Commissioner Jarry stomps down the stairs of the Bella Union, luggage in hand, to find Cy and Wolcott enjoying their tea. He's in a snit. "You washed your hands of me, Mr. Tolliver," he says, "no less contemptibly than Pontius Pilate." Cy is unmoved. "Sometimes," he answers, "the shadow is cast by the sheltering hand." Jarry is dumbfounded. He asks if Cy is saying that the rabble rousers that tried to kill him were under Cy's control. No, Cy tells him. He wouldn't have them. All he's saying is that he understands why they're upset, and that even though Jarry is pissed, the whole snafu had the desired result of causing the hooples to put more of their claims up for sale, with "prices pressed downward." Now it is Jarry's turn to be unimpressed. "I want to get out of here," he says. Cy tries again, indicating some loitering whores and suggesting Jarry get a quick wind of his timepiece before he leaves. Nope, dude's leaving, and one gets the feeling that the best timepiece winders in Switzerland couldn't make him stay. Cy tells him that they'll "fuckin' miss ya," and Jarry steps over to Wolcott, telling him that he finds him to be the most severe disappointment of all. Not even bothering to look up from his paper, Wolcott drones, "Often to myself, as well."
Wolcott furrows his brow and asks Cy what impressions he thinks Jarry will take back to Yankton. "That your money spends," Cy answers, smarmily, "and I'm a dangerous man with whom to disagree." Ah, now, this proves that Cy...doesn't get it. We've seen a lot of dangerous men in the camp, thus far, and though Cy is definitely crazy, and though he is unquestionably wearing the most makeup, can we really call him "dangerous" in the sense that he means? I think not -- and that's probably precisely why Wolcott chose him to carry out these bungled plans. Simply being evil does not make you dangerous; it's how you use your evil that counts.
Al and Trixie are having a little chat over his morning tea and her morning cig. Trixie's smoking a ton lately, isn't she? This is a beautiful scene, many-layered in its complexity. "How's the Jew-fuckin' going?" Al asks, seemingly casual. Trixie says it's all right, and Al asks what she can tell him about the activities going on at the hardware store. Trixie explains that Sol met with Mrs. Garret that morning. She gives him the background that Sol had spoken to "the other" about forming a bank, and had mentioned using Mrs. G's capital in that enterprise. Al wants to know who this "other" is. Trixie was just trying to spare them both by not mentioning Bullock, but she now names him. Al tells her, trying to conceal what COULD BE a real emotion, that he hopes she's getting paid for all this sex -- if she gives it to Sol free, he says, he'll lose respect for her. She says Sol's teaching her accounts, and Al sees value in that. "Learning," he says, "is like currency to them." Trixie strikes a confidential tone and tells Al that Sol "stares in my eyes when he fucks me, longing-like." Taking another drag of her cigarette, she looks closely at Al. "You don't look so bad," she tells him. "Yeah," he says, as one might say to an acquaintance on the street, "next thing, up and about."