All language subtitles for Deadwood.S03E12.720p.BluRay.x264-SiNNERS

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.

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 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 IOUs
when Wu can't read fuckin' 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.

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 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 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.

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', EB.

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.

- 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 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 are 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-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 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...

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 pussy?

Are 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 handjob.

- 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!
- No. 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're
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 et.

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.

- 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 US 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 will 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.

All right.

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?

- 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.

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.

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.
And 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 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 cunt who shot me dead.

Good day, sir.

Box her in my office.

Send Jewel up, 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.

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 dead.

No, 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
a 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 looked at your last body.

You're done tipping your fucking hat.
Get out of here...

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

Oh, please. Please don't.

Drive on.

Hyah!

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.

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. ♪