Sunlight streamed in through the half-open second story window of Capricorn Consulting’s main office, bringing with it a faint wisp of new air, lightly stirring the papers that sat on the edge of a broad, sturdy wooden desk. The burgundy tiling on the floor was clean and polished, the large set of stainless steel filing cabinets against the southern wall were free of dust, and large ficus tree sat in its fired ceramic pot near the doorway. A handful of artistically done photographs of the local Los Angeles scenery hung on the walls to help fill out the room.  The thick wooden door was closed and locked, tied to a small buzzer on the desk across the room. A small window of glass and wire allowed one to see through to the other side. 

Behind the desk sat a young man, well-dressed in a plain white collared shirt beneath a dark suitjacket that had been tailored to fit his slim, tall form. The window, behind him and just over his right shoulder, cast the only faintest of shadows across his face in the well-lit room. He was staring with a look of routine disinterest at the monitor of the computer sitting atop his desk, scrolling through a list of names and dates.

Samuel Capricorn smiled lightly, his lips pulling upward at one corner of his mouth. He folded his hands atop the desk, tilted his head slightly to the side as if considering something for a moment, and then typed a half-line of text, long graceful fingers tapping quietly against the keys. Reaching down between his knees, those fingers found the butt end of a shotgun harnessed to the underside of his desk, presently pointing directly at the door. A thin wooden panel across the upper half of the desk hid the weapon from view, but would hardly slow any shot coming from it, still leaving enough room between it and the floor for a thin man such as Samuel to slip under the desk if need be. 

Opting for a more conventional mode of egress, Samuel pressed the safety on the gun back into place, rising from his comfortable leather cushioned office chair. He closed and locked the window, grabbed his briefcase, and stepped outside of his office, the door closing behind him and locking itself with a reassuring [i]click[/i]. He ran his hands across his chest and outer thighs, feeling several familiar objects neatly concealed within his inner and outer pockets. He adjusted his collar, pulling it upward to cover a second, tighter one beneath it, pressed against his skin. He let out a long breath, straightened himself, and strolled out into the waiting room, where he told Julie, the receptionist, that he would be stepping out for lunch. 

Making his way out onto the street, he grinned and stretched lightly, the sun shining softly on his pale blonde hair. Business was going well. He had just finished up a small corporate contract, asking a few pointed questions about a suspected case of embezzlement, and he had three more meetings scheduled this week so far. Considering his fees, he estimated that the next few days would be quite profitable for him. 

Stepping into a small, cozy café called Lattetude, Samuel’s light grey eyes passed over a set of identical looking men seated toward the back of the room. He raised one thin brow slightly, but didn’t look too much closer, as he didn’t want to be rude. Moving up toward the counter, he ordered the soup of the day and a small coffee before moving to take a seat, coincidentally finding a small table free nearby the one already occupied by the men he had noticed a moment earlier.