Employing extremely bad timing, Sol picks this moment to pursue the issue of buying the lot Al is renting to him and Bullock. Al ain't got time, however, and tells him to find him later. "We're anxious to start building, though," Sol presses, and Al has to use the world's oldest Dad Maneuver to get him to back off: "You want an answer now, [then] it's no."
Down at Nuttall's, Wild Bill is locked in an endless game of poker with nasty Jack McCall, who will just not stop needling him, no matter how many times he's reminded not to do so. He uses all kinds of bluffing techniques, implying repeatedly that Wild Bill doesn't have the cards to win, knocking his skills, suggesting that he's bound to win one eventually, seeing that "even a stopped clock has to be right, sometime." The thing is, Bill's weakness isn't poker, it's his ego, something McCall has very easily recognized, making it no problem for him to play Bill like a damn piano. Down to his last eight dollars, Bill puts one of his famous guns into the pot. McCall uses his smarmy tactics to force Bill to put up both his guns, something the room is loath to see happen. Bill does it, though, and it's time to lay down cards.
McCall assumes he's won it, because hell, he's won every single other game. He lays down with a nine-high straight. Things look bad for Wild Bill. Just when we start to assume that he will never be invited on Bravo for some kind of Old West Dead Celebrity Poker tourney, Bill surprises us all by coming up with a club flush and winning the pot. During all this exposing of cards, Bill's eyes never leave the greasy McCall. He can't enjoy his win, of course, because his dumbass opponent's unchecked diarrhea of the mouth flows on: "Well, that's one in a row for you, Wiiiiiild Bill," he says, like an idiot, and begins stretching and yawning, looking to leave the game. Bill continues to stare him down and asks if McCall's sure he wants to stop playing. McCall has the good sense to look nervous about this, especially when Bill busts out three rather powerful McCall-shaped insults in a row.
Behind the bar, Nuttall suggests they take their conversation outside. McCall, frozen in his seat, tells Bill he doesn't intend to get in a gun fight with him. "But you will run your c*nt mouth at me," Bill says, and pausing to muster the full strength of his extreme gambling addiction, he gets up to leave, saying that he "will take it, to play poker." Straight-backed, he heads out of Nuttall's and over to the Grand Central.