Al goes to visit Merrick and encourages him, despite the recent ransacking of his offices, to not give up his work. Joanie goes to Charlie to explain what had gone down between Wolcott and the three dead whores. It riles Charlie to, you know, BEAT Wolcott's ASS in the STREET. It is AWESOME! Al meets with Mrs. Garret, for the first time ever in the history of this show, and reveals Miss Isringhausen's true identity and purpose. Al and Cy call a meeting of the camp bigwigs, to discuss the Utter/Wolcott fracas, and how imperative it is to keep Hearst, via Wolcott, satisfied. They agree not to pursue Wolcott for the women's murders. (Mayor E.B. Farnum was left out of this meeting, to his extreme chagrin.) Al is thrilled that Cy seems to be losing control of the situation, and works on a scheme to keep it that way. Bullock and Mrs. G have a brief meeting, in which it is confirmed that he knows that she knows that he knows she's pregnant. Calamity Jane hits rock bottom, returning to camp after a bender in which she acquired a beating she doesn't remember. Wolcott uses Wild Bill's last letter to try and bribe Charlie for information about what Joanie knows about the murders. This show is going to be the death of me.
Al walks through a secret door into the upstairs level of Merrick's offices. "Did you know this fuckin' walkway connected us?" he yells down to Merrick, who is sitting among the rubble of his equipment. "Several of your patrons, in different stages of undress, have illuminated me," Merrick tells him. Al takes in the scene, surveying the wreckage. He asks what happened, here, and Merrick explains that because he posted, rather than published Yankton's notice on the claims, vandals have registered their objections by destroying his presses and "mounding" feces in the corner of the room. Furthermore, he gives Al the sad news that "the camp's new schoolteacher, a lovely woman, was so traumatized by what happened, that she left."Al asks if it was Cy Tolliver who caused this to happen. "He didn't even trouble to deny it," Merrick answers, pitifully. Al wonders why Merrick isn't up and running again. Merrick tells him he's "in despair. The physical damage is repairable, but the psychic wound...may be permanent." Al actually looks on Merrick with what seems like genuine concern. He leans forward, thinking, and asks Merrick if he's ever been beaten. "Once," Merrick says, "when I thought I had the smallpox, Doc Cochran slapped me in the face."
As if to remind Merrick how that felt, Al backhands him across the cheek. Merrick looks up in surprise. "Stop it, Al," he says, quietly. "Are you dead?" Al asks. Merrick huffs that he's in pain, but that no, obviously he's not dead. Al says, yeah, he's not, and that he didn't die when the doc slapped him, either, and so, including this recent assault on his office, that's three "fuckin' damage instances" that didn't kill him. Merrick thinks on this.
And, here, sweet people, come perhaps the truest words ever spoken, put together in what might be my favorite scene ever to be shown on Deadwood. "Pain, or damage, don't end the world. Or despair. Or fuckin' beatin's," Al tells him. "The world ends when you're dead. Until then, you've got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man, and give some back." With that, he stands and leaves Merrick with a serious look, and all the books in all the world couldn't lay out life's hardest lesson any more accurately. It's sad, but it's true, and if I said any more about it, I'd cry enough to fill the ocean with tears.
An absolutely grand piece of televised theater, that was. It left me breathless until I watched it for the second time and noticed that when Al says "three fuckin' damage instances," he actually holds up four fingers.
Outdoors, in what I guess is the morning's light, we see Charlie ride into town. Meanwhile, Lee is in Cy's office, having just disposed of the three whores killed by Wolcott. Cy, smoking, asks jokingly if Lee, like Wu, uses pigs to get rid of human remains, or if he has some other method. Lee does not reply, and Cy laughs, saying, "I don't bandy my secrets, either."
Joanie walks in the front door of the Bella Union with a small wrapped package, handing it to Jack, the bartender. "Thanks for the loan, Jack," she says, referring to the money she had borrowed the night before to give to the girls she had spirited out of town. "A hundred extra's in the wrap -- you'd hurt my feelings not to take it." She heads back to Cy's office, passing Lee as he exits. Lee tips his hat at her. At the corner of the bar, Con Stapleton and Leon watch this all go down, and as racist cowards will, make stupid remarks that no one can hear but their own stupid selves. Leon calls Lee a "glorified fuckin' monkey," when in fact, that's exactly what Leon is, or frankly, aspires to be.
In Cy's office, Joanie has come to get final news of her friend Maddie and the two other girls. She sits tiredly in front of Cy, who busts her chops, asking, "How's things at your place?" Smug bastard. Joanie says it's just her there, now, and tells him she's come to ask about the three women, who were alive when she left them with Wolcott, and to see if there are any remains, that she might bury them. Cy tells her there are no remains, and states the obvious that she's now by herself down at the Chez Amie. Yeah, didn't she just say that? Anyway, he goes for maximum smugness, saying, "It's no picnic, is it, honey -- running pussy?" She gives him a look that could melt the Maybelline right off his face, and walks slowly out.
Alone at his shaving mirror, Wolcott examines his loathsome countenance. He sets the razor against his own neck, holding it there for a moment, as if to feel what it might be like to die that way. Is he full of self-hate? Is he just practicing for his victim? Both?
In his office, Al is going through some rudimentary physical therapy, exercising his legs and pacing back and forth. E.B. knocks and enters to do Al's bidding. Al wants him to make a request of the widow Garret that he may "pay a call" on her. He paces back and forth, outlining this plan, and finally has to yell at E.B., who is following him back and forth, ever the sycophant. E.B.: "Shall I tell her time is of the essence?" Al: "When ain't it?" E.B. tries in a bumbling fashion to elicit from Al the reasons for this meeting, but Al won't go for it and snaps him down, again.
Joanie enters Charlie Utters place, taking him by surprise. He says hello, but she starts right in about the events of the night. "It was bad," she says. "There was three gone, I know it was...bad." Charlie says that if she means the three he took away in his wagon, he's certain they're all right. No, Joanie says. They're dead. "A different three?" Charlie figures. Joanie confirms she's talking about her partner and two other girls. Charlie wants to know what they're dead of. "They've been killed," she says, kind of throwing her hands up. "And...she must have come here for that, or else she would have shot him, and not been scared. She wasn't scared of any man -- first I ever met." She's talking about Maddie, and even though he doesn't, Charlie says, "I see." Joanie runs the whole thing down. Kim Dickens absolutely kills, here. This is her finest moment, of both seasons. "My mama feared my daddy, and I did...my sisters, too. I never met a girl 'til Maddie that wasn't afraid of men." Charlie asks if Cy Tolliver killed Maddie and the two others, and Joanie tells him, no, it was Wolcott, "that works for George Hearst." Charlie asks why Wolcott killed them. On the edge of tears, Joanie, exasperated, says, "I don't know that...I'm not a man." Charlie pauses, saying he believes he knows Wolcott to look at. Joanie reminds him that she told him this whole story in secret, as a friend. "And that's the way I heard it," Charlie tells her. "I'm your friend. Don't ever walk past me."
Joanie finally breaks down in real grief, and after pulling back for only a moment, lets Charlie take her in his arms and give her comfort.
Back at the Bella Union, Cy is meeting once again with Leon and Con Stapleton. Now, these guys are no Johnny and Dan, and they've been getting on my nerves all season. Stapleton looks like a circus ringmaster in his crazy hat and suits, but they're both just so stupid, they might be starting to grow on me. Or, wait...they WERE starting to grow on me, until this scene with Cy where they tell him the Chinese whores are not "selling" well, and Cy writes them a new marketing plan.
He tells them rather than trying to sell on the economical value of the prospect, to "go with the strangeness." He proceeds to offer the following copy: "Among humans, for grip, the Chinawoman's snatch has no peer. In all of nature, the python is its only rival, though few have lived to tell the tale." I have to pause the show, go shower with bleach, and come back to soldier on, and to hear Stapleton turn to Leon and say, "We are dwarfs in the company...of a giant." I was wanting to hate them all, just for being on the screen during that brief and ridiculous monologue, but that's funny.
Over at the Grand Central's restaurant, Charlie is about to mix it up. He's standing behind Wolcott in line, and contrives a notion to get up in his biz. "Mind where you stomp your fuckin' feet," he spits at the back of Wolcott's head. Wolcott, surprised, turns around and asks if Charlie is talking to him. "Too late to catch the one who taught you your fuckin' manners," Charlie snarks, looking for trouble. Meanwhile, E.B. is making a nuisance of himself at Mrs. Garret's table, where she's finishing her meal with Sophia. He sets down a plate ostensibly for the girl, calling it a "selection of choice humbles." Sophia literally turns up her nose, causing E.B. to say "how adorably she sniffs at the tang of the kidneys." Gag. Mrs. G grabs her up to leave, and E.B. goes after her, announcing Al's request for a meeting. This gives Mrs. G pause, but she coolly accepts, and makes the date for 2 PM, taking Sophia again by the hand and leading her up the stairs. E.B. hates it so much that he doesn't have the inside story on this meeting, and calls up after her, offering "a penny for your thoughts." Mrs. G: "I'm glad to be leaving your company!" Heeeeee. Finally, he comes right out and says he wants to know her thoughts as to the reason for the meeting. "Didn't Mr. Swearengen confide?" Mrs. G asks, full of smartass. Poor E.B. "He hasn't been well," he gives as an excuse, lowering his head.
Back in the restaurant line, Charlie's turning up the heat. When Wolcott glances back at him, Charlie takes his chance with the moment. "That's twice you've fuckin' stared at me," he says. Wolcott says Charlie's breathing on his neck. "Should I exhale out my ass?" Charlie asks. Wolcott says he believes Charlie's doing it intentionally. "Why," Charlie asks, "you think I believe you're a fuckin' c*nt?" Whoa, Charlie. Damn. Wolcott tells him that if they fight, "it won't be a casual matter." Charlie throws the C word around about twenty more times, it seems like, and finally puts his hands on Wolcott, saying he doubts he's fought many men. What follows is a certified ass-WHIPPING. I mean, Charlie opens up a CAN on Wolcott, physically hurling him out into the thoroughfare, and LITERALLY kicking him in the ass. Wolcott puts up no resistance as Charlie wails on him. Cy steps out and sees what's going on, but does not intercede. Instead, he tells his henchmen he's headed over to the Gem to see Al, and walks away, as Charlie continues to throw down.
Finally, Bullock comes out of the hardware store and sees what's going down. He forcibly restrains Charlie, who tells him the fight is "personal fuckin' bidness."
Johnny has also seen all this from Al's office balcony, and steps in now to inform Al that Bullock has stepped in to stop it, and that Cy is headed toward the Gem. Just then, E.B. knocks and comes in to inform Al that the appointment with Mrs. G has been set up. Al asks him what he knows of the fisticuffs down in the street. Somehow, E.B. had just missed it -- he's two steps behind everybody in this episode. The only thing he can report is that right before he left the hotel, Charlie had accused Wolcott of stepping on his foot. Johnny pipes up. "If Utter's got corns, that might coulda...touched it off." I slide to the floor to die laughing at this, but don't have time, because Dan sticks his head in to announce Cy's arrival. Al tells everyone about seeing Charlie drive the wagon out of camp the night before, and how Cy's former employee, Joanie, had been involved. "You connect that with the beating in the thoroughfare?" E.B. asks, confused. "Sooner than on Utter's corns, hmm?" Al says. "I will station myself downstairs," E.B. says, officiously, but still confused, "as an observer."
Back in the hardware store, Bullock is still having to restrain Charlie, who is yelling for Bullock to take his fuckin' hands off him. He finally does, clearly worried about what Charlie is going to do, and asks that he please not go back outside. Bullock asks what happened. Charlie: "Cocksucker stepped on my fuckin' toe."
Al makes his way down the stairs of his joint to meet Cy at the bar. "Moving somewhat rheumatic, young man," Cy says, as Al staggers a little bit. Seeing her chance for sweet, sweet revenge, Jewel jokes that Al is "always dragging that fuckin' leg." It's proof that Al really does care for her when he doesn't kill her, right there. Cy mentions immediately that Charlie has just beaten the crap out of Wolcott in the street. "How does that impinge on men like us?" Al wonders. Cy says it impinges because the beaten man is Hearst's chief geologist. Al sees the significance immediately: "Wrong response no matter what the fuckin' provocation." Cy suggests they convene with Bullock and Utter to discover the details and "let it be known, that's the wrong ox to gore." Al says he'll "put together a sit-down."
In Wolcott's hotel room, Doc is giving the guy a once-over. Wolcott asks Doc what he can tell him of the man with whom he was fighting. Doc explains that Charlie was the best friend of the late Wild Bill Hickok. Wolcott's "I see..." speaks volumes. Doc tells Wolcott that several of his ribs are broken. "If you wish to occupy yourself in plaster," he goes on, "I can make some up." Wolcott attempts humor: "I'd occupy myself otherwise." Doc ain't amused. He tells him that his fee is three dollars. Wolcott reaches into his purse for the money, asking Doc to deliver a message to Charlie that he has Wild Bill's final letter, and will consider giving it to him, if he'd come and meet. Doc asks if there will be a renewal of the violence. "Oh, I hope not, Doctor," Wolcott answers, lying back on the bed, "I didn't do well in the original." Doc nods, and walks out, and I have to rewind a few times to confirm that Wolcott never gave Doc his damn three dollars! That's not right! How will the man make his batch of lady-parts ointment?
Out of doors, Al is crossing the thoroughfare, all dandied up in his suit with an actual shirt and floppy tie and everything. Lookin' good, Al. Just what the well-dressed man wears when going on a social call to meet the widow of a man whose death he arranged. He makes his way over to the Grand Central, where he is greeted by the fawning E.B., who compliments him on his "new suit." Except, as Al tells him, it's his same old suit. "The ruddy health of your complexion may bring the pattern out, differently." Pathetic, E.B. In all the Black Hills, there is no wussier individual. If he is ever captured by Indians, they will no doubt rename him "Stands With Foot in Mouth, Lips on Ass."
He offers to show Al up to the widow's room, and Al doesn't even bother turning around -- just yells for him to "go back" -- causing E.B. to bow and scrape back to the desk. As Al wipes his brow before entering Mrs. G's room, E.B. puts in that Wolcott is convalescing in an upstairs room. "One thing at a time, huh?" Al says, and knocks on the widow's door. For the first time since this show began, these two main characters are about to meet face to face.
Mrs. Garret opens, looking strong and austere. Al puts his best foot forward, saying, "Mrs. Garret, how do you do? Nice to see you..." She has no answer to this other than to step aside to let him in, although you can pretty much see her rolling her eyes just from looking at the back of her head. Sophia is playing in the room as Al offers "late congratulations on the claim proving out." He goes on to say that he'd always recommended patience to her husband, before her, er, "mishap." Mrs. G's not going to make a big issue of it, but she won't let him get away with it, either: "And yet," she says, "I've always assumed, after my husband's death, that you tried to buy from me." Al kind of blanches, and Sophia chooses this moment to interrupt, stepping over to Mrs. G and asking, "May I go downstairs?"
Mrs. Garret tells her to play in the other room, that Mr. Swearengen has only come to talk. HA! One wonders if Sophia's afraid her guardian is about to "entertain" her "gentleman caller" like she used to do the sheriff. The other possibility, of course, is that the kid is scared of Al, which is what Mrs. G tells her guest. "I'll have that effect," Al admits. "I think, specifically," Mrs. G says, "it was your plotting against her life."
Al raises an eyebrow, and rather than comment on that particular matter, says, "I'd take tea." Mrs. G cuts to the chase, asking Al what's he's come to discuss. He tells her it's all about Miss Isringhausen, revealing that she is actually a Pinkerton. "I don't find that credible," Mrs. Garret scoffs. Al: "That's the way they like it."
Al explains the whole scheme, as he sees it. Brom Garret's family has hired the Pinkertons to pin his murder on Mrs. G so that when she's hanged or jailed, they can get their grubby hands on her gold. Miss Iz has trumped up some lies about how Mrs. G told her that Al was her hired man for the murder, and offered Al $50,000 to play along. Mrs. G smells a rat where, for once, Al ain't dangling one. "And how much do you ask of me as commission to tell the truth?" she asks, smartassedly.
Good question, Mrs. G, but this time, blackmail is not at the top of Al's priority list. This one's personal. "I don't like the Pinkertons," he tells her. "They're muscle for the bosses -- as if the bosses ain't got enough edge." God. Too RIGHT, Al. I support any bad-mouthing of The Man. I feel the same way about my boss's secretary that Al feels about the Pinkertons. That woman may BE a Pinkerton, for all I know. Unlike Al, however, my only tactic thus far has been subversion of the system in my Office Space job, and believe me, I subvert with gusto.
Mrs. G interrupts here, asking, full of sarcasm, if Al is saying he's going to side with her "on principle." Raising one eyebrow at her audacity, he says, still politely, "I don't like the Pinkertons. And being the Hearst combine, and their fuckin' ilk, got their eyes on taking over, here, your staying suits my purpose."
Mrs. Garret lowers her voice even more, making me wonder what sort of powerful microphone technology they use on the set to catch her every breathy word, and asks that "as much as you can, please minimize your obscenities." Al squints like he doesn't even know what she's talking about, and she explains she's talking about the modifier he used "before 'ilk.'" Here, Ian McShane performs some kind of crazy magic that makes it possible to speak volumes in three seconds -- his eyes get wide before he pulls himself together, making a little nod, and moving the conversation forward. "Anyways...those are my prejudices and personal interests for sidin' with you," he says. "Also, if you want to match their fifty, that'd be between you and your God."
Mrs. G smirks, and asks what guarantee she'd have that Al wouldn't go back and play her offer against the Pinkertons for his further gain. Uh, Al's got all the angles covered, lady, so don't be trying to throw him. He starts out still in a steady voice, but his control breaks a tad when he mentions his nemesis: "Oh, I'd have them write their offer out, and their terms, and make 'em sign it...Pinkerton, himself, that cocksucker. I hate that bastard!"
Mrs. G renews her protest of the swearing. "Please!" she says. Al takes a breath and rolls his eyes. You can't cut the man a little slack, Alma? I mean, I know he killed your gay husband, but then your mens beat him up in the street and now he's here still gimped up from a stroke and the stick was in his penis and he's wearing a tie and...hell, what do you want, woman? Damn!
Al slowly runs through it again, about the written offer from the Pinkertons and how he'd turn the document over to Mrs. G to use in her best interests. After a pause, she asks him to let her consider this whole thing. He stands to leave, still full of manners, and asks her to tell Sophia "no hard feelings." Mrs. G watches him go, and before he makes it out the door, she asks him what kind of tea he enjoys. Turning back to face her, he says, "I like that fuckin' black Darjeeling..." swiftly covering his mouth in mock self-admonishment for his repeated sin of cursing.
E.B. is still oiling around downstairs as Al makes his way out of the hotel. "Have we a new pope?" Farnum asks (nice timing, Deadwood). Not even glancing his way, Al answers, "She's some fuck, E.B."
Over at Nuttall's, Leon and Con Stapleton are working their new angles, trying to upsell the Chinese prostitutes. One of the grungy miners in the bar offers his reasons for abstinence. "I won't fuck Chinese," he says. "I got a mother livin' yet." From the bar, Hawkeye takes a swig and asks, "She the jealous type?" Brilliant. The goon from episodes, who stirred Steve up to all his bad behavior with the horse, puts in his two cents, saying it is off-putting how the Chinese women's, ahem, parts "don't run quite plumb." Con Stapleton protests: "That's a fuckin' libel and a myth." Of course, the stupid guy who I loathe and wish they'd kill off reflects, "There are them as do fuck squaws..." Meaning, I guess, that having sex with a Chinese woman wouldn't be so different than being with an Indian woman. "Pathfinders, I call them," Leon says, and I get the feeling he and Stapleton are so desperate they're thisclose to busting out some kind of Trouble, Right Here in River City number where Trouble has a capital T and that rhymes with C and that stands for...Lord, it stands for all kinds of things.
Stapleton goes for broke. "You ever hear, Tom," he says to the room, "a Chinese whore...has a ancient way of...milking you of your sorrow, your loneliness...and that awful feeling of being...forsaken." Leon looks around to see how the other men are receiving this advertisement, and not one of them can contain their eye-rolling. "Seems to me," Tom answers, "that'd leave you with...nothin'." Good one, Tom. They all laugh, and Stapleton sits down, realizing his focus group did not go very well.
At the Gem, the Important Men of the town are gathered for their meeting about Charlie's ass-whipping of Wolcott in the street. Al's ordered a round of peaches. It must be later in the day, since Tom Nuttall is sitting at the table, after we just saw him at his place in the last scene.
Cy reviews the scene from earlier in the day, saying he figures Charlie was provoked, but that Wolcott, being employed by Hearst, "cannot be fuckin' beaten." Nuttall is curious as to what the provocation actually was. Charlie grumbles that Wolcott stepped on his foot. "Stepped on his foot," Cy repeats, smoothly, selling the party line. Al has to stir it up, though: "Well, maybe, Cy, Mr. Utter would want to tell us about a wagon drive he took last night, and who was in concealment at the behest of that whore that used to work for you, and how the morning's shit-kicking resulted." Cy laughs a fake laugh as if they are all in happy collusion, saying the background of the story isn't important, "no more than the incidents particulars, or how offensive I might find the details, personally." He goes on again, repeating that the Hearst situation requires special treatment so that his group doesn't lose interest in the camp and take their money elsewhere. Cy's trying to move past the fight, but Nuttall's still curious, and asks if Wolcott had condescended to his "yelp of fucking pain" over this alleged foot-stepping. Cy loses it.
"I don't care what brought it on, say it is murder, or...more'n one!" he yells, exasperated. "George Hearst's chief geologist don't get convicted of any crime in any court convened by humans!" Cy says Hearst will probably buy the judge, jury, and witnesses, or barring that, will "start in to killing." He's making the hard sell, where it isn't necessary. "Well, Cy," Al says, eating a peach with maximum sarcasm, "all that geologist did was step on Utter's foot."
Cy frustration has played out. He thinks they aren't taking him seriously, and says he's fucking done, turning over his peach bowl and slamming it down. Al gets back to business, saying that if neither Wolcott or Utter are "pursuing remedies," that leaves Bullock to make a decision on whether or not anyone gets in trouble. Bullock indicates with a clench that no arrests will be made, and Al adjourns the meeting.
As they break up, Doc quietly tells Charlie that Wolcott wants to talk to him. Charlie wants to know why, and Doc explains about Wild Bill's letter. Cy overhears this, and looks worried, following after Doc, asking what it's about. He's stressed, but no soul in camp right now is more stressed than that of the greasy little lackey, E.B. Farnum, observing this gathering from the front door of his hotel across the street.
Seeing the VIPs exiting the Gem, he rants to himself: "The bald contempt of it! Why not come out five abreast, cavorting...taunting...'E.B. was left out! E.B was left out!'" As much as I'd like the camera to now cut to the thoroughfare and show Bullock and Cy cavorting, E.B. continues, hurt and angry, reminding himself that "public service was never my primary career." He sees through the doors that "two come this way," and rushes around back behind his desk to get in position. Cy is telling Bullock as they enter the hotel that he hopes Bullock does not plan to worry any further over the whole Charlie/Wolcott thing. "I don't," Bullock clenches, going directly for the stairs toward Mrs. G's room. E.B. smarms on and on about how he hopes their "meeting of worthies" was a good one. Cy blows him off with a "thanks," watching Bullock climb the stairway (to heaven). E.B. can't keep his mouth shut, as usual, and calls out to the sheriff, who is already at Mrs. G's door, that he thinks she's in. He then stage-whispers to Cy that the child is also in, "which may confound his intentions." Here, he makes the International Symbol for intercourse, learned by all young boys in fifth grade. Even Cy, purveyor of smut, can barely conceal his E.B.-related disdain.
Mrs. G opens her door and receives quite a surprise. She freezes for a moment before inviting Bullock in. He apologizes for calling unannounced. They stumble around a little awkwardly, and sit. He asks her how she's feeling, and she tells him she's well, as she hopes are he and his family. He says they are all very well. Yes, well. We're all well. Well. It's a deep subject. Let's get on with it.
She can't help but drop this jewel: "I feel a little better lately...in the afternoons...than in the morning." Lame. "Morning sickness" can strike at any hour of the day. Anyway, he accepts this anvil over the head, and answers with an "Ah." The conversation turns to the bank deal she proposed to Sol. Bullock throws his support behind it, even though no one asked. He over-compliments her, and kind of lays it on thick, talking about what a great idea it is, and how she's great for doing it with her capital and how supportive of the camp she is, yadda, et cetera. She quietly thanks him until he blurts out an unrelated question: "Would it be better for you if I left?" Mrs. G says they seem to be conversing all right, wondering why he would want to leave since he just arrived. "I mean," he clarifies, "the camp." Mrs. G: "Because I'm unwell in the mornings?" He clenches, a little, and asks again if it would be easier for her. She wonders how his leaving would make any difference at all. He explains that he wonders if her seeing her in the camp, "more or less, daily," might be painful for her. Mrs. G takes the high road, here, after a deep breath. She tells him that if he thinks leaving the camp and uprooting his family would be the right decision, she won't judge him, but please, "do not ask me to make [the decision] for you." Good point, Mrs. G.
Bullock says he understands, and rises to leave. "Will you stay," she asks, at the last minute, "and will she be certain to know?" Instead of giving her an answer, he compliments her glow: "It becomes you," he says, and we all watch Mrs. Garret's heart break into a thousand pieces.
Cy is in Wolcott's room down the hall. "I guess my concern," Cy says, "is why you'd invite to come calling the man who nearly beat you to death?" Wolcott: "To know why he did it." Cy laughs, and says he can save him the visit. "Utter was dismayed you killed them whores," he says. He goes on to wonder if maybe Wolcott's true goal is to receive further abuse from Charlie. If that's the case, Cy says, he'll hire someone for that job, "because Utter's liable to kill you, and I don't need you dead." Wolcott tells ol' smarmypants to get out. Cy tells him he's tough to be a friend to. "You make a good point," Wolcott says. This sends Cy stomping out of the room, down the stairs, and past E.B. at the front desk, where the latter tries again to initiate the conversation about why he was left out of the important meeting. Cy yells at him again that he doesn't know, and pushes him aside, leaving E.B. standing there alone, humiliated. Behind him, we see Richardson emerge from his cave, and without even turning around, E.B. mutters viciously for him to "go back, go BACK." He could probably smell Richardson. I can practically smell him through my TV.
Al comes into his office to find Trixie there waiting for him. She's pissed off and says she's not going back to the hardware store. "They're fuckin' harpin' and badgerin'," she complains. "Who's harpin'?" Al asks. "The Jew?" Nice, Al. Trixie turns on him: "Are you makin' a fuckin' pun?" Al says he's askin' a fuckin' question. She says it's Sol and "fuckin' Bullock, also" who are getting on her about being erratic with her decimals. "So, harping now is a hardship on the same order of a boot on your fuckin' neck," Al says. "Do not fuckin' fault them, Trixie, for your own fuckin' fears of tumblin' to something new." Man. All of Al's rest and recuperation time has made him downright fatherly. I mean, as fatherly as you can be to a person you bought and have held in white slavery...you know what I'm saying.
"Meaning, you want me back there," Trixie says, resolute, "secreted, and listening in." Yes, he says, asking her to take particular attention to anything said about Hearst's geologist, Wolcott. "And mind your fuckin' decimals," he adds with a smirk as she leaves.
Bullock and Sol are sharing a leisurely moment in the hardware store. Bullock has put two and two together about Charlie's whole throwdown against Wolcott. "As protective an eye as Charlie has for that madam, Joanie Stubbs," he says, "if all her whores didn't make it on that wagon -- and that was on Wolcott's account -- you can see what ensued in the thoroughfare." He's quite right, of course, but this is no longer the main topic of the day. With no segue, he tells Sol that he has seen Mrs. Garret, and that he supports the whole bank thing. "Good," Sol says, genuinely pleased, though the door is certainly open for some eye-rolling, seeing as how the venture does not depend in any way on Bullock's support. And, in regard to Mrs. G's pregnancy, Bullock tells him that "she is as you thought." Sol: "I thought so." Me: "That's what he JUST SAID!"
Their chat is interrupted by Trixie, who strides in at that moment. Bullock smoothly says he'll take the air, but Trixie asks him not to leave on her account. "I come to apologize for my work with the decimals, and my attitude over my errors," she says rather formally, leaving both men in a state of clenched surprise. "And since I do tend to be prickly when in the wrong," she continues, looking directly at Bullock, "if you, on your part, was to realize, Moses did the heavy lifting already -- the fuckin' tablets and so forth -- that might lighten the atmosphere, too." Awesome, awesome. Somebody had to say it, Trixie. Thank you.
And Bullock, as sanctimonious as this character can be, is really so good, he knows she's right. "Sure," he says, with all due respect. Sol seems proud of Trixie, and asks her what guidance she has for him. She thinks on it for a second, before delivering the ancient proverb: "Tread lightly who lives in hope of pussy." That's straight out of Pilgrim's Progress, right? Bullock, a few steps away, has to clench hard to keep from laughing.
Suddenly, it's night, and Leon and Con Stapleton are on reconnaissance, trying to get first-person testimonials about the glories of the ancient Chinese secret. They see a man coming out of one of the girls' huts, or boxes, or whatever horrible contraption they have them in, "walkin' like a man relieved." They leap on the guy and pull him in to a one-man focus group. They're "eager to know the result" of his time with the girl. "Was it worth the fuckin' dime?" Leon asks in frustration. "It was well worth the dime," the dude tells them. As a matter of fact, there's a long line that's formed all the way down to the creek of men waiting their turns. Apparently, Mr. Lee is keeping it in order. The goons are surprised and alarmed at this news. "Well, a lot of fellas, you know, are outpaced by white pussy's price," the guy tells them, and walks away as they boil over that Lee is stealing their thunder. Stapleton points out that Lee's better suited at managing this situation than the two of them combined: "Fluent in both languages, and don't mind standin' in filth."
Back at the Gem, Al is in his office, talking, it seems, to himself. His soliloquy is full of portent and metaphor, hitting the highlights of several issues now plaguing members of the camp. "A man -- as it happens, a rival of mine -- learning the secret of a great man's lieutenant, would make that lieutenant his slave." This is a roundabout way of recapping Cy's situation with Wolcott, lieutenant of Hearst, whom he meant to blackmail into doing his bidding. "My rival knows that expanding the circle of the informed, dilutin' his power, will confound his intentions, so he takes precaution to be sole sharer of the secret." Here, Al does a shot and has a chuckle to celebrate what comes : "And the world bein' the world, along comes a half-ass knight-errant, Utter...to put all my rival's plans at risk." I'd like to type out the whole monologue, here, as it is Hamletian in its brilliance, but y'all, this ain't no transcript. Here's another little secret: Al's really talking to...a box. What's in the box, you ask? Remember way on way back when, when Al put a reward on the head of any Indian anyone could kill and someone rode into town, whooping it up and waving a head? The HEAD is in the BOX. Yes. And Al is in conference with the head. He is proud of himself for saving it all these months so that he can now use it as a prop and ploy to draw Utter out on the details of his fight with Wolcott. It's wrapped up neatly in the box, so I don't know why he has to take the actual head down to Charlie's little mailhouse, but he's going to. However, as he tells the box, "I have no plans of us partin' company. As you will note, I have inscribed no address."
Speaking of Charlie, he's tying one on down at the mailhouse when Jane rolls up. "Miss Here-She-Was, Where's-She-Gone," he says. "What's that to you?" Jane asks, much less obnoxiously than usual. It's only that he's got packages here, he tells her, that could have been halfway to Cheyenne by now if she'd been around on Tuesday to take them. She thought it was Tuesday. "It's fuckin' Thursday, Jane."
Jane is...messed up. Her face is bruised up bad and she doesn't know what day it is. Trying to placate Charlie, she tells him he looks his usual piece of shit. "Not you, Jane," he smarts back, seeing her bruises. "You look like dew on the fuckin' roses." Charlie's in a mean mood.
Jane tells him she woke up in the graveyard, not knowing whether it was dusk or dawn. Charlie tells her it was dusk. "I know it was dusk," she says, "because it's fuckin' night, now." He asks who dished out all the bruises, and she shakes her head. She doesn't know, or doesn't remember. "It's getting the upper fuckin' hand on me, Charlie." Charlie can't take it. He tells her to go on upstairs and clean up. Jane's unusually complacent, thanking him repeatedly, and not fighting him, as she usually might.
As she leaves, Al walks up with his box. Charlie tells him, greatly frustrated, that he's closed. "Banker's hours, huh?" Al jokes, and Charlie snorts. He asks Al where his package is going, anyway. "Jesus Christ," Al says, all ha-ha-ha fake, "she neglected to inscribe the address. Anyways..." Al abandons the chief for a moment to work on Charlie. He jumps right to the point: "As far as this morning in the thoroughfare, I'd have done the same fuckin' thing." Charlie says he's done fuckin' talking about it, but Al moves right along. "I don't care who he works for," he says in a conspiratorial tone, "you gave that cocksucker what he fucking needed, the sick fuckin' bastard." Charlie looks over at him, in silence. "I knew when I saw the wagon, for Christ's sake," Al goes on. Charlie buys it. "Poor fuckin' girl," he says, still disgusted. Al goes in for the kill: "Tolliver's whore... " Charlie says he's never seen a girl so distraught. "Wouldn't you be?" Al says, all deliciously like the serpent in Eden. "Bein' a man," Charlie says, "you believe you've seen the equal." Al shakes his head. "She told me, too," he says. DING! Charlie smells a rat. "She told you what?" he asks, rightly suspicious. "What she saw," Al answers, still confident he's pulling it over. Charlie squints a little, and says "She didn't SEE fuckin' nothin'." Al tries to save it: "No...I don't mean SEE in the sense of SEEIN'..." But Charlie ain't havin' it, now: "Get the fuck away from me."
Al knows when he's been beaten. "Yeah, right," he says, taking up his box and heading back to the Gem, "let me get this address put on..." Walkin' away, he makes a quiet aside to his silent partner: "Every fracas ain't a victory, chief."
Now, you know the man just wants a little quiet time with his...severed Indian head in a box...is that too much to ask? I guess so, because E.B., seeing him in the thoroughfare, nearly knocks himself out rushing over to kiss his ass. These two don't have to mince words, and E.B. gets right to it. "Why, Al?" he asks. "Why, E.B.?" the boss answers. "Because bein' present at that meetin', and made as you are, blackmail would have proved irresistible, and pursuin' it, would have gotten you murdered." E.B.: "Thank you, then! Am I still the mayor?" Al: "For all of me, in perpetuity!" E.B. smiles. He just wants to be included, you know?
I am liking the way this episode was directed, by the way. It's less scene/scene/scene than usual. In most instances this week, a character will pull through two adjacent scenes, giving a sense of continual arc that we don't get every week. For example, Al now leaves E.B. in the street and walks into the Gem to be greeted by Johnny: "Full fuckin' day, eh boss?" Al says every day is a full fuckin' day. "Still got that package, I see," Johnny says. "Nothing gets by you, Johnny," Al answers, but not quite as mean as usual. Despite being rebuffed by Charlie, Al is really enjoying his night. Dan is there, and tells Al he'll be heading to Cheyenne tomorrow to round up that "muscle" Al wanted. "Don't think that's the idea, anymore, Dan," Al tells him, to Dan's obvious surprise. "What happened to Tolliver," Al explains, "illustrated 'til it's fuckin' finished, never mark the fuckin' wager paid." Dan doesn't follow, and Al is only too happy to explain. Cy woke up this morning, Al says, all mobbed up with these Hearst people, thinking he had Al and his crew "by the balls" and assuming he would soon gain power in the camp. "Whatever sick fuckin' business that geologist has transacted," he continues, "you can bet [Cy] had his wrists in it, before, after and in the fuckin' middle, too." There is true beauty, here, watching Johnny and Dan try to figure out what Al is talking about.
"Underwriting whatever sick business that fucking geologist was involved in," Al goes on, "guarantees [Cy's] fuckin' position... but what fuckin' happens, Dan?" Dan's eyes get big and he takes a crack at it: "Fucks himself up the ass, Tolliver." Al raises his glass to this correct answer: "No mean feat. Yet, how often we bring it off." Johnny also looks terrified, listening to Al -- he's just trying to hang on and understand all these words. I feel you, Johnny. And Al's still not finished. Al says the person who impressed him the most at the meeting today was Bullock, who avoided putting his pet interests ("innocence, so forth, guilt, fuckin' who did what to fuckin' who") above the needs of the camp. "It shows fuckin' progress," Al says, nodding and throwing back another shot or two. "Anyway," he says, picking up his package once again, "that's why Cheyenne's cancelled." Dan, at this point thoroughly confused, says, "I...I figured as much."
Over at the Bella Union, things are not pretty for Joanie. She's all drunked up, trying to put the moves on her friend, Jack, the bartender. She asks him if he wants to fuck her. "When haven't I?" Jack answers, clearly uncomfortable. Joanie wants to know if he'd pay for the pleasure. "Can I double your mark and call it a gift?" he asks. "That way, I can keep my illusions." Aw, man. Jack's like one of three nice guys in this whole damn place. Too bad he can't take her out of there before Cy oils up and "borrows" her away. He tells Joanie she seems "subdued." She sets the record straight: "I'm gettin' fucked up, Cy." That's as well may be, Cy says, but tells her she's not getting nearly as fucked up as Wolcott, who just that very day "got his balls beat by Charlie Utter." He then has the audacity to try to get into a poor-pitiful-me contest with Joanie. "Them that's dead is gone," he tells her. "Hell, you didn't have to see 'em...fuckin' throats cut. You didn't...clean up their gore." Now, Joanie may be drunk, but she's not stupid. "Don't tell me you cleaned up anyone's gore, Cy," she says, not even bracing for his guaranteed asshole reaction, which he indeed delivers, as expected.
"Your friend Maddie's problem, young lady," he snarks, "[she] didn't want to get old. Well, who the fuck does?" Joanie tells him to shut up, but he goes right on, saying that people with stamina and fortitude don't go around seeking out maniacs with straight razors to finish them off. She tells him again to stop talking, but he WILL NOT. "I won't stop talking," he says, glaring, "nor show the fuckin' future my neck. Nor I permit it in a fuckin' friend." He's getting nowhere with her, but keeps trying. He proposes that, together, they "wrestle the fucking future to the ground," and open the Chez Amie with all new stuff. She spurns this offer, without even bothering to speak. He sighs, and asks that she at least move back over to the Bella Union where he can protect her from Wolcott. She won't. He asks why she came there that night, then, if not to be protected. "I was just lookin' to turn a trick," Joanie says, and leaves Cy in the dust once more.
Charlie has steeled himself to the point where he can go and meet with Wolcott over this business of Wild Bill's last letter. Wolcott greets him politely, saying he can't guarantee the authenticity of the letter, though it seems to be so, and that surely Wild Bill "would want her to have it." Charlie: "To his wife, then?" Wolcott confirms this, and says that prudence dictates that he ask in return for the letter a full account of what Joanie must have told Charlie to cause the beatdown of earlier in the day. "The prudentest thing you can do is not name that girl again with me in the fuckin' room," Charlie says. Wolcott gets around it, asking if it was this "nameless she" who set Charlie on him. Charlie looks like he's about to reprise the earlier ass-kicking, and Wolcott holds him off by quoting passages of Bill's letter to his wife. Charlie realizes he's dealing with a loon, at this point, and closes the door, threatening to throw Wolcott out the window if he doesn't shut up. Wolcott again says he wants to know what Joanie told Charlie. "And I'm promisin', I'd sooner blow off your fuckin' head and take the fuckin' letter from your corpse than confide any fuckin' particulars..."
Wolcott: "...To me."
Charlie: "...To any-fuckin-one, when I give my word I wouldn't."
Wolcott sighs and removes Bill's letter from the desk, saying, "Thank you, Mr. Utter, that's what I wanted to know." Now, one might think he's relieved to learn that, though Charlie may know the details of the Chez Amie massacre, he will not spread it around camp. OR, one might surmise, if one thinks Wolcott is crazy enough, WHICH HE IS, that all he really wanted to know was IF Joanie said anything at all, and now he does, so he's going to kill her. We can only watch and wait.
In any case, he gives Charlie the letter, and the man is thrilled to receive it. He leans over Bill's handwriting, mourning the loss anew. Charlie turns to leave, and looks back at Wolcott sitting alone at his desk, holding his ribs. "Open or closed?" he asks, about the door, and Wolcott graciously asks that it be left open.
Also alone, and also in the open, is Joanie, back at the Chez Amie. She sits in the middle of her empty place, unprotected and without a friend.