[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://media.giphy.com/media/wbomIbUs5Bc2I/giphy.gif[/img][hr][b]Location:[/b] The Regal Building, Apartment 1D (His), Street
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	Caesar remained straightfaced at Lorna's sudden explosion of rage at his tattoo idea. He stood there, silently taking the verbal lashing from the younger woman. The second she turned to leave, a smirk manifested that quickly spread into a grin. He lightheartedly called after the Marine, [color=orangered]"Orale Cookie, don't be that way! You don't have to get the face tattooed, but the Taco? ¡Muy importante!"[/color] He has laughing now, despite his best efforts to the contrary.

	[color=orangered]"Don't worry, M'hija. If you [i]had[/i] to get the tattoo, I wouldn't have told you about it until we got to that parlor back home, ehh... Tenoch-TAT-lan. I know a guy. And you would have been drunk, M'hija. Very drunk. We would never tell your mother."[/color]

	Just sometimes, it was difficult to tell if Caesar was being serious. 

	With the scene intact, footage taken, police briefed, several members of the media in need of outpatient treatment, his daughter repulsed, and semi-adopted daughter furious with him, Caesar knew that his job here was done. He turned his back on the scene, returning to the tables of food. The dishes were cold by this time, except for his Enchgelatos, which were quickly turning into a pan of spicy-soft custard and flour tortillas. He retrieved his dish and scraped the goppy mess into the nearest trash receptacle. Then he noticed a stack of disposable aluminum half pans among the homemade dishes, and formulated a cunning, devious plan to make his week a little easier. 

	He shoveled four of them full of unattended food, capped them, and nonchalantly sauntered back to his apartment. In the time it took him to store the foodstuffs in the fridge and pour a two fingers of Mescal, a rather urgent knock sounded from his front door. He eyed through the peephole. It was another cop. If they were going to bitch about where he parked his bike after the night he just had, then the duly appointed representative of the Justice Police Department was going to get a piece of his mind and/or machete. 

	But no, it was a somewhat more aggressive policeman, demanding answers as to why he left the scene. It went something like this:

	"Why did you leave the scene?"

	Caesar took a sip of his fragrant, flammable beverage before answering. [color=orangered]"One of your guys already questioned me. My team got finished doing [i]your job[/i]. Plus, being out there was cutting into my drinking time. Are we through?"[/color]

	The officer shook his head. Apparently, they were they were, in fact, not done just yet. "What is your connection with the deceased?"

	[color=orangered]"No connection. Didn't know her, she didn't know me. But I already had this conversation outside. You going to ask anything new?"[/color]

	"Were you living here when the last girl committed suicide?"

	[color=orangered]"Good. New question. Officer in charge give you a new list? I was driving down here from Seattle when the woman killed herself. When I arrived, some cop asked me questions about it. Showed him credit card receipts from a gas station and burger place on the way. It's on file at your precinct, whenever you want to check."[/color]

	Caesar's tone was getting irritated. The officer must have noticed this, as his voice also became more impatient. He must have asked these same questions several times already, and was set to ask them several times more. "Why did you move in if you knew someone died in this building?"

	[color=orangered]"Someone died the next building over, genius. But I'll ask you - how many times have you seen death? Enough of your friends and family die around you, you don't care so much about a stranger in the neighborhood eating a bullet. Besides, already put my money down on this place. Corporate already moved my stuff in."[/color]

	The Officer seemed somewhat intrigued by Caesar's last response. Or at least, he put a little more emotion into the standard question, "What do you do for a living?"

	[color=orangered]"Owner and Chief Executive Officer of Machete Security Solutions. Formerly a Commandant in the Mexican Federal Police - Retired. I do other things, too, but they don't have job titles that can go on resumes. Can I offer you a drink?"[/color]

	The irritated police officer, now a bit more intrigued by the older man's story, declined with a quiet head shake. His face betrayed mild fascination as well as disbelief. He continued going down the list, though his voice had lost a bit of his edge. "Did you see anything?"

	[color=orangered]"Nope. Lady already landed by the time I got out there. All I did was secure the scene. Well, with a lot of talented, motivated help."[/color]

	"Who do you remember being on the street?"

	[color=orangered]"It was a Block Party, Hura. [i]Everyone[/i] was out there. I don't really know but two of these people, and they're with me. Look, are your sure you don't want that drink?"[/color]

	The officer excused himself, most likely to knock on someone else's door that had already been questioned. Caesar had considered giving the man a business card, but the moment he revealed his profession to the recently vigilant policeman, certainty came with it that his history would be reviewed. A card would merely be redundant. No, it was now time to settle back for the evening, have a drink or three, grab a bit of leftovers for dinner and relax with the DVR and his fuzzy bunny slippers. There was going to be a lot of work and reviewing of footage tomorrow. But first things first: To the freezer. Caesar had a sudden desire to swirl a couple of ice cubes in his drink. He opened the door to the magical, frozen box wherein he kept his ice cube trays, only to be greeted with a thing of true delight. 

	[color=orangered]"Ha! I [i]knew[/i] I made two pans of enchgelatos!"[/color]

	Despite the ugliness of the previous few hours, the evening just may be salvageable.