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Show Flying - 85 Then he stands on the brakes in a desperate attempt to avoid disaster and not kill anybody if he can help it. Too late, however. The bumper strikes, the wheelchair dumps a thin body and a couple of dozen books onto the pavement, and collapses, bent, on top of the pile. The young man who had been pushing it stands helpless, his hands curled around empty air, his care snatched from him. Armstrong and Wilberforce leap horrified from the jeep. John Henry stays where he is, huddled against the back of the front seats where the sudden braking threw him, arms crossed over his face. "Don't make a fool of yourself, Campbell," says a voice from beneath the wreckage. "Pick me up. put me back in my chair and let's go." They are starting off, one chrome wheel wobbling and bent, spokes sticking out, when Armstrong runs up, waving a handful of accident report forms. "We don't bother with shit like that around here, stranger," says the one named Campbell, playing it like John Wayne all the way. And off they go down Park Avenue, speed less but style established for all time. "I could have sworn I'd killed him," says Armstrong brokenly, climbing into the back of the jeep. Half an hour later, they finally manage to get out of Tucson and head west on rout4-e^ ook4, ttoowwaarrda nRoe d Rock, Picacho, |