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(Open in early morning, we see Al opening a door that
enters Merrick’s office via a 2nd floor balcony. Merrick is sitting
at his desk)
Al: Did
you know this fucking walkway connected us?
Merrick: Several of your patrons, in different stages of
undress, have illuminated me.
Al: (Closes
door) What happened there? (Noting the disarray, walks
downstairs)
Merrick:
Not only was my press disabled, but my office was ransacked and feces mounded in
the corner. A message of objection
to my handling of Yankton’s notice on the claims.
Al:
Posting rather than publishing, huh?
Merrick:
The camp’s new school teacher, a lovely woman, was so traumatized by what
happened that she left!
Al: Cy
Tolliver.
Merrick:
Who didn’t even trouble, when confronted, to deny it.
Al: (Sits, lets out a sigh) Why ain’t you up
and running again?
Merrick:
I’m in despair. The physical damage
is repairable, but the psychic wound may be permanent.
Al: (Leans forward, concern on his face.)
You ever been beaten, Merrick?
Merrick:
(Rolls his eyes) Once, when I thought
I had the smallpox, Doc Cochran slapped me in the face. (Al slaps him quickly, hard) Ah! (He stares at Al, touching his cheek – he
leans forward) Stop it, Al.
Al: Are
you dead?
Merrick:
Well, (touches cheek) I’m in pain,
but no, I’m obviously not dead.
Al: And
obviously you didn’t fucking die when the Doc slapped you.
Merrick:
No.
Al: So
including last night, that’s three fucking damage incidents that didn’t kill
you. Pain or damage don’t end the
world, or despair or fuckin’ beatin’s.
The world ends when you’re dead.
Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand
it like a man—and give some back.
(Merrick’s eyes meet Al’s – Al gets up, still staring
at Merrick as he leaves, going back up the stairs.)
(In the street, Charlie arrives in town on
horseback. He ties up his horse,
looking around).
(Cy’s office, Mr. Lee is
there.)
Cy: Do
you use pigs too, Lee, gettin’ rid of bodies, or some other disposal method? (Mr. Lee just stares at him. Cy chuckles) I don’t bandy my
secrets either.
(Joanie enters the Bella Union and approaches Jack at
the bar, an envelope in her hand.
She puts her hand on the bartop, Jack turns…)
Jack: Joanie.
Joanie: Thanks for the loan, Jack.
Jack: Sure.
Joanie: $100 extra is in the wrap… you’ll hurt my feelings
not to take.
(She heads to Cy’s office as Mr Lee is leaving – Con
& Leon watching her. Mr. Lee
tips his hat to her. Joanie enters Cy’s office.)
Leon:
(After Lee is gone)
What are you fuckin’ tippin’ your
hat at?
Con: Like
one human bein’ to another.
Leon:
Glorified fuckin’
monkey.
(Cy’s office)
Cy: Joanie Stubbs.
How’s things at your place?
Joanie: There’s just me left.
Cy: Hmm…I
see.
Joanie: (She sits)
Could you tell me what happened to
those girls?
Cy: All
six?
Joanie: I’m askin’ after my friend Maddie and Doris that you
sent to work with us, and a outside whore, pretty-looking like a doll, that far
as I know when I left Wolcott there last night to come and get you, was all
three still alive.
Cy: I’d
be curious what happened to the other three.
Joanie:
They’re sent away, Cy. Never to
return or be a problem. As I won’t
be either to you or Wolcott. And I
ask after Maddie and Doris and the outside girl not making a problem, but if
Wolcott killed ‘em and there’s remains, to see ‘em buried.
Cy:
There’s no remains.
Joanie:
(pauses) All
right.
Cy: And
you’re there now by yourself—Chez Amie.
It’s
no picnic, is it, Honey, running pussy? (She gets up and
leaves.)
(Wolcott’s room, he is preparing to shave.Looking at
himself in the mirror, he raises the razor to his cheek, then stops and places
it at his neck as though to slit his own throat. After a moment, he lowers the
razor )
(Al’s office, he’s doing deep knee bends, as there’s
a knock…)
EB: It’s
E.B., Al.
Al: Yeah,
come in.
EB: (He opens
the door) Morning,
Al.
Al: Request of the Widow Garret, E.B., (he starts walking back and forth as though
exercising, E.B. follows him) that I may be allowed to pay a call on
her.
EB:
Today? Shall I tell her time is of
the essence?
Al: When
ain’t it? (stops, turns, continues
pacing) Ahh!
EB: I’ll
aim for early afternoon.
Al: Stop
walking with me, E.B.!
EB: Yes,
of course. (he pauses, Al is still pacing.) And if
she pries and pokes and prods me to elicit your
intentions?
Al: (Stops - standing in front of E.B.) Tell
her I wouldn’t say.
EB: (Smiles)
And if she asks me why you
wouldn’t?
Al: (Yelling,
holding the door open) Say you’re a
pain in my balls that can’t desist from inquiry till told to shut his fucking
mouth and act on the task he was asked to fucking do!
EB: Yes,
sir. Fine. Thank you. (He leaves, Al slams the door behind
him.)
(Joanie walks down the street and enters Utter’s
freight building)
Charlie: (standing)
Hello.
Joanie: It was bad.
There’s three gone. I know
it was bad.
Charlie:
If you mean the three I saw off, I’m certain they’re safe.
Joanie:
No, they’re dead.
Charlie:
A different three?
Joanie:
My partner and two girls.
Charlie:
Of what, Miss Stubbs?
Joanie:
They’d been killed. (She steps down the inner stairs to stand in
front of Charlie) And she musta—come here for that, ‘cause she woulda shot
him and not been scared. She wasn’t
scared of any man—the first I ever met.
Charlie:
I see.
Joanie:
My momma feared my Daddy and I did and my sisters too. I never met a girl till Maddie that
wasn’t afraid of men.
Charlie:
And Maddie’s dead now?
Joanie:
(nodding) And Carrie, her girl she
brought, and Doris, who Cy made come with us to spy. And the- and the place empty—of any sign
that they was ever born or lived or got killed.
Charlie: And it was Cy Tolliver killed
them?
Joanie:
No. It was a man named Wolcott
killed ‘em…that works for George Hearst.
Charlie:
Why?
Joanie:
I
don’t know that. I’m not a
man.
Charlie:
I believe I know Wolcott to look at.
Joanie:
It’s a secret, Charlie. It’s only
between us. I told you as a
friend.
Charlie:
And that’s how I heard it. I’m your
friend. (Joanie starts to cry) Don’t
ever walk past me.
(Charlie slowly approaches her, pulling her gently
into a hug.)
(Bella Union, Con & Leon are talking to
Cy.)
Con: Them
Chinks ain’t pullin’, Mr. T.
Leon: Even at a dime
a fuck!
Cy: Well,
what’s been your approach?
Con: (Looks at Leon) Cost, primarily.
Uh…inexpensiveness.
Leon:
The
dime.
Cy: I‘d
go with the strangeness, boys. Take
it head on, turn it to your fuckin’ advantage. Ah…”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.”
Con:
We are
dwarfs in the company of a giant.
(Grand Central dining room, there’s a long line for
breakfast. Charlie is in line behind Wolcott)
Charlie: Mind where you stomp your fuckin’
feet!
Wolcott: (half
turns) Are you—are you addressing
me?
Charlie: Too late to catch the one who taught you your fuckin’
manners!
(E.B. brings a plate over to Alma and Sophia who are
seated)
Alma:
Mr.
Farnum?
EB: (sets the plate down in front of Sophia)
A selection of choice humbles for the little girl. (Sophia sniffs it and makes a face) How
adorably she sniffs at the tang of freshness in the
kidneys.
Alma:
We’ve finished our meal, Mr.
Farnum. (Stands)
(Charlie exhales deeply through his nose, breathing
down Wolcott’s neck. He sniffs)
EB: Mrs.
Garret! Uh…here. (Hands plate to Richardson) Mr.
Swearengen, Ma’am, uh…with whom your deceased husband had acquaintance, though I
believe you yourself did not, requests an interview. (Wolcott half turns to Charlie…)
Alma: (pauses – she seems surprised) Tell Mr.
Swearengen I will receive him at 2:00.
(She and Sophia head upstairs)
EB:
Uh,
a penny for your thoughts.
Alma: I’m glad to be
leaving your company.
EB: And
as to the purpose of the meeting?
Alma: Didn’t Mr.
Swearengen confide? (We see Wolcott turn
again and look at Charlie)
EB: (Pauses) He hasn’t been
well.
Charlie: That’s twice you’ve fuckin’ stared at
me!
Wolcott: I feel you breathing on my
neck.
Charlie:
Should I exhale out my ass?
Wolcott: And I believe you’re doing it
intentionally.
Charlie:
Why? You think I believe you’re a
fuckin’ cunt?
Wolcott:
If we fight, it won’t be a casual matter.
Charlie:
Oh, I see you’ve got your big fuckin’ knife there. And
hid somewhere on your persons you’ve probably got some pussified shootin’
instrument. But I am good at
first impressions, and you are a fucking cunt! And I doubt you’ve fought many men, (Wolcott takes off his hat) maybe even
one! (He grabs Wolcott by the lapels and
drags him outside, pushing him into the mud.) Take a beatin’! (He kicks Wolcott in the ass and sends him
deeper into the mud) And know how it fuckin’ feels to be helpless…(punch) and have no one fucking stick up
for you! (Cy comes out to watch, Charlie
kicks Wolcott in the side, Cy looks at his henchman and shakes his head.)
Come on!
Cy: I’ll
be at Swearengen’s place.
(Con & Leon come out to watch, Charlie is beating
Wolcott severely. Sol notices the commotion, and finally Seth does too. Seth
goes out to Charlie)
Seth: Charlie! (He
grabs Charlie from behind, restraining him) What did he do,
Charlie?
Charlie:
Personal fuckin’ bidness!
(Wolcott gets to his knees, blood dripping from his
face. In Al’s office, Johnny’s been
reporting from the balcony, he pokes his head inside to give Al the latest
update.)
Johnny: Bullock stepped in. Tolliver’s still headed towards us. (There’s a knock at the
door)
Al:
Yeah? (E.B. enters)
EB: (Smiling)
2:00, my hotel, the Widow Garret’s
suite.
Al: What
do you know of the fisticuffs?
EB: (His face falls) Amongst
who?
Johnny: Utter!
And that fella you was sitting with downstairs the other
day.
EB:
Wolcott? Just now, when I was
leaving the hotel, Wolcott had accidentally stepped on Utter’s
foot.
Johnny:
If Utter’s got corns, that might coulda touched it off.
Al: (Hears footsteps approach, Dan enters, he
looks at Dan) Tolliver wants to see me.
Dan: Uh…should I bring him up?
Al: Tell
him I’ll come down. (He gets up)
Charlie Utter drove a wagon out of camp last night, and that whore that used
to work for Tolliver was talking to someone hidden in the
wagon-bed.
EB: You
connect that with the beating in the thoroughfare?
Al:
Sooner than on Utter’s corns, hmm?
EB: I
will station myself downstairs as an observer.
Al: Yeah,
and I will urinate before meetin’ Tolliver, and I can avoid your fuckin’
hoverin’, huh?
(Johnny gets out of Al’s way and leaves. Al heads for the chamber
pot.)
(Seth still has Charlie restrained, now inside the
hardware store. Sol is standing at
the entrance, looking on.)
Charlie: Take your fuckin’ hands off me and I’ll take it
fuckin’ easy!
Seth:
Stay put?
Charlie:
Don’t fuckin’ order me around!
Seth: I’m
taking them off. (He lets go) Please
don’t go back outside. (Charlie collects himself, smoothing his
hair) What happened?
Charlie:
(panting) Cocksucker stepped on my
toe. (Sol and Seth just stare at
him.)
(Al makes his way downstairs,
slowly)
Cy: Movin’ somewhat rheumatic, young
man.
Jewel: God,
he’s always draggin’ that fuckin’ leg.
Al: (looking at Jewel) Early morning fuckin’
chill. (He leans on the bar)
Cy: In
which our Deputy Sheriff Utter just kicked the living crap out of a
citizen.
Al: How
does that impinge on men like us? (We see
E.B. eavesdropping.)
Cy:
Man beaten is Chief Geologist in the
Hearst operation.
Al:
Hearst of the Comstock.
Cy:
Hadn’t you heard at all they were around?
Al: Wrong
response no matter what the fuckin’ provocation.
Cy: (chuckling) Amen,
brother.
Al: (Eyes E.B.)
How do you suggest we
proceed?
Cy: (leans in
close) Maybe convene with Bullock
and Utter, discover the details.
Let it be known that’s the wrong ox to gore.
Al: (feigning
sincerity) I’ll
put together a sit-down. (Cy nods, turns,
and leaves. Dan approaches
Al.)
(Wolcott’s room, Doc is checking him
out.)
Wolcott: What can you tell me, Doctor, of the man with whom I
disagreed?
Doc: Richardson, who summoned me, said it was Charlie
Utter, used to be Wild Bill Hickok’s best friend.
Wolcott:
Oh, I see.
Doc:
Several of your ribs are broken. If
you wish to occupy yourself in plaster, I can make some
up.
Wolcott:
I’ll occupy myself otherwise. (Doc nods,
gets up and moves his chair aside, readies his bag to
leave.)
Doc:
My fee is $3.
Wolcott:
(Opening his purse) Does your path
cross Mr. Utter’s, Doctor?
Doc: Sometimes.
Wolcott: You might tell him—I own a letter said to be his best
friend’s last. (Doc looks over) If he
would call on me, I would consider giving it to him.
Doc: If I
do deliver the message…will there be a renewal of the
violence?
Wolcott:
Oh, I hope not, Doctor. I—I didn’t
do well in the original.
(Wolcott lays down, slowly, he’s obviously in a lot
of pain)
(Al, dressed up in his best suit and tie is crossing
the street, having a little difficulty walking in the muck. E.B. is at his desk
in the hotel and greets Al.)
EB: Al. A
new suit?
Al:
No.
EB: The
ruddy health of your complexion may bring the pattern out differently. (Al starts heading upstairs) I’ll see
you to the widow’s chambers.
Al: Go
back. (waves EB away)
EB:
Of course. Room 2 on the left. (Stomps his foot) Hearst’s man
convalesces just to your right.
Al: One
thing at a time, huh?
(Al fixes his jacket, dabs the sweat off his brow,
knocks on the door. Alma opens the
door)
Alma:
Mr.
Swearengen.
Al: Mrs.
Garret. How do you do? Thanks for seeing me. (She turns and enters the room, Al follows,
shutting the door.)
Alma: Will you sit down? (We see Sofia on the bed, turn and look at
the visitor.)
Al: (sitting)
Late congratulations on the claim
provin’ out. (Sofia looks at Al) I had urged patience
on your husband before he had his mishap.
Alma:
And yet I’ve always assumed
after my husband’s death you tried to buy from me through Mr. Farnum. (Sofia approaches
Alma)
Sofia: May I go downstairs?
Alma: Mr.
Swearengen’s only come to talk, Sofia.
You read in here. (She leads Sofia
back to the bedroom, partially closing the doors behind her.) You frighten
her.
Alma: I
think specifically it was your plotting against her life.
Al: I’d
take tea.
Alma:
What do you wish to discuss?
Al: The
child’s tutor you recently sacked.
Alma:
Miss Isringhausen?
Al: She’s
a Pinkerton.
Alma: I
don’t find that credible.
Al:
That’s the way they like it. Your
husband’s family chartered the agency to pin his dying on you, so when you’re
jailed or hanged, they can bag your gold.
Alma: How
do you support this contention?
Al: Oh,
she’s come to me and wants to give me money to confirm what she says you confessed—that you hired me to kill
him.
Alma: (pauses) How much have they
offered?
Al: 50,000.
Alma: And
how much do you ask of me as commission to tell the truth?
Al: I
don’t like the Pinkertons. They’re
muscle for the bosses, as if the bosses ain’t got enough
edge…
Alma:
(interrupting) So you’d side with me on principle?
Al: Now
I’ll finish my fucking sentence.
Alma:
Excuse me.
Al: (nods) I don’t like the Pinkertons. Bein’ the Hearst combine and their
fucking ilk got their eyes on taking over here, your staying suits my
purpose.
Alma: As
much as you can, please minimize you obscenities. (Al narrows his eyes) Before
“ilk”.
Al:
Anyways…those are my prejudices and personal interests for siding with you. Also…if you want to match their 50,
that‘d be between you and your god.
Alma: And
what warrant would I have against repetitions of this
interview?
Al: Oh,
I’d have them write their offer out and their terms, and make them sign it. Pinkerton himself, that cocksucker, I
hate that bastard.
Alma:
Please.
Al: (pauses) I’d make him write out their
offer with their terms and sign it, and I’d turn the document over to you to use
as evidence against them if they ever came against you.
Alma: (pauses)
Let me consider…(They stand, face to face)
Al:
You’ll tell that child no hard feelings, hmm? (He turns to
leave)
Alma: What tea do you enjoy?
Al: (turns back) I
like that fucking black Darjeeling.
Oh.
(He puts a finger to his
lips)
(Al comes downstairs, E.B. is busying
himself)
EB: Have
we a new pope?
Al: She’s
some fuck, E.B. (E.B. laughs. Al leaves.)
(Nuttall’s No.10, Rutherford, Nuttall, Leon, Con,
Hawkeye and some others are all there talking…)
Man: I
won’t fuck Chinese. I got a mother
living yet.
Hawkeye:
She
the jealous type?
Rutherford: You
can’t deny it is off-puttin’. How
them Chinese girls’ quiffers –uh-don’t run quite plum. (Runs his hand at a slant)
Con:
That’s a fucking libel and a myth.
Man: They’ll never get my dime.
Leon:
Another round, Tom, for the board.
Tom:
You’re past due on three.
Rutherford: There are them as do fuck
squaws.
Leon: Pathfinders, I call them.
Hawkeye:
I call mine “Johnny Roger.” (drinks)
Con: You
ever hear, Tom, (stands) the Chinese
whore has a ancient way of milking ya of yer sorrow, your loneliness and that
awful feeling of bein’ forsaken? (Leon looks at Rutherford, who turns and
chews his cigar, another man sighs.)
Tom: Seems
to me that’d leave you with nothing.
(Hawkeye laughs, Con
sits.)
(Gem Saloon
Johnny, is ladling out canned peaches. Cy, Al, Bullock, Sol, Charlie, Doc and
Nuttall are seated at the table, Dan and Johnny are
watching.)
Cy: In
the thoroughfare this mornin’, an event transpired which cannot be
repeated. As the apostle had it,
time’s past for acting like infants.
I assume Mr. Utter was provoked, yet for the sake of us all, the man that
provoked him, employed by who he is, cannot be fucking
beaten.
Tom: What
was the provocation?
Charlie:
Hearst’s man stepped on my foot.
Cy:
Stepped on his foot.
Al: 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 used to work for
you, and how the morning’s shit-kicking resulted.
Cy: The
background of the beatin’ ain’t the point, no more than the incident’s
particulars, or how offensive if I knew them I might find the details
personally, the Hearst interest requires special treatment. And we can face up to that like men or
get steamrolled by the fuckin’ alternative.
Seth: Which is what?
Cy: Which
is them pissed off they ain’t gettin’ treated special. Replacin’ us that don’t with those who
fuckin’ will.
Tom: Did
he condescend, Deputy, to your yelp of fucking pain?
Cy: Jesus
Christ (Waving it off, he chuckles and
stands) Jesus fuckin’ Christ! I
don’t care what brought it on. Say
it as murder, or more ‘an one. (Al looks interested) George Hearst’s
Chief Geologist don’t get convicted of any crime in any court convened by
humans. (Seth looks at Charlie)
They’ll buy the judge, and if they can’t, they jury or witnesses. If not,
they’ll start into killin’. What
the fuck are we talkin’ about? Why
would we want to know?
Al: Well,
Cy…(eats a peach) all that geologist
did was step on Utter’s foot.
Cy: Are
we fuckin’ done here? ‘Cause if you
people ain’t, I fuckin’ am! (Takes a bowl
of peaches and slams it upside-down on the table. Johnny looks
dismayed.)
Al:
If Hearst’s geologist ain’t pursuing
remedies and Utter ain’t, that leaves you speaking for the camp. (He looks to Seth – Seth looks at Charlie,
Charlie looks away, Seth looks back to Al and shakes his head no Al slams his fist on the table.)
Adjourned!
Doc: (to Charlie as they get up to leave) He
wants to talk to you.
Charlie: Who?
Doc:
Wolcott.
Charlie:
We transacted our bidness.
Doc: He
says he has Hickok’s last letter. If you see him, he’ll give it to you. (Doc heads for the door, Cy by his
side.)
Cy:
Did I hear you say Wolcott wants to
see Utter?
(everyone leaves the Gem. At the hotel, EB is
watching out the front door)
EB: (Turning to
Richardson) The bald contempt of it.
(Turns back) Why not come out five
abreast, cavorting and taunting—“E.B. was left out. E.B. was left out.” Cocksuckers. Cunt-lickers. I’ll make ya fifty
gestures. (We see Sol walking.) Public service was
never my primary career. (Cy and Seth
walk out, Cy sighs.) Two come this way.
Cy: I
only hope, Sheriff, us having just come to fucking consensus, (seeing them approach, E.B. runs behind the
desk, kicking Richardson back to the kitchen) You intend no further worrying
on this matter.
Seth: I
don’t.
Cy: Or
for your own sake that you’re coming here to fuckin’ eat. (He chuckles – they step into the
hotel.)
EB:
Gentlemen.
Seth: Farnum.
EB: Come
from the gathering of the worthies.
(Cy stops a moment, Seth continues
up the stairs.) Whatever was purposed by your get-together at the Gem I hope
came to full fruition.
Cy:
Thanks. (Seth approaches Alma’s
door.)
EB:
I believe she’s in. (whispers) As is the child…which may
confound his intention. (He makes a
gesture to intimate fucking, Cy rolls his eyes.)
(Alma closes the bedroom door partially, smoothes her
hair and opens the door. Surprised
to see Seth standing there.)
Alma: Mr.
Bullock. Please come in. (He shuts the door behind
him.)
Seth:
I apologize for calling
unannounced.
Alma: You
find us in only mild disarray. (She moves
a book and a toy from a chair) Sofia has me for teacher now as well as
guardian.
(Seth picks up a doll from the other chair, Alma
grabs it from him. They sit, she
lays the doll across her lap.)
Seth: How
are you feeling?
Alma:
Well, thank you, as I hope you are and your family.
Seth:
We’re all very well. (Seth taps his hat and looks
away.)
Alma: I
feel…(Seth looks back) better lately
in the afternoons than in the morning.
Seth: Ah.
Alma: You
find the right time of day to surprise me. (pause) Mr. Star, with whom I met
yesterday, was not so fortunate.
Seth: Was
that a –morning meeting?
Alma: I
fell ill at its conclusion, or my falling ill was the conclusion’s cause. We discussed formation of a
bank.
Seth:
It’s an excellent idea, and Sol would be an excellent Chief
Officer.
Alma: I’m
glad of your opinion.
Seth: And
generous on your part, who need not put capital at risk.
Alma:
Thank you.
Seth: And
supportive of the camp at a crucial hour of it’s history.
Alma:
Thank you very much.
Seth:
Would it be better for you if I left?
Alma: We
seem to be conversing amiably.
Seth: I
mean the camp.
Alma:
Because I am unwell in the mornings?
Seth: Would it be easier for you?
Alma: (she looks away in exasperation) Why
would your leaving change in any material way my
situation?
Seth: I
mean, as to your seeing me in the camp—more or less daily, would you prefer not
to?
Alma: Mr.
Bullock…if you believe the change in my condition and the decent concern for
others we claimed as our purpose in separating dictates now your leaving the
camp and uprooting your family, I will not judge your decision. But please do not ask me to make it for
you.
Seth: I
understand. I do not wish to make
things more difficult for you. (He gets
up and heads to the door.)
Alma:
Will you stay? (Seth pauses) Will she be certain to
know?
Seth: (pauses) It becomes you.
(Wolcott’s room, he is getting cleaned up at his
mirror. Cy is in the room.)
Cy: I
guess my concern is why you’d invite to come a calling the man that nearly beat
you to death.
Wolcott:
To know why he did it.
Cy: (laughs) Well, I can save you time with
that, Mr. W. Utter was dismayed you killed them whores. Now…instead of information, would your
true goal be, uh…further rebuke?
Gettin’ cuffed around a little more? Le me hire someone for the job. ‘Cause Utter’s liable to kill you, and I
don’t need you dead.
Wolcott:
Get out.
Cy: (chuckles) You
are tough to be a friend to.
Wolcott:
You make a good point.
(E.B. is at the stairs waiting for Cy to come
down)
EB: Only
one would think as Mayor that—
Cy: I
don’t know, Farnum!
EB:
Well---(touches Cy’s
arm)
Cy:
I don’t fucking know!
EB: Uh,
by all means then let’s just let the matter rest. (Richardson peeks out from the back room)
Go back. Go back! (Richardson scuttles back into the
room.)
(Trixie is sitting in Al’s office, smoking a
cigarette, he enters.)
Trixie: You’re much more fuckin’
mobile.
Al:
What’s this about?
Trixie: I’m done at that hardware store with their fuckin’
harpin’ and badgerin’.
Al: Who’s
harpin’? The
Jew?
Trixie:
Are you making a fuckin’ pun?
Al: I’m
askin’ a fuckin’ question.
Trixie:
The Jew. And fuckin’ Bullock
also. I’m erratic with my decimals
and the like.
Al: So
harping—now is a hardship on the same fucking order of a boot on your fucking
neck? (leans forward) Do not fucking fault
them, Trixie, for your own fucking fears of tumbling to something
new.
Trixie:
Meaning you want me back there.
Secreted and listening in.
Al:
Attentive in particular to talk of Hearst’s geologist. (Trixie gets up to leave) Mind your
fuckin’ decimals! (She smiles,
leaves.)
(Sol and Seth are back at
work.)
Seth: Charlie Utter didn’t happen to look
in?
Sol:
No.
Seth: As
protective an eye as Charlie has for that Madam Joanie Stubbs, if all her whores
didn’t make it to that wagon, and that was on Wolcott’s account, you could see
what ensued in the thoroughfare. (Goes to the desk and puts a hand down.)
I saw Mrs. Garret. I support
your enlisting in her banking venture.
Sol:
Good.
Seth: She
is as you thought.
Sol: I
thought so. (Trixie
enters)
Seth:
I’ll take the air.
Trixie:
Don’t on my account. I come to
apologize—for my work with the decimals and my attitude over my errors. And
since I do tend to be prickly when in the wrong, if you on your part was to
realize Moses did the heavy lifting already, the fucking tablets and so
forth…that might lighten the atmosphere too.
Seth: (nods) Sure.
Sol: Guidance for me, before you turn to your
numbers?
Trixie:
(nods thoughtfully) Tread
lightly, who lives in hope of pussy.
(Seth looks up –
amused.)
(Nighttime in chink’s alley, Con & Leon are
supervising the Chinese whores)
Con: Is
that a white male?
Leon: Where?
Con:
Issued from that Chinee whore-hut and walking like a man
relieved.
Leon:
Well, he is repositionin’ his johnson.
Con: Sir! May
I and my friend have a moment? (He grabs the man by the arm)
Leon: We were
wondering if—if you fucked a chink.
Man: What
would that be to you?
Con:
Well, they’re under our care.
Leon:
We’re their supervisors. (Grabs the guy and leads him to the side)
Con: (stammering) Yeah, at a…a decent fuckin’
remove.
Man: Well, say I did?
Con:
Well, we’d be eager to know the result.
Leon: Was it worth
the fuckin’ dime?
Con: Do
you feel that they were overpriced?
Man: It
was well worth the dime. There is a
run on from the other side of camp all the way down the creek. Tallest fucking Chinaman I ever seen’s
keepin’ the line in fuckin’ order.
Con:
Really?
Man: Yeah, well, a lot of fellas, you know, outpaced by
white pussy’s price.
Con:
Well, thank you for your time, Sir.
Leon: Thank you for
that information. (Man leaves) Jesus Christ! You know that fuckin’ Chinaman he made
reference to, don’t you?
Con:
Better suited than us in every fuckin’ aspect of the task. Fluent in both languages and don’t mind
standing in filth.
(Al’s office, he is seated and talking to himself, it
seems)
Al: A
man, as it happens a rival of mine, learning the secret of a great man’s
lieutenant, would make that lieutenant his slave. My rival knows that expanding the circle
of the informed, dilutin’ his power, will confound his intention, so he takes
precaution to be sole sharer of his secret. (chuckles) Then the world being the
world…(drinks) along comes a
half-assed knight-errant, Utter, Hickok’s ex-partner, to put all my rival’s
plans at risk. I’d seek audience
with Utter, verify my thinking. He
earns his bread shipping packages.
And as the dimwit nobility that made him intercede may now make him
reticent, you, Chief, will be my prop and ploy. Whilst I seek to draw him out. (He walks over to the chair in front of his
desk, we see now that he’s talking to the package in the chair, which is about
the size of an indian’s head) I congratulate myself on having kept you
around. Why make a show of
disposing of you was my fucking thinking.
(Pours another shot) It’s not
like we need the storage space. And
if there’s a chance in a thousand you people have been praying right, (looks up) why get your bosses
attention? (drinks) Anyways, I’ve no plans of us
partin’ company. (He gets up, takes the package by a string)
As you will note…I have inscribed – (opens door) no address. (He leaves)
(Charlie is sitting outside of the freight
office. Jane approaches, looking
very rough and looks to have suffered a beating)
Charlie: Miss Here-she-was,
where-has-she-gone.
Jane: (chuckles, sits) What’s that to
you?
Charlie: Only I got packages could be halfway…by now to
Cheyenne.
Jane: What, is it
fucking Tuesday already?
Charlie:
It’s fuckin’ Thursday, Jane.
Jane: So I got 5
days left before I got to leave.
Charlie:
No.
Jane: (Realizes
she has been gone for days) Oh, I see.
Well, you look your usual piece of shit.
Charlie:
By you, Jane. You look like dew on
fucking roses.
Jane: (laughs) I, uh…woke up on the dirt in
the fucking graveyard, questioning dusk or dawn.
Charlie: It was dusk.
Jane: I know it was
dusk because it’s fucking night now.
Fucking bruises everywhere.
Charlie:
Dished out by who?
Jane: (Shrugs her shoulders, she starts to cry)
It’s gettin’ the upper fuckin’ hand on me, Charlie.
Charlie:
Go on upstairs and clean
up.
Jane: All
right. Thank—thank—thank
you.
Charlie:
Go on up. Hurry up, Christ’s
sakes.
Jane: All
right, Charlie.
Thanks.
(Al comes along, carrying his package, he watches
Jane climb the stairs as he makes his way over to Charlie. Charlie watches him
approach.)
Al: Evening.
Charlie:
I’m fuckin’ closed.
Al:
Banker’s hours, huh?
Charlie:
Where’s it going,
anyway?
Al: Jesus
Christ. (He sets it down) She neglected to
inscribe the destination.
Anyways. As far as this
morning in the thoroughfare, I‘d have done the same fucking thing. (sits)
Charlie:
I’m done fuckin’ talkin’ about
it.
Al: Don’t
care who he works for, thinks he can get away with that. You give that cocksucker what he fuckin’
needed. The sick fuckin’
bastard. I knew when I saw the
wagon, for Christ’s sakes. (Charlie looks
at Al.)
Charlie:
Poor fucking
girl.
Al:
Tolliver’s whore?
Charlie:
Never seen a girl so distraught.
Al:
Wouldn’t you be?
Charlie:
Bein’ a man, you believe you’ve seen your equal.
Al:
No. Not to that. She told me too.
Charlie:
She told you what?
Al: What
she saw.
Charlie:
(skeptical) She didn’t see fuckin’
nothin’.
Al: No, I
don’t mean “see” in the sense of seeing.
Charlie:
Get the fuck away from me.
Al: Yeah,
right. (groans, getting up.) Let me get this
address put on. (Grabs the package and heads out.)
Evening. (to the package as he walks
away) Every fracas ain’t a victory, Chief.
(E.B. spots Al walking along the
thoroughfare)
EB: Al! (Runs up to join Al in his walk)
Al. Why,
Al?
Al: Why,
E.B? Because being present at that
meetin’ and made as you are, blackmail would have proved irresistible, and
pursuin’ it would have gotten you murdered.
EB: Thank
you, then. And am I still the
Mayor?
Al: For
all of me, in perpetuity. (E.B. grins)
(Al enters the Gem)
Johnny: Full fuckin’ day, eh, boss?
Al: They
all are.
Johnny:
Still got that package, I see.
Al: Ain’t
nothing gets by you, Johnny, eh?
Dan: I’m
going to head up to Cheyenne first thing in the morning.
Al: Don’t
think that’s the idea anymore, Dan.
Dan:
Hmm?
Al: What
happened to Tolliver illustrated till the race is fucking finished, never mark
the fuckin’ wager paid. (drinks)
Wakes up this mornin’ in bed with the fucking Hearst combine, knowing he’s
got us by the balls. Whatever sick
fucking business that geologist has transacted, you can bet he had his wrists in
it up—
Dan:
Tolliver?
Al:
Tolliver, yeah—before, after and in the fucking middle too, think he’s got the
fucking edge, which is the right fuckin’ move. Underwriting whatever sick business that
fucking geologist was involved in guarantees his fucking position, but what
fucking happens, Dan?
Dan:
Fucks himself up the ass—Tolliver.
Al: No
mean feat, yet how often we bring it off.
(drinks) Who impressed me at
that meeting was Bullock, that avoided puttin’ his pet interests—innocence, so
forth, guilt, fuckin’ who did what to fuckin’ who—before the needs of the
fucking camp. It shows fucking
progress. It shows growing maturity
to what makes the world’s fucking tail wag. (drinks) Anyway…(picks up package) that’s why Cheyenne
is cancelled.
Dan: Well
I—I figured as much.
(Bella Union, Joanie is with Jack the bartender, she
looks pretty drunk.)
Joanie: You want to fuck me, Jack?
Jack:
When haven’t I?
Joanie:
Would you pay?
Jack: Can
I double your mark and call it a gift?
That way I keep my illusions?
Cy: Let
me borrow this beauty, Jack. (Takes her arm and leads her to a table)
Jack: All
yours, boss.
Cy: You
seem subdued.
Joanie:
I’m good and fucked up, Cy.
Cy: Not
nearly as your friend, Mr. Wolcott. (they
sit) His day was busy as his night—got his balls beat by Charlie Utter. (She eyes Cy) Sweetheart, them that’s
dead is gone. We give them to God
and move on. Hell, you didn’t have
to see ‘em…fuckin’ throats cut. You
didn’t clean up their gore.
Joanie:
Don’t tell me you cleaned up anyone’s gore, Cy.
Cy: Your
friend Maddie’s problem, young lady, didn’t want to get old. Well, who the fuck
does?
Joanie:
Shut up, Cy.
Cy: But
them of us with stamina and fortitude don’t go searching out some maniac with a
straight razor to put us from our fear.
Joanie:
Stop talking.
Cy: I
won’t stop talking, nor show the fucking future my neck…nor permit it in a
fucking friend. (leans forward) I propose instead you
and me, Miss Stubbs, wrestle the fucking future to the ground. We fix your place up, get all new stuff,
open the fuck back up. Knowledge
ain’t general what happened there, and those who know ain’t gonna say. (leans back) Grant me at least as your
friend, if we don’t partner, while that maniac is loose in camp, you’ll avoid
that fucking place. Move back here,
Joanie, where I can fucking protect you.
Joanie:
(shaking her head) No. (She gets up, he grabs her
hand.)
Cy:
What the fuck did you come here for,
if not to be protected? Don’t be
like your dead fucking friend, afraid to face the truth.
Joanie:
(takes her hand away) I was just
lookin’ to turn a trick. (She leaves.)
(Wolcott’s room, he opens his door to
Charlie.)
Wolcott: Mr. Utter. You agree our shaking hands would be
incongruous?
Charlie:
(crossing arms, standing in the hallway)
I come for my partner’s letter, which you told Doc Cochran you would give
me.
Wolcott: (Turns to
his desk) I can’t guarantee it’s
genuine but it has the feel of authenticity. And it’s clear he would want her to have
it. (sits)
Charlie:
To his wife then.
Wolcott:
Agnes Lake. (groans, Charlie steps
closer, half peeking around the corner to see Wolcott) Prudence dictates my
requiring in return your account of what Miss Stubbs told
you.
Charlie:
The prudentest thing you can do is not name that girl again with me in the
fuckin’ room. (stepping into the room now)
Wolcott:
It was she, this nameless she, who set you upon me. “Agnes, darling, if such should be we
never meet again, while firing my last shot, (Charlie closes the door) I will gently
breathe the name of my wife Agnes.
And with wishes even for my enemies, I will make the plunge and try to
swim to the other shore. J.B.
Hickok, Wild Bill.”
Charlie:
You
keep this shit up, you’re gonna earn a trip out the fucking
window.
Wolcott:
I am simply asking confirmation of what you were told and by
whom.
Charlie:
And I’m promising I’ll 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:
(Opens the desk drawer, takes out the
letter) Thank you, Mr. Utter. (Sets
the letter on the edge of the desk.) That’s what I wanted to
know.
(Charlie picks up the letter, almost caressing it and
obviously very thrilled to have it. As he exits the door he
turns)
Charlie: Open or closed?
Wolcott:
Open, please. (Charlie leaves.)
(Close with a long shot of Joanie sitting all alone
in a darkened Chez Amie. The red curtains glowing with light from outside. She
sits silently on a single chair in the middle of the room,
waiting)
The End
Click here to hear the closing credits music
Directed
by: Michael Almereyda
Al Swearengen: Ian McShane Dan Dority: W Earl Brown
Seth Bullock: Timothy Olyphant
Alma Garret: Molly Parker
Ellsworth: Jim Beaver
Doc Cochran: Brad Dourif
Sol Star: John Hawkes
Trixie: Paula Malcomson
Tom Nuttall: Leon Rippy
Cy Tolliver: Powers Boothe
Leon: Larry Cedar
Sophia: Bree Seanna Wall
Silas Adams: Titus Welliver
Martha Bullock: Anna Gunn
Steve: Michael Harney |
E.B. Farnum: William Sanderson
Calamity Jane: Robin Weigert
Charlie Utter: Dayton Callie Johnny Burns: Sean Bridgers
Andy Cramed: Zach Grenier
Jewel: Geri Jewell
A. W. Merrick: Jeffrey Jones
Mr. Wu: Keone Young
Joanie Stubbs: Kim Dickens
Con Stapleton: Peter Jason
Wiliam Bullock: Josh Eriksson
Francis Wolcott: Garret Dillihunt
Hugo Jarry: Stephen Toblowsky |
Transcription last updated on 02/06/2007 | |
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