Eventually Billy found a position as a boxer. Not a prizefighter; Billy folded men’s suits and packed the suits into boxes in a clothing factory’s shipping department. He was taught how to fold the suits in a special way by another boxer, a black man named Luther something-or-other. Luther something-or-other showed Billy how to fold a suit so the suit could travel clear across the country and arrive at its destination without a single crease.

Soon after Billy was established as a boxer in the clothing factory, he found and rented a small one-room apartment in the basement of a West Village brownstone. The apartment had some furniture in it already, including a bed. The rent was reasonable.

Billy felt lucky.

Everything seemed to be falling into place easier than he’d expected. He had a decent job, money in his pocket, and a place to live. He had a new friend named Jimmy Joel Jenks.

And then Billy met Sonny Lieberman.

The cripple refused to let the producer get away. Not after finally finding the bastard and getting within speaking distance. He wasn’t the least bit concerned that he was causing a disturbance, standing on Madison Avenue in the middle of the pavement with tons of shoppers about, yelling at this guy like he was. Hell, they could have been arguing in the Macy’s Department Store front window for all he cared. The cripple was convinced the fate of his entire project rested in this man’s hands, and he absolutely could not allow the lucky happenstance to fail.

“You still have programs on the air in reruns, don’t you?” asked the cripple. “Plenty of them. You haven’t been out of the business like you say you have. Your saying you’ve been out of business is unadulterated malarkey. All the network honchos and syndicators remember your name. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the network honchos and syndicators still know you personally. You still have clout. Plenty of it. So don’t give me that crap about your contacts drying up.”

The producer stopped walking. He had to. The cripple was limping after him, shouting his accusations, making an embarrassing scene. The producer hated embarrassing scenes.

The producer turned and said, “Look here, you ignorant fool, just—”

“Hell, if it wasn’t for your programs,” shouted the cripple, “they wouldn’t have anything to run on the Game Show Channel, would they? As I see it, you really haven’t left the business at all. Your star hasn’t diminished and neither has your pull. Not as much as you say.”

“Listen,” said the producer, unable to believe he was still having a conversation with this lowlife, “I left the business because I was sick of it. I’m still sick of it. My feelings haven’t changed one iota.”