Location: Chicago (Church)
When it came down to the final, bottom line about his presence in the church dealt with an exchange of favors. Perhaps fate or God or the Powers That Be had set him onto this path for a reason. Caesar couldn't even say for certain how long he had been directed this way. Maybe since his birth. Maybe longer. The problem with destiny was that, regardless of whether you knew you were part of something, you still were part of it. Unavoidably, inescapably. It was the difference between knowing the path and walking the path. But herein lay the difficulty: Now that he knew what path he was supposed to be on, if indeed he was, he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do next.
Slowly, Caesar pulled in a breath of air and let it out. "That is a story, Padre. You have told me a lot of things that I didn't know and put a few things I did know in a different light." He growled an affirmation as he nodded. "My brother says that God puts us where he needs us. Okay. If that is true, he has been throwing me at this for a while now. M'hija paid a price for her involvement. If God wants me on this, fine. Who am I to question?" He shrugged, giving a nonchalant look to his grizzled features. "But you said that you wanted to cash in that favor, and showed me the die. Okay. I'm your man. What do you need me to do? Look for others? Take up the Pope's command? Or is there something more personal going on here?" For all Caesar knew, the priest wanted him to take up the die and see of he could activate some hidden power of the thing with his brutal masculinity alone. Caesar had to admit, he was kind of curious.
Caesar felt his phone vibrate in his vest pocket. It was a short buzz, indicating a message rather than a call. He gave it a quick glance before returning his gaze to Father Pearson. "If this is a holy quest, Padre, then I hope that God wants me in Grimm, Indiana. It is where I have to go now."
Location: Chicago (City Streets -> Church)
"Bloody 'ell is this bronzecockery about, then?" growled Keystone. He had done something stupid, forgetting that he was in a country where they drove on the other side of the street like brazen dumbarses, and turned left on a red light. Granted, the other guy stopped in time, so that was good. But it served to remind that, if distracted by the dulcet yet powerful notes of the "21" album, he might adopt the driving habits of a man still in the United Kingdom. Luckily no one was hit, no cop was there to make his life difficult, and all he got for his DUH moment was the extended middle finger of the brake-squealing errand runner in his mid sized sedan who almost plowed into him. He could live with that. Besides, it was his fault and he didn't want to waste the time it would take to make the poor guy wet himself.
Not just that, but what the arse was with these Americans? It was two fingers for that gesture, not one. They just had to be different, that's all. Hell with them, Keystone had somewhere he needed to be. He was a professional, damnit. Just file it away until he had an opportunity to vent his frustrations on some poor bastard who actually deserves it. "Yeah, that was my fault - myyyyy fault," he repeated, following the electronic route directions on the GPS.
Keystone finally pulled in front of the church where he and Claire had dropped off Caesar earlier. He punched in a quick message to the older man, informing him that he was back out front whenever he wanted to leave, and kept the SUV running. With measured consideration, he moved the music away from Adele and found a local radio station, turned the volume lower, and decided to just give it a wait for the meantime.