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Show Flying - 132 Black Bear. John Henry glances at the charts. "The radio to Paso Robles is out," he says. "I think they're moving to another site. But you should be able to get through by going around by way of Cambria." He has the whole thing at his fingertips, does John Henry. Karafa sounds doubtful. "How come the switchboard didn't try it, then? Let me speak to Tovar, will you." Goddamn it I can read the charts as well as Tovar can. "He can't tell you any more than I can, sarge." But Tovar has heard. "Let me speak to him," he says, and takes the receiver out of John Henry's hand. He's already out there with a few friends standing around him under the streetlight and waiting. He stands with dignity for a fat man, sweats a little though the heat of the day is past, looks at John Henry without a smile. "Go get him, John Henry," Thompson says, slipping the tanker jacket off his shoulders and slapping him on the back. They both step forward. John Henry in a tight crouch, left arm pointed, chin tucked behind the left shoulder, left foot forward. Tovar like Jack Dempsey in the old pictures. Or Gentleman Jim Corbett. Straight up, shoulders back, hands clenched and low. Why he doesn't know anything about fighting. This ought |