In the Edinburgh underworld there is one name which strikes fear into the heart of every underling which knows it. Not only does Lace's reputation preceed him, it holds the door for him with a predatory grin.
He is a temperate man, more collected than his youth would suggest. He is the leopard lounging in the boughs above the goat pen, utterly content to remain there and distress them. Just as liable to leave them be or tear them to shreds at a signal from his keepers.

For others in the city this similie has taken on particular meaning. Lace had a leash once, held firm by Wilson's predecessor Mr. Hare who held significant interests in the criminal sides of the city. Now there is no Mr. Hare. And no leash.