A DAY IN THE LIFE OF EB
"Al, there is a matter I wish to speak to you about!" EB shouted, from the bottom step of the Gem's staircase "This business is purportedly significant, lest I be blown to bits by your overzealous right hand man, injured as he may be!" Farnum shouted from the lowest step, theatrically making a show with his body – arms raised, hat in his hand, held at gunpoint. Dan Doherty was, as EB Farnum declared, "laid up" – having sustained an injury in the previous night's brawl. The drunks and Johns of the Gem Saloon paid no attention to the Mayor, nor did anyone in Deadwood, as EB's antics struck the entirety of the camp as boring and pointless.
"EB, didn't I tell you Al's not to be bothered? He's not gonna tolerate you interruptin' his meeting with Bullock right now, and if you persist, I might just fire this and graze your ear, making your already ugliness utterly fuckin' worse." Dan tapped his Remington on the chair his raised foot rested on, and yet EB still inched forward to the second step. "Did you hear me you disgusting vile son of a bitch? He's in a meeting, and he don't want you wading around upstairs just now."
Farnum waved his left hand dismissively at Dan, his right hand clutching his top hat behind him, until he heard the click of the hammer, cocked back for effect. That did the trick, and Farnum retreated back down the stairs. "Fine, have it your way, Dan. I simply want to hold court for a few with Al to inform him of some wholly new inimitable developments that I am certain your boss would be inclined to be absorbed of."
"That's fine, EB. After he's done and down, or the only thing that will absorbed around here is the first bullet that fires from this here weapon. Sit the fuck down."
"No – I retreat. The news is not to wait, Dan, yet I sense your volatile nature is not be trifled with." He returned his hat to his head. "I shall go – but will incontestably return before long." EB flipped his jacket tail and left the Gem. He could feel his shirt stuck to his body, damp from sweat that worked overtime, especially when he feared for his safety as a direct result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doc Cochran's news about the failing health of Cy Tolliver, the Bella Union's constantly agitated owner and perpetual antagonist of Al's, was surely something Swearengen would need to know ASAP. If Al found out from someone else, it wouldn't represent a loss of faith in EB's value or use, as EB's place is in the hotel, not elsewhere. But to hear it from EB could easily mean more opportunity, and a higher rank in the pecking order, and it made EB anxious to reap the rewards of this news. EB's mind raced with images of a smiling Al Swearengen, pleased to receive the news, offering a shot of whiskey the way he does when he's so often pleased with some news Silas or Dan, or even Johnny, was able to procure. The possibility for money to follow was always there as well, but what could be more pleasing than to get approval from the camp's most notorious and influential businessman? After all, Al was more than just a brothel proprietor and bar owner, he was the backbone of Deadwood.
"Mr. Farnum, a word?" EB's thoughts were interrupted as the ambling A. W. Merrick approached, and swiftly. "A word, sir?"
"Why, Mr. Merrick, what ails you? You seem lost like a ship vanished at sea. Did you miss your chance at seconds at lunch today?"
"Mr. Farnum, if I appear troubled, perhaps it would be you who has caused this?" The camp's newspaper editor stepped closer to Farnum, nose to nose. "Why, Mr. Farnum, is it my precise understanding that it was you who has informed Mr. Hearst's henchmen of my comings and goings? What business is it of yours when I do and do not operate my press?" Merrick shoved a pointed finger into the chest of a clearly shaken EB. This was not the day EB was expecting, and though he has encountered worse from far more menacing foes, Merrick's threatening tone and angry gesticulations were intimidating.
The newspaper man of Deadwood, noticing his threatening effect on EB, and satisfied with his newly empowered commanding persona, took a cocky step back and removed his glasses. Proud, he now coolly breathed on the lenses and wiped them clean with EB's collar. "Make no mistake about it, Mr. Farnum," Merrick recited, calmly, "my whereabouts and comings and goings are of no concern of yours, and likewise are absolutely not your business to track or dispense to others. So please refrain from sharing those patterns that you have apparently meticulously studied. And the next time you are moved to share such details be reminded that it disturbs the equilibrium of this camp's contentment. And when the camp is disturbed, it seems my friends retaliate. Understand? Now, if you'll excuse me I have a paper to run. Some of us in this camp are called to work in beneficial matters."
"Such accusations Mr. Merrick I do profess innocence and may I-" as EB was about to continue his pronouncement of innocence, he stepped forward in a wet sunken muddy area of the thoroughfare, slipped backwards, and caught himself by reaching desperately for a hitching rail, and though he caught himself, he was still half way covered in muck.
Merrick did not grin as he walked away, though he no doubt enjoyed himself. "Good afternoon, Mr. Farnum," Merrick offhandedly remarked as he turned and walked back to his press office, "and do enjoy your just desserts."
Motherfucker thought EB. Ghastly rotund talentless penny-presser! He dusted himself off, doing no discernable good, but tugging at the bottom of his jacket in a dignified pose permitted him to proceed, chin still aloft, back toward Doc's cabin to seek out further information while waiting for Al to be free. The vile accusations and mud slipping a setback, no doubt, thought EB, but onward I progress. There's money and appreciation in this news – not like the vile useless Pioneer.
EB had in fact informed the curious George Hearst of The Deadwood Pioneer's editor and sole writer's operational habits that morning, but what was a man to do? Defy the powerful George Hearst? It would not be tolerated, and Hearst could see right through EB when he lied.
It was just then that the camp's notorious opium-addicted thief, Leon, made his way across the other side of the walkway, meandering, looking over his shoulder, swiveling head as was his typical body movements, as though he had something to hide or at the very least, much to fear. Leon was employed by Cy Tolliver in the Bella Union as a faro dealer, but out and about he was the eyes and ears of the operation, and though many would deem him as trustworthy as a wagon wheel hitched in the dark, following him might reveal further information about the health of Al's adversary.
Leon darted down a narrow path between some merchants and Charlie Utter's Cheyenne delivery building. Farnum followed close behind. The deceitful Leon made his way, twisting and turning through the busy camp's midday traffic and all of its endeavors. EB suspected he was headed to Cochranes for information or medicine, or perhaps to retrieve the doctor. If he stayed close, but hidden, EB expected that his presence would never be exposed, and the possible reward of an update on Cy's condition, was worth the risk.
—
Johnny was on his way to Doc's when he saw EB, flat on his back, his face white as a ghost, feet propped up on the edge of a board, hat crumpled and clothes disheveled. "Well goddamn, EB, I guess someone had a little too much spirit this here afternoon. Never thought the town mayor would-Jesus, EB!" Johnny noticed a gash in Farnum's stomach, blood stained and still flowing. "EB!" Johnny kicked Farnum's lifeless legs. "EB, you a dead man or still living?" Farnum stirred and shifted, looked at his stomach and shrieked indecipherably. "Lord, Farnum," Johnny said as he took off his jacket and tied it around EB's waist, "Mother of hell, what opened you up?"
Shaking EB lifted his contorted body using Johnny to steady himself. "Twas that ignorant and shifty adjutant faro dealer employed by our mutual boss's adversary." Johnny stood back and stared at EB.
"You wanna try that in a simpler language?" Johnny was rarely a man who could communicate with EB on the first try.
"That shit face opium crony— Leon of the Bella, you ignorant creature. Help me to Al's immediately!"
Johnny lifted EB's arm to prop him up, crimson oozing from EB's gut. "You sure you ain't wanna see the Doc, EB? You're cut pretty good."
"Dammit Johnny, to the Gem this instant!"
—
EB sat clutching his belly, writhing in his chair in obvious pain, across from Al with the rest of the Gem's crew in the upstairs office. Al sat, relaxed as if nothing was going on. "Now, let me get this straight, EB. You came here to talk to me. Being indisposed as I was, in council with the Sherriff, you turned and left instead of waiting, and found yourself cut and bleeding out in a puddle of, Jesus—what is that?" Al sniffed the air and made a wafting gesture. "By god, did you cuddle one of Wu's pigs?"
"No, I did not befriend a swine, I slipped in the thoroughfare, landing in a puddle."
"And that's how you got yourself cut open like a slice of meat?"
"No that was by none other than the idiot Leon, no doubt high from his latest adventure, mistaking me for an evildoer in my pursuits."
"In your pursuits? Why were you pursuing Leon, of all fucking people?"
"Well, as you said, I left the Gem and then encountered a distressed Merrick, whom being upset at an obvious slight, was decidedly accusatory in nature and decided to take his angst out on the closest soul he could find."
"Merrick beat the shit out of you? EB when does any of this start to add up to something that might interest me?"
"Absolutely not, that round sack of talentless excrement did not assault me, though I imagine he wished to have the merit and courage to do so at that moment, given the obvious angry countenance he displayed foolishly. It was at that moment that I lost my footing, and despite immediately regaining it, I did soil myself slightly."
"Smells like you soiled yourself more than slightly, EB," piped in Johnny – to the snickering laughter of Dan and Silas. One look from Al told all three to shut up.
"Can't you three go check on the clientele down stairs, or do I have to hire new idiots to run this joint? Get going, the three of you." Turning back to EB, Al shifted in his seat and rubbed his eyes. "So Merrick did or did not attack you – but what we do know is you wallowed around on the ground for some time, decided to stand up and proceed, and then you followed Leon? For what reason?"
"Information, Al, as it is my resourcefulness to do so. It was my hopes the deviant would lead me to more familiarity."
"Familiarity to what end, EB? Spill it – I'm growing bored."
"I happen to know something that you might find intriguing, and as it might serve you some valuable purpose to further your strategies in the camp, I delight in offering you this information."
"EB, you have exactly five seconds to produce something that delights me before I send you to Wu and the pigs instead of just kicking you out for the Doc."
"Cy is in bad shape Al. And seeing as he is clearly your sworn rival in commerce, I suspected you would want to know. He is ill, and likely not far from dying."
The Gem's owner looked EB up and down for a moment, almost pitiably. "I fucking know this, EB." He produced two shot glasses from the drawer, and hastily filled both with his own personal stock of whiskey. "The man is not long to live, and this is common fucking camp knowledge. Now have a drink with me – and please, get the fuck out of my office afterwards and go have Johnny help you to the Doc."
EB's initial shock turned to anger as he brought the whiskey to his lips. Shaking he suffered through the drink, and nearly choked. The pain of his pulsating wound, bound tight by Johnny's makeshift tourniquet, reminded EB that medical attention was the more immediate concern. His pain, and anger, and embarrassment suddenly seemed to subside as the whiskey's magic settled into Farnum's bloodstream. He thought to himself, I am not a coward, I am an equal. He was, after all, sharing a drink with Al, while the others were downstairs, ushered out of the room in anger. Al stood, shoving his chair backward, and smiled at EB; he put on his jacket and brushed back his black sleek hair flat to his head, and hastened for the door. He held it open for EB. "Out with you, EB. Get that hole stitched up. The wound is starting to smell as bad as your clothes. No dying today, not in the Gem."
All in all, it was a good day for EB.