Deadwood

Charlie Utter: Fuckin' postal contract.

Got to bring these in first thing.

I'll be right with you.

Is he only a goddamn fool,

or so stupid he thinks he's accomplished something?

- Who? - You know goddamn well who I mean.

Who are you?

You goddamn well know that, too.

I know from the sheriff locking you up

between sundown when I left and my coming back now,

you must have fucked up at the interval.

Were you drunk?

You and I have met.

At the hotel buffet.

- Yes. - But we wasn't introduced.

I'm George Hearst.

Were you drunk, George... Hearst?

This fellow didn't keep you up here, did he?

He didn't, like, fart or snore too much for you,

did he, Mr. Hearst?

I mean, he imbi...

Holy shit!

Jesus!

The cocksucker's dead, George!

Look, he's got a fuckin' knife in his chest.

That ain't your fuckin' knife, is it, George Hearst?

Goddamn fool.

Won't be the first the worms work on.

I guess he deserves more than a dirt burying by some stranger,

even for only

how big a fuckin' nigger he was.

- (hammering) - (Jane sighs)

Don't know if using this trough

was that big a fuckin' time saver.

I'll see to the burying with you.

I owe a visit up there anyways.

That ain't gonna raise your popularity

with your fellow white people.

Question I wake to in the morning

and pass out with at night:

"What's my popularity with my fellow white people?"

Suppose we ought to go get him.

He ain't fuckin' pretty to look at.

Neither are you, fuckin' Nigger General.

Seth: After that, I arrested Hearst.

Took him by the ear and led him to jail, where he remains.

Hearst had no particular connection to Mr. Hostetler?

Both their names begin with "H".

It's gonna get bad here, Martha.

- (knocks on door) - Al: It's Albert Swearengen,

regrettin' the early hour and...

that I call without notice...

Good morning. Come in.

knowing I intrude.

- Mrs. Bullock. - Good morning, Mr. Swearengen.

Will you have meat and eggs?

- I'd be grateful for coffee. - Martha: Please sit down.

Swell, stem to stern...

the place.

If you will not eat, will you excuse me?

Teaches the camp's children.

Excellent.

I'll walk you when you're ready.

Martha: There's no burning rush.

I'm sure the talk Mr. Swearengen

would have with you must be important.

Al: Last night from my balcony vantage,

I watched you drag Hearst by the ear

to Utter's freight office.

I was awaitin' you comin' out of Utter's,

thinking that you might make a call on me,

tell me what the fuck was going forward,

but you did not appear.

I finally asked myself,

"Could our sheriff

"have took another route home,

"maybe through Chinaman's alley?

And what would that bespeak of his frame of mind?"

It bespoke I didn't fuckin' feel like talking to you.

"Al, busy night, short on joy,"

could have told me that, "Let's talk another time."

I too, Bullock, when suspecting I've fucked the dog,

keenly seek some solitude.

Our hour is wrong.

Having lost his man Turner, being embarrassed by you,

Hearst will be on the muscle,

and we, who will be his wrath's object,

ought to stay close and confide.

Our alternative is flight.

- Does that appeal? - No.

We ain't that sort,

which is maybe more the pity.

- Will you walk me to school now, Mr. Bullock? - Yes.

Al: Thank you for the coffee.

You're very welcome, Mr. Swearengen.

- Owie. - Alma: Well, Sofia...

- We're almost through. - It's cold.

The fire's gone out.

Mr. Ellsworth left for the diggings early this morning.

He didn't come to kiss me good night.

You must not have wakened.

I always waken from his beard.

Well, last night you must not have.

There, you look more than presentable.

Excuse me just a moment, and then I'll take you to school.

Mornin', Dan.

Jewel, you got you another customer.

Just brought me mine.

-How do you... how do you feel? -(gun clanks)

You go ahead and drink that.

That's, at least, my third damn cup.

I'm jangle-nerved already.

Let me go on and get shaky-handed,

pop my foot on the floor like I'm a-listenin' to banjo music!

Shit...

- Al's out. - Out where?

Well, I don't know.

But I bet you a nickel it has somethin' to do

with Bullock takin' Hearst by the ear

from Tolliver's to Utter's depot.

What the fuck are you talkin' about?

Anyways, here's Jewel.

Steve Fields: (slurring) We had been at odds but settled,

Hostetler and me.

He'd sold me his livery,

and fixing to move to Oregon,

pickin' up his fuckin' shotgun, the negro stumbled and...

blew his black head off!

God damn it, Harry.

Steve: And I fear no retribution, not by my own God...

or any other...

evil emissary's dispatch

from the bowels of the Earth

by whatever bundle of bloody

fuckin' feathers and housecat teeth

the nigger race bows down to.

My hands are fuckin' clean,

and my heart is quiet.

Oh, Christ.

Harry?

Hurry up, Richardson.

Thwart that Abyssinian.

Richardson: I don't know what you mean.

Any thought he has of registerin'.

Bad enough we have one in help.

- Hello. - Hello.

- We can't take you. - Aunt Lou: My baby!

Ooh!

- Ooh! - Your baby's growed, Mama.

Oh, come on, come on.

Come around back.

We'll get you into my room.

You're so beautiful! Oh!

Did you hear, Richardson?

-(sarcastically) "Beautiful." -Yes.

You make clear to Tolliver you will not confide entirety,

and that he oughtn't to expect you ever fuckin' will

is the basic foundation attitude.

-Al: (yelling) Am I fuckin' boring you?! Hmm? -No.

Are you sure you don't want to tell me a joke or the like,

- or dance a quick fuckin' jig? - I tell Tolliver I'm still your man,

and I'll never show him your fuckin' hole card.

Guy like Tolliver always believes he can see what you want not to show him.

I'm tryin' not to show your hole card.

- That's your fuckin' act. - So what do I say about Bullock?

What you say to Tolliver: "I know why Bullock acted,

"but I'm not prepared to say, that's confidential and privileged

"between me and Mr. Swearengen,

who explained to me exactly."

What'll Tolliver think off that?

"This kid don't know what the fuck Bullock's doin',

"and Swearengen don't either.

"But I, Cy Tolliver, wormed that the fuck out of him,

"even though he tried not to let me.

I can handle this fuckin' piss pot."

Fold your thumb, go over and fuckin' talk to him.

When you're done woolgathering, I'd like this sent.

How are you today?

Well enough, Mr. Hearst.

- And you? - (telegraph tapping)

Well enough.

What do say of me in your paper?

I have nothing to report, sir.

- Have you anything to give me? - I have not.

$1.25, please.

25-cents increase to our rate.

Cy: Damn pleased we got to speak, Adams.

Al chose well making you his fuckin' ambassador.

Far as him grabbin' Hearst by the ear, how that affects

yours and Mr. Swearengen's arrangements with Hearst...

Fuckin' Bullock.

Al's got specific ideas on that.

And as soon as he's sure he wouldn't be

unintentionally misleadin' you,

he'll want me to confide 'em in detail.

Why don't you cap your visit with some complimentary higher-end pussy?

- Thanks anyway. - You know Leon here.

Why don't you teach him somethin' about craps.

Soon as I finish showin' water how to run downhill.

He'd have me a cur