BECKY: Sit him out. Least you’ll know he’s coming. You go out cruisin he’s liable to strike outa nowhere. A Gypsy’s got the jump on you that way.

HOSS: You think he’ll take me, don’t you?

BECKY: Not if you pull down, remember where you come from. He’s got you shattered now. Cross-jumpin fragments. He’s got some faraway touch on you already.

HOSS: What if I busted into Phoenix myself? Solo. Mojo’d never expect something like that.

BECKY: Mojo’s not the Mark, Hoss. You’re the Mark. And you best look dead in the eye of where it’s comin from. If you don’t take a good hard looksee, I believe you just might die a blind man.

HOSS: Wait him out? Sit and wait?

BECKY: Wait with a vengeance. Meet him on a singles match and bounce him hard.

HOSS: What if he snipes me?

BECKY: We got the watch out.

HOSS: I can’t believe this! Backed into a cold box by an outside mongrel. Things have jumped that much. No apprenticeship! They just mark for the Big One. No sense of tradition whatsoever! Can’t they see where this is going? Without a Code it’s just Crime. Just plain old time Crime. No Art involved! No finesse.

BECKY: You want a shot or somethin?

HOSS: Yeah, git the Doc in here. (She starts to go.) Hey Becky Lou—(She stops.) A singles match?

BECKY: Yeah.

HOSS: What mode?

BECKY: Mind Trains. What else? That’s what he’s cruisin for.

HOSS: Mind Trains?

BECKY: You’re the one crying for Art and Finesse. Here’s your shot. It’s tailor-made.

HOSS: What if he picks weapons?

BECKY: It’s your turf. Your call.

HOSS: Yeah.

(Pause.)

BECKY: You want the full load from Doc or cut some?

HOSS: Full.

BECKY: Be back. (She starts to go again.)

HOSS: Becky Lou?

BECKY: (stops) What?

(Pause.)

HOSS: I don’t know. I just had this drop, like—like something moved away from me. Some—part of me.

BECKY: You want me to stay?

HOSS: Yeah. Just for now. I don’t know what it was.

BECKY: It’s just another Mark, Hoss. Take away the ribbon, it’s just another Mark.

HOSS: Yeah.

BECKY: You’ll find the pocket. Soon as he sallies in, you’ll know.

HOSS: I never had this kind of doubt dose before. This—straddle. I’ve got no clue, Becky. Not a whiff. It’s like he’s comin from another planet or something.

BECKY: He might well be.

HOSS: Meera foretold it! He foretold it bane, Becky. Am I gone already? Is that it? Am I just like a buck in the crosshairs? Grazing? Ears pricked. Long gone before the powder even gets struck by the hammer? Is that what this is? Am I going through a pantomime ghost dance? Did Meera sound you something about the outcome?