Speaking of whores and devils, Trixie has arrived at Al's bidding to his office at the Gem. "Ain't you a picture?" he says, noting her conservative outfit. "What is it?" Trixie quietly responds, and I have to wonder again where in the world Trixie gets her nerve talking to Al like she does sometimes. They are a great match. "Oh, am I detaining you in some way?" he asks, in amazement. "Am I fucking imposing?!" She says merely that Mrs. Garret is about to sit down to meet with Bullock, and Al will surely want her over there. Yeah, yeah, Al says, but he wonders if Mrs. G will have her wits about her, or be on the dope like Trixie has told him she is. She asks him what he's so pissed about. "I ain't pissed off," he insists. "I'm in fucking wonderment! I'm waiting to be kept happy by the next fuckin' fairy tale." Trixie lowers her head now, knowing the jig is up. "Do you want me back at the hotel?" she asks. "Or do you want to do something to me?" Al, despite what he says, is quite pissed. He puts the grab on her where, uh, nobody likes to be grabbed. "Now why would I want you to go back there, huh?" he asks as she cringes in pain. "Or rely on anything you said transpired after you lied about her taking the dope." Trixie looks him right in the eye. She says Mrs. G being high wasn't going to have any effect on whether or not she sold E.B. the claim. She says Mrs. G wanted to get off the dope, and the kid needed someone to care for her and maybe get her the hell out of Deadwood. "So you want me back over there to tell you what they fuckin' decide?" she asks, as Al stares her down with something like a mixture of respect and confused wariness in his eyes. "Or do you want to rip my fuckin' guts out?" For a minute, it's clear that Al genuinely cannot decide what to do. He releases her, breathing heavy, and tells her to get back to the hotel quick. I guess she's surprised to be alive after such an encounter, because she stands there for a second, wondering if the other shoe is going to drop (on her neck) before walking out to the door. "Don't kid yourself, Trixie," Al says, reminding her of her place before she can leave. "Don't get a mistaken idea." Charlie walks into Nuttall's with a determined look. He sees ol' Tom behind the bar. "This is where Bill got killed, huh?" he asks him. Tom's face falls. He takes off his hat. "I'll be sorry about that," he says, "for as long as I live." Charlie asks him to tell him what went down. Nuttall recaps the whole sequence of events much more succinctly than I did. "In come that coward McCall," he says, regretfully. "Walked up on him, and shot him in the head." Charlie looks back at the saloon door like he's trying to imagine it. "Bill never know when he come in," he says. Nuttall shakes his head. He says that no one realized what was happening, and that McCall just murdered Bill right where he sat. Charlie is dealing with all this as best he can when the jabbering dumbass who was playing cards with Bill the night of his death comes rolling up. He recaps the death scene AGAIN, and not sweetly like Nuttall just did, but as if he's calling it on NFL Tonight. "Now I'm told he fell dead immediately," the goon says, not noticing somehow that all of this is nauseating Charlie," but I won't testify to it. Because the bullet, after passing through Wild Bill's brain, struck me in my right wrist, and I lost several seconds to pain before regaining my senses." Nuttall rolls his eyes so hard they almost come out -- the patrons of this bar have heard this guy tell this story a few hundred times. The guy dramatically strides over to Charlie and shows him the wound in his wrist. "I will take the murderer's bullet to my grave," he says, his hand on his chest, Napoleon-style. Charlie has no response except to stare at the oblivious dude like the idiot he is. Putting his hat back on, he thanks Nuttall and leaves, while the dumbass turns back to the poker table and starts the story all over again.