“Not Good” Seth cursed under his breath. He quickly wrapped his wounded leg, years of practice taking control as he continued to glance out the window as three or four of The Laughing Man’s “friends” walked quickly down the street.

He car was safe, unassuming as it was, the cabin protected by reinforced kevlar and steel, and all the glass was bullet proof. He wasn’t worried about them attacking him now, but if they pinned The Laughing Man’s death on him, his contacts wouldn’t be able to risk feeding him information anymore. Likely he would be betrayed and die alone in a gutter somewhere, the death ruled a suicide.

He ducked down low in the seat as they neared. He earnestly whispered a prayer with Saint Michael that they would not notice him or his car. It was unlikely that they would recognise it, but if they reported it someone who knew who he was, it would be over.

Keeping his face covered, he slowly glanced up. They had entered the alley where The Laughing Man was.

He surreptitiously started his car.