Back in my outlaw days, back when I was swamping around in that Macklin pharmaceutical morass, I’d had an inkling of a Greta Gunther idea. A glimmer... That bitch had sent Dixie Wexler to kill me. It didn’t work out, but he did murder Matt Striker.Well, Wexler’s pushing up weeds; so is his murderous partner, Karl Hoffstatter. But Gunther is still breathing in and out, in and out.“Winter.”“Walk.”“Are you and Clint ... I mean ... what are you thinking? About him?”I placed a tender palm on his. This was unbeliveably painful but no matter how much i tried to scream it came out barley a wimper. Then he produced what i belive is called a spreader bar and attached my ankles to it after spreading it as far as it could go. I was in an almost perfect split. Then he grabbed a cane and told me to walk to the changing rooms. It was agony but i managed it just. Every time i stopped my arse recived a firce caneing. I was lead into the six form changing rooms. He put a collar aorund my neck and. More

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