Chapter X





The next morning was crisp and clear.  A few inches of snow had fallen

during the night, leaving the slopes with a powder surface.  We hurried

through breakfast and went out to the shop, where we'd checked our skis and

poles the night before.  Waiting there for us was a whole crew of news

people.  It pissed me off at first.  I knew the innkeeper had called them,

no doubt for the free advertising he'd get at my expense.  There was a T.V.

newsman with his cameraman and another helper, and a reporter from the

Boulder Sun.  The reporter was the same one who'd written the earlier story

about me, but I didn't find that out until later.  The usually

imperturbable Danny got upset with them as they crowded around while we

were putting our skis on.



"Why don't you guys cool it, and let the girl practice a little first?" he

said.  "Learning to ski with only one leg is not exactly a picnic, you

know."



I told him not to worry about it.  If they wanted pictures of me falling

flat on my face, I could probably accommodate them.  Pictures of me skiing

might be harder to get.



I had, of course, anticipated some of the problems I'd have.  I had all

kinds of experience helping amputees, and teaching them how to get around

the practical difficulties of having only one leg while skiing, but I

lacked personal experience.  All the knowledge of amputees in the world

means very little when you become one yourself.



The first problem was with the outriggers.  Since I couldn't walk myself to

the lift, I had to push myself along on my ski with the outriggers, and

they don't work worth a damn unless you hold them at precisely the right

angle to get the desired bite in the snow.  It took me a few minutes to get

going.



The ski lift was another problem.  It was the kind that you hold onto while

it pulls you up the slope.  No problem at all, until my ski started to go

off at an angle.  Two legged people simply put their weight on the other

leg while they straighten the wayward ski.  The only way I could do it was

with little hops that allowed me to take enough weight off the ski that I

could straighten it.  I had breakaway clamps, and more than once I almost

lost the entire ski.



This slope was the short one behind the inn.  At the top, Danny and I went

to the far side so as not to interfere with the other skiers.  As it turned

out, this move was totally unnecessary, since most of the skiers on that

slope were beginners, and I did as well or better than they did.



I knew I was strong enough, and I knew I could handle the straight shots,

so turns were the things I had to work on.  Balance and timing are the key

to good turns, so I started slowly and made a couple of wide sweeps before

the slope steeped slightly, and I picked up a little speed.  Danny followed

closely.  With just a little more speed the sweeps could be shortened to

turns, and I absolutely delighted myself with how well I did.  The

outriggers worked beautifully.  They gave just the extra stability that I

needed, and I made it all the way to the bottom without falling.



The newspeople were there waiting.  They'd been cheering me on all the way

down.  I was elated.  Danny and I went right back up, and this time I went

right down the middle of the run, using my turns to brake the speed.  Once,

I felt I was losing it, and had a horrible moment of fright when I pushed

with my left leg and nothing happened.  But the outrigger was there, and I

used it in time to save the turn.



The third run, I really turned it on.  It isn't quite possible to describe

the thrill it gave me to feel the speed through the one ski as the brisk

air rushed past me.  It was far more exciting than before, knowing that I

had to be even better to properly balance and shift my weight so one leg

could do all the work of getting me down the slope.  As I approached the

bottom I could see the cameraman grinding away, so I hammed it up just a

little, making a couple of sharp turns and intentionally going over a

little bump, so that I had a short jump to complete right before the end of

the run.



Everything went fine, until I tried a sideways slide to stop.  My ski went

straight out to the right, and I continued headfirst into the snow in the

direction I'd been going, coming to a sliding stop right at the feet of my

cheering section.  They had me on my feet--excuse me, my foot--in a moment,

and as soon as I assured them I was alright, they started asking questions.



"Do you recommend skiing for all amputees, Miss Milliken?" the T.V.

reporter asked.



"I certainly do," I laughed.  "I don't recommend that you go get a leg cut

off so you can do it, but I guarantee a thrill that no two legged skier has

ever had."



"How long ago did you lose you leg?" he went on.



"Just four weeks," I told him.



"Isn't this sort of a remarkable recovery?"



"Not really," I answered.  "I was a decent skier before, and since I wasn't

sick or hurt or anything, I decided now was the time to try."



"What was the cause of your amputation?"



"Cancer in my knee," I said, after a moment of hesitation.  "But I was

lucky.  It hasn't spread, and my chances are good that it won't reappear."



The questions went on, and not until Danny handed me the outriggers did I

realize I'd been standing there nonchalantly on one leg while they took

pictures and I talked.  He had my ski, so I started to hop to a bench where

I could sit down and put it on.



The newsboys wanted to help me, and I had to insist that I was a better

hopper than skier before they let me alone.  I heard the reporter from the

newspaper asking Danny about his relationship to me, and finally Danny told

them, "She has no modesty at all.  I could hardly keep up with her on that

last run.  I love her for it."



I put my ski on, and the newspeople apparently decided they had enough and

left.  We made two more runs down the short slope before going up the big

mountain, and there we made three long runs, side by side.  On the last

one, I talked Danny into getting my ski poles instead of outriggers.  I

wanted to make at least a try.  I fell twice on that run, and had an awful

time getting one of my poles back once, since it was stuck uphill from

where I stopped.



But despite the falls, I knew I would practice with the poles from then on,

and when we reached the bottom I was so exhilarated, so completely

satisfied with myself, and so high on the mountain air, I had tears of

sheer happiness.  Danny kissed them away, and held me tightly for a few

moments while I came back to Earth.  I wanted to do it once more, but knew

we had too little time.  There is no high like the one I experienced there,

and I knew I would be in the mountains every weekend until the season

ended.



In Boulder that night, the films were on the local news.  I was so

embarrassed I cried.  Coming down the slope, my stump jerked like the

bobbin on a sewing machine, and while I was standing in front of the

newsmen, it moved up and down at random.  I resolved right then to exercise

more control over my little appendage.

Chapter XI





The next day I went back to school and work.  School was a snap.  I

immediately became every teacher's pet.  I could have done no work at all

and still received decent grades.  But I did work, and I got straight As. 

In my rehab classes I was suddenly an expert on the amputee.  The fact is

that the literature deals very little with the problems of the amputee, and

when the professor was on the subject, he always wanted verification from

me that what he was saying was true.



I enjoyed this status, and never missed a chance to participate in the

discussions.  Once, when the subject was the psycho-social aspect of

adjustment to a prosthesis, a professor asked me bluntly if I planned to

use one.  I said, "Yes.  It's obvious that a limb would be useful in many

situations, but unfortunately, there are more situations where it's

absolutely useless.  I like to swim and ski, and a limb is impossible

there.  At home, where you have to do the daily cleaning and such, and

perhaps at a job where the work is sedentary, a limb would be an obvious

asset.  But if you ever have the need to get from one place to another in

a hurry, forget it."



"But wouldn't it be easier getting your books and things around the campus

if you wore a limb?" he asked.



"Absolutely not.  I'd probably be late for every class I have."



He didn't have a ready argument for that, so he changed the subject.  "I

realize this may be a little too personal, Miss Milliken, so if you don't

want to answer just say so.  But don't you find that since you don't

currently wear a limb that people treat you differently?  That you get

excluded instead of accepted in many situations where a more normal

appearance would make the difference?"



I thought about this for just a moment.  The question was loaded with the

notion that all people who don't make an accepted appearance end up being

rejected to some degree.  "No," I answered, "at least, not yet.  If I

thought I was being excluded from something just because I didn't look

right, I'd reject that group before they had a chance to reject me.  I have

to live the way I am.  If they can't accept me that way, then our

relationship is forced to say the least, and probably wouldn't work out

anyway.  I guess the only concession I'd make would be in a job where I

have to meet the general public every day, and my income depended on it."



Dr. Johnson was a little puzzled.  "That's a very interesting point, Miss

Milliken, but sometimes private life and public life are not easily

separated.  Do you consider going to school public or private?"



"It's really in between," I answered.  "Studying and learning what's

important in this world is a fantastic private experience, and I suppose

I've always considered attending classes part of that.  Certainly it's not

like being a bank clerk."



"Yes," he agreed, "that distinction is clear.  But suppose some professor

just thought, for reasons known to him only, that it was somehow immodest

or, shall we say, thoughtless for an amputee to come out in public without

a prosthesis, and he was your professor, and your grade depended on his

being totally fair.  Do you think you'd be discriminated against?"



"Maybe so," I answered, "but I'll face that when it comes.  Or are you

trying to tell me something?  Do you think I'm immodest?"     That brought

a good laugh from the rest of the class, and Dr. Johnson first smiled, then

turned a little red before saying, "of course not.  You're perfectly

charming, and unless I miss my guess, you know it."



This brought a second round of laughter, and he had to wait before

continuing.  "But seriously, this is one of the finest classes I have had

the privilege of teaching.  In my opinion, you're all capable of becoming

creative and productive rehabilitationists.  We have a rare opportunity

here.  Miss Milliken is not only handicapped herself, but she reads the

same texts the rest of us read.  When she disagrees, we should listen--she

speaks from experience."



"I don't like the word 'handicapped', Dr. Johnson," I interrupted.  "We

have all worked directly with people who are severely handicapped.  In

comparison to a person who's blind, or deaf, or to one who's suffered a

major stroke, I'm merely inconvenienced to some degree."



"There's another point, class.  Maybe we should be a little more sensitive

about the labels we put on people.  Some people who fit the traditional

definition of 'handicapped' do not think of themselves that way.  The way

that a person sees himself is very important when it comes to recommending

a rehabilitation program."



From there, he went on to preach his own dogma of rehabilitation, and I was

pleased to see that the individual needs of the patient took precedent over

the goals of the rehab team.



Things at work were not quite the same as at school, however.  I'd expected

to be taken into loving arms and given meaningful challenges, more or less

as I had been given before.  But Dr. Allen, the director of the service,

didn't see things that way.  He assigned me to clerical jobs, and this

effectively cut me off from contact with the patients.  I knew I was in for

a fight, so I let it go for weeks before I made a move.  After all, they

paid me the same money.



I started putting the pieces of this puzzle together more because of my

curiosity than anything else.  I wasn't totally unhappy doing the clerical

work, but there was absolutely nothing that I'd done before that I couldn't

do now, even if I were on crutches.  More than once, regular employees

asked me what was going on, and all I could say was, "I don't know".



Finally I asked Dr. Allen point-blank, and he told me just as bluntly that

I could hardly be effective and encouraging in successful adjustment to a

limb when I was afraid of one myself.  I disputed his contention that I was

afraid, saying that it was my choice whether or not to wear one.  I argued

that very little of my past work was with amputees anyway, but it didn't

impress him, and I stayed at the desk.  This was my first taste of

discrimination in the job market.

Chapter XII





But spring came, and the snow melted, and the weekend skiing trips became

short hikes, and then longer ones, and then backpacking.  Yep, you'd better

believe it.  I became an expert one-crutcher, and could go all day if the

pace were not too demanding.  In June, Danny and I spent three weekends

hiking down a river just West of Boulder.  We took our time while I got

used to handling the rocky terrain on one crutch.  I had to be extra

careful where I put the crutch tip so it wouldn't slip when I shifted my

weight.  But we got along beautifully, without a single mishap.



At first, Danny worried about me on the longer hiking trips.  He wanted me

to bring a spare crutch.  But as my confidence and my ability grew, so did

his.  By the time of the third trip, he no longer mentioned additional

crutches.



We had a very unusual conversation on the last night of that trip.  Danny

and I were sitting side by side, watching the dying embers of our cooking

fire.  He put his arm around me and said, "I want to ask you something."



"Ask away."



"Since you lost your leg, have any men started acting like they're

especially interested in you?"



"No," I said.  "Why?"



"I just wondered," he said.  "I couple of months ago I bought a copy of

Penthouse.  There were two letters in it under the heading of 'Monopede

Mania'.  They were from men who think one-legged women are super sexy.  I'm

curious how many of those freaks are around."



"Freaks?" I asked.  "Does someone have to be a freak to think I'm sexy?"



Even in the dim firelight I could see Danny blush.  "Of course not.  You

are sexy."  He tried to get his foot out of his mouth.  "But you're not

sexy because of your leg.  You've always been sexy.  It's the way you

handle yourself."



I don't read Penthouse, and I didn't know about any letters.  I'd heard of

deformity fetishism because it's occasionally mentioned in abnormal

psychology textbooks.  But it had never occurred to me that amputees might

be the object of a fetish.



Then it struck me that my own actions were totally inexplicable unless I

too had some kind of fetish.  Nobody in his right mind would actually want

to have a leg amputated, let alone go to the lengths I'd taken to achieve

it.  I wondered if I had something in common with the men Danny was talking

about.  I knew I'd found more than one male amputee oddly fascinating, but

I'd always told myself this was nothing more than simple curiosity.  Maybe

I told myself that so I'd feel more normal.



"Okay," I told Danny after a few seconds' pause, "I'm sexy and you're not

a freak.  What did the letters say?"



"Let me tell you the rest of it first.  I checked out the back issues, and

Penthouse has been printing these letters almost every month for a year. 

I looked through some other men's magazines too, and a few of them are

carrying the same kind of letters.  The letters are all pretty much the

same, saying how these guys are really turned on by an amputee woman.  Some

of them describe experiences where they supposedly made out with a one

legged chick.  A few letters were from girls who claim to be amputees and

who say their sex life is actually better now."



"That's...uh...weird," I said, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush in my

cheeks.



"But I really don't think many of the letters signed by women were really

written by women," Danny continued.  "They just didn't sound real.  I think

I should know."



"What does that mean?" I asked.  "Is it impossible for a man's sex life to

improve if his girl becomes an amputee?"



"No, that's not what I mean."  Danny seemed irritated with me.  "Of course

it's possible, it's happened with us.  But our sex life is better because

I love you more.  Not because you lost you leg, but because you've

demonstrated qualities I didn't know you had.  You're really super strong,

and I love you for it."



I decided to prod him a little.  "I only demonstrate those qualities

because I lost my leg," I said.  "So, in a way, that's what caused you to

be turned on more, right?"



"Well, yes, I suppose so, but a lot of other things could have brought out

the same strength."



"Like what?"



"Like anything.  A death in the family, sickness, disaster, who knows? 

Look, the important thing is, I love you.  I want to marry you, or live

with you, or do anything I have to do, as long as I can be with you."



It took me a long time to fall asleep that night, even though I was tired

from hiking and lovemaking.  Although I'd managed to keep my cool while we

were talking, the conversation had greatly excited me.  Part of it was the

discovery that I wasn't nearly as alone as I'd always imagined myself to

be.  There were other people who found amputation as exciting as I always

had.  Perhaps there were even others who had wangled amputations for

themselves as I had.



One thing I'd learned was that absolutely no one suspects an amputee of

being anything but an innocent victim.  And now I realized that I didn't,

either.  Until that night, it had never occurred to me that anyone else

would try to lose a limb.  But if I was truly not the only one to feel as

I did, there could be any number of voluntary amputees crutching around.



The thought of that excited me, even though I could never know for sure. 

But even more than that, I was excited by the idea that Danny might be one

of those men who were turned on by amputees.  Now that I thought about it,

he certainly seemed to enjoy playing with my stump during lovemaking, and

I'd noticed a special sparkle in his eyes as he watched me hop around my

apartment.  His explanation about the magazines seemed inadequate, too.  I

couldn't think why he would have to dig through all those back issues,

because only one or two letters would be enough to show him that at least

a few men were attracted to amputees.  But if he felt that fascination

himself, I could easily understand why he'd want to read all the letters. 

He'd want to reassure himself as much as possible that he wasn't alone in

feeling as he did.  And looked at in this light, his denial of being

attracted to my amputation meant nothing.  He would naturally be frightened

of turning me off by showing enthusiasm for my condition.  After all, I'd

been careful to show the dislike of my handicap that would be expected of

any amputee.



As I lay there beside Danny, I nursed the hope that he was turned on by my

stump.  Our enjoyment of each other would increase a hundredfold if we

could openly share delight in my being an amputee.  But I faced the same

dilemma I'd pictured for him.  If I told him how I felt and what I'd done,

and it turned out he wasn't fascinated as I was...well, I couldn't bear to

think of what would happen after that.



The next morning I was still thinking about all this as we trudged back

down the mountain to my car.  I kept going over strategies that might allow

me to discover whether Danny had any special inclination, without revealing

my own.  I've often wondered if our lives would have turned out differently

if I'd ever worked up the nerve to try even one of the strategies that I

concocted and discarded that day.

Chapter XIII





For the most part our lives continued as usual.  Danny and I went back to

school.  We taught amputee skiing the next winter, and I kept in shape

swimming in the college's indoor pool.  We were both in our senior year,

and everyone assumed we'd be getting married after graduation in June.  We

were already living together, although Danny continued to pay rent on his

own room just for appearances' sake.  I still had my job at the rehab

center, and Danny had found part time work running errands for some

businessman he'd met.  Between us we had enough money to live comfortably

and do almost anything we wanted.



My life as a one legged woman had its ups and downs, but by spring it was

mostly ups.  I was thoroughly oriented to crutch walking and no longer had

those little split seconds of trying to use my missing leg.  There were no

longer any times when I wished I had my leg back, and indeed, as I realized

with a start one day, I could no longer remember what it had felt like to

have two legs.



In January I received a citation from the state rehabilitation agency for

my work with amputee skiers.  It stated I had demonstrated conspicuous

courage by cheerfully ignoring my own handicap so others could overcome

theirs.  Those words gave me the greatest sense of personal satisfaction I

had ever experienced.  Don't misunderstand me, I didn't think I was some

kind of great heroine or anything, it was just this was the first time in

my life I had done something truly difficult without expecting anything in

return but the satisfaction of doing it well.  The citation told me that I

had accomplished what I'd set out to do, and that people appreciated me. 

The award brought more newspaper stories about me, and even a magazine

article from which I made a little money.  Everything seemed to be going

very well.



Too well, I guess.  When things seem to proceed smoothly there always seems

to be a catch, and this time was no exception.



One morning a few weeks before graduation, Danny came in with the daily

paper.  He handed it to me, saying, "check this out."



I looked at the headline.  "Two Doctors Sued For Malpractice, Cut Off Wrong

Girl's Leg", they read.



The story said that the DeCapelos had learned from an undisclosed source

that their daughter's leg had been amputated by mistake.  They were suing

Gillman and Hendrikson for ten million dollars.  Of course, the first thing

I thought of was that Gillman would assume I was the one who leaked the

story to the DeCapelos.  So as soon as Danny left for class, I picked up

the phone and called Gillman.  He immediately and harshly accused me of

informing in return for a cut of the settlement.  I assured him that wasn't

true.  I said I was calling to tell him I was delighted with what he'd

already done for me, and that I'd never think of repaying him for his help

in this way.  That seemed to mollify him a little, but as he told me, it

wasn't very convincing.  So I pointed out that the last thing I wanted was

to be involved in a court case where my own crime might come to light.  I

said I wanted to keep things quiet even more than he did, because he was

only facing a malpractice suit.  But I was guilty of extortion, and would

go to jail if the whole story came out.  When I said that, Gillman calmed

down and spoke rationally, although his voice was shaky.  He apologized for

his accusation and said that he was very worried about his future.



I truly felt sorry for Gillman.  He'd made an honest mistake, and was

really only guilty of trusting another doctor.  I was the one who'd taken

unscrupulous advantage of the situation.  I said as much, and wished him

well.  He thanked me for my concern, and even remembered to congratulate me

on my award, which he'd read about in the papers.  When I finally hung up

the phone, I had the feeling I'd made a friend.



With the Gillman situation apparently defused, I decided against doing

anything rash, like leaving school before graduation.  The trial wouldn't

take place for months.  I was sure the real informant would be identified

before then, clearing me of any suspicion Gillman and Hendrikson might

still have.  I did such a good job convincing myself that I was completely

unprepared for what happened next.



The following Saturday night Danny and I were leaving a party at about

eleven o' clock.  I was in front of Danny, crutching down the sidewalk

toward my car.  I saw a couple of men in a car across the street, but paid

them no attention.  Just as I was unlocking the door of my car, something

seemed to tug violently at my right arm.  Instantly my arm went to sleep,

and I became very faint and I couldn't prevent myself from sagging to the

sidewalk.  As I fell I thought I heard the echoes of some kind of loud

bang.  I was vaguely aware of landing on something soft, rather than a

concrete sidewalk.  Just before I lost consciousness, I realized that the

soft something was Danny.

Chapter XIV





For what seemed like a long time I seemed to be floating somewhere dark. 

I was only aware of disconnected sounds and words.  I wanted to ask what

was going on, but my mouth wouldn't work.



When I woke up, my mother was there, holding my hand.  Tears were running

down her face.  For a moment I couldn't figure out how she could be there,

then I asked her, "where's Danny?"



She broke down into sobs, whirling to face my father, who'd been standing

behind her.  He took her into his arms, then I heard him say, "We're very

sorry, Pepper.  Danny's gone."



"Gone?" I asked.  Then I realized he meant Danny was dead.  I went berserk

for a little while, screaming at God for his unfairness.  When I calmed

down I was wheeled off to the operating room.  I still couldn't feel my

arm, so even though no one told me, I knew they were going to amputate it. 

I couldn't seem to make myself care.



Well, I lived, and I kept my arm.  I had merely jumped to conclusions, it

seemed.  The surgeons repaired the damage caused by the two shotgun pellets

which had struck me, and all I have to show for the incident are two small,

puckered scars.  I'm glad I was wrong.  Not only had none of my dreams ever

included the loss of an arm, it would have crippled me terribly.  I'd have

had to give up so many of the things I enjoy doing.  And I would also have

lost my ability to use two crutches.  But the doctors did a superb job, and

in only a few weeks I regained full use of my arm, and was back to getting

around as well as ever.

Chapter XV





I live in Laguna Beach, California now.  I have a small apartment close to

the ocean.  I make my living working as an editor for a rehabilitation

trade magazine.



A man named Larry Nicholson helps me with my work sometimes.  Believe it or

not, he's the reporter who wrote that newspaper story about me back in

Colorado when I first lost my leg.  He works for the Associated Press now. 

It turns out he's one of those men who like amputee girls, and he's a

really nice guy.  I like him, and I'm glad he likes me.



Colorado got to be too much for me.  There was a full-blown investigation

of the three doctors involved in the DeCapelo case, and the police worked

overtime trying to get a lead on whoever shot Danny and me.  I was living

in fear that they'd find the connection between the two cases.



Larry worked on both stories.  I'm sure he knows something he's not telling

me, but nothing I do will make him reveal what he knows.  The fact is that

I'm the murderer.  If I hadn't done what I did, Danny would still be alive. 

That fact will haunt me forever.  But Gillman and whoever else paid to get

rid of me won't be satisfied by Danny's death.  It's only a matter of time

before they try again.  And sooner or later, they'll succeed.



I've thought of running away.  But where would I hide?  Unless I gave up

all ties to my family, there'd always be mail and phone calls to give my

location away.  Once someone knew what town I lived in, I'd be easy to

find.  There aren't many crutch using one legged women in this world.



I never told my parents that the killer was after me.  They worry about me

too much as it is.  They're convinced it was some crazy with a grudge

against Danny.



When Larry's in town we often go out together.  It's nothing serious.  He's

happy to be with a one-legger, and I enjoy his company.  So we have dinner,

maybe see a movie, then go back to his place or mine and make love.  He

isn't as exciting a lover as Danny, but he's no slouch, either.  What

matters is, we satisfy each other.  And while we're together the world is

a little less lonely.



Larry's been out of town on a story for a couple of weeks now, and isn't

due back for another week.  I miss him.  If it weren't for that anonymous

hitman who's still wandering around out there, I'd be awfully tempted to

take Larry up on his offer of marriage when he gets back.



Well, now you know my story.  Whatever happens to me now, someone will know

Gillman's role.  Perhaps I can't stop him from getting even with me, but at

least I can insure he doesn't get away clean.



Wait a minute.  Somebody's at the door, and I'm not expecting anyone.

Chapter XVI





It was Larry, back early from his trip.  The story he was working on wound

up more quickly than anyone expected, so he thought he'd surprise me.  Some

surprise.



When I opened my front door and saw Larry standing there, I was so relieved

it wasn't some greaseball with a gun that fainted.  Fortunately Larry

caught me, but when I woke up I couldn't pretend there was nothing wrong. 

And after keeping everything bottled up for over two years, I found I

couldn't do it anymore.  I found myself pouring out my whole story to

Larry, from top to bottom, just as I've told you.



When I finished, Larry just looked at me for what seemed like five minutes. 

My heart sank, and I was thinking, now he knows just what a freak I am, and

he'll never want to see me again.  Then he laughed.  It was a long, low,

rumbling sort of laugh.  For just a second I felt relief, then it hit me

what he was laughing at, and I was instantly upset.  It must have showed in

my face, because he became apologetic at once.



"Oh, I am sorry, Pepper," he said.  "Look, I'm not laughing at you.  If

what you suspected were really true, it wouldn't be even a little bit

funny.  But, Honey, you're wrong about a whole bunch of things.  Gillman

isn't out to get you, and there isn't any hitman."



"What?  Come on, Larry, don't give me that.  I know better."



He shook his head.  "No, Pepper, you don't know better."  He sighed.  "I

wish now I'd told you a year ago, but I thought I was sparing your

feelings.  I didn't have any idea you thought someone was after you."



"What do you mean, sparing my feelings?"



"Pepper, you know I did some digging back in Colorado.  You've pestered me

enough about it.  Well, I learned some stuff that never made it into any of

my stories because I didn't think it was in anyone's best interest to

publicize it."  Larry gazed at me a moment, then continued.



"Honey, that goombah with the shotgun was after your boyfriend, not you. 

There was a contract out on Danny."



"I don't believe it," I said.



"It's true.  Danny was involved with some very bad people.  He worked for

them, transporting money and drugs.  I guess you could say he was sort of

a courier.  Well, he was skimming a little off the top.  They found out

about it and decided to make an example of him."



I hated hearing this, most of all because it made sense.  From shortly

after my amputation, Danny had always had plenty of money, with no source

other than that part time job running errands.  "Go on," I said.



"After your operation, Danny wanted to give you things.  He couldn't afford

to, so he went to some people he knew.  People who could use a nice

clean-cut kid that the cops wouldn't suspect.  That's how he paid for that

car of yours."



"My father bought my car."



"Only partly.  He gave Danny enough for a stripped-down model.  Yours is

loaded.  Danny put up almost half the money himself.  I've talked to the

dealer.  He remembers the sale very clearly."  Larry shrugged.  "There were

other things, too."



Oh, my God.  I felt stunned.  "They're not after me, too?  I mean, I helped

spend the money, after all."



"Do you remember a story in the news about a gangster the police found shot

to death on a back road down by Canyon City?"



"Y-yes, I think so."



"That was the hitman."



"Why would he be killed?"



"Because he shot you."



Now I was truly shocked.  "That doesn't make any sense," I stammered.  "My

being shot had to be an accident, if what you say is true."



"It was an accident, but that doesn't matter to these people.  When the

local godfather learned you'd been hit he said, 'We're not in the business

of shooting little crippled girls.'  He saw it as a stain on his family's

honor, you see.  That kind of stain can only be erased in one way."



"I think I understand," I said, "but what about Dr. Gillman?"



"Just a poor schnook, like you once thought he was.  I'm sure he never

considered doing anything to you, in spite of what you thought.  You were

quite right that you'd end up in more trouble than he was in if you came

forward, and I don't doubt he accepted your explanation completely.  And

after all, mistakes like the one he made with the DeCapelo girl are the

reason doctors carry malpractice insurance."  Larry smiled.  "The only real

risk either Gillman or Hendrikson faced was in increase in their premiums. 

There would be no permanent damage to their reputations."



"Oh, I'm glad about that," I said.  I hesitated briefly, then asked "Larry,

what about the mistake they made with me?"



"Amputating your leg, you mean?  What about it?"



"How do you feel about it?"



"Turned on, to be honest."



"Really?"



"Absolutely.  The idea that you're not only one legged, but want to be one

legged, is very exciting to me."  He smiled broadly.  "Pepper, you're the

kind of girl I've always dreamed of.  A girl who shares and understands my

fascination with one leggedness.  And I think I'm the kind of guy you need,

too.  Together we have only joy in what you are, without need for guilt or

embarrassment."



I nodded.  There was no need to say anything else, and as I stood to take

Larry's hand and lead him to my bedroom, I recognized the moment.



It was the beginning of the rest of my life.







           -=*< The End >*=-