He played it as requested. No one blamed him, except him. No one knew why it turned the way it did. Except him. And Cavaniero. But now the account has been settled. Or so he thought.

After a while the monkey found him. He fought it but the monkey won.

He did return to the casino. She was there. He wanted her, he bought her, he used her. After all he had the money. And then he played, he lost, he left.

It was all routine now, all part of his milieu. A wicked revolver with the same bullets firing and killing him over and over again.

Until one night Cavaniero sat next to him at the blackjack table. They need to talk, he said.
‘Another heir?’, the Doc tried to be funny.
He expected a laugh from Cavaniero. Instead he got a matter-of-fact

answer:
‘A pain in my butt with a faulty liver.’

Later, in Cavaniero's office in the belly of the casino, the Doc heard it. The name of the pain in Cavaniero’s butt.

Was he joking? Was Cavaniero really thinking the Doc will accidentally botch another surgery for him.

‘Why, yes.’
‘But I will loose my license!’
‘You’ll loose it anyway if they find out about why you messed up the Hemple guy’

Was this blackmail?

‘See here, Doc, you work in a business that fits very well in my current plans. I say be a pal and do the right thing.’

The surgeon left the casino with two promises – one to Cavaniero and one to himself.

The surgeon had a week to the operation. He was expected to commit a murder. He had a week to made good on both of his promises.