BECKY: Just an inklin. A tickle. Won’t hurt.

HOSS: We ironed all that through, didn’t we? Week ago? I thought Meera gave me a green lane? I don’t need hesitation now.

BECKY: Shit shifts, you know. Every two seconds somethin’s slidin. He can’t suss it all. Tell you the damn truth, some a them chart patterns he’s honkin go back to the late fifties. Meera’s antique in a lotta zones Hoss. I wouldn’t bite the whole red apple he throws out, just cause it rolls.

HOSS: Git his ass down here!

BECKY: All righty. Don’t sting my tail just for flaggin a dingo. I’m yer cold bitch, remember?

HOSS: Just buzz his booty! Now!

BECKY: Yabadaba Honk Man.

(BECKY exits.)

HOSS: (alone) Chingaflack! Tickles, inklings, cross-information! I’m good to go, here! Can’t get stoved up by bad help and superstition. I need the points! Can’t they see that? I’m winning in three fuckin states! Controlling more borders than any a them punk Markers. The El Camino Boys. Bunch a slump chumps. Threw down on that whole raggedy tribe back—back when? El Monte Legion Stadium? La Puente? What was it? Done deal. They were sliming. Where’s the history here?

(MEERA enters with BECKY. He carries his divining paraphernalia—strange boxes and electronic projection devices that look all jerry-rigged and somewhat outdated—maybe even an old 45 record player. MEERA gets completely tangled up in the wires and plugs of his equipment.)

HOSS: (to MEERA) All right, slick face, what’s the skinny? Can we move now? Becky tells me you’re hedging.

MEERA: Pretty dicey, Hoss.

HOSS: What! I knew it! I knew it! Week ago you give me green lights! Solid. No question. Now, it’s no slice. What’s the sudden shift?

MEERA: Patterns, Hoss. Meshes. I’m sussing every way I can to keep up but some of my equipment is just getting blown away by all these new waves. I can’t even read some a these ciphers. Watch. I’ll show you.

(MEERA begins to set up his boxes, plugging them in, transferring wires, adjusting screens and keyboards, etc.)

HOSS: I don’t wanna hear this! If we needed new equipment, why wasn’t I informed? I’d be glad to pay for new equipment. I thought we were up-to-date here.

BECKY: A new Gazer wouldn’t hurt.

MEERA: I’m the best there is. Hoss knows that.

HOSS: I don’t know that! I’m running on faith ninety percent of the time. Wing & a prayer!

MEERA: Just take a look at what I’ve got. That’s all I’m asking. It’s come down to techno-improvisation, Hoss. That’s the only way to play it. All the data’s bastard-info now. Vague vectors. Nothing pure. No essence source. It’s all been scarfed and scarred to the bone. Take a look.

(MEERA casts an image through his device.)