“And why the hell not? I’m the best Goddamn surgeon this sorry town has ever seen.” The doctor stood out on the sidewalk near his home, his wife watching nervously from the doorway. A bald, portly man in a gray suit was talking to him. “In terms of raw skill and experience, yes,” He said, “But you’re, quite frankly, a liability. Ignoring basic protocol, getting thrown in prison, getting STABBED in said prison, your disregard for the rules, all of it. I’m not just talking lawsuits, Harding. I’m saying you’re a danger to yourself and others. I mean, look at you. You look like shit. I know things are rough for you right now or whatever, what with the wife and the kid…but we’re also a business. And we have to cut our losses-” “You ever work 76 hours on an innocent woman after they’ve been shot several times, simply for being in the area around where a group of lowlives hung out? Ever have to call in a priest, two other surgeons, and think she’s in the clear, until the internal bleeding starts again and you know she’s a goner? Ever have a woman take your hand, and beg you to let her go, so her kids wouldn’t have to make that decision? Ever pull the plug on a woman you just spent three fucking days straight trying to save?” “I-No.” “Then don’t try to even fucking talk to me about losses, because that’s just one example. Get off my property.” As the man in the suit left, Vince clenched his fists and kicked at a rock on the driveway, before hearing movement. “What now?”