"And that's all there is to it," proclaimed Dr. Süurd, after verifying the remaining organs were reasonably positioned. "Nothing left but the closure." He cleared his throat, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "So, we'll just leave the interns to, uh, practice their needlework." Dr. Kördann shook her head. "Mmmm... That's okay," she said. "I need to practice my knots."

Süurd groaned disapprovingly. "Doctor," he implored, "you are a surgeon, not a seamstress." He gestured back towards the body. "You won't see a procedure like this again -- certainly not executed with such flair and passion. I suggest you annotate your notes while my example remains fresh in your mind." Kördann pushed her glasses back in place. "I'm not apt to forget," she assured him. "But the Müllnondt knot... Now, there's a conundrum." Süurd frowned at the iodine-drenched wound. "Müllnondt? Why... That knot is contraindicated," he proclaimed. "I mean, why confuse matters? In fact, why sew at all? Just apply some tape." He gestured vaguely. "A Teflex across there, laterally... Covered with some sterile adhesive." Dr. Kördann squinted. "No sutures? On a nine-inch thoracic gash?" Dr. Süurd shook his head emphatically, "Nope. Not needed." Kördann shrugged. "Well, I'll stay anyway," she decided. "Suit yourself," grumbled Süurd. "But as a surgeon, my work here is finished." He shuffled out of the theater, leaving Dr. Kördann to observe.

An intern pulled an exorbitant length of filament from the spool and threaded a large Müllnondt hook.

"Not so fast!" protested Dr. Süurd, barging back into the theater. "I may have forgotten something." He pushed the tailors aside and unceremoniously plunged his hand back into the wound. "Ah, yes... This might be something. Pass me a scalpel, will you?" Dr. Kördann handed him a fresh blade, as Süurd probed deeper with his fingers. "Better than nothing, I suppose." And he started cutting, jabbing at the ligature with short stabs.

"What in tarnation are you doing?" demanded Dr. Kördann. "Well, if you must know," Süurd retorted indignantly, "I'm exacting my pound of flesh. It's collateral, you understand. In case this patient's insurance company balks." He eased a sticky mound of tissue into a bag and sealed the opening. "I've got jars of these things at home," he divulged, weighing the sack in his palm. "Hundreds of them, each one carefully labeled in case I'm audited." He thrust the scalpel back towards her, but avoided eye contact. "I suggest you do the same," he advised. "Quickly now, before it's too late." Dr. Kördann probed the wound tentatively. "Well, I did notice a gland in there, insulated by a healthy layer of fat," she admitted. "But I'll need a scale. I mean, I wouldn't want to take more than my due." And Süurd eyed her approvingly. "Doctor," he exclaimed, "you are a surgeon after all."