Al wakes up in the morning and fondles the gold Trixie brought him last night. He spends a nanosecond looking fondly at her before reverting swiftly to his old self and slamming the nugget on the table, waking Trixie. "Her Majesty awakes, huh?" he sneers, as he gets up to pee in the jug. "Cocksucker's gonna grace me with his fucking presence this morning," he goes on, talking about the Magistrate Claggett who apparently coming to visit to give Al an update on how the council at Yankton views Deadwood and their potential for annexation. Al is not happy about it. He's worried that when the territory signs the treaty with the Indians, they'll be even more likely to come down with a negative decision with regard to the miners' rights of ownership on their claims. "I don't want to talk to these cocksuckers," Al says, "but you have to. In life, you have to do a lot of things you don't fucking want to do." Trixie, looking rested for once, listens as he goes on. "Many times, that's what the fuck life is," he says. "One vile fucking task after another. But don't get aggravated. Then the enemy has you by the short hair." Seriously, he's a regular Steven Covey. The seven habits of highly effective cocksuckers! 1) Don't get aggravated when Yankton comes to town; they're a bunch of fuckers and consort openly with dirt worshippers.
He sighs, saying that things will be different when the annexation happens, and the camp will just have to adapt. He points to the gold again, saying he hopes those nuggets will be appearing on a regular basis. Trixie says no, they won't. "How's your arm?" he asks now, trying to be casual. She says it's all right. "Don't fuckin' try," he says, clearly uncomfortable but sincere, "doin' away with yourself again, huh?" Surprised, Trixie almost smiles.
Bullock brings Ellsworth over to the hotel to be introduced to Mrs. G for whom he has so successfully assayed a bonanza. She is in a great mood to see Bullock, of course, and after introducing Sophia, cheerfully thanks Ellsworth for his help. He practically does an aw-shucks, and says it was just luck. Bullock says that Ellsworth has agreed to work her claim for wages, and tips his hat to leave, but Mrs. G asks for a private word. "I hope you are not disassociating yourself from my affairs," she says, even though she pretty much demanded that he do so before. He smiles, saying he already knows how he feels about Ellsworth, and that this meeting is for her to decide how she feels about him, after which they can meet and compare notes. "Toward a future point," he says, "when you tell me my thinking's so consistently wrongheaded it's a waste of your valuable time having to deal with me." Oh, Clench. She would never say that! Can't you see the stars in her eyes like some little girl mooning over Joey McIntyre? She's practically got a poster of you hanging over her bed! Anyway, she says she knows he's pulled in several directions and appreciates his help and blah blah blah, blow him already. It's not that I don't like these characters -- I like them both -- it's that I do like the idea of them together. Over at the desk, E.B. confers with one of his seldom-seen employees, a redheaded guy with a bad Irish accent and a very unamusing story to tell. Seems this guy, we'll call him Mick, was just down at the creek, washing his pants. "A habit," E.B. says, "to cultivate." By some miracle, the guy also found another pair of his pants down there that he must have lost on one of his drunks, a scenario not unheard of, apparently, since the Mick has been known to "shit himself" on occasion. Even E.B., rat of the underworld, is grossed out. By an even bigger miracle, Mick's found pants contained an item he had entirely forgotten about until finding it, just now. It's a letter Wild Bill Hickok wrote the night he died and asked Mick to post as he was on his way out to Nuttall's. E.B. is immediately on alert, but he's so sneaky, he plays the stupid lackey like an Irish harp. "I only hope you haven't opened it," he says, slyly, and Mick shows that he hasn't. E.B. says that that at least eliminated tampering from the list of crimes Mick has committed "in which your inebriation and sloth, as my employee, has implicated my hotel." Bad, bad E.B. He snatches the letter away, hiding it just in time that Charlie, walking in, doesn't see it. E.B. snakily wishes him congrats on his new mail route. Charlie says it will take a while to find out if congratulations are in order. He pauses, now, and for whatever reason, decides to consult E.B. on some fashion advice -- since it's his first day on the job, he decided to wear a frock coat, he says. E.B. tells him it's very flattering. "You don't think it looks stupid?" Charlie asks, and E.B. says no, not to him. I love it. And it's nice to give E.B. a little moment where he isn't scheming or being disgusting.
In the corner, Mrs. Garret is still talking over her claim with Ellsworth while he and Sophia play peep-eye. "She's formed an instant attachment," Mrs. G says, smiling. Ellsworth tells Mrs. G that she won't even know how rich her claim will be until she mines for quartz. He tells her honestly that he is not an expert at prospecting in mines, but rather is "a man who works in creeks." He asks, also, if her family is going to help her with the whole claim thing. She says her brother and father, as well as her in-laws, are aware of the situation, but she does not know how involved they'll be. "Well, blood don't always prove loyalty," Ellsworth says. "But you're gonna need someone on your side, Mrs. Garret, because I believe you got a big one on your hands." Not even pausing, she says she believes Mr. Bullock is on her side. "And," she says, "I believe you are, too." Sweet Ellsworth demurs as Charlie walks up and introduces himself to the pair, telling them he's glad to see the little girl he found in the woods is doing so well.In Al's office, we have now arrived at perhaps my favorite moment of this and all other episodes of a televised series ever to be shown on the tube. Al is looking with disdain out the window when Johnny comes in, and points angrily at the new sign on Charlie's freight and postal delivery service shop. "That's what happens," Al says, shaking his head, "when you drop a fucking stitch." Johnny looks, as always, confused. "What stitch did I drop?" he asks. Al sighs and said no, it was him that messed up. He should have set Persimmon Phil up with a freight service, "as a cover for his other fuckin' activities." Johnny, still confused, points out that Persimmon Phil is dead. Al sighs yet again. "I know he's dead now," he says. Johnny snorts. "Well," he says, alluding to Al's er...hand in the matter, "if you don't know, nobody does." Al is getting exasperated. He says, pointedly, trying to get Johnny to understand subtlety, that his fucking point is that he should have brought in a replacement. He all but winks at Johnny, trying to get him to understand. But, of course, he doesn't. "Well," Johnny says, in a comforting tone, "you'll know better time." It nearly brings tears to my eyes, Johnny's so sweet and dumb. I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again: It is a crime against all laws of man and nature that every member of this cast, especially the employees of the Gem, are not burdened down with awards of every size and shape.
Al is wide-eyed with exasperation. "The direction of my thoughts," he says, crossing to Johnny, "though with the sustained fucking stupidity that you're exhibiting, I hesitate to voice them -- is that you might want to train for Phil's former position." Johnny freezes with combined horror and glee. "Al," he says, reverently. "I have hoped for this conversation ever since you give me that Indian head to hide." Al, who has surely seen so much of the world that he is beyond surprising, is blown away by Johnny's buffoonery to the point where he can't even respond. Incredulous, he backs out the door and goes downstairs where Dan is shaving in the bar mirror.
Dan knowingly asks how things went with Johnny. "I have just fled my own office, in horror," Al says, "at his fucking dimwittedness." Dan laughs. "Well, Persimmon Phil wadn't no genius." Heeeee! Al sighs and says he knows. "And, Johnny," Dan goes on, "so eager..." Al sighs again, saying he knows. "There's a minimal standard here, though," he says. "He'll be in the wilderness! You gotta be able to sustain a thought; you gotta be able to remember fucking instructions." Dan is cracking up as they are interrupted by the arrival of the magistrate. "Hold fast to your valuables," Al mutters, going to meet the man just as Johnny floats down the stairs, dumber than ever. "Any reason," he asks, loudly, "I can't share with Dan the proceedings of the talk me and you just had about me taking over for Persimmon Phil?" Al sighs yet again. "Yeah," he says, standing right to Dan. "Keep Dan in the dark." Poor, stupid Johnny. He looks all sad at Dan, who can barely control his laughter when he asks him, "What's new?" Al is putting it to the magistrate. He wants to know, straight up, how the camp stands with the South Dakota legislature. The guy promises to boil things down and then proceeds to be cagey about it, anyway. He says that if a new treaty is signed with the Sioux, the hills will be annexed into the territory, and that the territory will abide by the rules of the Northwest Ordinance which states that whoever currently holds land titles can legally keep them after annexation. "Essentially," he says, "if you're on it, and you improve it, you own it." Al waits for the catch, which comes swiftly. Claggett says that there is a complication, in that the hills were deeded to the Sioux by the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty. Oops. So this might mean that the land Deadwood is on might fall under a different category of distinction blah biddy blah history lesson. Al cuts to the chase. "So, who needs to get paid?" he asks, wearily. Does no one understand the amount of work Al puts into his day? I mean, shit -- whores, booze, land treaties, road agents, Indian heads, behind the scenes, in front of the scenes, creating scenes -- the man does it all. Claggett says that forming an ad-hoc "municipal organization" would show the territorial officials that Deadwood is already a functioning community and might easily bless it with legal standing. Al is exasperated -- he wants to know the right amount of money to pay off whomever needs paying off. "There's a lot of gold out here, Al," the guy says, and it would be difficult to define the right amount. He says he'll make a list of names and preliminary guesses at numbers, and puts on his glasses to make his little blackmail sheet. Just when you think he's done sticking it to Al, he drops the bomb -- a warrant has reached Yankton calling for Al's arrest on murder charges brought by officials in Chicago. Slyly, Claggett offers to help with that issue as well. "How much is that gonna cost me?" Al asks. The magistrate says it will be $5,000. Al ain't happy.
The Rev staggers into the sick tent and greets Jane, who tells him that no one has died today. Jane notices the Rev's reduced motor skills. "I see your eyes are still playing tug of war," she says, the soul of human kindness. "[And your] left arm's still as useful as an old man's dick?" Nice, Nurse Ratched The poor Rev asks if he smells weird to Jane, and she takes it wrong, thinking he's implying that he smells whiskey on her. That's not it, though. He tells her that he senses an odor as if his flesh was rotting. Jane tries to reason with him. "Goddamn you, preacher," she says, "don't start talking crazy to go with everything else." He can't stop, though. He goes on, saying that also, when he reads the scriptures, he no longer feels Christ's love as he once did. Jane's patience is thin. "Oh, is that so?" she snarks. "That's too bad; join the fuckin' club of most of us." She tells him that she knows that he's trying to hide his true condition from Doc, and that she knows he's a fucking mess. She says she herself is wearing out her welcome in the camp and probably won't be around much longer "for people to be disgusted by so they don't notice what the fuck is going on with you." So very frustrated, she takes his head in her hands and tells him he needs to think about these things, raise his nerve, and consult with Doc. Determined to act like everything's normal, he turns and tries to pick up a bucket of water, which he naturally spills, pissing off Jane, again. She shoves him out of the way, and puts on her hat, saying that she's off duty and he's on. She can't even walk ten steps without opening a bottle of whiskey and taking a deep swig. Jane's scenes are so easy to recap -- her heart is on her sleeve at all times, broken as it is. Like a lot of exasperated drunks, life just sucks so hard and the absolutely only thing she can do to deal with it is sabotage herself out of having to face it. Al stalks into the Grand Central to find E.B. fingering the Hickok letter. E.B. quickly hides this little gold mine, as Al demands his presence at a meeting. "Be at my joint in two hours," he says. "We're forming a fucking government." He heads out directly to bang on Merrick's door, but coming up empty, goes now to the hardware store. Bullock is telling Sol that he thinks he's going to go ahead and send for his wife and son now that the Sioux treaty is imminent, when Al charges in asking where the fuck Merrick is. Bullock tells him they don't know, and Al delivers the same info to them he has just given E.B. "We're to meet to discuss putting this organization together," Sol says. "Is that what you're saying?" Al nods. "Centuries of fuckin' inbreeding," he says, "attune him to the necessities of the times." Sol laughs it off, and Al stomps out, pausing for a moment to compliment them on a job well done building the place. The story is the same at the Bella Union. Eddie is depressed, slowly shuffling a deck of cards, when Joanie comes to sit with him. He's still upset about what went down with Flora and Miles, and says Cy had no right to do what he did to them. Joanie says that she, for one, is getting the hell out of the Bella Union. Eddie, though pleased to hear this, doesn't really believe it -- he asks if she has any money to open her own place like she wants. She says she's not going to leave Deadwood, since Cy told her he'd help her open her own place with his money. Eddie's too nice to really say what he thinks about this plan, and anyway they're interrupted by Al coming in and telling them to deliver a message to the sleeping Cy about the meeting at his place in two hours. "You could use some rest," he tells Eddie, bogarting some of their fresh coffee. "I could use a clean conscience," Eddie answers, and Al doesn't even slow down as he heads back out the door, throwing over his shoulder a "so could we all." Outside, he finally runs into Merrick, who says he has spent the morning replenishing his printing supplies. Al tells him to be at the meeting, that they have to form a fucking government. "Who does?" Merrick asks, but...now is not the time to go all Johnny on Al, okay Merrick? He's had, like, nine cups of coffee at this point. "Us!" Al answers. "You and me! It come to me in a vision, you stupid bastard!"
Back at the Bella Union, Joanie finishes her own cup of joe and says she's headed out to find some real estate for her place. Eddie's eyes are dead. Cy comes down, and Eddie flatly delivers all the messages. Cy notices his mood and asks what's on his mind. "You fucked me up, Cy," Eddie tells him. "The shit you did to those kids, there's no angle to it." Cy says his performance wasn't just about the kids, and that Eddie needs to figure a way to tough his way through his foul feelings. "Just keep shufflin' your cards," he says, "and let your tie hang down 'til you feel better." Out of the blue, Eddie says he'd like to come to the government meeting at Al's. Cy openly rolls his eyes, but tells him to come ahead if it will cheer him up. Shut up, Cy. Don't be mean to Eddie! That's frickin' Ricky Jay. He will build some crazy card contraption, put you in it, and then make you burst into flames or some shit before shuffling you back into the deck where your face will somehow magically appear on the head of the queen of spades. And I wish he'd do it right now.Outside, Joanie wanders the rougher part of the thoroughfare, "Chink Alley," looking for a parcel of land or empty building for her new place. Passing Wu's, she sees the shredded remnants of Flora's and Miles's clothing, and watches as the very fat pigs snort and sigh over the huge meal they've just had. She turns a little green as she meets Wu's eyes. He gives her a what-of-it face, like, "What do you feed YOUR pigs?" Staggering away, she kind of runs into Charlie, who wishes her good morning. They introduce themselves to each other, and Charlie tips his hat, pointing up to the sign for his new place. She wishes him luck with it. "Are you off someplace?" he asks. "Need an escort, or the like?" Aw, sweet Charlie. Joanie says no, she's just kind of walking around. He asks her what she thinks of his new frock coat, and she tells him it's very well fitted. "I had it made up in Cheyenne," he says. "I'm one for a good appearance and all, but it's...a little out of my path." Joanie smiles and says yeah, if he'd made her guess, she would have said it wasn't his usual garb. "I'm a considerable hand at the freighting bidness," he says, "but as far as leasing this building before I know what the traffic's gonna bear, I don't know what possessed me." He keeps nervously talking about how he's not sure he's the type to wear a frock coat, and finally apologizes for going on about it. Joanie tells him that she, too, is looking for a space to open a business -- a brothel. Charlie says, politely and without judgment, that the camp seems like it's got some legs under it, making it a good bet for business. "I'm just a whore, though," Joanie says, shrugging, and Charlie controls his reaction long enough for her to keep going. "I mean, I run whores for this man," she says, but she's not sure she's ready for all the work a business would require. Charlie smiles. "I tell you what," he says, "when something's ready for you to do something, it don't seem to matter if you're ready or not." Joanie: "Better lift your skirts and jump, huh?" Charlie says that is the truth that has been borne out in his experience. These two are the sweetest. She tells him she's surprised he's not at the big town meeting. He obviously doesn't know about it, but doesn't want to say so. He says he's heading over there shortly. "I prefer," he says, "to appear late to that type of thing." Joanie kind of catches on and drops that the meeting will be at the Gem. He hems and haws a little, like he knew that, and then she tells him it's been awful nice to meet him. He smiles, says likewise, and lingers a moment as she walks away.
At the sick tent, Doc tells the shaking and twitching Rev that he's headed to the Gem. On his way there, he passes an extremely inebriated Jane, who is leaning against a wall, propped only by her forehead. He tells her also that he's headed for the Gem. "Hooray for you," she groans, and he tells her that the Rev is back at the tent, trying to hide another seizure. "Ain't you clever," she says, "to see through the subterfuge." Doc sighs. He says he's been letting it go, but if she is trying to just drink more and more until he finally says something, then he is hereby officially saying it: "I wish you would stop. Fuckin'. Drinkin'." Jane rouses herself, saying she has no such ideas about anything she does; she's railing against him like a crazy loon and the BRILLIANT Brad Dourif soaks it in with a mixture of fear, pity and confusion. "All right, Jane," he says, and we see over his shoulder that Charlie is walking by and hearing all. "You happen to be fuckin' overlooking," she goes on, "that you think it's just one day after another with the same fuckin' seizure, as if it happened a week before. And that just shows how much you fuckin' know, goddamn you." Doc lowers his head; we're all sad about the Rev. It must be hard to lose a friend every single day of the week to the varying evils of the hills -- Indians, murder, syphilis, whatever -- but when one of the very few nice guys like the Rev is going down, it's got to seem like the death of hope itself. Doc rambles off, leaving Charlie to deal with Jane. She makes fun of his new freight business, but he overlooks it, once again offering her a position. "I'm in a position," she says, "you eternally meddling cocksucker." Charlie shrugs. "Yeah," he says, "leaning forward, shit-faced drunk." Jane is offended. "I am talking," she says, with feeling, "about nursing the plague." He offers her any job she wants with his freight company, but she keeps telling him to go away. "Congratulations on being a big, fuckin' deal," she says. Sighing, he tells her that no one is any big deal, but all his offers stand. She runs him off at last by insulting his frock coat.
Doc's nursing the whores at the Gem, and takes the time to check on Trixie's track marks. He gets out some salve, dabbing it on, and she thanks him.
In the saloon, the staff is getting ready for the big meeting as the attendees slowly arrive. Everyone nervously tips their hats at each other. Al comes in, noticing that Johnny has taken the initiative to get more pears and peaches, and tells him to pass them around. Pulling out the paper on which Claggett earlier listed the Yankton bigwigs, Al announces that he's "declaring myself conductor of this meeting, as I have the bribe sheet." They are interrupted by Tom Nuttall walking in. "If I'm excluded," he says, "just say so, Al. Don't leave me to die the death of a thousand cuts." Al tells him to take a seat, but Tom's not done with his drama. "Don't subject me to death by water torture," he says, causing Al to sigh loudly. "Take a seat, Tom," he says, "and tell us whatever book you've been reading on the fuckin' Yellow Peril, huh?" Tom takes his seat, and they're about to finally get started when Charlie makes an appearance. He says he just opened across the way, and asks pointedly if he was supposed to attend. Merrick does the introductions, explaining with a smile that Charlie was of Utter Freight and Postal Delivery, and by the way, had a lovely advert in the most recent issue of The Pioneer. Al nods, telling Charlie to take a seat as well. He gets right to it, and while Johnny passes out the traditional Gem meeting fruit, Al explains to all the men about what he learned in the meeting with the Yankton magistrate that morning and what they'll have to do to keep their titles on the claims, property, and businesses. It cracks me up how Ian McShane says "an-NEXED." It also cracks me up how Cy leans over to Al, like a snake, saying he'll be glad to be involved in all future dealings with the magistrates. "Yeah," Al says, "thanks, Cy," secretly shooting him the look of death as, across the table, E.B. wonders if they, as the informal government, couldn't levy a tax on the people in the camp who want to license business, in order to pay off the bribes. From a seat by the wall, Eddie asks if women who pay the licenses will have the same rights to open brothels as men. This earns a few giggles from the Gem whores gathered at the door, and a few alarmed and stern looks from most of the men at the meeting. Instead of responding, Al says that their proper order of business is to make titles of camp officers. E.B. asks who is to fill the various positions and Al says he doesn't care, that they might as well pick names from a hat for all he's concerned. "I'd like to be mayor!" E.B. says, with more jubilance than we've ever seen on this show, and though there are some incredulous faces around the table, none of them object fast enough, and Al declares E.B. mayor. Bullock looks nauseated, and asks if, since they're talking about levying taxes, shouldn't they also provide some kind of services to the people of the camp. E.B. says sure, they can provide a few services, but the most important thing is to get the taxes to pay off bribes. "Taking people's money is what makes organizations real," he says like a true politician, "be they formal, informal or temporary."
Dan interrupts the proceedings to whisper to Al that the piano he ordered has arrived. Al looks at him like he's from space, and says he won't be abandoning the meeting to bring in a piano. "I'm just telling you," Dan says, defensive, "it's come in from Montgomery Ward." While Al tries to control himself from having a stroke from all this shit he's got to deal with, pianos and taxes and whatnot, E.B. takes charge. He announces that the floor is open for nominations for positions, and they all get to it, figuring out the process.
We cut to later that night and the Gem is swinging. Merrick drunkenly tells another barfly, or possibly himself, about how his own impulse was to offer his name for office, but seeing as how he represents the fourth estate, he thought better of it. Clearly, nobody else nominated Merrick, either. Al and Dan, along with the rest of the universe, watch in disgust as, across the room, E.B. receives a congratulatory mayoral handjob from a Gem whore. "I've got to find an early occasion," Al says, most likely willing himself not to vomit, "to put the mayor off his pedestal." Dan agrees, and suggests that Al use more than nudge to get the job done. Al changes the subject, busting Dan again for the whole piano incident, though Dan puts the blame back on him, insisting that Al's the one who made him order it. Al glares at the piano and all the partying going on around it. "What fucking revenue is being generated," Al wonders, "by those hoopleheads gathering around that cocksucker and yodeling about their fucking points of origin." Dan says the shine will wear off, but Al can hardly take it. "My fucking head," he groans, leaning over the bar. Dan asks if it's due to all that organizing. "Eh," Al says, "twenty-five cups of coffee and too much circulating in the fresh air." Ha! I told y'all. Over at the hardware store, Bullock and Sol are recapping the events of the meeting as well. Sol says perhaps Doc should have just politely turned down the position of health officer instead of revealing that he'd been arrested seven times for grave-robbing for medical research subjects. "Anyways," he tells Bullock, "good for you, volunteering for the post." Bullock says he just did it to avoid being named sheriff, and that it's all temporary anyway. Sol changes the subject. He asks Bullock if he noticed Trixie over at the Gem, and wonders how she could have gone back there, seeing as how she had been so great at helping Mrs. G with the little girl. "Big pull to that," Bullock says, anviliciously, "going back to what you know." Sol sighs again. "Do you think she's pretty?" he asks, full of innocence, and even though he must know how awful it is for his friend to fall in love with the favorite hooker of the world's meanest nutstomper, Bullock says, yes, "very."
Sol leaves to take some air as Charlie Utter walks up, and Sol congratulates him on his new post of fire marshal. The new health commissioner and the fire marshal joke a little about the grave-robbing doc, and we cut back to the party at the Gem.
Nuttall, looking green, approaches Johnny asking if anyone else has fallen ill from the meeting peaches. We see Sol cruise by, heading for Trixie. They share a few awkward hellos while Al glares from a short distance away. Sol says he's been wondering how she was. She says she's fine, but earning the greasy eye from Al for their idle chatter. Sol asks if he can buy her a drink then, and says she'd rather he didn't. "This isn't the place for you," she says. "So you say," Sol answers, taking a flirty tone, but it doesn't work. She tells him straight up that the Gem is not any place she'd like him to see her. He suggests he come see her, then. "He don't permit our making calls out," she tells him like she's talking to a child, but Sol won't give up. "Come to our store," he says, "come buy a broom." Trixie looks at him. "I don't want what I can't have, Mr. Star," she says, and he finally takes the hint, and prepares to leave. "And if I did come," she tells him, "I'd buy an axe, a hammer and a saw." Sol smiles. "All fully stocked," he says, "and we never ask the purpose for our customer's purchase." Great slogan, Sol. Trixie is charmed and can't help smiling and, wanting to go out on a winner, Sol tips his hat and leaves.
Doc returns to the sick tent to find the Rev still there. "I'm gon' have a look at you," he tells the poor man, and the Rev says all right, all casual like there's nothing wrong with him. "Don't turn your head away from me," Doc says, gently. "Being sick ain't nothing to be ashamed of." He takes him through a series of tests, and Rev quietly apologizes for the smell. "What is that you smell?" Doc asks, and the Rev tells him about the rotting flesh. Doc sighs, sad. "You emit," he says, "no such odor." He tries to explain to the Rev that the changes going on in his mind are making him believe that he sees and smells things that aren't there. The Rev is having such hard time with it, though. He says that before all this, when he read scripture, people felt God's presence through him, "and that was a great gift that I could give to them." He says that the word no longer take him when he reads, and crying, he adds that he no longer feels Christ's love. "All right," the Doc says, trying to calm him down. "This is God's purpose," the Rev continues. "The 'not knowing' the purpose is...my portion of suffering." Oh, Rev. I feel you. So bad I can't watch this scene without crying a river. Doc asks if he's in any pain, along with this not knowing. "I'm not in pain," the Rev says flatly. "I smell new smells, and there are parts of my body I can't feel, and His...love..." Doc asks in serious tones if he wants to continue like this, and we can all assume he's offering Rev. Smith a service of compassion. "As long as He wills," the Rev says, "this must be my part. To be afraid, as well." Doc shakes his head. "Well," he says, "if this is His will, Reverend...He is a son of a bitch." They stare at each other for a moment before finally saying good night, and Doc leaves the Rev to watch over the sick.Joanie returns to the Bella Union to tell Eddie that she did all right that day, and even got herself a four-bit room. "You play your cards right," she says, "I'll tell you where." She goes to Cy's office and asks about the meeting; he explains that things were going all right until Eddie cracked his fucking mouth. She asks what it turned to, then. Cy waxes philosophical about how a joint like the Bella Union sells the dream of a new beginning to its patrons, promising the possibility of a big win and a new life. He says that some people that work for him, ahem, he's not naming any names, seem to have bought into their own fucking lies and are now trying to get him to go along. "But I can't," he says, tired. "See, Joanie? 'Cause I'm a big boy, and now I'm ready for Eddie and me to have a little chat." Before he can get out the door, she tells him that she did look around for a new place. He says good, that he wanted her to, which of course is a lie, and goes out to pounce on Eddie.
Eddie has no illusions that they are still friends, and asks Cy to keep it short. Cy goes for the big guns, saying if they find him a twelve-year-old farm boy to have some fun with, would that be keeping it short enough for him? Eddie blanches. "I never did that," he says, "and you know it." Cy makes a few more comments along the same lines. "I never did that," Eddie says, again. "But you didn't want to unbutton some farm boy's Dentons and get yourself some relaxation?" he says. "That's what I'm asking you." In some weird way, Cy is alluding to Miles -- asking if what's upset Eddie so badly is that instead of watching Miles die, wouldn't he have rather gotten busy with him. Eddie is shamefaced, but whether it's because Cy is right, or because he's just generally disgusted, we don't know, and it doesn't matter. Of course, Cy won't let up, and finally, Eddie gets outwardly frustrated. "I was never in a room with you before," Eddie says, "when you were gonna kill somebody." Cy says he, himself, doesn't make judgments and all he wants is for them to get along and that to that end, he'll be glad to find some farm boy for Eddie's purposes, just so he'll go back to being the old, faithful Eddie of the last seventeen years. "Fuck you, Cy," Eddie says, giving his answer. "Fuck you." Cy snorts, saying sarcastically that that's where he draws the line and pretty much beats this dead horse to death, telling Eddie to go upstairs with Joanie and figure out what it is he wants because he wants the old Eddie back, the one who doesn't judge another man when he's off duty. "I want you cheerful," Cy shrieks, "and ready to help me with my work, or I don't want you coming the fuck out." Eddie is not afraid, however. "Why didn't you volunteer for something at that meeting?" he asks. "Might have kept you from being such an evil cocksucker." He walks off, and Cy, who clearly can't deal with his employees not loving his murderous, satanic performance of the last episode, is the one that's shaken. Cy, bitches don't understand, is the problem. It's hard out there for a pimp, and all that.Charlie returns to his building to find an even drunker Jane waiting. She tells him she's getting out of town. "The direction of this entire camp makes me sick," she says, "and it bores the living shit outta me." Charlie tries to stall, thinking of some way to make her stay. He says that all the work she's done for the sick tent would exhaust anyone, and that she should wait to make a decision until she rests up. "Sent a dozen men out with their plague sores healed," she says, "to go back to getting 'em on their johnsons." She says that she will not be a drunk where Bill is buried, and she cannot stay fuckin' sober. "So, you," she says, "and every human being on Earth, past, present and future, can drink mare's piss." Charlie says he believe he, uh, will just have well water. This all begs the question, of course, that if we were to concoct a mixed drink and call it Mare's Piss, what would we, lovers of this show, include in the beverage? Gin, surely. And whiskey. AND champagne, just for color. And to guarantee it would kill you after one glass so that you no longer had to endure the hardships of a Black Hills life, we could throw in some well water and rim the glass with laudanum and some of E.B.'s pancake mix. Voila.
Anyway, Jane tells him to shut up, and he watches very sadly as she prepares to go. "If the subject comes up," she says, "explain to Bill." Charlie says all right. He tells her to tell Hostetler, at the livery, that he's good for her mount. She makes her way up the thoroughfare, yelling that he's not to worry about her, nor worry about her paying him back for the horse. "Check the mail, Charlie!" she boozes. "And you will find soon, proper payment!" Charlie just keeps saying "all right," over and over, sounding more each time like he's about to break down. Jane heads off into the gloom and dust of the thoroughfare, and I miss her already.
Bullock goes to meet Mrs. G, and as it's late, he apologizes for disturbing her and Sophia. He says he is going to meet with Ellsworth in the morning, and wants to know what she'd like him to say. She says Ellsworth seems very competent and trustworthy, and that she would like to proceed with him working on and watching over her claim as she develops a plan for future action. They linger too long over the discussion, staring clenchingly at each other, and yes, I don't like it, but fine, it's hot. He jokes about his new position as the health commissioner and explains briefly about the whole reason for organizing the camp. "Farnum's mayor," he says, and they snicker over that. "How horrifying," Mrs. G says, and truer words have never been spoken. Bullock sort of lowers the boom now, suddenly announcing that he has written to his wife about her and his son coming on to the camp. I believe Mrs. G had not ever heard of this wife and/or son, but she tries to cover. She fails, and the disappointment is obvious to everyone, including the usually clueless Bullock. He says that his thinking was, once the treaty is settled, the camp will be safer. She nods, before too casually asking if he has any other sons or daughters. "No," he says, too quickly, "that's it." They look at each other in meaningful, shared disappointment. With seeming randomness, Bullock tells her that his brother, who was in the cavalry, was killed two years ago. She says she's sorry, and as he stands to leave and they make parting small talk, she asks why he mentioned his brother just now. "My wife was widowed," he says, in four words that explain so much more to her. "My boy's their child." Mrs. G freezes. "I see," she says, and she does. They say goodnight, and when he's gone she leans against the wall, shaking her head, trying to hold herself together after being in his presence, and when she finally blows out the candle, Deadwood is covered in the darkness of yet another night.