A Constant Throb

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

Al continues. "I'd as soon not die fighting twenty-five against four," he says to Dan, "you being my missing fifth, the equal of ten of Hearst's fucking mercenaries, and Bullock, who's no fucking slouch either, if he ever gets the fuck back, bringing the odds closer to even." Johnny reminds everyone that Trixie's Jew's got sand when the chips are down. Al is at a loss. "I'd trust a fucking wire to Cheyenne," he says, "if I knew someone to send it to." Leaning on the bar, Adams pauses. He doesn't want to say it, but..."Far as that," he tells Al, "there's Hawkeye." Al doesn't even pause before he punches him in the face. Come on, Al! I know you're stressed out, but uh, don't go smacking my man. "You were told never to say his name," he reminds Adams, who doesn't appreciate being punched, even by his mentor. "Well, now I did," Adams says, his voice raised. "And I'd trust him to hire the guns." Al is not having it. He really hates that little leprechaun. "And the hiring to take place where?" he snaps back. "Up that squaw's c*nt he's fucking?" Adams says Hawkeye's squaw is in Lead, not Cheyenne. Still, Al is all skepticism. "Did he take vows of abstinence in Cheyenne?" he says. "Do they let him have wires in his monastery?" Good one, Al. Adams is offended on behalf of his tiny pal. "I'd trust Hawkeye, once he learned the situation," Adams assures him in a put-upon tone, "to hire the guns without stealing, to herd 'em back here to help us out, not stopping to get laid in Lead." (That has a very musical lilt to it, doesn't it? "Get Laid In Lead?" I file it away for future use.)

Johnny asks the important question: can Hawkeye read? "He can," Adams says, "and I can put my words such in the wire, he'll take my meaning and prying cocksuckers won't." Al concedes. "Go get the fucking Russian," he says, "send the fucking wire." Adams goes off with this unspoken half-apology from Al, who turns his rage back on Hearst. "We want his piss pot's play hours occupied by confusion and grievance," he declares, with menace. "We want him sitting, sulking like a three-year-old whose toys won't do his biddin'. As Johnny takes the metaphor a step too far, talking about his jack-in-the-box that never worked, Al studies Alma's discarded hat. "If she'd complete her walk to the bank," he says, thinking aloud, "she'd confound this motherless c*nt." With his plan in place, he yells for Jewel to prepare tea for two, on a fucking tray.

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