The man that suddenly plopped down into the booth hadn't been invited.  He didn't seem to think that was important, though, as he scrubbed a hand through short black hair, glancing at each of them in turn before nodding, satisfied that they were, in fact, the faces he'd been sent the photos of.  He didn't have full profiles or anything--oh no, that'd be<em>easy</em>and we couldn't have<em>that</em>--but he had faces, names, and a message, and that was good enough.<br/><br/>He was dressed all right for the night out--he didn't exactly blend in seamlessly, but he didn't stand out, either.  He wasn't much of a casino or club guy, really--laser tag, or hell even just a damn<em>bar</em>without all the clubkids were more his style--but he didn't look uncomfortable, really, either.  You didn't grow up within half a state of Vegas and feel entirely out of place in spots like this one, right?<br/><br/>He didn't give them much of a chance to start asking angry questions--or polite ones, even, he couldn't really know what they'd say, right?--before he spoke up.<br/><br/><em><strong>"Hey.  I'm Kyle.  Who's in charge right now?  Need to talk to the Big A.  Got a message from the Kiddos, if you know what I mean."</strong></em><br/><br/>Maybe it hadn't really been smart to, you know, just drop in quite like this.  But Kyle did like to make an entrance...<br/><br/><em><strong>"Maybe somethin' to do with whatever the heck brings you to this lil' slice of whatever tonight.  Kith and Kin talking up some trouble at Caeser's."</strong></em><br/><br/>He was trying not to spell it out in a public nightclub, of course, but that just meant talking in ridiculous riddles, so he pursed his lips for a second and went on.<br/><br/><em><strong>"Okay, y'know what?  I'm gonna just drop the spy crap, I can't pull it off.  Too bad, too, Michael Westin's my hero.  Seriously though, which one of you is in charge?  We've got trouble."</strong></em>