"A hundred and fifty--" That's as much of a 'holy flaming shitballs' reaction as Neal is going to get from Doc. He wouldn't even know what to do with fifteen million dollars, let alone a hundred and fifty million dollar bills.

"You didn't keep one?" Doc asks with a little chuckle. Not a box of fake bonds, he means. Just one bond. Or the original one. "I know I would've." There's enough law-abiding citizens in Mathias and nobody ever said Doc Holliday would be a straight and honest influence on anybody. The only thing straight about him is his shooting. He's not even going to try and dress it up like he'd frame it up for sentimental value.

"I've noticed you... have a bit of a tremor in your hands, sometimes," Doc says, trying to be gentle about it even though he knows how crushing that can be to a man who needs those fine motor skills to be everything he has built himself to be. "You don't draw much anymore. Does it... not make you happy any longer?"