HOSS: I want—I want—some kinda satisfaction. Are you conceding? Is that it? Giving up the ghost?

CROW: I was jest gonna go git me a cheeseburger.

HOSS: Look—Look—This can’t be the—We’re in a fight to the death here, aren’t we? High stakes. This is supposed to be—

CROW: This is nothin. This is jack.

HOSS: You can’t just dismiss this! I’m a King Marker! One of the best! You took me on for a reason.

CROW: I was jest curious how the other half lived.

HOSS: You challenged me!

CHASER: There’s no challenge without the Keepers’ sanction, Hoss.

HOSS: Fuck the Keepers! He’s in my house! He’s right here in front of me.

CROW: Are you sure? Are you dead certain on that score? Are you sure I’m not just some faintly figment? Here—You got a shiv. Cut my wrist. See if blood comes. Do it!

(CROW holds out his wrist, offering it to HOSS. Pause.)

CROW: Surest sign of humankind. Right? Blood? Sangre. Red human pool.

BECKY: Hoss, don’t. Don’t even think about it. He’s past some Warlock mode.

CROW: (holding out his wrist to HOSS) She’s got that cocked. Out beyond. Mas alla. Where thought drops off into rippling sheets of shiny black. Where thought can’t come near to touching. Do it! Cut this thin band and see what pours forth. Might be yer biggest nightmare yet to come.

(HOSS pulls out his knife and approaches CROW.)

DOC: Hoss, there’s the Devil in this. Bonefaced Devil. Don’t step in.

CROW: (arm still out) Oh, sin again! Oh, sin! Fear and pity. Nitty gritty. Better listen up to your Viejo medicine man. He been around the auditorium two or three times.

(HOSS pauses.)

CHASER: We can call it a draw, Hoss. Just mark it down to a photo and let him waltz. There’s Phoenix up ahead. Mojo Root Force. We can pump the road again.

HOSS: (with knife) I’ll know the bottom of this. Whatever comes. I’ll know it sure.

CROW: That’s my puppy. Seek the truth. Seek the truth. Your Americano groove. Rip and shred it. Wring it dry with both hands held way high and scream now to your grand Manifesto. Your Supreme Divine Providenso. Look your monster in the eye and scream now. Testify!

HOSS: (approaching CROW with knife) I just might skin you. I just might. But there’s a fascination. Why is that? Some—premonition. Meera. Some cutting edge where this thing might flip. Some mangy mad dog fear this blade might turn itself around and slip.

CROW: There, the light comes crying through! There, the bright tiny sliver! Peel that eyeball back a taste.

HOSS: Why this envy? This covet for the opposite?

CROW: You recognize me now?

HOSS: I almost wish—

CROW: Wishing, wishing, ring the bell. Toss yer copper tinkle. Go straight to Hell.