In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description! Finished? Click here to close. Oh, how I have missed all these cocksuckers so very much. Things are progressing in Deadwood -- some for good, some for bad. There is, of course, a murder within the first minute, satisfying the tensions of our long hiatus. Joanie's new place is now being used as the schoolhouse and she, Jane, and Mose are hanging loose, spending their days wandering the town until they can return in the evenings. Joanie is in a bad way, not knowing what to do with herself, grudgingly tending to Cy (who is manipulatively lengthening his recovery from last season's stabbing), clinging to the Good Book. Hearst's machinations are in full swing as he moves to control the goings-on in camp. Al ain't having it, however. Nor is Bullock, who, though he tries to control himself, loses his temper in a meeting with Hearst, thinking E.B. has revealed secrets of his assignations with the former Mrs. G. He whips up on the innkeeper in a long-overdue beatdown. At their new house, Ellsworth discovers his wife in a faint. Doc puts her on complete bed rest in hopes that her baby will survive. Meanwhile, the camp readies itself for the upcoming elections -- all our faves are running for office (except Al, of course, who is entirely too brilliant to be a politician). Sol Star for Mayor! Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Welcome back, you cocksuckers, one and all. What a long and dusty hiatus we have suffered without our brethren in fucking arms. It's a new day in Deadwood -- six weeks since we last saw the camp -- and Al steps out on his balcony to observe the thoroughfare. To my great delight, he appears to be seriously ticked off, just how we like him.
Below, Dan has come out the front door of the Gem, warily watching something going on inside as he looks up to tell Al that events at the bar are "fixin' toward a bloody outcome." Al knows. "Absentin' myself," he says, "don't change your fuckin' instructions." Dan sighs and goes back in where some dirty guys are chatting away in Cornish, which has got to be just about the craziest language ever spoken by white people, and are being nonsensically harassed by some goon in a bowler who keeps disturbing their conversation by raising his glass and saying "parp" over and over again. According to my extensive searching on the origins of the word parp and what it might have meant to a Cornishman in the 1800s...I don't know. Allegedly, it now is used by the English as slang for "utter garbage" or, in one definition I found, to mean "an odorless bum whistle." That one's for you, Glark.
Anyway, these Cornish guys at the bar are getting irritated, and Dan is watching it all go down, growing more and more concerned as they approach the inevitable outcome. He twitches at Johnny, who is holding a gun under the bar trained on the parp guy who has now ramped up his insults to include such obscenities as "whoop goggle, boop, boop!" The Cornishmen have had enough and turn to face their verbal assailant. Johnny looks again to Dan who signals for him to stay cool, but tensions barely have time to mount before the bowler hat shoots the middle Cornishman right in the parp, killing him. "HEY!" Dan yells. "He come at me," the bowler hat says, "with his foreign gibberish." Uh, whatever. While that may technically be true, Dan doesn't like unnecessary murders in the joint, and he commands everyone to get the fuck out. "G'day sir," bowler says with a questionable Irish accent and leaves with his backup henchman as Dan nearly grinds down his own teeth. Al steps out from his office now and observes the dead body. "Wu's out of camp," Johnny says, noting that their usual method of human disposal is unavailable. Al tells them to store the guy in the ice house and turns and slams his door.
Over at the sheriff's house, Bullock is fretting about his upcoming speech for the elections soon to be held. He asks his wife to look over what he's written and find any "words doing the wrong job, piling on too heavy or at odds over meaning..." Now, however, will a member of this cast recognize words that pile on too heavy? Shit, how much heavier could they possibly pile on? At this point, you'd have to drop a full, leather-bound set of the OED on these mofos before they could acknowledge heavy wording. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, though sometimes my hands get tired. Mrs. Bullock says she'll be happy to look it over. "Nothin' too showy," he says, "is the main thing." Cute. It's cool to see Bullock somewhat relaxed -- this makes me even more upset about the news of Deadwood's being denied a fourth season. Olyphant might have finally gotten stuff to do besides hanging out in perma-clench with his mustache leaping about in snit. Cringing, but grateful, he tells her he's much obliged. Meanwhile, across town, Deadwood's favorite newlyweds, the Ellsworths, are getting settled in their home. I guess it's a new house, because Alma is, when not blanching from her pregnancy nausea, ordering Ellsworth around, telling him just where to put the furniture. Sophia quietly plays with a doll while Ellsworth heaves the settee back and forth, never getting it right, but not complaining. Though she is wearing an absolutely stunning dress, Alma doesn't look too good. Sighing, she apologizes in advance for what she's about to ask. "She wants to try it on the ceiling," Ellsworth interrupts, winking at Sophia, who smiles conspiratorially. But no, Mrs. E just wants him to go and get a coverlet out of their things stored at the hotel. It will look good with the couch, she thinks. It's almost time, anyway, for him to walk Sophia to school. He asks if he can bring her back a sandwich or milk, but she blanches further and says no.
Outside, Bullock is escorting Martha through the thoroughfare. He cringes at the hustings being set up for the election speeches and says he'd sooner hang on them than stand on them to give a speech. "Nuttall's bartender's no hand at it, either," he says, speaking of his opponent. "We both may get pelted with refuse." Hee. Yeah, I'm guessing Deadwood is kind of a tough town for public speaking.
Alone in her house, standing at the window, Alma suddenly faints.
Back in the street, Ellsworth runs into the Bullocks and hands off Sophia who is delighted to see her teacher. "Will we bake bread again today?" she asks Mrs. Bullock. "Is it your vote we should?" the teacher asks. "Yes," Sophia answers in perfect English, "and Mr. Bullock for sheriff, and Mr. Star for mayor!" Aw. Little pollster. Ellsworth says that he's read in the paper about Bullock's busy schedule that day. Bullock again clenches in dread of the hustings. "As to your meeting with Hearst," Ellsworth adds, "if the chance comes up natural, stomp on the cocksucker's foot." Bullock seems to look forward to that possibility.
Joanie comes out of what once was the Chez Amie, says good morning to Mose who is sitting outside on the porch, and heads down the street. "Off to the Bella Union like the moth to the fuckin' flame," a drunken Calamity Jane says from where she sits door. They don't explain it outright, but Joanie has apparently loaned the Chez Amie building out to be used as the school. Mose gets uppity and says that Miss Stubbs didn't name her destination. Jane doesn't like that. She also doesn't like that Mose is sitting around Joanie's place, not looking for "honest work." Mose: "Miss Stubbs holds what I'm doing for honest." Jane huffs. "She no more needs you as a watchman than she does a fucking balloonist," she says, killing me. "And why should the young of this camp have to scurry past your man-toad figure to receive an education?" Now, Pruitt Taylor Vince, who plays Mose Manual, is a fine actor, to be sure, but he might as well be asleep in this scene because Robin Weigart is too fantastic for words. Man-toad figure! Her greatness distracts from the larger point -- why does Mose need any kind of work, anyway? Did he not kill his own brother in order to sell his claim to Cy via Wolcott who harangued him into getting himself shot after which being saved from certain death by the begrudging ministrations of Doc, Joanie and Jane? Did I miss the part where he lost all his money? Probably. I thank you in advance for your emails.
They keep up their bitching -- she continues to snipe at him for being gross and scary, and he suggests she go and get her load on. "Do not instruct me how to spend my day!" she hollers. "Or to itemize for you my private itinerary!" Ah, yes. Jane's Private Itinerary. 8 AM: Awake with face in mud. 8:30 AM: Hazily recall night's events; loudly curse horse for robbing her blind in that poker game. 9:15 AM: Piss self. Noon: Lunch in the woods. Berries again?! 3:20 PM: Get load on; abuse Charlie. Pine for Joanie. 11 PM: The night is young; piss self; disco nap.
The Bullocks and Sophia continue their trip across the thoroughfare, nodding to Joanie, ignoring the hustings, when they are accosted by a voice from on high. It's Al, on the balcony. He asks Bullock to come by and see him. The sheriff explains that after he sees Mrs. B to school, he has a meeting scheduled with Hearst. "Very much what I'd have us speak of," Al says, pointedly, and Bullock nods his assent. They walk past Charlie's store where he is practicing his own election speech. He's so nervous about it, he's written his opening line on his hand. "Thank you..." he reads, "thank you for the introduction, Sheriff." Geez. All these tough guys who, even the good among them, have beaten and killed fellow human beings...they can't even give a dang speech? Is someone going to have to start a damn Toastmasters Club in Deadwood? Pardon me while I laugh for about an hour at the thought of that. Oh my God, can you even imagine it? Signs nailed up all over town about Monday night's topic: Fuck Them Before They Fuck You -- Five Steps to Confident Communication in the Workplace.
Charlie nervously says his hellos to the Bullocks and compliments Sophia on her "lovely goin'-to-school outfit." Quietly, he gives the sheriff a rundown of what went on that morning with the Cornish dudes at the Gem. Bullock asks if it was Dan who did the killing. "The complainants can't speak right," Charlie says, "so I had to have them play act, but I'm guessing no." Charlie says the guys have already gone back to Hearst's shafts where they work. The other school children wander up (from God knows where, belonging to God knows who) and join Mrs. Bullock and Sophia who take their leave from the sheriff. Across the way, Mose sees them coming and hauls up his man-toad figure to be gone before they arrive. For good measure, Jane, who is also watching, flips Charlie an angry bird.
E.B. and Richardson are at the hotel picking up the breakfast scraps. E.B. asks his poor slave if he'll be attending the speeches. "If you'll let me," Richardson says. "Of course I will," E.B. chuckles like an evil stepmother. "How else are you to vote with intelligence?" Even Richardson in his wretched state has the wherewithal to look offended. E.B. goes on, saying he intends to let his illustrious tenure as mayor speak for itself. Um...maybe not the best idea, E.B., or then again maybe you're right in thinking that the less you say, the better. During E.B.'s ruminations, Richardson nods along, surreptitiously shoving breakfast scraps into his mouth. E.B. catches him and smacks his hand with the ladle. "I caught you, Richardson," he says, "stuffing spit-backs in your vile maw. 'Let tomorrow's omelets go empty.' Is that your fuckin' attitude?" GAG. "You hurted me," Richardson complains, but E.B. has no sympathy. "Wash and stack, shit monkey," he says, "or ready yourself for worse." Not that I ate many before, but I won't be having an omelet any time soon, you can bet your ass.
At the Bella Union, Leon and Con Stapleton, Cy's ultimate goon squad, are in the cashier's cage when Joanie comes in. Someone must have gotten my memo about Con's dumb hat of the last seasons, because he's not wearing it anymore. Of course, his Fat-Elvis-era pompadour is not exactly winning any awards, either. "Florence Nightingale," Con drones as he sees Joanie heading for Cy's room. Leon, who is twitchy for his drug fix, picks a fight, saying Flo. N. is a nurse. "I know that, you ignorant cocksucker," Con shoots back. "Joanie Stubbs," Leon continues, "is a cocksucker." Con sighs. "I know that, you ignorant fuck," he says, forcing a smile for the customers. "Don't be sweatin' all over the gentleman's money!"
At Deadwood's former high class brothel, the camp's school children recite the Lord's Prayer.
Upstairs at the Bella Union, Joanie walks in the whore's lounge to find it in complete disarray. One of the girls is smoking, Lila's passed out from dope, everything's a mess, and Joanie is pissed. She snaps at Tess (played by Powers Boothe's daughter, Parisse), quizzing her on the steps she's supposed take every night before she goes to bed. Her body's supposed to be clean as is the room where she receives. Shoving her aside, Joanie rails at Lila, who gurgles out that the step is to clean the room where they rest. "And don't it fuckin' stink in here?!" Joanie rages. She's so mad that she grabs Lila up and shoves her out the door, telling her to get out. Turning back around to grab a pitcher of water to take to Cy, she tells all the girls that when she gets back that night they had better be sweet enough for her to fuck, herself, and threatens to throw them all out if not. She slams out of the room, and Tess sighs to the others that Joanie will probably let Lila stay.
Lord only knows why, but Joanie enters Cy's room to be subjected to his Shakespearean illness. He does everything he can to gain her sympathies while she straightens up the room, obviously repelled by him and frustrated with the crappy turn the Bella Union (and her life) has taken. He asks how the action is outside and drawls that he guesses she's checked in on the whores. She sighs. "You might've mistook, Cy," she tells him, "picking Tess over Lila to see to 'em." He says that Lila's on the needle. Pitifully, Joanie says that Tess isn't picking up the bit, giving Cy an opening to counter that Tess is probably unsure of her place, what with Joanie in and out of their lives. She's heard enough and jumps up, saying there's fresh water on the side table and that she's leaving. Cy pulls a full-on Redd Foxx. "Where's my Good Book, honey?" he cries, as she practically races out of the room. She doesn't even give him the chance to get into his poor-me act before slamming the door.
We jump to the Gem and I nearly have to lie down when we see a close-up of Adams, who is in a meeting with Al. I have missed his bearded hotness, lo these many months. Al wants him, for reasons not yet clear, to sell his house to Sol. As they descend the Gem staircase, Al goes over his master plan: He wants Adams to pretend to Sol that he is freaking out over debts and wants to be released from his mortgage, which Sol's bank holds. "What if he don't foreclose?" Adams asks. "Oh, you beg him to buy you out," Al says. "You may harm yourself! You're up all hours....'What have I fuckin' done?' or the like." He goes on, suggesting that Adams threaten to commit suicide if Sol doesn't agree immediately. I guess nobody in Deadwood is worried about their bad credit rating. The necessary fuckin' conclusion to all this, Al says, is that Sol should end up owning the house. "COFFEE!" he yells, arriving downstairs. Jewel, who is on her knees scrubbing the morning's fresh Cornish bloodstain, shoots back that it's ready. Al bitches at Jewel for spilling a little coffee on his hand as she pours. She kind of snits at him, so he waits for her to get back down on the floor before demanding bacon and eggs. "You could have said that," Jewel says, slamming her brush back into the bucket, "before I went down." Sighing in remembrance of bloodstains past, he throws himself upon the stain and begins to scrub. Adams gets quiet looking over his house note. "I liked living in that place," he says. Al doesn't even turn around. "What do I give a fuck?" he snarks, and Adams strides out without another word.
Scrubbing mightily, Al rhetorically asks Johnny and Dan why they didn't force the morning's murder to take place outside the Gem walls. He explains that the whole parping drama stank of a put up job. "I wanted to find out if we were meant for the venue," he says. Johnny does us the great favor now of explaining the whole event. Al busts him for it, of course, but come on, Al. This is why Johnny's on the show -- to be the dumbass vehicle by which the rest of us dumbasses come to understand what's going on. Johnny says that whoever put up the job must be dumb (as he ought to know) because the Cornish work for Hearst. "Murder a Cornish," he says matter-of-factly, "and you buy Hearst for an enemy." Uh, thanks Johnny. Al, still scrubbing, rolls his eyes, sarcastically calling Johnny a fucking miracle for this bit of genius. "It's close to a mortal certainty," Al says, "he ordered the murder himself." Johnny: "Hearst?" Al: "SHUT UP!" Heeee. Frustrated by all the stupidness, Al redoubles his scrubbing efforts. "Stages a murder in my fuckin' joint," he says. "Wants Bullock to show his ass before he'll bless his fuckin' candidacy. What does he require of the weather?!" Poor Al. The thought that someone is trying to horn in on his own hard won schemes is absolutely galling. Continuing to mutter, he congratulates himself for yet again being so good at cleaning a fuckin' bloodstain.
Adams is over at the hardware store, putting on his show for Sol. Trixie watches with interest as Adams rants back and forth in mock torture over his homeownership responsibilities. "Oh! Take it off me!" he laments, putting a hand to his head. "Ain't there some way to take it off!" It's beautiful overacting and while Sol buys it, Trixie smirks, tells Sol that she has to take a piss and follows Adams outside. "Why not cork up and go on stage with that tragic, fuckin' minstrel turn?" she asks, arms folded. Adams asks if she's alone. "Yes, Miss Bernhardt," she says. "I am." Reluctantly, Adams tells her that Al wants Sol to take over his house. Trixie asks why. "Keep my ruddy color not askin' Al's reasons," Adams says.
At Shaunessey's boarding house, Joanie signs the ledger while the proprietor twitches and fusses. She looks up to see a sign nailed to the post. It is inscribed with a verse from John about the truth setting you free. Poor Joanie, laboring along and dragging this Biblical anvil behind her. Shaunessey snits to her about leaving the room in disarray when she was there before. Joanie denies this, saying she only sat on the bed for a few hours last time she was there. "Yes, yes, yes," he smarts. "Very likely." Joanie's had enough. Instead of jerking the little queen by his purple shirt, she merely slams his ledger to the ground. Seeing that he might be about to lose two dollars, he quickly hands over a room key.
Back at the Gem, Trixie has come to get to the bottom of this house bidness. Al says Sol needs the house because he's running for office, now. "He can't whore-fuck no longer with impunity," he says. Trixie is incredulous. "Who says I want to live in that house?" she asks. This leads me to wonder why she wouldn't want to live in that, or any, house. I mean, maybe she sleeps at the hardware store now, but uh...didn't she used to sleep at the Gem? Which is gross? And just how great is that hardware store bed? Anyway, she needn't worry as Al explains with a cute Irish lilt that she will now be "installin' at fuckin' Shaunessey's." She refuses, calling it a shit hole, which may be true, though I can't imagine how it's worse than bunking down to Dolly. Al says that no, it's true, Shaunessey now being a bit richer since he cut a passage through the common wall his place shares with Sol's soon-to-be house. So, Al says, Sol and Trixie will now be able to "fall upon each other away from prying eyes." Very clever and very funny, Al, but, again, where are the Deadwoodians who care so deeply about Sol's romances that they would fail to vote for him over E.B.? Did Harriet Olsen move into town while we were on hiatus? Trixie's so mad she forgets for a moment that Al is the guy who has made a habit of standing on her neck and hisses: "FUCK YOU, Al. And fuck Shaunessey's! And fuck the passage into Adams's fuckin' house." She stomps out leaving Al to glance over at Dan and declare her a "loopy c*nt."
At the boarding house, Joanie sits on her bed, rocking and crying. Poor ol' Joanie. The only thing worse than living in Deadwood is not having anything to do to take your mind off of actually living there.
Ellsworth returns home to find Alma laid out on the floor, unconscious. He rushes out.
Trixie rages back into the hardware store. She waves Adams's loan papers at Sol, explaining the real deal. "Adams being nothing but [Al's] stalking horse since the gambit's fuckin' beginning." Sol remains confused, so she goes on. "You sign to take those over," she says. "We'll move in your twelve possessions; you'll be free to come and go by your own fuckin' front door." She only gets more angry as she continues. "And as you lay in your beddie-bye, I'll pop from the wall like Grandma Groundhog in a storybook and attend to your johnson, as he'd not see you jeopardize your mayor's campaign whore-fuckin' in your place of business." Sol remains in silent shock as she rants even further (and I have to just quote it all as Paula Malcomson lays it on in the performance of a lifetime). "And I'll have installed in room 3-fuckin'-C or the like, of Shaunessey's adjacent shitbox, that he's paid Shaunessey to cut a hole through to ease my fuckin' fuckin' you." Sol is still not quite there. "Swearengen has?" he asks, Johnny-style. Trixie loses it: "WHO the FUCK was I FUCKIN' talking' TO?" Poor Sol furrows his brows even closer. "I don't know," he says. "You said you'd just gone to piss." As mad as she is at him, Trixie must be feeling quite a bit of understanding for Al today. Dealing with people who are not as closely schooled in evil as you are can be frustrating.
Bullock walks into the Gem to ask Al about what happened there that morning. Al tries to give it the brush, saying he'd rather wait until his meeting with Hearst is over before he goes into it. Bullock doesn't get why, so Al has to explain it to him, though it's clear it pains him to do so. Must he give evil lessons all the live long day? He puts it to Bullock that maybe Hearst ordered the murder himself. Suppose, he says, the Cornishmen were thieves or worse, organizers. Bullock wonders why Hearst would have them killed in front of witnesses, then. Al says maybe Hearst wants to send the message that his power extends even to the Gem, and to test Bullock's willingness to bend to his will before backing his candidacy as sheriff. Bullock looks skeptical. "What we know, fuckin' Bullock," Al finally says, "is if when you two meet, Hearst does ask you to go easy and you, for love of his type, say 'fuck yourself,' no more illumination can come to us because you will have muddied the fuckin' waters." This, Al makes clear, is why he'd hoped Bullock would skirt the whole murder topic for now. Bullock can't even clench he's so confused and conflicted. He tells Al not to let the Cornishman get eaten before he can figure this out. Al nods. "And, as to your meeting with Hearst," he says as Bullock leaves the bar, "may I offer a fervent Godspeed and hopes for your fucking self-control!"
Joanie's room has grown dark. She rocks back and forth, praying. "What am I, Lord" she asks, "that I'm so helpless?" Gasping, she puts her little pistol to her head.
Bullock arrives at the Grand Central and walks past E.B. and Richardson without even glancing their way. "Bullock," E.B. snarks, laying on the gold panning analogies. "He ascends, Richardson! To be dug at, sifted and shoveled 'til his crucial vein is exposed. Then Hearst will empty him out."
E.B.'s got Hearst figured out pretty well, it seems. I ain't sayin' he's a gold-digger, but Hearst ain't messin' with no... well, wait, he's messing with everybody, actually. Upstairs, the big man sizes up the nervous sheriff. Bullock declines a drink and won't even take a seat while Hearst makes with the small talk. Bullock is so anxious, he unconsciously reveals his nervous tic, rubbing his nose whenever he feels his anger rising. Hearst mentions Mrs. Ellsworth and her impressive gold claim. "Do you suppose [her story's] future chapters might be written elsewhere than the hills?" he asks. Bullock has to take a moment. "What are your intentions?" he asks, trying to keep things friendly. Hearst says he'd like to shape Mrs. Ellsworth's holdings to her preferences, and he'd be grateful if Bullock passed on that info. Bullock does the sniffy nose clench thing again with such ferocity that Hearst asks if he needs a handkerchief. Bullock says no as Hearst smoothly moves on to the dead Cornishman, asking if Bullock has heard about it. Timothy Olyphant earns my eternal devotion with his pause and attempted innocent "...no..." Hearst explains that one of his workmen was killed in a "drunken shootout." Bullock: "Hm." Hearst asks how he'll deal with it, and Bullock says that depends on what it was about, who makes complaints, etc. Hearst seems disappointed by this answer, and says that he supposes one of the other Cornish might complain. "I'd need to hear what he said, then," Bullock says. "He may also indict the sunrise," Hearst says, "for men of that sort, events such as these are as natural." Bullock pauses again before making to leave with an "...anyways." Hearst goes in for the kill. He says he'd like to talk about Bullock's own ambitions as sheriff, that he'd like to back him in his election attempts as a thank-you for taking Mrs. Ellsworth his message. CLENCH! "I never said I'd take her your message," Bullock says, angrily. Hearst: "Are you saying now that you won't?" Bullock tells him to stay out of their fuckin' affairs. "Oh," Hearst says, knowingly. "Affairs of that sort are not my interest, Mr. Bullock. My only passion is the color." Bullock clenches out an enraged "excuse me" and heads out.
Downstairs, he comes upon the unsuspecting E.B. who makes the grievous error of speaking to him. Bullock goes straight for the slimeball, dragging him over the desk and giving him what is surely a long overdue beatdown. I mean a serious walloping. E.B. begs to know what he's done. "You told him," Bullock says smashing his face repeatedly. Seriously, it made me feel sorry for E.B., which I know is hard to believe. Richardson sees it all go down and rushes for Al. "The sheriff's killing the mayor," he says when he reaches the Gem, and Al goes straight to the scene of the thrashing. "Bullock! Bullock!" Al yells, trying to call him off and seeing Hearst observing the scene from the landing. "Why are you beating Farnum in Mr. Hearst's hotel?" I hate ingratiating Al. He should bow down to no man! He calls Hearst "sir" and asks if he should have E.B. seen to. "He seems to need that," Hearst says. Al makes like he is deferring to Bullock, asking if E.B. should be taken to the Gem. Bullock manages to clench out a "yes" and Johnny and Dan come in to carry the bloody E.B. away. "SHERIFF!" he has to yell one more time, stopping Bullock from kicking poor E.B. while he's so very down. Scraping once again, he tells Hearst he is much experienced in all this bullshit. "I haven't a doubt," Hearst says. Al asks for a meeting with Hearst later and leaves, muttering to the beleaguered Richardson that he saw fuckin' nothing.
At the Ellsworths, Doc is administering to Mrs. E. He hands her a familiar glass of laudanum, her old favorite. "No," she says, shaking. "I will not awaken that demon, Doctor." He smiles very kindly. "This has nothing to do with demons, Mrs. Ellsworth," he says. "This has to do with allaying the pain to get you through. Leave the demons to God, and trust the pain to me." She drinks it. Alma's back on the junk, y'all! Now, it makes her whisper, and you know I hate that, but it should make things interesting, at least.
Martha Bullock is working with her students on spelling and vocabulary. She reads them various sentences to test them like "A lady should not choose a man who chews tobacco." They write it out on their tablets while Jane and Mose spy from the windows. They argue, of course. Jane says she's only there to shit in the privy. "How's it feel to take one sittin' up," Mose spits. She sneaks another look as Martha continues her lessons. "The Jews burn sacrifices upon an altar of stone," she reads, and one little goody-two-shoes girl raises her hand to have her work checked. Mrs. Bullock explains to her about the difference between "altar" and "alter," which she has not understood. "It's not so important always to be right, Mary," she tells the disappointed child. "Or to be first." Coming to the sentence, she pauses and clears her throat, seemingly reluctant to read it. Still, she goes ahead: "Indians are sometimes very cruel."
Bullock is taking Al's counsel back at the Gem. He says he's pulling out as a candidate. He says Hearst will surely use his knowledge of Bullock's relationship with Alma as leverage against him to persuade her to sell. "Oh, best leave the camp entirely," Al snarks, "as penance for having a prick." Of course, Deadwood would have long ago been a ghost town if that were really the punishment for that offense. Johnny reports that E.B. has stopped bleeding so Al tells him he can put him up on the bed. "No grand gestures, fuckin' Bullock," he says to the sheriff, "until I've had my talk with Hearst. Do not fuckin' withdraw, and no more beating up on Farnum that has to run against Star." Bullock can't like taking these orders, but he swallows it all down and walks out.
Al turns to Dan to suss out this latest turn of events. He wonders if Hearst even really knew about the Bullock/Alma lovefest. "Hell of a beatin' for E.B. to take if he's innocent," Dan says. Al smirks. "Ah, he's still way ahead of the game," he says. Nonetheless, he goes on, they now have to work under the assumption that Hearst does know, since Bullock's drama queen performance surely tipped him off. Dan asks what Al's plan is. "Don't I yearn for the days," Al says, "a draw across the throat made fuckin' resolution." Dan narrows his eyes, thinking that maybe he's about to get an assignment, but no. Taking a swig of whiskey, Al says he's going to merely compose his thoughts, tropes, and gambits for the talk yet to come. Man, I don't even want to know what Al gets up to when he composes his tropes. The prospect frightens me even more than his gambits.
Back at the Ellsworth house, Doc gives Ellsworth the good news that Alma and the baby are all right for now. I don't know how he could possibly know that the baby is okay. I see no ultrasound machines in Deadwood. Sweet Ellsworth is very worried. Doc says that he needs to be strong and be sure that his wife rests and takes her medicine, her fear of it notwithstanding. Doc says he'll stick around until Ellsworth comes back from the school with Sophia and that he'll go later to get Trixie to help out with Alma. Why everybody else gets to give Trixie assorted jobs without even asking her, I don't know. Maybe that's why she's so pissed all the time.
Bullock arrives at Charlie's shop-slash-jail and sits himself down in the holding cell, sighing. Charlie shoots him a look, and Bullock finally shrugs. "I just beat Farnum," he says in a tone that suggests he can't even believe himself. "Meeting Hearst," he explains, "I got the idea someone told him bidness of mine." Charlie: "Figured it was Farnum? If it'd been me, I'd have gone ahead and killed him." Hee. Charlie's such a great friend. "I'm wondering now, if I might've mistook..." Bullock starts. Charlie interrupts: "Fuck Farnum, anyway!" Bullock sighs, frustrated with himself, continuing, "...if I tipped Hearst myself, is what I'm wondering now. And, of my temper, generally? I'm wonderin' about. As far as me running for office." Charlie suggests that maybe Bullock just doesn't want to speak that night. "I know I don't want to speak," he says. "I'm wondering if I ought to withdraw." Charlie talks him down. "Talkin' against my own interest," he says, "being that if you pull out I won't have to speak from the audience... far as conversin' with your rival, what's your best fuckin' experience?" Bullock says he guesses the most he's ever talked to him was when both he and Charlie talked to him that one time. "When he killed Bummer Dan by mistake," Charlie confirms, "and that was high fuckin' water." Charlie says that proves pretty well that Harry the bartender is dimwitted and that even a sheriff with a "shortish temper," which Charlie rightly says can be a plus in some situations, is better than a dimwitted one. Bullock can't quite contain a smile, and gets up to leave. He asks if Charlie's going to have dinner with them. "May be my last fuckin' meal if apoplexy takes me, off my nervousness" he says about the speeches.
Speaking of dimwits, the one we most love to hate, Steve, is down at Nuttall's right now, quizzing Harry on his platform as sheriff. Apparently, Harry is only in it to make himself known in the camp, a desire I can't understand. Steve wants to know that, should he become sheriff, if he would back Steve's common law attempt to claim ownership of Hostetler's abandoned livery. Harry says he knows Steve's put in a lot of work on the place, but he'd hold to the law, whatever statute applied. Steve rants about the how the statute should have to do with justice, but seeing as how he's partially responsible for all of Hostetler's problems, he's pretty much talking out his ass. "Hostetler ain't come back," Harry says. "Why think he ever will?" Steve gives him a hard look and speaks the truth of the ages: "Because," he says, "it's my family luck, over centuries, to get repeatedly fucked up the ass. And here, in this fucking camp, is where the chain gets fucking broken. And I'm asking if you, as sheriff will fucking stand with me!" Harry points out, sadly, that he is in face, not the sheriff, and that he has "problems enough today without kiting checks on tomorrow's." Nuttall rolls his eyes as Steve rants on and when he finally leaves, suggests that instead of running for office and tending bar, Harry just tend bar and let everybody punch him in the face. Poor Harry.
Jane quietly lingers around the schoolroom door until Martha invites her in. The teacher is shy with her, and mentions that several of the children have mentioned that their parents told them about Jane scouting for Custer. Jane, across the room, probably can't understand anyone unless they are drunk and yelling, and she tells Mrs. Bullock that she can't hear her. Martha repeats herself. "Not that the arrogant bastard ever heeded other's counsel," Jane says. Mrs. B asks if they can fashion a story together to tell the children about her experiences. "Uh, I best say no," Jane says. "My funds just now all go for liquor. I fine myself for swearing amongst the young, and just now I need my money for booze." Martha doesn't judge, and says they'd tell her story to avoid the fines. Jane is even more shy when someone is nice to her. She covers it by asking if the children are scared by Mose hanging around. Mrs. Bullock says no, they actually like him, and she does, too. "Well, he irritates the hell outta me!" Jane says. She is interrupted by Bullock coming in to escort Martha and scurries out as if she's afraid he'll arrest her.
Ellsworth sits in front of the fire with Sophia and explains that the doctor has said her mother will be all right. She needn't be worried that Mrs. Ellsworth will be suddenly taken, he says. It's a very tender scene, and it breaks my heart. Sophia is worried, but rallies herself to stick her tongue out as Trixie goes upstairs carrying a tray and bends to comfort Mrs. Ellsworth. She asks if Alma sincerely wants the baby to survive, if there's not some small part of her, deep down, that might not be relieved if something bad happens. "I want my baby," Alma says. "Then you're going to lay down and be spoiled," Trixie says, with renewed vigor, "and put off proving what else you can do until after you've popped out this kid."
On another sickbed -- actually, Al's bed -- across the way, E.B. struggles to right himself. As Al paces, he practices a revised election speech. "Voters of the camp, do you see come before you some swollen and dissolute stranger," he starts, before rising in a dramatic sweeping motion. "It is I, E.B. Farnum! Beaten past recognition by a candidate for another office." Al tells him to lie the fuck back and listen. "I need your truthful reply," he says. "Lie and I'll know it, and death will be no respite." My mother used to employ these same threats on me when I was a teenager, and I am living proof that they worked. Before Al can even go on, E.B. insists that he told Hearst nothing about Bullock and Alma. "I will profane your fuckin' remains, E.B.," Al says, using E.B.'s worst fears against him. "Gabriel's trumpet will produce you from the ass of a pig." Along with this nightmarish proposition, Al fixes E.B. with the Eyebrow of Truth and E.B. holds steady -- he didn't tell. Al believes him. "My pain is such," E.B. says, "that it gives me no solace." Al suggests he not blame Bullock for presuming he told, considering his fuckin' history. E.B. uses all his swollen features to look offended. "Anyways," Al says, "tonight's speeches are fuckin' cancelled. Nurse your fuckin' wounds." E.B.: "Thank you." Al: "I do not mean fuckin' here." E.B. makes a feeble gesture and says he needs to collect himself, but as soon as Al leaves, sits up and lets out a furious "cocksuckers!"
Downstairs, Al finds Merrick to tell him that the speeches are postponed. Merrick is upset, demanding explanation. This gets on Al's nerves. "Drink and fuck on the house," he says, "but do not attempt to detain me."
Joanie leaves her room at Shaunessey's and slams her two dollars on his counter. He queasily asks in what state of disarray she left the room. "No fucking 'disarray,'" she says, snarkily making fun of his prudishness. "But you nearly had brain on your walls." Seeing his alarm, she goes for the kill, leaning in and giving him a scary "ooo-oooh!" I love Joanie.
Al's at his big Hearst meeting, all magnanimous and attempting to feel out Hearst on the events of the day. They say so many damn words...sigh. Can I give you the gist without you thinking I'm cheating? I mean, hell, I'm on page nine million, here. Hearst's henchman, Captain Turner, looks on as the meeting goes on its slow decline. Al walks through all the options on the Cornishman's murder -- could have been a plot against Hearst, could have been a job arranged by Hearst. Ultimately, he doesn't care which it was. What he cares about, he says, is someone getting killed on his property without his prior knowledge and consent. "It puts me off my feed," he says. Hearst asks what the indicators are that he's off his feed. "You'll start to see me tearing things down," Al says, very pointedly adding that he's cancelled the speeches for that night. "Unless the insult's cured by tomorrow," he says, "they'll be further tearing down." He'll tear down not only the elections, for example, but the agreement with Yankton. "Let the camp return to its former repute," he says. "Unstable and unsafe for commerce." Hearst stands, upset. "I'm a great believer in those," he says. Steel in his voice, Hearst asks if he should perceive Al as dangerous to his interest. Al says he can't argue with dangerous, but that dangerous is different from powerful. "I'll not have myself called powerful in your company, or the Captain's," he says. Hearst, with great weight and meaning, says he then hopes that Al's insult is cured, "to spare the camp any danger...of however brief a duration." Satisfied, Al stands to go. "Once placated," he says, taking a shot of whiskey, "I'm meek as a babe." Downing his shot, he picks up a bottle of whiskey and chugs it to the bottom. "Dead," he says, in mock apology, and leaves Hearst his evil machinations to consider. He tells Captain Turner to bring in the dudes who did the Cornishman deal. "Perhaps they'll want to make another visit to the saloon."
On his way downstairs from this shit-stirring meeting, Al passes Richardson who has apparently not lost faith in his antler god. "Fuckin' pagan," Al drones without even slowing down. "Tell your god to ready for blood." Aw, man. It's ON. Finally, Al has a worthy opponent.
Night has fallen and dinner has ended at the Bullocks'. The sheriff looks on in amazement as Charlie and Sol quietly practice their speeches. Charlie, in particular, is hilarious trying to get his timing and look just right for his big line of "Thank you, Sheriff Bullock. Evening, everybody." Meanwhile, Sol is taking a rather Clintonian approach with his gestures as he rehearses a bit about citizenship. Bullock rolls his eyes. "Would you rather I didn't introduce you from the audience?" he asks Charlie. "Is it all so hard to remember?" Ugh, Bullock. Shut up! Charlie is trying! On top of his nerves about the speech, Sol is worried about the Adams house deal. Martha tells him it's a very pleasant house. "I never thought of myself as a homeowner," he shrugs, confused about what to do. "It's very, very spacious," Martha says, as if that settles things. They are all surprised when there's a loud knock on the door and a voice calls from outside: "It's Albert Swearengen!" Albert! I don't know why it never occurred to me that Al had like, an actual first name other than Al. Albert. That slays me. I mean, I know my name is Al, too, and my real name is Allison, but that has no impact compared with Al's name being Albert.
Sol goes to the door where Al announces that the speeches have been postponed. "Has Farnum turned for the worse?" Sol asks, worried, while in the background Charlie looks relieved. Al asks to borrow the sheriff for a moment and we cut away.
Joanie arrives back at her place now that the children have vacated and finds Jane, drunk and passed out. "Mrs. Bullock asks me to author with her to give the children an account of my scouting for Custer," she boozily says, lurching up. Joanie sweetly says she thinks she'd like to hear that story, herself. "Custer was a c*nt," Jane pronounces. "The end." Possibly not what Mrs. Bullock had in mind, but a good start. She looks down to see a wet spot on the floor where she had just been laid out. "Oh..." she says. "A piss puddle. Must not have seen that when seating myself." Joanie cuts through the bullshit: "Why're you drinking so much?" (I really can't say enough about how much I have come to really love Kim Dickens and Joanie. Early on in the show, I thought her acting was kind of dry, but now I get it.) Jane fixes her with as clear a look as she can manage. "I drink what I'm able," she says. "If that comes to much, that's the day's affairs, and the liquor's." She asks Joanie if she's going to return to the Bella Union to live and work. "Those girls need lookin' out for," she says, quietly. Jane, drunk as she is, puts it plainly: "And who will look out for you against that gut-stabbed cocksucker weaving schemes from his coming-to-Jesus?" Joanie very softly says that she doesn't know. "Why is everybody fuckin' whisperin' all of a sudden?!" Jane hollers. She straightens herself up and asks Joanie if she minds if she sleeps there tonight. Joanie says she'd be glad of that. "I don't know why you started sleeping outside again, anyway," she says. Jane crosses her arms. "Every day," she says, "takes figuring out all over again how to fuckin' live." Dear God, ain't it the truth? They say goodnight.
Outside, Al is telling Bullock about his meeting with his new nemesis, who he has nicknamed "Pain-in-the-Balls Hearst." Al can understand, he said, why Hearst runs his holdings and interests like a despot. After all, that's the way Al runs his business, as well. "But there's no practical need for him to run the fuckin' camp," he sighs as we see the camera pan across Hearst's rooms where he is meeting with the guys who committed the murder that morning. "That's out of scale. It's out of proportion, part of a warped, unnatural impulse...this fucking cocksucker!" He apologizes to Bullock for his outburst. "Shall I go back down with you?" Bullock asks his new, unlikely ally. "Won't be just now," Al says of the fight sure to come. "He'll be wanting to marshal his cutthroats." Well, Al ought to know something about cutthroat marshaling, after all. With this on his mind, he heads back into the thoroughfare on the way to the Gem. He turns over his shoulder to look at Bullock once more. "Do stay in hailing distance," he says, and watching him go, Bullock almost smiles.