It's early morning at the hardware store, and Bullock is making notes while Sol impatiently waits to go to breakfast. "What was in my mind," Bullock grumbles about his recent appointment to the post of health commissioner, "to raise my hand?" Sol sighs, not caring about anything but breakfast, and chides Bullock into coming along to the Grand Central for some of E.B.'s finest. On the way there, Bullock talks about a proposal he's worked up for the health uses of the fees E.B. has been levying on businesses. Bullock doesn't have much confidence anything will be done with his suggestions, and E.B. confirms this when they arrive at the hotel. "Always glad to hear from the camp health commissioner," E.B. says with a smirk, and when he wanders off, Bullock resolves to also submit his proposal to the paper, so as to apply pressure to the mayor.
The mayor, by the way, is crossing the thoroughfare when he sees a sight to behold. Mr. Wu is headed to the Gem, except -- hold the phone -- he's going in the front door. This causes such a scandal among the staff, Johnny has to slam the door on one of their best customers, the inestimable Tit Licker. "Nope!" he says, closing the poor man out of his obsession. "We're closed for a little while. Lick later!" Johnny attempts to get Wu to back out and come in at the back door, but Wu stands his ground, arms crossed. "Swedgin," he says, purposefully. Johnny calls up to Al, saying they've got themselves a situation down here. If Al's surprised that Wu came in the front door, he doesn't show it. He tells Johnny to bring Wu up. "You want me to take him out," Johnny asks, "and bring him around back?" Dawn has just broken, and Al is already exhausted by Johnny. He snaps at him to just bring Wu the fuck up. The Gem whores, all half-dressed and unwashed, still have the gall to tsk at Wu, as if he is unworthy of their presence.
Johnny leads him to Al's office and tries, dog-trainer-style, to make him take a seat, but Wu refuses until Johnny leaves and Al sits before him with a weary look. "What is it, Wu?" he asks with a frustrated tone. That's all well and good, Al, but no one is going to beat Wu in the frustration game today. He whips out a sheaf of papers and some graphite and starts drawing to bridge the language barrier. Al looks on with growing interest.
Downstairs, Johnny opens the doors again, admitting their favorite patron and E.B., who has joined him at the door. E.B. is miffed that he was shut out this way. "An august commencement to my administration," the mayor says, "[to] stand stymied outside a saloon beside a degenerate tit-licker." Upstairs, things are no happier. Wu has painted quite the picture. "Now this," Al says, pointing to one of the stick figures on the paper, "this is one of you, huh?" Wu also points, and does some Bruce Lee moves with a slice across the neck to confirm that yes, that drawing is a Chinese guy, and by the way, he's dead. Al gets it. He goes on, asking about the other two figures. "These two...?" Al asks. Wu ramps up his rage. "COCKSUCKAH!" he says, causing Al to roll his eyes. "Yeah," Al grumbles, "I'm glad I taught you that fucking word." With more looks and gestures, the whole story comes out. Two white men killed Wu's opium guy and stole the dope that Wu was going to sell to Al. Now Al's mad. "Who the fuck did it?" he yells. Wu: "Woo?" Al: "WHO, you ignorant fuckin' Chink?!" Wu: "WU?!" Beautiful, beautiful. It's like...racist vaudeville before vaudeville was even invented. "Whhho," Al enunciates, with maximum irritation. "Whhhho stole the fucking dope?" Wu, again: "COCKSUCKAH!" Wu's on first.E.B., Johnny, and Dan listen to all of this from the bar. Johnny says it's the first time he's ever heard that many "cocksuckers" shouted from Al's office that didn't result in Dan having to be dispatched with his knife. Meanwhile, in the corner, the Tit Licker has completed his daily duties. "I begrudge that pervert his capacity for happiness," E.B. mumbles to himself. "I do." Johnny is still concentrating on the ruckus from Al's office. "Them people," he says, "worship a fat man...seated on his ass."
The eternal struggle continues upstairs. Al pantomimes that he will find the thieving cocksuckers as well as the dope they stole. "White cocksuckah!" Wu says, nodding. They head downstairs, and Al tells him to go out the back way. "Or," Al says, "we'll start getting people having the wrong fucking idea about things around here." With this, he gives Wu a little pat on the back, earning a look of disappointment from the Chinaman, who does indeed go out the back way. Al goes to the bar for his morning shot and asks Dan where the resident dope fiend is. "I ain't seen Jimmy Irons," Dan says, "for three or four days." Al tells Dan to find him, before noticing, probably from the smell, that E.B. is there at the bar. "Anything the mayor should know?" E.B. asks, full of himself. Al barely glances as his new lavender coat: "The name of another tailor," he cracks. E.B. asks if they didn't have an engagement to stuff envelopes -- meaning the bribes for the Yankton legislators. "Not until I get the currency," Al says, "to stuff 'em with."
Back at the hotel, Merrick is reading over Bullock's health commissioner statement about waste disposal -- it's all appetizing stuff like how to get rid of manure and offal, exactly what you want to hear when you sit down to one of E.B.'s breakfasts. Across the room, Bullock meets the eye of Mrs. Garret, who comes floating over with Sophia. Merrick wishes them a good morning, and Sophia emphatically answers back with the same, impressing everyone. Merrick goes on to remark loudly about the large crowd in the room, and successfully runs off a table of miners, giving Mrs. G and Sophia a place to sit down, and earning their smiling thanks.
Meanwhile, two newbies have arrived. One rather dandified gentleman comes in and asks E.B.'s cook, Richardson, where the mayor is. Through some minor bribery, he finds out that E.B.'s at the Gem, and has Richardson go out and stable his horses. The crowd checks out the new guy with suspicion. Well, why wouldn't they? Anyone in town not covered with a layer of grime and pig shit certainly looks suspicious. The new guy is too irritated by the crowds to wait for a seat, and when his friend comes in, he says fuck it, and leaves. While the teeming hordes line up at his hotel, E.B. is still at the Gem, now licking his thumb to better count out the currency for the envelopes. He tells Al that one of the legislators' names was listed twice on the bribe sheet. "Give him two envelopes," Al says, "I'll call him on it if it ever suits my purpose." Al's grossed out by E.B.'s style. "As damp as your hands are," he says, squeamish, "why do you continuously lick your fucking thumb?" E.B. shrugs, saying he supposes it's a habit. "Could you learn the habit," Al says, giving him both eyebrows, "of licking a fucking stump?" E.B. laughs it off, conspiratorially telling Al that if Bullock has his way, some of these levies may get diverted for health stuff in the camp like an infirmary and garbage dump. "Well, that type of shit's inevitable," Al says, before taking a very serious tone with the mayor. "E.B.," he says, "steal none of this money." E.B. sighs, offended. "Gratuitous," he says. "Hurtful, and unnecessary." Al ain't buying it. "When I deal with these cocksuckers down the road," he says, "I need to be able to look any one of them in the eye, name what they were paid, and know I'm right." E.B. says he understands, and that the money will remain intact and undiminished. Al looks up to see the new guys walking in. "Half a chance this could be him," he says to E.B., who is surprised Claggett's bagman could have arrived so early.
The dandy one comes over and introduces himself as Silas Adams. E.B. leaps to his feet, presenting himself and Al. Adams reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter. "I'm to give this to you from Magistrate Claggett," he says, handing it to Al before turning to E.B. and indicating the money envelopes. "And you're to give those to me." Al begins to open the letter, and tells Adams to go and get himself and his little backup man a drink. Before the guy can even get to the bar, however, Al has read a bit of the letter and calls a rancorous halt to the proceedings. "You motherless fucking whores," he says, and E.B. again leaps from his chair, this time to get out of the way, because Adams does not take kindly to Al's brand of insults, as it turns out. "You know what he says here?" Al says, about the letter. "No," Adams answers, all ragey. "You think you should have asked me that before you motherfucked me?" Al calls the magistrate a double-crossing cocksucker -- I love it how much Al, the ultimate scam artist, loathes being double-crossed. Adams asks if that's the message Al wants him to take back to Claggett. "That's the gist of it," Al says. "Let me put it a better way before I send you and your mute friend back down the fucking trail." Adams tells him he'll have to hurry -- they're leaving the day. Al, perhaps realizing that he is killing the messenger unnecessarily, offers the gents free whores and whiskey for the evening. "I'll make," Adams says, "my own arrangements." Adams, by the way, is wearing the world's most ridiculous tie. Like, seriously, it's three feet wide like something out of a clown college. In the corner of the hotel restaurant, the beautifully dressed Joanie eats alone. She sees Charlie waiting in the cramped line and rises to save him. He is appreciative and sits with her, tipping his hat to Bullock, Sol, and Merrick, and nodding across the aisle to Sophia, who is trying to engage him in a round of peek-a-boo. He and Joanie have some small talk about business -- she tells him she hasn't decided on a location for her new brothel yet -- until the bumbling Merrick gets up to leave, inviting Charlie out to take the air with him and the hardware guys. A lot more bumping and crashing goes on before they all get out the door, and if we didn't GET IT already about how crowded the camp is becoming, we surely get it when they all talk about it YET AGAIN outside. Merrick laments the loss of the opportunity for meandering conversation in the hotel dining room, but Bullock, noticing the busy thoroughfare, says they need to get to the store and open soon. Merrick continues to bloviate about how nice it is to be in the company of such fine gentlemen as themselves. "Good of you to say, Mr. Merrick," Sol says. "Back at ya," Charlie also remarks, "as far as that goes." Stonefaced, Bullock says, "Yeah," and before they can pry themselves away from Merrick, he proposes that the four of them form a little...awesome guy club, or something. They all try to politely put him off, but he feels they should dedicate themselves to the principle of walking and talking together on a regular basis. "Maybe all we need," he says, "is a name!" This is too much for Bullock; he finally insists that they need to go and open their store. Charlie begs off, too, as Sol takes the time to sweetly thank Merrick and shake his hand, saying they need to do it again, soon. They all practically run away, leaving Merrick to muse more on his big idea. "'The Ambulators,'" he says, testing out the name.
In his office at the Gem, Al is meeting with Jimmy Irons, he of the dope fiending. Jimmy's been laid up, he says, sick as a dog. Al is all tea (literally) and sympathy (facetiously). Al casually mentions the dope problem and Jimmy goes all concerned. He says he figures he's in for some more sick days ahead -- if there's no opium to purchase, his own supply will be dry. Al leans in like a praying mantis. "Jimmy," he asks, "what become of that dope fiend faro dealer that I hired to apprise me of what transpired over at Tolliver's?" Jimmy's getting nervous, and it shows. "Leon?" he asks, trying to play it cool, and Al says, yeah, Leon. Jimmy says he doesn't know; Leon must have disappeared. "You've been wrong since you walked in here," Al says, cutting to the chase. "You know that, don't you, Jimmy?" Now Jimmy's really worried. He says, again, that he's sick. "You've been lying, Jimmy," he says. "The smell of cat's piss is so strong in here, I'm going to have to burn down the fuckin' building." Jimmy says he's just nervous; he's always nervous. "Nervousness don't cause that," Al says. "Lyin' causes cat-piss smell." Jimmy's starting to shake, and with good reason. Al goes right to it, now. He says he'll strangle Jimmy and throw him off the balcony if he doesn't immediately tell him where the remaining dope is that he and Leon obviously stole from Wu's courier. Stupid Jimmy tries to fake it one more time, and Al clocks him one. "Jesus, what a fucking stink," he yells, opening the balcony door, going on to say that killing the courier is causing him headaches with Wu. "I just shit myself, sir," Jimmy offers, politely. "I'm saying it now, before the smell gets you." Al tells him to just throw himself off the balcony, which he does, and lie there in the mud until Dan comes out with other orders. Going downstairs, Al explains to Dan that he wants him to bring both Jimmy and Leon back to the Gem with the remainder of the dope. Dan doesn't even ask any questions, just prepares to leave. Al notices an unlikely visitor to the joint -- Rev. Smith is sitting by the new piano, clutching his Bible. He asks Dan if the Rev has explained his presence, at all. "No, sir," Dan says. "But he ain't tried to lead no lost souls to the Lord." They laugh. "So," Al smirks. "There's that." Al goes over to speak to the good man, who tells him that his new piano plays wonderfully. "Ain't it delightful?" Al says, and tells Dave, the piano player, to "go and get a free touch from Wanda." Al looks close at the Rev, asking what's up with his bad eye. The Rev says he's not sure, but something has not been right with it for a week or so. "Anyways," Al says, as politely as is possible for him, "not wanting to give offense...would you mind me asking you to frequent another joint?" The sweet Rev says no, he understands. "Man of the cloth slows business down," Al explains, and the Rev nods, saying again that he understands, and kind of struggles to stand up from the chair. Al actually looks concerned. "Something amiss with my leg, as well," Rev. Smith explains. Al takes his arm to help him, casting a quick glance around in hopes that no one is watching him show this kindness. "How you doing with the fits?" he asks, and Smith says that they seem to be the one consistent thing about him these days. "My brother suffered them," Al says, leading him to the door. He asks the Rev not to consider him inhospitable, and says that should he ever need anything -- pantomiming whiskey drinking and, ahem, other Gem services -- that he is always welcome in the off hours. "I just happened," Rev says, kind of sad, "to hear the piano." They say goodbye, and Al watches him go before turning back to stride through the saloon and pass by the new piano, giving it a good curse. Poor Al. It stresses him out to experience emotions other than murderous rage; abusive wrath; and violent cruelty.
Hostetler, owner of the livery, arrives at the hardware store to confer with Bullock about some land he was interested in clenching on. "Building a house on," I mean. Hostetler says he has received some other interest in the land, and wants to see if Bullock can make an offer today. Bullock doesn't want to be rushed, he says, kind of rudely. "I was giving you first opportunity," Hostetler says, defensively. "No one is rushing you." He goes on to say that if he gets a fair offer elsewhere, he plans to take it. Bullock, pissy, says fine.
Joanie is in her four-bit room at the hotel, when Eddie knocks on the door. "Did that bloodstain get you the special rate?" he asks. Aw, man. Joanie had to get Tim Driscoll's room? When is E.B. going to throw a carpet over that stain? Eddie sits, asking Joanie if she's settled on any land for her new place yet. "I'm looking," she says, immediately casting her eyes down, and admitting she's lying. "As long," Eddie smiles, "as it's the only one you ever told me." Joanie says the problem is that she doesn't want Cy to back her, and she doesn't know how to do anything without him. "I'll back you," Eddie says, to her surprise. "You gonna turn prospector, Eddie?" she asks, but he shakes his head: "I'm gonna rob Cy." Joanie looks worried. "Don't, Eddie," she says. "He'll know." The fabulous Eddie cocks his head to the side. "What's the time, kid?" he asks. Joanie reaches for her belt, opening a little snap pouch to pull out her pocket watch. It's not there, because Eddie has it. The sleight of hand master hands it back to her. "No," he says, "he won't."Back in Al's office, things are going rough for the dope fiends. He says that he's in dutch with Wu now because these two goons killed the courier. "What the fuck do I do with you, huh?" he asks them, causing the two men to tremble even in their altered states. "I'm so fucked up, Mr. Swearengen," Leon cries. "I can't make a case for myself." Al asks what his case would even be, seeing as how Leon hasn't even done anything for him. "That chair would make a better spy," he says, kicking Leon over. Jimmy sees his chance. "I've worked hard for you, Mr. Swearengen," he says. "My habit's a fucking curse." He asks if Al could be persuaded to let them get an hour's head start out of camp, since they did give him back about half the dope. Al ain't going for it. "So, I give him a little less than half the dope," he says, "which, you being the cat-piss-stinking liars you are, he'll probably draw a picture explaining to me is ten percent of the dope. And then I'll probably draw a picture for him, portraying myself a c*nt!" Because, he goes on, furious, in Wu's mind, the only thing that will even this score is the bodies of his courier's killers being fed to his pigs. Both men beg not to be fed to the pigs; Leon even goes so far to vomit on the floor to show his extreme unwillingness in that matter. Al's had about enough bodily waste spilled on his floor today, I guess, so he has them booted out, after Jimmy cleans up the mess.
Moments later, Al and Dan arrive at Wu's. "We're here to be overcharged on some fucking meat," he says. "Will your chink highness allow us to come inside and get robbed blind on a side of elk." This little performance is for the rest of the men in the alley; scowling, Wu opens the door and lets them in the meatlocker. Al presents him with the leftover dope. "Cocksuckers!" Wu says, slashing his hand across his throat. "Oh, yeah," Al assures him, "I'm all fuckin' for it, Wu. But neither of us would have reached our present comfortable position, freezing our balls off, if we didn't understand: you can't cut the throat of every cocksucker whose character it would improve." Wu repeats his slashing move, insistent. Al has concerns, though. What happens, he says, after the white guys have been killed and two dozen more white cocksuckers get pissed and riot against the Chinese. "Who's gonna walk away," he asks, "from that fuckin' get-together, huh?" Wu knows: "COCKSUCKAH!" Al sighs. "Yeah," he says, almost sweetly. "Cocksucker." Using again the ancient art of pantomime, he tells Wu, "Swedgin bring you cocksucker." Wu's eyes narrow in brotherly admiration. "Ssswedgin..." he says, grateful. Al explains, however, that he can only kill one of the guys -- if he does a two-for-one deal, even though the cocksuckers deserve it, it will look bad. Wu doesn't like it, but he understands, and to show his gratitude, he gives his best pal Swedgin a gratis side of beef. Al sighs. "Even money," he says to Dan, "this'll end up a fuckin' bloodbath." They leave the meatlocker, and Al resumes his big public show of Wu being the bad-ass bargainer of Chink Alley. "Every fuckin' time I come with one price in mind," he says, overly loudly, "I leave having paid him double! How does this Wu do it to me, huh?" Heeee! Dan quietly asks if Al thinks the other Chinese guys in the alley understand what he's saying. "They understand my fuckin' attitude," he says, "that he's a fuckin' wily bigshot. Builds him up amongst his people." Wu stands there with his arms crossed, looking like a warrior, as Al gives Dan his further orders, telling him to get both dope fiends over to the bath house while he meets with Tolliver over which one he's going to have to kill. Good ol' Al, working all the angles. Over at the Bella Union, he sidles up to Cy at the bar and explains the situation. Cy's pissy, saying that it appears, since the dope in question was intended for Al, that his man is in line for the pigs, and Cy can stand on principle and stay out of it. "What's your fucking principle?" Al asks, wearily. "A white dope fiend's still white," Cy explains. "And I don't deliver white men to Chinks." Al says that leaves him with a bag of shit to hold, and Cy suggests that one gets what one deserves when trafficking in junk. "I'm a purveyor of spirits, Cy," Al says, eyebrows suggestively raised, "dope fucking included and, when chance affords, a thief; but I ain't no fucking hypocrite." Cy smarms that he thinks this conversation is over, "but in my line, I'm used to certain types thinkin' they need the last word." Good one, Cy; Al does always need the last word, and proves it, now. "Well," he says, "my last word is the fuckin' bagman is here from Yankton, so get up your fuckin' share." With that, he turns and stalks out, leaving Cy to stew some more. He asks the barback where Joanie is staying, and the guy says he doesn't know. Not believing him, Cy tells him to inform Joanie that he has some good news regarding certain real estate, if she wants to show up and hear about it.
Back at the Gem, the Rev has returned and, out of his right mind, is cheering on a group of whores doing the maypole dance (not like that) around some happy customers. "That ain't right, see?" Johnny tells Jewel with tears in his eyes. "My father was a preacher of the fuckin' Word, and that ain't fuckin' right."
In a back room, Doc is wearily checking out the whores on some kind of gynecological assembly line. "So, this is what it's come to in Deadwood, eh Doc?" one of them drones. "Ministers kicking up their heels and Chinamen walking in through the front door." He again checks Trixie's arm to see how she's healing, and they sigh together over the Rev's mental decline.
Things are about to get worse for the poor man, as Al comes in the back door. He admonishes him again, this time more strongly, and tells the Rev to write himself a note, whatever it takes, to remind him to stay out of the Gem. The Rev says he forgot he wasn't supposed to be there. He was drawn by the music; the piano relieves his headache. Uncomfortable, Al tells him to go and listen to one where he won't make an ass out of himself. "Do you know where I might find one?" the Rev asks, and Al yells no, telling Johnny to help the Rev out of the place. Watching the good guy go down is painful even for the bad guys. When Al sees Doc come out of the back, he takes him in conference, asking what the hell's wrong with the Reverend. "He's having changes," Doc says quietly, "in his brain." Al's frustrated and hides it with rage. "I hope to Christ he's having changes," he says. "I'd hate to think of him conducting performances like that of secret evenings in the forest or the like." Doc tells him more quietly that he's sure now the Rev has a tumor. "He was in here not two hours ago, don't fucking remember," Al says. "Nothing to be done, huh?" Doc says no. Al can hardly take it. I wish I could put into words what Ian McShane does here, as he battles his emotions and personal fear about the Rev. I think, when we watch people die, part of our anger comes from knowing that if it was happening to us, no one could help us, either, and the unfairness of that is so awful, it makes us a little crazy. He fusses on, saying the Rev ain't coming back to the Gem. "He's a fucking man of the cloth, in case he forgets," Al says, "kicking up his heels like a four-bit strumpet." He sighs now, and moves on, asking how Trixie's spirits seem to Doc. "Her abscess seems fine," Doc answers, and Al gets mad, saying that's not what he asked. "I don't answer for the state of people's spirits," Doc spits, and walks out. I mean, again, y'all: poor Al. Angry Chinamen, deranged Revs, suicidal whores...what ? On the porch of the hardware store, Bullock is figuratively kicking himself as he and Sol take in the sunset. "What I've done, Sol," he laments, "and you have to admire me for it -- is move 300 miles to set the same damn situation up I left Montana to get away from." He admonishes himself for getting so caught up in the health commissioner thing, with the drawing up of unsolicited proposals and whatnot. He's ashamed, also, that he let his irritability cause him to be rude to Hostetler. "I believe," Sol says of the black livery owner, "Hostetler's had worse afternoons." Bullock grumbles on -- now he's bringing a wife and child he barely knows out to Deadwood. Sol sighs. "I don't guess you need me to say it," he says, "but if there's a Heaven, your brother sees what you did, and he's grateful." Clenching meaningfully, Bullock says that maybe he's living his brother's life so he didn't have to live his own. "People have made good lives," Sol says, "out of borrowed ones, before," and, staring straight ahead -- perhaps thinking of Mrs. G, who represents Bullock's would-be life in this new town, or perhaps Mrs. Bullock, back at home -- adds, "But she is a beautiful woman."
Al's got the bagman up in his office and is trying to explain his, uh, overreaction at their first meeting. Throwing back shots with the guy, he clarifies that Claggett had promised to clear up that murder warrant for him in Chicago, but that the letter Adams delivered that day read differently, asking for further payoff. "Not my problem," Adams says, and whoa...listen, Adams, you are hot and I'd hate to see you get your head knocked off on this, Al's worst day in a while. I guess his straight talking earns him respect from Al, in any case, because Al, you know, doesn't kill him. Instead, he tries to explain further his feelings on the subject. Surely Adams can understand how mad Al was at receiving that letter. Adams says no, not so far as he could understand Al blasting off at him, who was just the messenger. He says he's there to take Al's message back to the magistrate. Pouring another shot, Al casts further aspersions on Claggett, insinuating that he is not the only one the magistrate has double-crossed. "Yeah," Adams says, smirking. "Magistrate Claggett is a cocksucker." Al nods. "And?" he asks, since now Adams is speaking his language. "Make your offer," Adams answers, open to the bribe. Al squints, thinking with both eyebrows. He asks Adams how he can prove he's not there to trap him in his double-cross of the double-crosser. "I'm not here," Adams says, "to prove shit to you." Al asks if it matters to Adams that the guy he's under warrant for killing "needed murdering every fuckin' day he drew breath." Adam says no. "Good," Al says, and asks if Adams wants to accompany him to the bathhouse. The bagman looks a bit concerned -- apparently "going to the bathhouse" means the same thing in Deadwood as it does in the Castro. "No one's looking to fuck you up the ass," Al says, weary. "I gotta execute someone." Will this DAY never END?
On the way over, Al explains the whole Wu hullabaloo snafu voodoo to Adams, who listens with detached interest. They have a nice conversation, permanently winning me over to Adams, but the whole thing is another rundown of the problem Al faces having to choose which of the dope fiends to kill to give to Wu and all the racial angles presented. I appreciate that it's a big problem, but...is this the tenth time now they've gone over it? We get it. What's amazing is that even though the story winds around and around this one point so many times, McShane and his machinations are so interesting, I never get bored. Y'all, I love Ian McShane so much, and to illustrate, I will now tell you a brief but embarrassing story. I think I have admitted here, with only mild shame, my undying obsession with that show of shows, Magnum P.I. Acting: questionable. Stories: implausible. But Selleck? Undeniably delicious. I love it to the point I TiVo two episodes a day to watch it with my dog and yes, my husband laughs and laughs, but he and all the rest of you can shut your damn mouths. Anyway, to further demonstrate my admittedly crazy infatuation with mustachioed brunettes of the small screen: not too long ago my dog, The Deuce, and I were enjoying our post-workday cooldown, when what to our wondering eyes did appear, but Ian McShane, ON MAGNUM. That's right! Together at last! I wigged. Talked about it for weeks. But the Lord did not stop His wondrous deeds there, y'all. No! Months later, McShane appeared in yet a second episode, playing another character! Could life get any sweeter? I have them saved. My husband was rude enough to point out that, were I ever to meet Ian McShane, I would probably lose all semblance of cool, freak out, and instead of talking about Deadwood, I'd be all "REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE ON MAGNUM TWO TIMES?" What I can only pray is that he DOES remember and that even as I type out this beautiful dream, arrangements are being made for Tom Selleck to ride into Deadwood.
In any case, Adams agrees that Wu only gets one man, and suggests that Al make the two white guys draw straws for the big exit. Al explains the further hitch of one of the guys being an employee of Cy, who doesn't want his man considered for that lottery. Adams can see the problem, and follows him as he goes into the bathhouse, where the two smackheads are lounging in the tubs under the annoyed but watchful eye of Dan. "Mr. Swearengen," Jimmy slurs. "We are fucked up. We are good and fucked up, Mr. Swearengen. What have we been saying repeatedly, Dan?" Dan smirks. "'Al's a good guy,'" he quotes. Yes, Jimmy says, Al's so nice to have let them get high and take these luxurious baths after "inconveniencing" him so badly. All Leon can do is repeat Al's mighty name as Jimmy rambles on like the stupid stoner he is. Al rolls his eyes at Adams and Dan and picks up a broom, pulling out two straws. "One of you is gonna have to apologize to Wu," he says. Boozily, Leon volunteers. "I'll apologize," he says. "Bring that slant-eyed bastard over here. He can get in the fuckin' tub with me. I'll apologize, and then I'll kiss him. And then I'll tie him off, and then I'll shoot him up, and then I'll blow him, with fuckin' soap." Al says they're going to draw straws to see who goes over to see Wu. "We go there?" Leon says, not getting it. "I withdraw my volunteer. I am comfortable where I am." Al looks pointedly at Jimmy, telling him to pick a straw. Dumb as he is, something's dawning on Jimmy. He wants to know what this apology will entail. "I worked it out with Wu," Al says. Jimmy's still nervous, not touching the straws, but is interrupted when Leon goes on a rant of white supremacy. Al cuts his eyes over at Leon, who goes on and on, saying he'll be happy to pick a straw, he's not afraid. I'm sure Al would be happy to get rid of the idiot, but he's here for Jimmy, and tells him quietly again to pick a straw. Even Dan looks tense as it finally seems to half-dawn on Jimmy what's going on. He asks if he can shoot up again before picking a straw, but Al shakes his head. He picks. Short straw. It takes Al only moments to drown Jimmy in the tub, upending him by his heels and stepping on his neck to hold him under. "Do not throw up," he yells at Leon over his shoulder, "I don't want to smell your stink." It's late at the hardware store when the Rev comes in to find Sol and Bullock. They're right in front of him, but he seems not to recognize them. They get worried looks as the Rev says he's afraid -- they seem to him to be Bullock and Sol, but he doesn't really recognize them as his friends. He says he doesn't know what's happening to him; he says he has various ailments, and this must be a further one. "I am afraid if you are devils," he says, "which I don't believe you are because you were the kindest men of all in the camp to me -- but if you were devils, I suppose that that would be the type of shape you would take -- and if you are not devils then I am...simply losing my mind." Bullock lowers his head, finding it hard to take. He assures the Reverend that they are, in fact, the friends he made when he watched their goods for them their first night in camp. They remind him of how they introduced themselves the first time, and told him about their lives. His face loses some of its anguish as he realizes that he remembers. "You're here with friends," Bullock says, and the Rev smiles. "Yes," he says, greatly relieved, "I feel that now." He says his various ailments are none worse than those we all suffer and are given to us by God's plan. "And morning," Sol says, "often finds us feeling better." Bullock asks if he'd like them to walk him back to his tent. "An evening stroll with friends," Rev. Smith answers, "I would so enjoy that." How any of them did it without bursting into tears, I don't know. They help him from the store, listening as he tells them of Al's new piano, and Bullock locks up for the night.
Back at the bathhouse, Al's finishing up his business when he turns to Leon, telling him to report all he's seen to Cy. "I saw a fair procedure, Al," Leon cries, freaking out, as Al swings on him, punching him the eye. "Do not," he says, "fucking call me Al." Thinking twice before making the obvious "and don't you call me Betty" joke, Leon shuts his mouth as Dan rolls up his sleeves to dispense with Jimmy. After a formal introduction to Adams outside, he does just that, following Al over to Wu's and dumping Jimmy's body in the sty and yelling, "Say you're sorry, Jimmy!" Good one, Dan. Full of admiration and gratitude, Wu approaches Al. "Swedgin," he says, showing his bond with a little bow. "Yeah," Al says, nodding back as he looks around at the faces of the Chinese men in the alley and listens to the pigs going for Jimmy. "Swedgin hopes we haven't signed ourselves up for killing, too."