03x12 - Tell Him Something Pretty

Episode transcripts for the TV Show "Deadwood". Aired: March 21, 2004 –; August 27, 2006.
Western series about a mining town that wasn't part of any U.S. state or territory in the post-Civil w*r years, and thus was literally lawless attracting those wanting to get rich after a huge gold strike, as well as those looking to capitalize on the lack of organized law in the town
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03x12 - Tell Him Something Pretty

Post by bunniefuu »




Quit your g*dd*mn 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.

But 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 f*ck' 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 f*ck' thr*at.

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 m*rder 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 f*ck 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 f*ck' own!

Why did you bring me here?

I don't know, child.

What's the point Al having us leave IOUs when Wu can't read f*ck' English?

Wu gets back, he'll take Al the IOUs 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.

ADAMS: Johnny, balance up against this f*ck' Chinese sign

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

Just shut the f*ck up. Get this meat inside.

What are you gonna do?


Where the f*ck you been? I f*ck' vouched for you!

We're camped up at 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.

ADAMS: Your f*ck' throat's gonna be at risk, Hawkeye, in case you don't f*ck' realize, which wouldn't bother me except mine's gonna be too.

Hearst: 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.

Hearst: 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 m*rder 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 f*ck' mouth...

except when he's afraid.

You mistake for fear, Mr. Bullock, what is in fact a 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. -Oh, 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.

SOFIA: I will.


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.

f*ck if you saw that comin'.

I have something to show you, Harry.

The Finster Model 60 steam pumper f*re wagon.

Harry: 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 f*ck!

For my complicity in his sh**ting, he orders my death.

-You did read it. -[GASPS]

Be quick then, please.

Your complicity's mostly in your noggin', EB.

It's the whore he wants d*ad.

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.

-EB. -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 f*ck out of it, Con?

I wasn't f*ck' dreamin'. It is Joanie Stubbs.

I got "Stay the f*ck out" written on a stone tablet in my bedroom.

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

-Your color's better. -Is that a f*cking 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-nine-nine-ine, 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 f*ck do you want?

I've been thinking about you is all.


Help me understand c**t, 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 f*cking snow or the f*cking 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...

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?

Or does a girl have to drive cattle for you to eat her p*ssy?

Are you voting, Leon?

Against the opium ordinance.


What the f*ck are you looking at?

That whore's gotta die.


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.


[SLAMS TABLE] Oh, just give me a f*cking knife then.

Just give me the f*cking knife.

-f*cking 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 c**t!

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

That's right. My f*cking choice! I'm not f*cking afraid.

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

Well, ain't you clever?

Ain't you f*cking clever, you deep-thinking f*cking Jew?

Why bother with your boots if you're going to be on your knees?

-Let go of me! Let me walk out myself! -No. The f*ck 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 g*ons 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 f*ck 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 f*cking sake.

We'll talk about this later.


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


Give me the f*cking knife.

She ain't stole or been quarrelsome

-or set the bedding afire. -Get out of my f*cking way, Johnny.

It ain't fair to f*cking k*ll 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 f*ck 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 f*cking knife.


-I can't remember. -Come here.

Give it to me.

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

-I forgot. -Ain't those them?

You gonna vote for Mr. Bullock now.

Even though he b*at 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 et.


Richardson, you're right about that.

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

sh**t, wouldn't be no free n*gg*r*s 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.

-You look fine. -Thank you.

Remember who gave it to you, boys.

Vote Democratic.


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

RUTHERFORD: Right to vote shall not be abridged or denied... on account of race or color or condition of previous servitude.

15th Amendment to the US Constitution, ratified 1870, law of the land thereafter, including territories.

They got something about n*gg*r*s 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 n*gg*r was before him.

-RICHARDSON: Yes. -No, he wasn't.

-I guess you're blind and stupid. -I believe I'll vote later.

f*ck if you will. Get your n*gg*r ass back in line.

You'd better be walking him home afterwards. [CHOKES]

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 f*ck down.

And that ends that.

Charlie: What your shit-stirring started.

Will you drop your f*cking 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 f*cking mouth? -She thinks Hearst will want her d*ad.

-She thinks you'll k*ll one of these others. -Oh, Jesus Christ.

-Jesus Christ. -Is it true?

I already f*cking did.

-Is that true? -Don't waste your Jew's time wondering what's true and what ain't. You go over there, tell f*cking Hearst the whore Trixie has been k*lled, and then tell Joan of Arc that instead of flames lapping at her tippy-toes, you'd have her live to f*ck in the morning. And after you tell f*cking Hearst, before you tell that loudmouth c**t, tell your f*cking partner I need him here.

-Don't talk about her that way. -I f*cking recant. Off you f*cking go.

And don't neglect f*cking Bullock. Water comes to a boil.

All right.

Unlucky f*cking 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 f*ck, with me asking you in to play hot hands with me and Sofia, you stood there instead looking like you just did m*rder?

-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 f*ck?

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 f*ck? 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.

We 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.


HEARST: 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.

AL: This f*cking place is gonna be a f*cking misery.

Every f*cking one of them, every f*cking time I walk by, "Ooh, how could you? How could you?" with their big f*cking cow eyes.

The entire f*cking gaggle of 'em is gonna have to bleed and quit before we can even hope for peace. And what's the f*cking alternative?

I ain't f*cking k*lling her that sat nights with me sick and taking slaps to her mug that were some less than f*cking fair.

I should have f*cking learned to use a g*n, but I'm too f*cking entrenched in my ways.

And you ain't exactly the one to be leveling criticisms on the score of being slow to adapt. You f*cking people are the original slow f*cking learners!

-Mmm. -How was she, pal?

Good. Wonderful.

I don't mind a small pair of tits.

[CHUCKLES] 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.


Did it seem like Hearst ordered the interference?

Huh-uh. Being stupid on his own that strong-arm was.

[CHUCKLES] 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 f*cking worrisome, f*cking countywide aspect.


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

What is it, Sol?


Hearst: Mr. Langrishe.

Making bold to ask after your health, sir.

-I was sh*t in the shoulder. -So one understood.

But the wound seems healing clean.

-And your back, sir? -Oh, deprived of your Turkish a*tillery 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 you to 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 and 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 c**t who sh*t me d*ad.

Good day, sir.

Box her in my office.

Send Jewel up, clean up the mess?

If I'm having her boxed in my f*cking 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 f*cking mess up.

Look in on Johnny, see if he's grown the f*ck up.

Sturgis is a landslide for Harry Manning.

BLAZANOV: 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?


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 f*cking moron? -I'm sent to check on Johnny.

I'll come back and put her in.


She's putting Jen in her dress.


Then I'll do the boxing.

We show united in the prelude when he's making his entrance and the f*cking 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.

f*ck you, Dan!

-f*ck 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 f*cking use?

CY: 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 f*cking 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.



Cy: All but sucked your prick, you'd have me be your f*cking quartermaster.


The rising tide of f*cking 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 f*cking beauty, Leon.

Lifts me up to be with you.



What the f*ck did you do to me, sir?

Cy: I believe I f*cking s*ab you.


Any word yet on how the other camps have voted?


Is it as sheriff, Mr. Bullock, -you divide us? -Need anyone divide us inside?

HEARST: Are you sure you still hold office?

If I'm b*at, 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.

CY: If 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 d*ad.

No, not yet, honey.

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

When they're d*ad, that turns to seep.

Do you believe I will leave without seeing?

Well, I was hesitant to presume.

[g*n UNCOCK]


CHARLIE: What do you want done with that body?

It's Mr. Swearengen's affair now.

The body at my f*cking freight office, -what you want done with that one? -You'll be wired instructions.

Has she family ought be notified?

I don't notify f*cking family.

I guess especially not hers.

She has a sister, whores in g*n.

Jen's sister, you could write to, care of the Yellowbird.

I'd take that f*cking scrub brush.

AW: I wonder if, the other day, you took my not publishing the news that you'd been sh*t 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 a last look around.

CY: 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?


No, Charlie.

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

You're done tipping your f*cking hat. Get out of here...

-Stop! -...or I'll drag you out by the ear.

Oh, please. Please don't.

Drive on.


Tell f*ck' Con to take care of that assh*le.

-CHARLIE: You done f*cking good. -I did f*cking 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 f*cking speak of it, Johnny.

Wants me to tell him something pretty.


MAN: That's right.

♪ Well, Mary wore three lengths of chain ♪

♪ On every link was Jesus' name ♪

♪ Pharaoh's army got drownded ♪

♪ Oh, Mary, don't you weep ♪

♪ Oh, Mary, don't you weep, don't mourn ♪

♪ Oh, Mary, don't weep, don't mourn ♪

♪ Pharaoh's army got drownded ♪

♪ Oh, Mary, don't weep, oh! ♪

♪ Well, ol' Mr. Satan, he got mad ♪

♪ Missed that soul that he thought he had ♪

♪ Pharaoh's army got drownded ♪

♪ Oh, Mary, don't you weep ♪

♪ Pharaoh's army got drownded ♪

♪ Oh, Mary, don't you weep. ♪
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