And now we come to Bullock's perfect final scene -- just when it looks like everyone is going to make it out of this bullshit with their lives, Bullock can't keep his damn clench to himself long enough to let Hearst get out of town. "You've looked at your last body. You're done tipping your fucking hat," he says. "Get out of here or I'll drag you out by the ear." Nice one, Bullock, but the ass was leaving ANYWAY. With the smuggest smirk you ever saw, while every gun in the thoroughfare points at the scene, Hearst tells his the wagon driver to drive on. Sayonara, cocksucker. I loved to hate you.
"You done fucking good," Charlie says, walking up behind Bullock as he shares a lingering look with Alma as she passes on her way to the cemetery. Bullock sighs. "I did fucking nothing," he says. Charlie says that doing nothing is often the hardest choice, when it serves the larger purpose. "Which is laying head to pillow, not confusing yourself with a sucker?" Bullock asks. Charlie: "Far as I ever get." Bullock: "'Cause that's gonna be a project tonight." Across the thoroughfare, Bullock sees Trixie traveling under shroud, accompanied by Sol. He kind of smiles. Patting Charlie, he makes his slow-mo walk through the thoroughfare. This is not your typical Western, so there's no hero's sunset, but it's implied.
From the hole in the Grand Central, E.B. emerges. Proudly, he stands with his hands on his hips, no doubt amazed that he's made it out alive.
And thus we've come to the final scene. Al's working out his demons on the bloodstains when Johnny comes in, long in the face. "Did she suffer?" he asks his suffering boss. Al stops scrubbing. "I was gentle as I was able, and that's the last we'll fuckin' speak of it, Johnny," he says, and then, when Johnny walks away, mutters in amazement to himself: "Wants me to tell him something pretty," and goes again to try and scrub out the stain.