A Constant Throb

Episode Report Card
Al Lowe: A | 7 USERS: A
A Constant Throb

The Gem has another unlikely visitor this morning. Al is at the bar, face to face with none other than a terrified Richardson. "What are you doin' here?" Al asks. Richardson says he's too afraid to explain. Johnny notices that Richardson has a note pinned to his shirt. "Take it off him," Al says, still staring at Richardson like he's in the zoo. "Then stick him in the eye with the fucking pin." Aw, Al. Uncalled for. Richardson winces, but Johnny assures him that Al didn't mean it. Al reads the note and looks back at his guest. "Tell him: 'Nothing,'" he says to Richardson who nods, saying he'll just keep quiet. "No," Al explains, exhausted by all this. "Tell E.B., 'Nothing's going on,' and then tell him 'If I wanted to tell you anything, I'd have told you. Don't send the imbecile over with no more notes.'" Richardson finally looks at Al's face. "I cain't remember awl thayut!" he says. Al asks if he can remember "nothin's going on." Richardson says yes, and leaves, saying "thank yeewww." Heeee! Al watches him go out, and then turns to see Dan depositing the knocked-out Ellsworth in Barney's barber chair. Tom Nuttall comes in. "The Mrs. Ellsworth was shot at?" he asks, incredulous. "Got her upstairs," Al clarifies, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. "I figured...we'd hunker down till matters clarify." He asks Davey, who has been at the door, what Richardson said as he walked out. Davey: "'The girls in here are pretty.'" Al shakes his head and they all take a shot.

Hearst is in conference with the Head Brick re: the shooting. "The fool husband ought soon appear," he says. "Some small number to deal with his dudgeon, main force in reserve for Bullock." The HB pauses a little, maybe he doesn't like his job all that much, and says okay. Oooh, I hates the Hearstses. Small number to deal with Ellsworth? How bout I take a small number...two pencil and shove it up your nose? HUH?

Al's pacing behind the bar while the fellas shoot the breeze with Nuttall, who wants to know their opinions on how the election's going. "How did sentiment incline in this joint when Bullock and Harry spoke last?" he asks. Dan says everybody was glad when the speeches were finished. "As to who had the upper hand?" Tom clarifies. Adams can't control a laugh. "Fuckin' cross-legged pose your man struck, Tom," he says, "[he] may have swayed the diarrhea faction." Johnny nods. "Creek was having its way with Harry," he confirms. Al's not listening to any of this scatological chat. "The fuck was the logic," he asks Dan, "when [Hearst] sent that giant Captain to fight you?" Dan: "Get me killed." Al disagrees. "It wasn't to get you killed," he says, as if he's just seeing it all clearly. "His man finally kills you after a more or less equal fight? Out of boredom's why he put that fight together. Same with this too -- fucking shots at her fore and aft." Trixie steps out, saying she's got to run back to the hardware store to reassure her Jew. Tom ruminates on Hearst's emotional problems. "Wants to see he's made people afraid," he says, "so he knows he's a fucking big shot." Al says he's exactly fucking correct. "If this was overture to an onslaught," he says, "he'd have let them pistoleros loose by now to start the actual killing." He congratulates Tom on making the keenest of fucking assessments. Dan, who has not yet changed out of his traveling clothes, points out that these keen fucking assessments might argue for him making that trip to Cheyenne. But Al says no, the trip would take too long. "He ain't waiting no fuckin' week, Dan," he says. Trixie, on her way out, makes a parting shot. "I leave here full of confidence," she snarks, "knowing you're all thinking in concert." Good one, Trixie.

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