Al sighs and struggles mightily to do a nice thing -- he says he guesses it will be all right after all for them to sell their stuff to the Bella Union. "So," Bullock says, smelling a con, "we can sell them our wares?" Al: "Your normal fucking wares. No gambling, whoring or whiskey on the fucking premises is the chief fucking point." Sol can hardly wait to seal the deal. He reaches out to shake on it, and Al asks him to perform Deadwood's traditional nasty secret handshake. "I spit in my hand," Al says, full of eyebrows. "Will that drive you screaming into the hills?" Hee. Right now, Sol would spit just about anywhere to get the lot. They spit in their hands, shake, and the deal is done.
In the street, ol' Soapy is putting forward the idea of a Wild Bill Shooting Extravaganza to Charlie, who looks totally bored. "That idea for Mr. Hickok has been had and acted upon by a few people before you," he says. But Soapy's on a roll. "And then afterward," he says, "we cut the bullets out AND the fuckin' playing cards he was usin' as targets -- that's the point I was tryin' to get to." Yes, genius. Heavy with sarcasm, Charlie suggests they also sell the tree bark behind the targets. Soapy, so full of good ol' American capitalism, says, "Hell, yeah, we'll sell the fuckin' bark."
Ignoring him, Charlie crosses to meet Bullock and Sol coming out of the Gem. Much congratulating goes on about the purchase of the lot. Charlie is happy for them. "Never had to strain so to spend a thousand dollars," Sol tells him. Bullock asks if Charlie will let them out of their dinner arrangements. "Just as soon not do it, huh?" Charlie asks. His disappointment is painful. "We'd like to get to building," Bullock answers. Charlie affably says that they can meet for breakfast, instead. "Maybe we'll catch Bill coming back from cards." Aw, man. Bullock, why do you have to be such a damn efficiency expert, or whatever. You can't wait one day to start your little love nest...I MEAN..."hardware store"?
Across the street, E.B. walks into the new Bella Union and stands amazed. He even lets out a "Heavens to Betsey." (Because I am a slight nerd, I had to look up the origins of that phrase. It seems slightly anachronistic, but who knows? Doesn't matter, really, because coming out of E.B.'s mouth, anything sounds funny, and this is no exception.) He immediately approaches Eddie's craps table, where the two have a clandestine conversation. "I'm liable to be killed, Eddie," E.B. whispers, dropping all pretense of being a stranger to Eddie. "Curious, your coming here then, E.B.," the dealer answers.