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Show Flying - 130 "Oh shit!" says John Henry. "Forget it." He turned me in to the old man and I had no choice. I had to call him out. And now he's waiting out there under the streetlight for me to come out and fight. "Here," says O'Connell handing him a pair of leather glove-shells without the wool liners. "Put these on so you won't split your knuckles when you hit him in the face." And what will I wear to keep my face from splitting when he hits me? Will he pretend to shake hands and kick me in the knee? Thompson is kneading his neck and shoulders. "Loosen up, John," he says. "Here, slip this jacket on. It's cool out there and you don't want your arms to tighten up on you." "Thanks," says John Henry admiring himself in the mirror. With the black gloves on and a tanker jacket thrown loosely over his shoulders he looks like a real fighter. Tough. Ready, Eager. All set for the big walk down the main street of Tombstone. The showdown. A little frightened, John Henry walks back and forth on the cement floor of the latrine, glancing at himself in the mirror above the sinks as he passes, reassured by his image, frightened by the weakness in his knees. I shouldn't have waited. I should have jumped him |