When Erik met the three assassins at the funeral he wore a haunted look. Clustered together, apart from the grief-stricken, the four were able to talk in hushed whispers without disturbing the proceedings. Rain fell from a sad sky.

“No trouble I take it?” Erik asked.

Wilson lit a cigarette with shaking hands. “Not much. The Mountain got shot but he was the only one.”

Erik looked at Killaman who stared back impassively.

“Why are these things always so dreary?” Erik groused, overcome by the atmosphere.

The Green Dragon ran his hand through wet hair. “It is the nature of the thing. We associate sorrow with tears and tears with rain. No one will cry when it is my turn.”

Killaman stayed silent.

Erik nodded to the casket. “It seems like a shame. He was a good man.”

“Too good for this world.” Wilson agreed, flicking ash onto the wet ground.

“Looks like the priest is wrapping up and we should too.” Erik noted. “The money will be split equally as per your instructions.”

All three hit men nodded in agreement.