[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://shootingthescript.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/machete-2.jpg?w=455&h=300[/img][hr][b][color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] The Morgue 
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	Caesar made liberal use of a paper napkin and rose from his chair. The old man, the grieving father, was gone - replaced by a stoic, potentially violent man restrained by the thin veil of decency that separated him from the monsters he was accustomed to hunting down. There was, suddenly, an active role he could play in figuring out who was responsible for his daughters' deaths. This was what he did. The Professional emerged. The stresses of decades upon decades of life fell away, and though he was still obviously an aged man, the creases upon his face told the story of a jagged, dangerous man with bright, alert eyes and a sense of directed purpose. He wordlessly accepted the itinerary and ave it a once-over.

	Generally, if the money was right, he would be given a target and pointed at it. The whys and wherefores didn't particularly matter to the client, be said client independent, government, or other. This time around, he had to exercise his skills as an investigator, not merely a person who killed things in manners most colorful. Being frank about it, if [i]he[/i] was given a contract of that nature, the more wanton destruction and severed limbs flying about, the better. But things had been a little quieter, less gore-spattered in recent years. 

	[color=orangered]"There must be other airports. Queensguard is as good a place as any to start. I don't have any equipment to collect samples, but I'm pretty sure I can get us in undetected. Get what you need, Cecily, meet me by my bike out front when you're ready."[/color] 

	Caesar left the pizza and six pack on the desk, donned his coat, and quietly exited the room. Prior to leaving the building, a mighty flush could be heard from a tiled room just off of the lobby, followed by a sustained, mechanical whoosh of air. THEN the dark man made his way to his Harley, which he mounted readily. As it turned out, Caesar had still not returned the spare helmet that Cecily used last time. The thought occurred to him that maybe he should just keep a "guest helmet" with his machine. 

	But first - airport.