Deadwood (2004–2006): Season 3, Episode 5 - A Two-Headed Beast - full transcript

Engine room!

This is the Captain!

Throw coal
to the fuckin' boiler!

And a hard right rudder!

Hello, the galley!
Fuckin' jeroboam of champagne

to the bridge immediately!

Uh, Mr. T.

Brief uh, idle time,

a harmless
wilin' away.

I'm considering, Con,

being Swearengen's decided
a underling'll represent him



in certain of our mutual transactions,
would it be my seemly tactic

to do likewise?

Hmm.

I'd need to know
my man had discipline

and appetites in fuckin' harness
and the like.

Well, what this is,
sir, uh...

yesterday, I occasioned
to fuck a woman

after a considerable
period of abstention,

and that seems now
to have...

throwed me unawares

into a fuckin' spasm
of sex interest,

which I...

fuckin' pray
will be brief.

Well...



I believe I'll defer enlisting you
in this other aspect.

Prudent, sir,

till I get well
on the other fuckin' side.

Iceberg fuckin' avoided.

Looming
fuckin' catastrophe.

Mr. Tolliver
and Mr. Swearengen are...

- uneasy colleagues.
- I wouldn't know, sir.

That feels to me
less than a full verity.

I don't know what
that means, Mr. Hearst.

That you not knowin'
about any...

uneasiness between Tolliver
and Swearengen

- sounds to me like a lie.
- Yeah.

- I guess so.
- Better.

Would you want me saying
my first loyalty was to you, Mr. Hearst,

or to verity
instead of Mr. Swearengen?

That'd sound like a lie too,
and peg me a liar in the bargain.

So I'll have
to win you away.

I guess so.

But I oughtn't to imagine
the process will be quick.

Guess not.

Good, Adams.

Did he coach you long?

Didn't fuckin' coach me
at all, Mr. Hearst.

Captain Turner.

Go tell your friend
I know he's afraid of me.

Dority? Big guy?

I guess he looks
big to you.

Is that what you
brought me here for?

You want me to take that
back to Dority?

I guess so.

Crazy nigger at the livery's
in your debt.

Crazy nigger at the livery

ought not plan on this
becomin' no habit.

No chance of that.
He's bound for Oregon, Miss Lady,

with the handsome nigger
you're talkin' to right now,

if our luck holds
to the afternoon.

Get off your ass
and start to walkin'.

Your friend might get
to eat that warm.

Go ahead.
Put a hole in that thing.

I'm measurin' the stroke to move you
along with the rest of this shit.

Much obliged.

Travel safe.

Biggest day
of my goddamn life,

and I get a fuckin' spittoon
spilled over my head.

That you already knocked
on its side

when you were
fuckin' dozing.

I'm glad I did it.

I've enough blood and guts spilt
in my goddamn place, Steve.

For a lifetime,
you understand?!

If it takes the contents
of a spittoon

to make you fuckin' wash,
then so fuckin' be it!

What does washin' have
to do with the other, Tom?

Well, to put you
on the fuckin' path,

fuckin' respect yourself,
and the fuckin' occasion,

and bring no more fuckin' shame
onto my place, God damn it!

After I own the livery,
you slanty-eyed bastards,

maybe you'd like to come by
and look at me then!

Now get the fuck
outta here!

Here!
Harry, what time is it?

Hour's 17 minutes
till 10:00.

67 minutes
until my fuckin' luck

changes forever.

No harm in him
showin' up early.

You've done this camp a great
service, Mrs. Ellsworth.

You're very kind.

And yet, Mr. Merrick,
in candor,

witnessing the events
of late in the East,

oughtn't any depositor
pause and consider

before trusting
his savings to a bank?

Uh, well,
I suppose that's true.

Which is why

a bank owned locally,

wishing to make available
funds to organize

- and develop our community...
- Mm-hm.

...to build businesses
and homes,

and whose deposits are
guaranteed by gold

not two miles distant
from this building

in which we sit,

isn't that

why the depositor at the Bank
of Deadwood, having considered,

ought come forward in assurance
and confidence?

Yes.

Yes.

Have you any questions
for me?

I have not, madam.
Not... not at the present moment.

Well, I guess that
argues for me showing

Captain Cuntface
how goddamn afraid I am.

It wasn't aftertalk
between you and Turner?

Hearst was there
when Turner said it,

and Hearst I asked did he
want it brought back to you.

Hearst says to me,
"I guess so."

"Guess so" don't sound
like Hearst.

I'd said "I guess so" before.
I think he was making small of me.

What is there
to consider over, Al?

That sea creature Turner
called me out.

It's Hearst
calling you out.

I'm trying to decipher
his reason.

Me seein' to Turner will not delay
your goddamn decipherin'.

Can you shut up now, Dan,
that you fuckin' couldn't before?

He hurt you, then he
calls to you like a dog.

I had to tell him
to fuck himself.

Even as I forbore till I could
see to my fuckin' arrangements.

Think they'll get
seen to by the snows?

Ready your pen.

Your addressing me like
a fuckin' field hand

won't impede me cooperatin'.

Now go!

That... that's it, Hostetler.

'Cause I keep my sense
of priority

on what the fuck
is important.

I broke
your fuckin' tip.

"Mrs. Alma Ellsworth,

serene and comely principal

of the just opened
Deadwood Bank,

assured this reporter that
depositors need fear no local echo

of Eastern
financial panics.

A locally-owned bank..."

- Careful, be careful.
- Thank you.

Uh, "lending to develop businesses
and build homes in the region,

and backed by
the underground assets

of one of the strongest mining
concerns in the Dakota territory,

such a bank
cannot help but..."

Do you mind if we

walk on more level ground,
Mr. Blazanov?

Oh, no no no no.
I'll watch out for livestock.

Thank you.
"Such a bank cannot help

but draw prudent customers
in great numbers

from every area
of our Black Hills."

Mrs. Ellsworth,
being so elevated,

so sweetly radiant
in spirit,

I wonder if her words

resonated with me
at the time

as being more poetic
and compelling

than now they seem
in cold transcription

and with the lady
herself absent.

This is bad.

To abandon a friend like that
when he's overtaken by drink.

I think this is
more woeful, Mr. Merrick.

We shall fetch
the sheriff, Mr. Blazanov.

Leon.

Mr. Tolliver.

That's a guilty skulkin' fuckin' look
on your features, son.

I'd think by now you'd
be more come to terms

with your weaknesses.

Merciless conscience, sir,
since childhood.

You're buyin' drugs?

I was buying drugs,
yes, sir.

That is the fuckin' cross
my weakness has to bear.

And do you bear it
for yourself alone, Leon,

or long as you're about it,
with others as well

and earn the extra dollar
thereby?

I do not
do that, sir, no.

I got to wonder, son...

is it you been helpin' Lila
in her fall?

It is not, Mr. Tolliver.

Lila drops her own bucket
down the well.

I'm telling you, sir!
Takin' a whore o' yours down,

that's next to directly
robbing you.

Fella like me
that's been...

indisposed,

to show he's back in play

might cut
a thief's throat.

You're fuckin'
misinterpreting it.

I-I was copping for another
but it wasn't fuckin' Lila.

I was copping for
that cunt at the bank.

Their faces
weren't familiar,

the men who
left him here.

His name was Pasco.

Does Pasco
have a friend here?!

How do you
know his name?

Cornishman.
Talked union,

worked for Hearst.

Do you feel there's
a significance to that?

The third of those Cornish
organizers's been killed.

You've got nothin' to say to that
or on any other fuckin' topic.

On Hearst's orders,
you believe?

A knife to the chest, body atop
Hearst's works in the thoroughfare.

I withdraw
from our agreement.

I'd ask its very brief
extension.

No.

No. Or we're both
just fuckin' cowards.

I ain't no fucking coward!

Though Dan might support
your position.

What's he talking about?

Wait a bit, Bullock.

Don't go for Hearst yet.
You know Al.

I've got the briefest
of other business.

See to it.

Yes, s-see to it,
Bullock.

Watching us advance
on your stupid teepee, Chief,

knowing you had
to make your move...

did you not
just want first

to fucking understand?

Huh?

Your repayment of the loan
we make you now, Mr. Fields,

whose proceeds purchase
Mr. Hostetler's livery,

is secured
by the livery deed itself

to be held as collateral

in the possession of the bank
until the debt shall be satisfied.

Understood and agreed to.

And don't lose one second
to wakefulness or worry.

I'll repay
in a timely fashion.

Will you be paid
in specie

or currency,
Mr. Hostetler?

Gold, please.

Thank you, Trixie.

I don't suppose a handshake

signaling
the transaction's completion

is absolutely required.

Then I guess we don't
have to do it then.

And if you're hoping to pass as a man
before you hightail it to Oregon,

you will return to me
that board you made me sign.

Thank you so much
for squiring me,

these gentlemen being so obviously
compelled by other responsibilities.

Such acid scrutiny
by former boon companions.

We was never your fucking
boon companions, E.B.

Forgive my confusing, Dan,
my own deep feelings for you

with what yours
may have been for me.

I did not offer
my hotel to Hearst...

which sale has made me
outcast among you.

Hearst forced
the transaction upon me.

I miss
our morning coffee.

Yeah?

Being no one is frequenting
the main bar, Davey,

what in fuck business you think
you're gonna do standing behind there?

Boss says I'm to attend
the auxiliary bar.

The auxiliary bar
ain't made

a cunt hair's
bit of business sense

since its
fuckin' inception!

Go on up and set
the boss straight.

Hey, you don't want to take
that smart-aleck tone,

that fuckin' attitude with me, Davey.
You hear me?

Hearst organizes violence
between his man and Dority.

- Does he?
- Orchestrates combat between them,

mutilates me,
plants that organizer's body

like a flag in the fuckin'
thoroughfare.

That last is fresh news.

Makes of me and Tolliver
a two-headed beast

to savage what might be healthy
borne out of the fucking election

and gnaw its own
privates off-hours.

Plans keep coming
to the cocksucker

that their final sum
is this:

but for what brings
income to him,

break what he can;
what he can't,

set those parts

against themselves
to weaken.

Scoundrel!

Hearst.

The why's

what fucking
confounds me.

What's in his head,
I cannot fucking find in mine.

Don't suppose you talk
to the Captain?

Hails and farewells,
but he never replies.

- Or the cook?
- The negress and I are not intimate.

All right, E.B.

- May I ask your plans, Al?
- No.

Only to further
their achievement.

- No.
- All right.

All right.

Yeah.

Glad to have been of help.
Always available to counsel.

I dare not think

what you've been
through to reach us.

It's been a crucifixion.

Too painful,
even the merest details.

Formidable,
even at bay.

My last camp, Jack.

As it may be
for us all, young man.

The place is yearning
for elevation

and festering
with wealth.

Oh dear.

Augment of cupidity
in the iris,

a healthy augury.

We must help them
however we can.

Heave ho, young man,

but slowly.

It's past me.

I cannot figure
the fucking angle.

Go ahead and fucking
fight him.

All right then.

What you want
to be carrying, Dan?

Nothing I would want
found secreted on me,

worse comes to worst.

Well, don't say you ain't
bringing your blade.

Naked, visible in
its fucking sheath

and dispensable
before we join.

If he dispenses with his.

If it's getting
to go wrong, Dan,

you just drop down flat.

What the fuck
did you just say?

Drop flat if
it's going wrong,

and I'll blow
his fucking head off.

You do and it'll be
the last goddamn thing

you do on this
fucking earth.

Going wrong is not the end
of fucking things, Johnny.

Fuck no!

I have come back
from plenty of shit

that looked like
it was going wrong.

All right, Dan.

He's got the advantage
on you there, don't he?

That short-cropped
fucking hair?

Well, he's not
lacking for brass.

"Come scare me
in the thoroughfare."

Star City, Captain,

you remember
the man's name?

Leonard.

That was a fight.

Not how I remember.

...As an object lesson
to every man watching.

For not much fight,
it did not end quickly

I suppose is what I'm trying to say.
Do you understand me?

Yes, I understand.

Oh, you son of a bitch!

Thank you, Jack.

I am your Jack,
Chesterton,

but your producer
too.

A rigor we've
always sustained.

To carry a performer
through illness

when recovery is
in prospect

is an indulgence
one can sometimes justify.

But support of idleness

destined for the grave,

that, Chesterton,

the narrow economy
of our art does not permit.

You would have me
die destitute?

You will purchase your keep
with that voice...

intrusive and incessantly
opinionated...

no vagary of our past
has yet stilled.

The subject?

We have but one.
In this instance,

the theater is
formerly a bordello.

The eye lines
must be quite wrong.

In the morning,
it meets

with your
atrabilious scrutiny.

Oh...

I must rest.

Bellegarde?

We proceed.

- Costumes, Countess, will you chair?
- Ja.

Props and scenery, chair?

Only if you serve
as second.

I'm so so so so sorry.
Is costumes taken?

- Are they performing now?
- Quiet.

Civic relations...

I'd appoint myself...

without objection?

Will we continue
as if all among us are well

when one so plainly
is not?

And what committee, Bellegarde,
to address the old man's mortal illness

- would you have us fucking form?
- No committee.

Committees is
the task before us.

- No business as usual.
- Business and tasks is what we'll have,

just as you are tardy
and ginger on your bum

for the usual
fucking reasons,

despite your deep
personal grief.

Not offered as a case
for change.

Civic relations is me,

and we'll include here
a subcommittee

for the renovation
of the bordello.

Supervision of the work, subcommittee
head... Countess, done, with thanks.

Civic relations,

construction subcommittee,
Claudia.

Countess is the second.

Hiring laborers.

A truth divinely writ:

We make more devotees
of theater

engaging 20 laborers
at $2 apiece

than two of the same
at $20.

Busy busy busy.

Is he receiving
as yet?

Let me go see.

Tell him last fucking call.

Broken bones
mortally interfering

with organs is what
I would like to rule out.

Doc's back, Dan.

Don't need the fucking doc.

Come on, Dan.
Let him look at you.

He come back special.

You heard what
the fuck I said.

He wants to poke around
in some innards,

tell him to work
on the one I killed.

Bottle?

One of the girls?

There's a clamoring line
to see to you.

Get the fuck out
of here, Johnny.

Sure.

Listen for raspy

fucking shallow breathing

in the course
of the fucking night.

Him going blue too,
would hint to you

- to fucking come get me.
- Definitely.

Have you ample towels?

Uh, ample, thank you.

Enough hot water?

Well, I could almost
wish it cooler.

May I help you
with your back?

What?

Scrubbing your back.

Uh, I'm out now.

Thanks anyhow.

Does it occur to you, banging
repeatedly on the fucking wall,

either I'm not in... which makes
what you're doing stupid...

or being in,
don't want to see you...

which makes you a pain
in my balls!?

Doubtless now
nodding agreement

like Little Boy
fucking Lost.

What?

Hello.

You fucking work
at the bank.

I do now.

Not a noble "hello"
at opening,

and regal fucking look-by
at the closing up of shop?

I'm at the hardware store
all day, Trixie.

I'll switch with you.

Bank's a Jew's proper province
anyways...

along with the addled
self-deceived.

Our depositors?

The bank's founder
and president,

chief officer, as well,
of air-headed smugness

and headlong plunges unawares
into the fucking abyss.

- I don't understand.
- You wouldn't.

You're too fucking
healthy-minded.

You'll sit here waiting
for me to materialize

from a piece
of fucking furniture

and think
the world is normal.

Do you want to get
fucked or not?

Please.

Your hair looks
like a porcupine.

Forgot the brush.

Do you mind?

Well, no no no.

That's...

- How's it now?
- Better.

Thanks very much.

I haven't finished.

Oh, go ahead then.
Go on.

- Presentable?
- Very.

You're young
for failing eyesight.

Spiny too,
like a porcupine?

Huh-uh.

I guess it'd be unmanly

to fear I may faint.

Please don't.

I'll make some
arrangement.

What do you mean?

For my things
and the like...

arrange to collect
my things.

Will you have me...

bring the little one
back?

- I'll collect Sofia.
- Don't forget.

Five hours looking
for this goddamn board.

Come on, come on, come on,
come on, yeah.

Think this is pretty
fucking funny,

- don't you, Hostetler?
- No.

Watch me crawl around here
like a goddamn fool,

and you laughing
up your fucking sleeve.

Hostetler don't know
where the board is. I'm the one hid it.

Oh, I believe that.
Definitely.

Assistant fucking baboon.

You hid it,
he don't know where

and you can't remember
where it is!

I wasn't too drunk not
to know I should hide it,

but I was too drunk

to keep track
of where.

Is this it?
Is this the board?

Clean it the fuck off!

Well...

Yeah.

Bring it here.
Bring it in.

Unwrap that cocksucker!

What the fuck
is that supposed to be?

Give him the board.

You think
I'm a fucking moron?

You think I'm a moron

- to fall for your fucking lies.
- Don't you call me dishonest.

I'll call you that
and worse.

You hand me that, and then ride off
with the actual board?

This is the actual board, wrapped in the
cheesecloth that I stole off a horse.

I never knew
this board was took

from where I had it
until I looked for it

during late last night,
and that's when he told me

that he had hid it.

To keep you from doing
something stupid.

This is the board!
For Christ's sake,

what difference does
the rest of it make?

I don't know
it's the actual board.

There's no more
fucking writing on it!

Shall I accept myself
as satisfied,

only for Hostetler
once escaped

to send the real fucking board
back from Cheyenne

while he's laughing
up his lying sleeve?

For Bullock to open the package
and humiliate me?

Or for the fucking bank woman
to humiliate me

with the true
fucking board?

Or to revoke my
fucking security

on my fucking loan?

Or whatever your fucked-up plan is
to make me a fucking cunt!

I will not be called

a fucking liar.

I didn't live
my life for that.

Yeah, fuck you, Steve.
We're leaving.

Talk stupid
to our fucking dust!

Yeah?

I wish you'd look in
on Dan, boss.

Not for being
poorly as...

down.

Johnny...

some shit's best
walked through alone.

Dan's killed people before.
You have too,

but neither've been
solitary after.

A fair fight,

something Dan and I have
always struggled to avoid,

is different.

You see the light go out
of their eyes.

It's just you left

and death.

So that's why Dan
wants to be alone.

He knows where
to find me.

Sit down
if you want to.

What are... what are
we waiting for?

To see what kind
of hell breaks loose.

Whiskey, please.

And leave the bottle.

I just saw to the remains
of a friend.

Yes, sir.

George Hearst.

Jack Young.

- Jack Young.
- Yes, sir.

- How do you do, Jack?
- How do you do?

- Sheriff.
- Is he up there?

- Who?
- Is Hearst fucking up there, Farnum?

I cannot say.
I cannot say.

I cannot betray
the whereabouts

of an owner-guest.

Mr. Hearst...

I regret
not being out here

with you before, sir.
Help too stupid to wake me from my nap.

Not at all.

Go on down
there now, Jack.

At least do
that much right.

Hell of a fucking day.

How much do you know?

I heard there
was a set-to

in the thoroughfare.

Did you know it was
my man killed?

Was that the outcome?

My man was killed, yes.

I'm sorry.

It happens.

It's the nature
of things.

It don't lessen
the sadness

when it's a friend.

The sheriff joins us.

Whiskey.

The sheriff recently
put me on notice

he is vigilant

of my possible
transgressions.

You sound drunk to me.

Whom are you
addressing?

You. You sound drunk.

- Do I?
- Mm-hmm.

When I say
"Fuck yourself, Sheriff,"

will you put that down
to drunkenness

or a high estimate
of your athleticism?

Did you just tell me

to fuck myself?

I think I did,
and to shut up

or I'll quiet you
myself.

- You're under arrest.
- Fuck you,

and shut up

or I will shut you up
for good.

Threatening
a peace officer,

I'm taking you
into custody.

- Don't be stupid, Bullock...
- Don't you be fucking stupid.

Fuck you.

Johnny.

The sheriff eliminates
several of our options.

Not a fucking word
comes to print.

Understood.