stairs, grabs Miles, and the two of them head to the balcony, where they shimmy down to their awaiting horses. Or that's what they would do, if Cy hadn't already tipped off his henchmen. "Don't impede her progress, Joanie," Cy says as he heads out to watch the show. "Don't do nothin' rash." And what a show it is -- the goons grab both kids, and a beatdown of serious proportions takes place in the thoroughfare for all to see. I'm talking headlocks with punches straight to the brain. It is brutally awful. I don't even know how they filmed it -- kudos to whoever did the stunt planning and the sound mixing, because it looks and sounds like a double murder being committed. People tentatively stop to watch, all sickened, but nobody stops it, not even Doc, who is still administering shots across the street. Sol steps out, yelling to Cy, asking what's going on. "Them two robbed my joint," Cy shrieks, as the thrashing continues, "and that's where they're gonna get dealt with." Sol: "Then I guess they needn't get beat anymore out here." Cy mutters to the giggling henchmen to drag the kids inside. They do, Flora by her neck. "You can help your delicate sensibilities," Cy tells the crowd, "by turning the fuck away." Man, that was awful. But it's about to get awfuller.
A little later, Joanie stands at the foot of the stairs, austere. Eddie walks gingerly down, and tells her with sadness in his voice that Cy wants her upstairs, too. Upstairs is a bad place to be. Upstairs is where Flora and Miles sit reeling with their bleeding, broken faces, half-dead. Cy looks like Satan himself, leering over them. "I tell you, sweetheart," he says to Flora, "your face come out of that in pretty good shape. Matters took a happy turn, you could still probably work." Except, what I'm saying is, matters are not going to take a happy turn. The camera switches to Flora's perspective, and it is fuzzy, wobbly and grim. She is out of it. Joanie and Eddie walk in, now. "Come on in, honey," Cy says to Joanie, "over here on what the dagos call my 'sinister side.'" He wastes no time now that he has an audience. "Bust something up there, sweetheart?" he says to Flora, moving with sickening speed to rap her hard on the head, repeatedly. It is so awful and gross -- they've made it sound like somebody punching a carton of eggs. Eddie and Joanie can't look as Cy continues to rage. "See," he says, after whacking her so hard his makeup nearly sweats off, "that upsets Joanie, now." It does upset Joanie -- she and Eddie both are nearly vomiting. "What it is, Eddie?" Cy snarks. "We could all be elsewhere?" Eddie says that's nothing but true, but Cy moves on to Miles anyway. "fuckin' breath you draw, the smell of fuckin' sulfur's liable to be strong in your nose." Turning his broken face around, Cy wonders aloud if Miles even has a nose anymore, anyway. "Fuck it, Miles," he says. "I'm hereby passing judgment on you for lettin' this little bitch push you around and tellin' you what to do, when you were supposed to be a man and showing her the fuckin' rules." With that, Cy leaps up, smacks him impossibly hard one more time, and shoots Miles right in the head.Now, I know I continually bust on Powers Boothe, mostly on his makeup and dandified airs, but truly, truly, he embodies evil in this scene. It is acting with a capital A. I can't see how even Ian McShane could have done it better. His performance is disgusting to the point that I can barely even watch it. Joanie can barely watch it, either. When the gun goes off, she tries to run out, but Cy stops her. "Don't hurt her, Cy," Joanie begs, anew. "'Don't hurt her'?" Cy snarks. "You mean before I kill her?" He turns back to Flora. "That's the person you robbed, who had those kind of feelings for you," he says. "But," he goes on, waving Flora's knife under her nose, "I'm the one you stabbed." In her haze, Flora even now tries to grab the knife while Cy taunts her. "This is fuckin' pitiful," he says, turning to Joanie and handing her the gun. "Why don't you put that out of its misery?" Poor ol' Joanie takes the pistol, looks like she's dying inside, and hesitates only a moment. She shoots Flora, cocks the gun again, and raises it to her own head. Cy stops her just in time, wrenching her arm behind her back. "Whatever you want to do," he says, "will be a mistake."
The worm E.B. is back at the Gem to face the music. "You did everything you could, E.B.," Al says, "to preserve our fuckin' interests. I mean, you know, sometimes the cards go cold." E.B. shrugs and gives the news of the goings-on at the Bella Union. "Two young thieves," he says, "a boy and a girl." Dan actually looks hurt as Al smartassily says that they all know who they are. "Who they are now," E.B. laughs, "is late-night vittles for Wu's pigs." Poor Dan. "That young girl had me fooled," he says. "Your dick had you fooled," Al smarts back. He's not through with E.B., either. Rhetorically, he asks E.B. again if he did everything he could to persuade the widow out of her claim. "You did go to the limit?" he asks. E.B. drags his feet. "Well," he says, "I went to the limit's precipice." Al says that sounds like he didn't go to the limit, and that they'll never know now if the difference wouldn't have made them all rich. He downs a last shot as E.B. cringes in pain at the knowledge that his own greed may have priced him out of a fortune, and says he's going up. "Find out how much Tolliver paid Wu," he says, a last command to the depressed Dan. "Don't want to be sucking hind tit on disposal fees."
Back at the Bella Union, Joanie is out on the balcony taking the air when Cy joins her. "Don't think I enjoyed that bullshit," he says. He gives a big speech about having to put on a big show for all the employees so that they'll know who's boss. "I did what I had to do in that room," he says, "and now I'm out here and I'm telling you, your happiness is important to me. You bring warmth into my life." He goes on that he wants to set Joanie up in her own business in the camp; he'll even put up the money for her to pay back later. He talks on and on about how great it will be to see her running her own whorehouse. How Joanie is holding it together, I don't know, but finally, she breaks. "I used to make you warm, didn't I, Cy?" she asks, crying. "And I could make you feel like something's funny." He says she still does, when she's happy. Oh, but y'all, right now, Joanie is not happy. "Kill me, too, Cy," she says. "Or let me go." He scoffs, saying that he was just then talking about giving her a looser rein. "You gotta find a way to mean it," she says. "If you don't kill me, or let me go, I'm gonna kill you." He merely looks at her and sighs, leaving her alone on the balcony. From there, she sees Trixie making her way back up the thoroughfare. From her window, Mrs. G sees her as well. She pauses for a moment and we see that Doc is grimly watching, too, as she walks into the Gem.
There she finds Jewel, still scrubbing the stain. You know, when was floorwax invented? Because a little would go a long way against the variety of, uh, water-soluble fluids often leaked onto the Gem's floors. Trixie asks Jewel if Al's got her on her hands and knees at two in the damn morning. "I got myself on my hands and knees," Jewel says, "wondering what became of you." Trixie doesn't answer, merely walking up the stairs and throwing a "wake up, David" over her shoulder at the snoozing night bartender.
Back in their room at the hotel, Mrs. G gives this motherhood thing a go. Leaning over Sophia's bed, she tries her best at a verse of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat."
Al's not feeling too merrily, merrily, staring straight at the wall when Trixie comes in. He doesn't move until she lays down the gold nugget on his bedside table. The hooker with the hunk of gold. It just occurred to me. You're welcome.
Wordlessly, he grabs her arm, twisting it to see if there are track marks there. She resists showing him, staring defiantly in his eyes, but when he forces her hand, she does and then slaps him, hard, for the trouble. He doesn't make a sound, and as she undresses to get in bed, he pulls back the sheets for her naked, tired body.