At this point, I nearly slide to the floor. Oh, if my father had lived to see the day when "who cut the cheese?" was employed so dramatically on a program in which the foulest, most ear-blistering epithets are slung and parried scene after scene...honestly, it's like having Marlon Brando in his role as Don Corleone turn to Fontaine and say "pull my finger."
"I'll tell you this, for openers," Al says, stomping to the door, "we are gonna set off an area on the balcony, and GOD HELP whoever doesn't use it, because the next stink I have to smell in this office, and whoever doesn't admit to it, is going out the window, into the muck, onto their fucking heads, and we'll see how they like fartin' from that position, OKAY?" This is, like, my favorite Al scene of the whole series. I love how his rage encompasses all when he really gets stressed. (I plan to incorporate this balcony policy in my own home, by the way.)
He does some more mumbling about how he thinks he's getting screwed over by the hardware guys and Wild Bill, and sends Johnny off to fetch them so they can hash it out, again. Furthermore, he says to stop over at Wu's to demand that the Chinaman feed Persimmon Phil to the pigs tonight, or Al's going to serve them "raw loin of Oriental."
Johnny leaves, and Al turns to his resident dope fiend lackey, and sends him on a mission to get the inside track on the Bella Union through their dope fiend, the far dealer, whose name we will later learn is Leon. Al tells him to bring the dude over to the Gem, and he goes out.
In their room at the hotel, Brom is expressing his frustration to his wife, Alma. The burden, he tells her, falls on him to get his money back from the bad claim. Mrs. G asks if he thinks there's any possibility Wild Bill will reconsider his position. Brom says no. "Nor was I sure, if he'd agreed," Brom says, "that the man before me at that breakfast table was equal to the task." Uh, sure. Wild Bill, legendary gun slinger of the Old West...feared by all who meet him...probably not up to snuff for your dumb job. Right.
Brom fumes a little in silence, until Alma, gathering her robes, goes and puts her arms around him, asking that he promise her one thing. "Do not ask me to amend my purpose," he says, nervously, hoping she'll do just that. Instead, she asks that before he goes and confronts Al, he take one of his walks. Overcome by her understanding and support, he turns and clings to her. "To clear my head and reflect?" he asks, muffled into her shoulder. "If only to perfect your arguments," she tells him, all consoling. "I see," he says, pitifully, "I accept the suggestion, and a feeling for its author." She nods and pats his face like a mother. He tells her that if he's stooped when next she sees him that it won't be worry weighing him down, but bags of his recovered gold. She tries to look proud, but is clearly not filled with confidence. "Take your walk, dear," she tells him, and sends him out. Before she closes the door, however, she sees another half-obscured face across the hall. Calamity Jane, from behind her own door, is watching Mrs. G. They look at each other for a moment -- Mrs. G makes a hopeful face like another human being might be about to speak to her -- until Jane closes her door with a slam.