Bryan Rowling sipped his water as he looked around. The room flowed around him as he took stock. He had drawn someone's attention. He didn't see an obvious suspect.

Rowling decided that he was standing too close to the center of the room. He should move toward a window, or a door. He had let his guard down because he was at a gala. He should have known better. Everyone in the know wanted to challenge him. A party wouldn't stop them from doing that. Other people would just be collateral damage.

It wouldn't be the first time he had ducked out of a party and dealt with a challenger. It went with the territory.

Rowling chatted with other party goers as he made his way toward the closest window. Once he was alone, maybe something would happen. He would give the other presence time to challenge, or clear off. Then he would leave.

He hoped the other man would leave. He didn't want to fight when things had been going well so far. He had just settled into his sixth life since taking his responsibility. He had a new place he had fortified against trouble. His claim that his personal fortune was a lottery winning had not been challenged yet.

He expected trouble but he had hoped that it would have taken longer for challengers to find him after he had made his escape from the Bentford Asylum, and its inmates.

He should have known they would have seen through his new guise so soon.

Rowling pulled the curtains out of the way. The party was on the ninth floor of an apartment building. Small balconies dotted the face of the edifice. He opened the window and slid through to stand on the small balcony.

He stood next to the wall and waited for something to happen.

Rowling listened to the crowd. No one had missed him from the sound of things. If his unknown opponent stepped out the window, he could deal with him and slip away before anyone noticed he was gone. He would add not to attend charity parties to the things he shouldn't do.

A face appeared. It belonged to one of the guests, a Ms. Reynolds. She raised her eyebrow at seeing him standing next to the wall.

“Is something wrong?,” asked Ms. Reynolds.

“I'm just taking a breath of fresh air,” said Rowling. He smiled. “How are you, Ms. Reynolds?”

“Most people call me Laura,” she said. She stepped out on the balcony.

“That's kind of you,” said Rowling. “Bryan is my given name.”

“Bryan,” she said. “It is nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Rowling. “What brought you to the party?”

“I have some interests along the river,” said Laura. “This charity helps with the problems my companies face down there.”

“Moving the homeless?,” asked Rowling. He knew better than most that the poor would always need help. It was fitting that modern robber barons should fund that help in his opinion. They did so much to make the poor in his opinion.

“Providing training and jobs,” said Laura. “If they are able to move out of my way, that's icing on the cake.”

Rowling nodded. He had wealth, but knew he couldn't handle a major problem with it. He would use it up and still be trying to help people.

“What is your interest?,” asked Laura.

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“I was invited through a small company I have an interest in,” said Rowling. “I expect that people think I am wealthier than I am.”

“That's the hazard of these get-togethers,” said Laura. “I think that they think I have a lot more in liquid cash than I do.”

“What are you doing later?,” asked Rowling.

“I have to get ready to fly cross country,” said Laura. “I have a meeting to attend. I think it's a waste of time, but I have to keep some of the old men happy so they will vote my way on projects.”

“That's understandable,” said Rowling. “I hope your flight is pleasant.”

“What are you doing?,” asked Laura.

“I always give myself a day off after a party,” said Rowling. “I don't need to worry about having to see my employees when I am hungover.”

“I should do that for the next party I attend,” she said. “I don't like flying at the best of times. Pushing back against that might do me some good.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” said Rowling. He smiled. “Maybe you should make them fly to you if they have enough money.”

“That's a good idea, but I think impossible to pull off,” said Laura. “It was nice meeting you.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” said Rowling. “If you are ever back in town, call me and we'll paint the town red.”

“That would be nice,” said Laura. She smiled at him.

Rowling handed her one of the business cards he had printed up for himself. It was difficult to convince someone you were a serious businessman without at least one card.

“I'll be sure to call when I get back to town,” she said.

“I'll be waiting,” said Rowling, He watched her step inside the window.

He went back to waiting. He decided to give his mysterious observer another five minutes. Then he would leave and head for home.

If someone tried to take his charge before he got home, he was fine with leaving them in an alley somewhere. It wouldn't be the first time he had done that.

It would be work for the police, but that wasn't his problem.

The thirty pieces of silver he guarded was dangerous to any who wanted to carry them. The people who wanted to carry them thought they were power sources that could be used for personal advancement.

No one believed how dangerous they were. He had fended off numerous attacks in the years he had carried them. Some of his opponents had been close to unleashing the silver pieces on the world before he had caught up with them.

Execution was the only answer to get the silver pieces back.

Some had been warped by the pieces so beheading had been the only mercy he could give them.

Rowling decided not to go back into the party. Too many people floated around. He didn't want to fend off an attacker in the middle of all that and have to explain everything afterwards. It was better to make his own exit.

He climbed over the balcony railing and lowered himself down to the next balcony in the row. He repeated the motions until he stood on the last balcony above the street. He still stood two stories up from the ground.

He lowered himself from the railing and dropped the last few feet from the balcony. He looked around. No one seemed to be looking at him. He started walking.

He noticed several men in suits following him. They wore overcoats to conceal whatever weapons they had. He wore armor to resist bullets. He only needed it to avoid a heart shot that might put him out of commission long enough to lose the silver.

There was nothing he could do if they went for his head.

He decided that he should act casual and look for a place he could make a stand. He looked at the shops and restaurants spread out around him. Maybe he should stop and get a pizza.

He went into a place called Lanza's and asked for the biggest pizza they carried with just cheese on it. He paid for it and moved to stand next to a wall where he could watch the street.

The counterman called his number a few minutes later. He picked up the box and headed out the door. The men in suits kept pace with him until he went down to the train station. He walked to the platform to wait on the next train heading out.

It didn't matter which one. He just wanted a confined area to work.

The train rolled into the station. He waited patiently for the doors to open. He stepped on the nearest car and moved forward. He didn't want that many witnesses to what he was going to do.

The men in suits boarded the train. They made their way forward, pushing past any passengers blocking the way. Pistols came out. They spotted their target standing in the middle of the next car with the pizza box in his hands.

They knew better than to talk to this target. Shoot first was the order of the day. Pistols came up to start shooting as the men stepped inside the car. The open pizza box and pizza flew at them.

Rowling twisted his hand as he charged forward behind the box of hot food. A sword appeared in his hand. He sliced through the men in suits in a few seconds. He stabbed the last one as the man shot him. He stepped back from the pain in his torso. Then he stabbed again to make sure his enemy was dead.

Rowling wiped the sword off before he put it away. He checked pockets. He found nothing. Nameless hitmen were not new.

He pushed the bell to signal the driver to stop at the next station. He didn't want to stay on board with his dead enemies any longer than he had to. He also wondered when he would see the next wave.

He thought he rated more than six men.

The next platform came into view. He waited by the door. He didn't see anyone standing on the concrete stage. When the door opened, he headed for the surface. He heard a scream but did not stop.

He was not going to answer questions about why he had stabbed the men in the suits after throwing pizza on them. He had other things he preferred to do.

If the police identified him, he would have to burn his identity and go to his backup. He didn't want to do that, but the less they knew, the better it would be for them.

The silver would attract too many enemies that he was sure the police could not handle. He thought it best that he move with as much anonymity as he could muster since he knew someone had penetrated his Rowling mask.

If they kept coming at him, he could try to figure out who was behind them and take him out.

He wondered how many more he would have to kill before he could cut off the flow of assassins.

Rowling watched his surroundings as he walked down the street.