Henry stored his two rapiers, locked the massive doors, collected the bodies, and then went up to the second floor.
Twenty-three more of the gang's thugs were lounging on long wooden benches, smoking and laughing. They looked up as he appeared, their faces a mixture of confusion and surprise.
Two seconds later, they were all dead, a 12-inch throwing knife buried in each of their throats.
He collected the bodies and went up to the third floor. It was a massive, open-plan office, with thirty-six desks scattered around. Twenty-one of them were occupied. He walked to the center of the room and, once again, the air was filled with a storm of flying steel. In two seconds, all twenty-one of them were dead.
He then moved through the side offices, his twin rapiers a blur of motion, a swift and silent death to all who stood in his path. In the last office, he found him: Mario, the capo, the cousin of the treacherous stable hand.
He spared him, for a moment.
"Mario?" he said, the tips of his rapiers at the man's throat and heart. "Hands up."
After a brief, brutal interrogation, during which Henry learned the fate of his remaining horses and the location of the gang's main headquarters, he granted the man the same swift death he had given his underlings.
He went up to the fourth floor and cleared it in the same manner, another forty-one of the gang's members falling to his blades. He looted the offices, taking three more safes, and then went down to the stables and retrieved his twenty horses, his storage space now filled to the brim.
He found the keys to the main doors and went back down to the ground floor. He opened the massive loading doors. A wagon had just pulled up, and nine more of the gang's thugs were grumbling about the delay.
"Get in here!" Henry called out. "Mario's giving out bonuses!"
They rushed in, their greed blinding them to the danger. He killed them all where they stood.
He waited a few more minutes, and when no one else appeared, he locked the doors and walked back to the stable rental office. He found Sandy and the two thugs who had laughed at him, along with six other men, all of them sitting around a table. He killed them all without a word.
He went upstairs and found Kenneth, the insurance salesman, along with five other men, all of them writing up their fraudulent reports. He killed them, too. He emptied the office safe and looted the bodies, then left.
He summoned his quarter horse and rode for the south side, for the Lagan's Colts' main headquarters.
It was a massive, six-story building, with a second, equally large hotel next to it. He could sense forty-eight of his horses in the stables behind the hotel. Thirty-two were still missing.
He dismounted, stored his horse, and walked up to the main entrance. He was stopped by one of the six guards.
"I'm here to play," Henry said.
The guard looked him over. He was unarmed. "We're open all night," the guard said, "but the main entrance is closed during the day. Follow me. Side entrance. And no weapons."
He was led to the second floor, searched, and then shown into a massive, 2,000-square-meter casino. It was the middle of the day, and the place was mostly empty. A few dozen customers, a handful of staff, and a dozen guards.
He walked to the center of the room. He activated his Super Reflexes.
The storm of knives was no longer a shower. It was a hurricane.
In less than two seconds, all seventy-two people in the room were dead.
He emptied the cashier's cage, then began the grim work of looting the bodies. He cleared the second floor, then moved to the third, the VIP lounge, killing the guards and the staff with the same ruthless efficiency.
He began to check the private rooms. The first three were empty.
He opened the fourth, and the sound of a raucous party washed over him.