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Show Flying - 17 able to keep pace with it. They shoot toward the heart of Odessa at seventy miles an hour, down the four-lane wide main street of the city, past traffic docile and waiting in the right lane; they weave at terrifying speed past buses and semi-trailers, past staring pedestrians, the orange convoy officer's pennant flashing in the light of the setting sun. Up ahead there's traffic stopped in both right lanes. The cruiser whips without an instant's hesitation or any slackening of speed into the left lanes in the face of oncoming traffic. Terrified Texas matrons in pink Cadillacs and powder-blue Lincolns take to the sidewalks and cover their faces in fear. Mothers sweep children into sheltering doorways and strolling cowboys hide behind lampposts. John Henry yells with happiness and pounds on the steering wheel, one with his machine and at one with the world. In the middle of town they turn north and follow the siren out of Odessa on route 385. until the cruiser pulls over and the cop waves them on with his white ten-gallon hat. Happiness achieved and the sun out of his eyes at last John Henry pushes on toward Andrews and a well-earned night's rest. It's not until they're twenty miles or more out of Odessa that a figure standing by the side of the road materializes into the sad face and outstretched pleading hand of Tex Wilson. John Henry holds the jeep steady on its course and feels |
