Deadwood (2004–2006): Season 3, Episode 12 - Tell Him Something Pretty - full transcript

Quit your goddamn knockin'.
I'm comin'.

Casket's come
with your name on it.

Why tell me in the middle
of the night?

- Body's inside.
- Evidently not mine.

I'd as soon
make delivery.

You'll find out where
when I decide. Good night.

I don't like
your tone of voice.

Who are you, Mr. Utter, for me to care
what you like or don't?

I'm the guy that
the next time you see me,

you'd better take
a different fuckin' tone with.

Given what's in store,
I'm not sure I'll ever learn



what price I'd have paid
for not complyin'.

Oh, I guess someone
lookin' hard

might could find you
in there somewheres,

peekin' from
under the covers

to make
a fuckin' threat.

Their quality apart,
Claudia, failing reception,

our efforts are lost
to the void.

I understand.

Don't say so!
Please!

I lose my thought.

This camp is
in mortal danger.

The man Hearst
is a murderous engine.

My friend Swearengen,

aware their combat
is unequal,



feels the appeal
of the gory finish.

Others I've just come
to know stand candidates

in the elections,

whose results they
know may be moot.

What, one is disposed
to ask,

in fuck ought
a theater man to do?

Of a certainty, our debut's
postponement is necessary.

But unless
of one's own volition,

certain is it too

that one would not
be canceled.

To prevent that,
if need be,

even off the boards,
one would take steps

of one's fuckin' own!

Why did you
bring me here?

I don't know, child.

What's the point Al
having us leave I.O.U.s

when Wu can't read
fuckin' English?

Wu gets back, he'll take Al the I.O.U.s
for interpretin',

find out Al did
the rightful thing

- while he was gone.
- It's a big point with Al, ain't it?

When he ain't lyin', Al's the most
honorable man you'll ever meet.

Johnny, balance up against
this fuckin' Chinese sign

- while I lay my rack on your shoulder.
- Why?

Just shut the fuck up.
Get this meat inside.

What are you
gonna do?

Murder.

Where the fuck
you been?

I fuckin' vouched
for you!

We're camped up at
the Spearfish Meadows,

as not to tip
Hearst off

till Swearengen
can deploy us.

I mean, I rode
into town to tell you,

but I fell
one saloon short.

Come on.

Lots of Chinks in that
meadows up there.

Is the railroad
comin' to camp?

To have kept
our claim,

we'd have had to leave here,
you and I,

so that thugs we'd
have had to engage

could counter
Mr. Hearst's thugs

without having the further
responsibility

of defending us.

So...

we are to sell, Sofia,

so that we may stay.

To be fair
to Mr. Hearst...

which is more
than he deserves...

the price he is paying assigns
a great worth to our holdings,

which lacking expertise
of our own and others

now being absent
who might have provided it,

as a practical matter

makes refusal absurd.

But how I hate to give
that man what he wants.

Your hair has
survived my diatribe.

If we left,

we wouldn't be able
to see Mr. Ellsworth.

And we are not leaving.

Your fuckin' throat's
gonna be at risk, Hawkeye,

in case you don't
fuckin' realize,

which wouldn't bother me except
mine's gonna be too.

Advancing your interests,

Mrs. Ellsworth,

mine

and all others,

what we do here seems

natural and proper.

Mr. Newman, I ask you

to ready payment

to the officers
of Mrs. Ellsworth's bank.

We'll receive it where we can put it
in her safe.

May I hope, madam,

you do not subscribe
to this insulting

and juvenile precaution?

I do not find
the precaution juvenile,

so many having
been murdered

with whom you've had
dealings in this camp.

At least you acknowledge
the insult.

I acknowledge the pretense
to civility...

in a man so
brutally vicious...

as vapid and grotesque.

Have the gold seen
to her bank, Newman.

Have its purity assayed.

Let her or her seconds
choose the man.

When that tedium is completed,
have the documents witnessed

as though we were
all of us Jews.

And bring the business
back to me.

Excuse my absence,
Mr. Star,

as I hope you'll forgive

my thoughtless aspersion
on your race.

You stand
for local office,

but some contests
being countywide,

I await wires
from the other camps.

You've changed your scent.

Can't shut up!

Every bully I ever met

can't shut
his fuckin' mouth...

except when he's afraid.

You mistake for fear,
Mr. Bullock,

what is in fact
preoccupation.

I'm having a conversation
you cannot hear.

See, that's just Miss Stubbs now
answering my message I sent her

by secret thinking, requesting unguent
for my bruises.

Hello hello,
Miss Stubbs.

Hello hello,
yourself.

- Hello, Sofia.
- Hello, Miss Stubbs.

I'm just going
to the center.

- I wondered if you needed anything.
- I've let her in on it.

You needn't tell a stretcher how it is
you come to appear.

You told?

Asked for unguent by secret thinking
for the beating

- she was giving my hands.
- That's my purpose in the center.

Stopped to ask
if you needed aught else.

If I did, I believe

you'd already know.

Hit her a good one
for me.

I will.

Come in!

I was looking
for Mr. Hearst.

Who do you think
you're talkin' to?

Candidly, of late,

I'm at pains
to be certain

which voices are within me
and which without.

This one is without,
telling you to come in.

Of course.

What is it, Mr. Hearst?

I've sensed for some while
we owed each other a talk.

Let the outcome
be grim or worse,

I'll at least
be relieved

that it's past.

May I look
at the addressee?

How will you know
to whom it is be delivered

if you do not?

Oh dear.

Well, I'll be
on my way then.

Must have shook
100 hands in Sturgis.

When you declared
for sheriff, Harry,

I feared you'd be
a poor campaigner

and derelict
in your duties here.

You've held your
end up and more.

Ache in my hand and wrist,
the deep-set dirt defies me.

If sweeping, you don't raise
your usual simoon,

it's a paltry price
to pay.

Fuck if you saw
that comin'.

I have something
to show you, Harry.

The Finster Model 60

steam pumper
fire wagon.

120-gallon boiler?

Three brass nozzles.

Nickel-finished firebox?

I believe that
to be the case.

Did the hats come?

Is that a checker
in Steve's mouth?

You don't want to look
after him, just say so.

Who says I don't?

Only he kibitzes
my moves.

- Where are you goin'?
- Takin' him to vote for Bullock.

This may require
my supervision.

I'll vote just
before lunch.

I'll go once
you've relieved me.

You don't expect me to believe
you didn't steam this open

and reseal it for me
to open again.

I didn't wanna know.

This motherfucker!

For my complicity in his shooting,
he orders my death.

You did read it.

Be quick then, please.

Your complicity's mostly
in your noggin', E.B.

It's the whore
he wants dead.

By what vile method then?

Is Trixie to be
drawn and quartered

and set aflame?

Say he'll have my answer
in an hour.

- Al.
- E.B.

I can't, Al. I can't engage him
in further conversation.

When I hear his voice,
I see the inside of his skull!

Phantoms grin out
at me,

oozing gruesome goo.

Slide this under
his door then.

Would you rather
I tell him?

Only decide quickly.

Fear is every man's
portion.

- Did he send for you, Joanie?
- What's happenin' here, Con?

Well, not knowin'
Mr. Tolliver's

present state of feelin' towards you
is why I ask.

Then why don't you
stay the fuck out of it, Con?

I wasn't fuckin' dreamin'.

It is Joanie Stubbs.

I got "Stay the fuck out" written
on a stone tablet in my bedroom.

- How you feeling, Cy?
- I get around all right.

- Your color's better.
- Is that a fucking fact?

My color's better,
Stupid.

Stupid,
this is Joanie Stubbs.

Hi.

What's your name,
honey?

Go ahead and tell
her your name.

- Janine.
- Hi, Janine.

- Hi.
- Go ahead now, Jan-nee-nee-neen,

and finish your Latin
lessons and your Greek.

The thirst this girl
has for knowledge,

she's barely time
to suck a prick.

She's pretty.

What the fuck
do you want?

I've been thinking
about you is all.

Help me understand
cunt, Lord.

Saying the other night you oughtn't
come inside that school, Cy,

don't feel
I don't wish you well.

Buy some lines in the paper, Joanie.
Let the public know.

I know you meant that
for me in your way.

- What?
- Meant me well.

If it's Christmas,
where's the fucking snow,

or the fucking
harp music or the like?

If it wasn't for you,
I'd have died a long long time ago.

Some happiness has come
into my life now,

and I'm grateful
I didn't.

My lines are
women, liquor

and rigged games
of chance.

Are you playing?

What do you think of all this trouble
Hearst brought?

Does a girl have to drive cattle
for you to eat her pussy?

You voting, Leon?

Against the opium
ordinance.

What the fuck are you
looking at?

That whore's gotta die.

Jen?

Hearst won't stand
for an empty coffin.

Likely, he paid
most attention

to Trixie's tits
and snatch,

so Jen'll
adequately pass.

- Jesus Christ.
- I know.

- You like her.
- She's a nice girl.

All right.

She's learning to read.

Spend some time
with her,

and let me know
when you're done.

You'll scare her.

I've done it once
or twice, Johnny.

She won't know that's
what I'm there for.

She won't need to. You scare her
no matter what.

Oh, just give me
a fucking knife then.

Just give me
the fucking knife.

- Fucking Trixie!
- Don't get me started.

- What are you doing?
- Going for a stroll to the polls.

One vote for Star
buys a hand job.

- Repeaters get a suck.
- Trixie.

I'm through staying inside.
If something's to happen,

- let it happen to me.
- You selfish cunt!

- No one asked you to put me up.
- That's right.

That's right.
My fucking choice!

I'm not fucking afraid.

- I guess maybe I'm not either.
- Not to die.

Well, ain't you
clever?

Ain't you
fucking clever,

- you deep-thinking fucking Jew?
- Why bother with your boots

- if you're going to be on your knees?
- Let go of me!

- Let me walk out myself!
- The fuck if I will!

At least I can say I threw you out
if you'd rather die than live with me!

Use just half till you see
how you stand it.

It itches bad.

I'm saying use just half
till you see.

I wanna talk
with you.

No, I mean it, Jen.
I wanna talk.

Pure conversation.

Nothing for you
to be alarmed about.

Four and five deep
to vote, boss.

Eyes up
or predominantly down

when Hearst's goons
glare upon 'em?

- Uh, I want to go check again.
- Good.

Good. Never opine
short of certainty.

What is this, Jen?

A wall.

On the surface,
yes, it is.

But inside,

many creatures
go about their lives,

such as ants.

They got a whole
operation going.

They got soldier ants
and worker ants

and whore ants to fuck
the soldiers and the workers,

right inside that wall,
baby ants.

Everyone's got a task
to hew to, Jen.

You understand me?

Jesus Christ's
fucking sake.

We'll talk
about this later.

- I can't.
- Give it to me then.

No.

Give me
the fucking knife.

She ain't stole
or been quarrelsome

- or set the bedding afire.
- Get out of my fucking way, Johnny.

It ain't fair
to fucking kill her.

Since when did that
begin entering in?

I won't let you pass,
boss.

- Johnny.
- I won't.

I won't let you.

You're willing to die
in her stead?

If I got to...

preferring you'd
handle things different.

Make sure the whore
don't leave.

Let Johnny cool down,
then knock him the fuck out.

What's gonna happen?

What's gonna happen is
I'm gonna go look and see if,

perchance, I mightn't
be the owner

of another
fucking knife.

Richardson!

- I can't remember.
- Come here.

Give it to me.

I don't suppose you gonna
go vote stocking-footed.

- I forgot.
- Ain't those them?

You gonna vote
for Mr. Bullock now.

Even though he beat
Mr. Farnum,

'cause he took
you-know-who by his ear.

Like some others ain't
brave enough to do.

Anyways, Harry Manning
gives me splinters.

How's he do that,
child?

Raising the windows
after he's ate.

Richardson...

Richardson,
you're right about that.

South had that man's gas
to load in their cannons...

shoot, wouldn't be no free
niggers nowhere.

Noah hisself would have
throwed him out t' boat.

Now that's
for us talking now.

Don't you be saying what I say to you
outside these rooms.

First you back, you're gonna clean your
mess up, Richardson.

- You hear me?
- Yes, ma'am.

Okay. Go on on.

- You look fine.
- Thank you.

Remember who gave it to you, boys.

Vote Democratic.

Look what broke out their cage...
a monkey.

Right to vote shall not
be abridged or denied...

on account of race
or color

or condition
of previous servitude.

15th Amendment
to the U.S. Constitution,

ratified 1870,

law of the land thereafter,
including territories.

They got something about niggers
not waiting their turn?

- Not that I'm aware of.
- Oh, you ain't aware of it.

Then I guess you'll want this
white man voting first.

What's a few minutes
more?

The nigger was
before him.

- Yes.
- No, he wasn't.

I guess you're blind
and stupid.

- I believe I'll vote later.
- Fuck if you will.

Get your nigger ass
back in line.

You'd better be walking him
home afterwards.

You'd better see
to that yourself,

'cause if he don't make it,
you'll be eating your spuds running

till I hunt you
the fuck down.

And that ends that.

What your
shit-stirring started.

Will you drop
your fucking ballot?

Ain't it wonderful, Steve?

Sorry for all the commotion,
Miss Stubbs.

That's all right,
Mr. Utter.

I got something
at the jail

for you
and the other one.

'Cept right now

- I'm pretty agitated.
- Well, I got time.

Maybe you'll calm down
as we walk.

All right.

How do you make your way, Star,
not sometimes buying silence

by punching her
in the fucking mouth?

She thinks Hearst is
going to want her dead.

She thinks you'll kill
one of these others.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

- Jesus Christ.
- Is it true?

I already fucking did.

- Is that true?
- Don't waste your Jew's time

wondering what's true and what ain't.
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 you tell
fucking Hearst,

before you tell
that loudmouth cunt,

tell your fucking partner
I need him here.

- Don't talk about her that way.
- I fucking recant.

Off you fucking go.

And don't neglect fucking Bullock.
Water comes to a boil.

Unlucky fucking mutt.

You remember Hawkeye.

- How many has he got?
- Ride from Cheyenne

winnowed the wheat
from the chaff.

How many, Adams,
of the promised 23?

Almost 18,
Mr. Swearengen,

camped in Spearfish Meadows,
ready to join in the issue.

What does he mean by
"almost 18"?

17 normal size and a short one
that's hell with a knife.

Turn me loose.

Ain't that Mr. Wu?

In there, Wu.

Go with him to get the men,
station in Cochran's Alley.

Send word you're positioned
with the midget.

That went off well.

- Hello hello.
- What happened, Jane?

Nothing out
of the ordinary.

The bank lady
took her child

to Ellsworth's grave
and I got drunk.

- How long you been here?
- Many years.

Or is it a day or two? What's important
is you get to keep asking me questions

so I don't get
to ask you one.

Go ahead.

Why in fuck,
with me asking you in

to play hot hands
with me and Sofia,

you stood there instead
looking like you just did murder?

Well, you didn't.
I'd come in if you'd asked.

Bullshit! How can you say we've been
sending secret thought messages

and pretend
you didn't know?

- Well, anyways.
- Anyways, what?

Anyways, I've just finished
my business at the center.

Who gives a fuck?

I saw you, and then I went
to the Bella Union,

and I talked to Cy real quick,
and then I went and saw the voting...

Is that so? Oh, so did
you go see Cy real quick?

Did you pay
a quick call on Cy?

Did they stick some
quick pricks in you?

- It wasn't like that, Jane.
- Who gives a fuck? Not me.

I saw at the voting

what I guess you knowed
about Mr. Utter all these years,

and Mr. Hickok
must have knowed.

What he's like in a tight...
one he didn't even need to be in.

Yeah, he's okay
in those.

I want to be that to you.

Even when we don't get along.

You got that part down
perfect, me and him.

What, the "don't get along"?

Of course we had years
of practice.

He sent us this.

That's Bill Hickok's robe
you got there,

that's whose that is.

Warm.

I, in no way,

wish to impugn
his veracity,

but I would have Mr. Swearengen
understand that

for her try
on my life,

I ought to see that the whore
has paid with her own.

All right.

Wherever the viewing
will impose least.

- You'll go there?
- Of course.

I feel very safe
in this camp.

This fucking place is
gonna be a fucking misery.

Every fucking one of them,
every fucking time I walk by,

"Ooh, how could you?
How could you?"

With their big
fucking cow eyes.

The entire fucking gaggle of 'em
is gonna have to bleed and quit

before we can even
hope for peace.

What's the fucking
alternative?

I ain't fucking killing her
that sat nights with me sick

and taking slaps to her mug
that were some less than fucking fair.

I should have fucking
learned to use a gun,

but I'm too fucking
entrenched in my ways.

And you ain't
exactly the one

to be leveling criticisms
on the score

of being slow to adapt.
You fucking people

are the original slow
fucking learners!

- Mmm.
- How was she, pal?

Good. Wonderful.

I don't mind
a small pair of tits.

You sure you're done?

You look the sort
could turn right around

- and drop the hammer again.
- I will if it's free.

See you later, pal.

C'mere.

Did it seem like Hearst
ordered the interference?

Huh-uh.
Being stupid on his own,

that strong-arm was.

Or if you want,
I could say "yes."

Tea, Mr. Utter?

Tea got kick to it too,
a little, don't it?

Would you rather coffee?

Oh, no no no. I ought
to get familiar with tea.

Much free liquor
as them Pinkertons

poured against you,
Sheriff,

it seemed like strong support
for you and Star.

My election's countywide,
Charlie.

That's what's
fucking worrisome,

fucking countywide
aspect.

- Mr. Star.
- I'm sorry for barging in.

What is it, Sol?

Everything.

Mr. Langrishe.

Making bold to ask
after your health, sir.

- I was shot in the shoulder.
- So one understood.

But the wound seems
healing clean.

- And your back, sir?
- Oh, deprived

of your Turkish
artillery treatments,

my back is as it was.

Please blame
my dereliction

on the demands
of readying our theater.

I had been blaming
your choosing

old friends over new acquaintances.
Please, sit down.

One prays always, sir,
as one's store is depleted

by time, new acquaintances
may become one's friends.

As your friend,
I ask if you believe

that fate has not chosen
for your encounter

with your
deepest destiny

the place where you
now find yourself,

while decreeing
for some...

my friend Swearengen
included...

- quite otherwise?
- Your proposition is that this place

at this hour will show

- all of Mr. Swearengen?
- Yes.

And Mr. Bullock,
who took me by the ear?

I only hazard
my impression that,

less possessing
his character

than possessed by it,
he is also someone

for whom the outcome
must be soon.

Whilst imagining

for you, Mr. Hearst,

the Earth entertaining

some larger purpose

to be told you elsewhere
and at another time.

Why do you say so?

In those words,
I mean...

"The Earth speaks"?

A vestige
of childhood tales

in which not only
humans spoke,

but other creatures too.

Mountains and streams.

I imagine she speaks
to me still,

the Earth,
what's inside her,

how to get it out.

Comprehending
such a language

can cost a man

his own kind's
sympathies.

Arguing perhaps

for a more
solitary life.

Sad anointing.

The mountain I must
go up on,

Mr. Langrishe,
I have ascended before.

It's in Montana, and I came down it
with silver,

suspecting there was copper too,
and now I'm told that's true.

Do I understand you
to say you're leaving us?

For the Anaconda, yes.

But first, I'll have
the election returns,

and then one last visit
with your friend

to see the cunt
who shot me dead.

Good day, sir.

Box her in my office.

Send Jewel up
to clean up the mess?

If I'm having her boxed
in my fucking office,

don't I want the blood left
for the cocksucker to see?

And when that's over,
if we're still alive,

I'll clean my own
fucking mess up.

Look in on Johnny,
see if he's grown the fuck up.

Sturgis is a landslide
for Harry Manning.

970 votes for
Harry Manning,

68 votes
for Mr. Bullock.

Heavy turnout among
the bivouacked military.

"Within the hour," Hearst said
20 minutes or so ago.

Didn't you tell him?

I have not as yet, no.

How do you think you might
enjoy private life?

Sturgis?

970 votes
for Harry Manning,

68 votes
for Mr. Bullock.

Put her in?

Don't I want to put
my dress on her first,

- you fucking moron?
- I'm sent to check on Johnny.

I'll come back
and put her in.

She's putting Jen
in her dress.

Johnny.

Then I'll do the boxing.

We show united in the prelude
when he's making

his entrance
and the fucking like.

Comes to viewing the body,
I stand for virtue alone.

The deception failing,

I'll make a pass
at him with my blade.

In the aftermath,

play the lie as mine,

knowing I speak
of you in heaven.

Others owe thought
to the future

that thinking straightforward
don't come that naturally to.

Fuck you, Dan!

- Fuck you!
- You got my condolences.

As sorrowful as
the passing of Jen is,

you know that Al,
he didn't have no choice.

- Bullshit.
- Feeling how he feels about Trixie,

is what I'm saying.
Come on, Johnny,

you side
with your feelings.

Right or wrong, you side
with your feelings.

Can you come to yourself
in time to be of some fucking use?

You don't chew your cabbage
twice, do you, Mr. Newman?

I guess I don't have
to set big blocks of time aside

for this future collaboration
between us

that Mr. Hearst
outlines here.

You don't want
to crack too fucking wise.

I don't want to be talking
to you at all, Mr. Newman,

but that seems to be
the way the hand lays.

I tell him you agree?

Yeah, you tell him
I agree,

and I appreciate the chance
at a new friendship.

A few nails in the box,

Dan, would do me
for pretext.

All but sucked your prick,

you'd have me be
your fucking quartermaster.

The rising tide
of fucking Chinks, Janine?

The ragtag collection
by the hardware store

I'd put in Swearengen's camp.

Good dope today,
am I right, Leon?

Last two or three days
have been good.

You are
a fucking beauty, Leon.

Lifts me up
to be with you.

Jesus!

What the fuck did
you do to me, sir?

I believe I fucking
stabbed you.

Gentlemen.

Any word yet on how
the other camps have voted?

Is it as sheriff,
Mr. Bullock,

- you divide us?
- Need anyone divide us inside?

Are you sure
you still hold office?

If I'm beat,
it owes to Yankton's whore

buying cavalry repeaters
in Sturgis.

Why, sir,
then you must protest;

camp in Yankton;
protest and demand justice;

grab the legislators
by their ears.

Ain't you here
to confirm a croaker?

In here?

Mr. Newman and so many
of his cohorts

as he deems appropriate
will precede us.

- You don't mind if I go in alone?
- Not at all, sir.

Hearst moves his operating
headquarters to Lead,

I get to see to all

his other-than-mining
interests here in the camp.

Congratulations, sir.

Thank you, Leon.

If those are your
last words here on Earth,

- you tell the Lord you went out stupid.
- He's dead.

Oh, not yet, honey.

See how the blood still
pumps a little out his leg?

When they're dead,
that turns to seep.

Do you believe I will
leave without seeing?

Well, I was hesitant
to presume.

What do you want done
with that body?

It's Mr. Swearengen's
affair now.

The body at my fucking
freight office,

- what you want done with that one?
- You'll be wired instructions.

Has she family
ought be notified?

I don't notify
fucking family.

I guess especially
not hers.

She has a sister,

whores in Gunnison.

Jen's sister,
you could write to,

care of the Yellowbird.

I'd take that fucking
scrub brush.

I wonder if,
the other day,

you took my not publishing
the news that you'd been shot

for a failure
to observe,

or lay it correctly
to a judgment on my part

that suppressing the news
would better serve the camp.

I've stopped reading
your paper, Merrick.

I'll have my people here
start another one...

to lie the other way.

Hop down. I'd like to take
the last look around.

If I'm quick enough
about this, Janine,

maybe me and Mr. Hearst
will get to hear the Lord judge Leon.

You want
to get a listen too?

Huh?

No, Charlie.

- Yes, Mr. Bullock?
- You've looked at your last body.

You're done tipping
your fucking hat.

Get out of here
or I'll drag you out by the ear.

Oh, please.
Please don't.

Drive on.

Tell fuckin' Con
to take care of that asshole.

You done fucking good.

I did fucking nothing.

That's often

a tough one, in aid

of the larger purpose.

Which is laying
head to pillow,

not confusing yourself
with a sucker?

Far as I ever get.

'Cause that's gonna be
a project tonight.

Did she suffer?

I was gentle
as I was able,

and that's the last we'll fucking
speak of it, Johnny.

Wants me to tell him
something pretty.