Joanie has been watching all of this from the sidelines and Charlie now apologizes for all the commotion. She smiles and says that's all right. "I got something at the jail for you and the other one," he says, talking about Jane, "'cept right now I'm pretty agitated." She smiles again. "Well, I got time," she says. "Maybe you'll calm down as we walk." They go off together. I very much wish Joanie had ended up with Charlie. As much as I love the ladies who love the ladies, and though I regard Jane as noble in spite of her flaws, she ain't no prize as a long-term prospect, you have to admit.
Sol is whispering with Al in a corner of the Gem. "How do you make your way, Star," Al asks, "not sometimes buying silence by punching her in the fucking mouth?" Al, your tactics just don't work for everyone, is the thing. Sol ignores this and says that Trixie is worried that for one thing, Hearst will want her dead and for another that Al will kill one of the other girls in her place. Um...is Trixie reading this recap over my shoulder, or something? Al lets this tip from the Psychic Hotline wash over him before putting on his show. "Jesus Christ!" he says. "I already fucking did!" Sol incredulously asks if this is true, and Al shoos him off. "Don't waste your Jew's time wondering what's true and what ain't," he says. "You go over there, tell fucking Hearst the whore Trixie has been killed, and then tell Joan of Arc that instead of flames lapping at her tippy-toes, you'd have her live to fuck in the morning -- and after to you tell fucking Hearst, [and] before you tell that loudmouth c*nt, tell your fucking partner I need him here." Sol has had an emotional day and tries to defend Trixie: "Don't talk about her that way." Al gives him both eyebrows, full barrel. "Oh, I fucking recant," dripping with sarcasm. "Off you fucking go." He tells him not to forget to summon Bullock, alluding to the insanity about to be born of this whole Hearst conflagration, saying that "water comes to a boil." As Sol walks out, he passes Jen, who happens to still be quite alive.
At the bar, Adams stands talking to Hawkeye. Al steps between them puts his back to the leprechaun and pretends he's not there. "How many has he got?" he asks Adams who tries to make the best of it. "The ride from Cheyenne winnowed the wheat from the chaff," he says, putting on a positive spin. Al cuts right to the chase, asking how many of the promised twenty-three Hawkeye actually arrived with. From behind him, Hawkeye has the temerity to pipe up: "Almost eighteen, Mr. Swearengen, camped in Spearfish Meadows, ready to join in the issue!" Al doesn't even blink in his direction. "What does he mean," he drones to Adams, "by 'almost eighteen'?" Adams calmly answers that Hawkeye has "seventeen normal size...and a short one that's hell with a knife." Al's eyes roll all the way over to Dan, behind the bar. "Turn me loose," Dan smirks, knowing Al would like nothing more than for him to twelve-point Hawkeye right now. Thank Buddah for everyone's sake, Wu arrives at this moment, no doubt distracting Al from a murderous rage. "Go with him to get the men," he tells Adams. "Station in Cochran's alley. Send word you're positioned with the midget." He strides away towards Wu and Hawkeye looks at Adams with genuine surprise: "That went off well!" he stupidly says. I suppose, since he's still alive and not hanging upside down, bleeding from an assortment of wounds, he's technically right.