CBWL 030

 Scene: CBWL Booking Room

Cowboy Watts finishes the call and looks at Tony.

Cowboy Watts: Just go sign her. Get it done clean if you can. Take Butterbean with you in case her people give you shit.

Tony Soprano: (nodding) Got it.

That’s all Cowboy says. He doesn’t tell Tony to hurt anyone. He doesn’t tell him to take advantage of her condition. He just wants Wendy Williams signed.

Tony leaves the room with Butterbean.

---

Two Days Later – Wendy Williams’ Home, New Jersey

Tony Soprano and Butterbean pull up in a black SUV. Tony doesn’t knock. He has Butterbean kick the door in.

Wendy’s agent, a nervous middle-aged man, comes rushing out of the back room.

Agent: What the hell is this?! You can’t just—

Tony doesn’t say a word. He just nods at Butterbean.

Butterbean walks up and lays two heavy shots into the man’s ribs, then follows it with a stiff right hand to the face that drops him. The agent curls up on the floor, coughing and spitting blood.

Butterbean: (casually, almost bored) Stay down, fat boy. Ain’t worth it.

Tony steps over him and walks into the living room where Wendy Williams is sitting on the couch, looking confused and frail.

Tony Soprano: (flat, cold) You’re coming with us. You’re taping a show.

Wendy Williams: (blinking slowly) …A show? I don’t… I don’t remember…

Tony Soprano: Yeah. That’s why we’re here. Get your shit. We got a flight.

Wendy doesn’t argue. She’s too out of it to really understand what’s happening. Tony doesn’t explain anything else. He just watches her slowly gather a small bag while Butterbean stands by the broken door, cracking his knuckles.

Before they leave, Tony walks back over to the agent, who’s still on the floor groaning. He crouches down.

Tony Soprano: (quiet, almost bored) You call the cops, I come back and break your fucking legs. You understand?

The man nods weakly.

Tony stands up and looks at Butterbean.

Tony Soprano: Let’s go.

They put Wendy in the back of the SUV and drive to the airport.

Scene: Cheap Budget Motel – Newark, New Jersey

Tony Soprano unlocks the door and walks Wendy Williams inside. Butterbean follows behind him, quiet as usual.

The room is filthy. Stained carpet, buzzing light, the smell of old cigarettes and mildew. Tony drops her bag on the bed without saying much. Wendy stands there looking lost, her mind clearly struggling to keep up with what’s happening.

Tony stares at her for a long few seconds. There’s no rage in his face — just that cold, ugly contempt that’s been sitting in him for years. He never forgot what she said on her show back then. All that shit about “mob wives” and “guys who marry trash.” Carmela watched it. It got in her head. For weeks she was asking questions, looking at him different. And now here this loudmouth Black bitch was, half out of her mind, and nobody was gonna do shit about it.

He steps in close.

Tony Soprano: (low, flat, with that old-school Staten Island edge) You shoulda kept your big fuckin’ mouth shut years ago, you know that?

Wendy blinks slowly, trying to focus.

Wendy Williams: (weakly) …I don’t… I don’t remember what you’re talkin’ about…

Tony Soprano: Yeah. You don’t remember a lot of shit these days, do you?

He suddenly shoves her. She stumbles backward and hits the wall hard. Before she can even get her bearings, Butterbean steps in from the side and throws a heavy, straight punch square into her face. The impact is loud and ugly. Wendy’s head snaps back and she slides down the wall, clutching her face as a giant purple goose egg immediately starts swelling over her eye, the skin already darkening under it.

Butterbean doesn’t say anything. He wasn’t thinking about race or history — he was just wired from kicking the door in and the shot felt good in the moment. He took it too far without really thinking.

Tony stands over her, breathing through his nose. He looks down at her like she’s something he scraped off his shoe.

Tony Soprano: (cold, almost conversational) Fuckin’ loudmouth coon. You people never know when to shut the fuck up.

He crouches down in front of her. Wendy is barely conscious at this point, one eye already swelling shut, blood starting to trickle from her nose.

Tony Soprano: Listen to me, and listen good. You’re gonna go on TV, you’re gonna do your job, and you’re gonna keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about tonight. You understand me?

Wendy just nods weakly, too dazed to even register who’s talking to her.

Tony Soprano: You open your mouth to Cowboy, to anybody… I’ll find that baby daddy of yours and I’ll put him in the fuckin’ ground. No more child support. No more nothing. You got that?

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even seem to fully understand what he’s saying. Her dementia is too far gone.

Tony stares at her for another second, then stands up and spits on the floor next to her head.

Tony Soprano: (to Butterbean) We’re done.

Butterbean nods and follows him out without a word. Tony locks the door behind them.

Outside, Tony lights a cigarette as they walk back to the car.

Butterbean: (after a few seconds) …Went a little hard on her face.

Tony Soprano: (staring straight ahead, voice low) She’ll live.

They drive off into the night, leaving Wendy Williams on the floor of a dirty motel room — bruised, bleeding, and too far gone to even remember who hit her.

---

The Next Morning

Tony calls her.

Tony Soprano: (on the phone, casual) Car’s coming in an hour. Be ready.

He hangs up before she can answer.

Wendy Williams has been signed.

Tony went way beyond what Cowboy asked him to do. Cowboy only told him to go sign her. Everything else — the beating, the threats, the personal hatred — was Tony deciding to take it further on his own.

Scene: Black SUV – Driving back to the office

The car is quiet for the first few minutes. Tony is driving. Butterbean sits in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing out the window. The only sound is the low hum of the road and the occasional flick of Tony’s cigarette.

Eventually, Butterbean speaks.

Butterbean: (casual, almost sheepish) Went a little hard on her face back there.

Tony doesn’t answer right away. He takes a slow drag off his cigarette, the orange glow lighting up his face in the dark car.

Tony Soprano: (flat) She’ll be fine.

Butterbean: Still. That eye’s gonna be swelled shut for a while. Looked like it hurt.

Tony exhales smoke out the cracked window.

Tony Soprano: (low, with that old Staten Island edge) Good. Maybe next time she’ll think twice before runnin’ her fuckin’ mouth on TV about shit she don’t understand. These people… always gotta be loud. Always gotta stick their nose where it don’t belong.

Butterbean shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortable but not pushing back.

Butterbean: I ain’t really thinkin’ about all that. Just got caught up in the moment, y’know? Door comes down, guy’s on the floor… felt like we were workin’. Then she started talkin’ and I just… threw it.

Tony glances over at him, then back at the road.

Tony Soprano: Yeah, well. Some of us got reasons. You just like hittin’ people. Me? I been waitin’ years to put hands on that loudmouth bitch. Ever since she went on that show talkin’ shit about guys like me. Got in Carmela’s head. Had her askin’ questions she had no business askin’.

He flicks ash out the window.

Tony Soprano: (quiet, bitter) Fuckin’ coons. Always runnin’ their mouths. Think they can say whatever they want and nobody’s gonna do nothin’ about it.

Butterbean doesn’t respond to that. He just looks out the window again.

Butterbean: (after a moment) She didn’t even know who hit her. Kept askin’ what was goin’ on like she was in a dream or somethin’.

Tony Soprano: (cold) Good. Let her stay confused. Long as she shows up and does what she’s told, I don’t give a fuck what’s goin’ on in that broken head of hers.

He takes another drag, then mutters under his breath.

Tony Soprano: Shoulda never gave these people a platform in the first place.

Butterbean doesn’t say anything else. He just stares out at the dark highway, the conversation dying off as they keep driving.

---

The car ride stays mostly quiet after that. Tony smokes. Butterbean occasionally cracks his knuckles, still a little wired from earlier.

The car is quiet for a while after Tony’s last comment. Butterbean keeps glancing over at him, clearly thinking about something. Eventually, he speaks up.

Butterbean: (a little hesitant) Hey, uh… what if Cowboy finds out about this? She looks pretty fucked up. That eye’s gonna be swollen shut for days. He’s gonna notice.

Tony doesn’t even look over. He just flicks ash out the window.

Tony Soprano: (flat) He ain’t gonna find out. We tell him we found her like that. Old bitch probably fell or some shit. She’s got dementia anyway — she don’t even know who hit her. She ain’t gonna say nothin’.

Butterbean: (still uneasy) Yeah, but… what if she does? Or what if somebody sees her when we bring her in? That shiner’s gonna be hard to miss.

Tony finally glances over, his voice getting a little colder.

Tony Soprano: Listen to me. You did what I told you to do. That’s it. We found her like that. End of story. You don’t gotta worry about it.

Butterbean nods, but he still looks a little tense. He shifts in his seat and changes the subject.

Butterbean: …You ever fuck a Black chick before?

Tony lets out a short, humorless laugh through his nose.

Tony Soprano: What, you thinkin’ about it now? After you just put one on the fuckin’ floor?

Butterbean: (shrugging) Just askin’.

Tony Soprano: (smirking slightly) Yeah. Couple times. Back when I was younger. They’re alright, I guess. Some of ‘em know how to move. But most of ‘em? Too fuckin’ loud. Too much attitude. Not worth the headache.

He takes another drag off his cigarette.

Tony Soprano: Why? You lookin’ to try one?

Butterbean: Nah, just wonderin’.

There’s another stretch of silence. Butterbean keeps glancing over like he’s working up to something.

Butterbean: Hey… what’s the mob life like? You know… the real shit. Not the movies.

Tony side-eyes him.

Butterbean: (continuing) I’m just sayin’. I’m good at hurtin’ people. I don’t mind gettin’ my hands dirty. If you ever need somebody to… I don’t know, lean on somebody or whatever… I could do that. I’m reliable.

Tony doesn’t answer right away. He just stares out at the road, thinking.

Tony Soprano: (eventually) Mob life ain’t like the movies, kid. It’s mostly waitin’ around. Boring as fuck until it ain’t. And when it ain’t boring anymore, somebody’s usually gettin’ hurt… or killed.

He flicks his cigarette out the window.

Tony Soprano: But I’ll keep you in mind. You did alright tonight.

Butterbean nods, looking a little satisfied with that answer. He doesn’t push it any further.

Tony’s phone rings. He checks the screen, sees Arnold Palmer calling, and answers it on speaker.

Tony Soprano: (flat) Yeah?

Arnold Palmer: (on the phone) Tony. How’d it go with Wendy? You get her signed?

Tony Soprano: Yeah. She’s signed.

Arnold Palmer: Good. You bring her back with you?

Tony Soprano: Nah. We left her in the hotel room. Told her someone would call her before the show. She’s too out of it to travel right now anyway.

There’s a short pause on the other end.

Arnold Palmer: How’d she look?

Tony takes a slow drag off his cigarette before answering.

Tony Soprano: Like shit. Old, confused, barely knows what day it is. Dementia’s got her pretty bad.

Arnold Palmer: Damn. How do her tits look?

Tony lets out a short, humorless chuckle.

Tony Soprano: They’re hangin’. Real saggy. She’s got those old lady tits. We told her we could get her some new implants if she behaves, though.

Arnold Palmer: (sounding slightly disappointed) Shame. She used to have a decent rack back in the day.

Tony Soprano: Yeah, well… time ain’t been kind. She’s a fuckin’ mess now.

Arnold Palmer: Alright. Well, let me know when she’s settled in. Curious to see how she does.

Tony Soprano: Yeah. I’ll keep you posted.

He hangs up and drops the phone back in the cupholder without another word. He doesn’t mention the beating. He doesn’t mention roughing up her agent. As far as Arnold — and everyone back at the office — knows, they just went and signed her.

Butterbean glances over from the passenger seat after a few seconds of silence.

Butterbean: (quietly) …You didn’t tell him what we did.

Tony Soprano: (staring at the road) Didn’t need to. Long as she shows up and does what she’s told, nobody’s gonna ask too many questions.

He takes another drag off his cigarette.

Tony Soprano: And if she does start runnin’ her mouth… we’ll deal with it then.

Butterbean nods slowly and looks back out the window. The rest of the ride stays quiet.