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Show Flying - 62 brings to bear all he's learned in two years of San Francisco little theater. "Thompson," he says, "keep an eye out the window and tell me when you see Biggs." Ten minutes of tense silence. No one knows what O'Connell's up to. Finally Thompson announces the coming of Biggs; he's headed straight for the van. O'Connell picks up one of the teletype machines and stands in front of the door, holding it tenderly cradled. The back steps creak, the door slams open, Biggs opens his mouth to say something, and O'Connell jumps a little, says "Ah" and drops the whole thing. Five hundred dollars' worth of delicate machine hits the floor at Biggs' feet and breaks up, scattering parts in all directions. White and trembling, O'Connell stands rigid, staring at the lieutenant, then bends down, muttering "dumb son-of-a-bitch motherfucking bastard" and starts to gather pieces of teletype. "What did you say, O'Connell?" says Biggs, his voice high. O'Connell stands up as if he'd been touched with a live wire and drops the parts he's holding. They go rolling with clatter and more breakage all over the floor. "I didn't say anything, sir," says O'Connell, trembling. "You should have seen his face," Arkwright is saying later to an admiring group of recruits gathered around him |