“So, what about Saturday night? I knowit’s something you want. Why else would you be looking at all thosethings?” I raised my finge... at him. “If I do this. You’ll have to promiseme. You’ll erase everything on that computer! No more blackmail!” Randysmiled and pushed his plate away. “Ok. You got a deal. I’ll take everythingoff the laptop and never mention it again.” Saturday afternoon, I finished cleaning the house and was foldingthe. He cast about in his mind: who could or would be able to help him? How long for?It had just begun to impinge upon his consciousness that the damage to his hands might be catastrophic for his musical life, when another doctor arrived.He introduced himself as Mr James Tweedale, the surgical orthopaedic registrar assisting Mr Watkinson. He did the usual perusal of his chart and pronounced his recovery from the surgery a success."Any questions?" he asked."What's the damage to my hands, Doc? Will. More

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