Character Name: Joe Hardy
Age: Late 20’s probably
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Joe isn’t an imposing figure.  At barely 5’10 and 160 lbs on a good day, he’s lean and fit, but wouldn’t make anyone quake in their boots when he walked through the door.  At least not on size alone.  There’s something else to him, a shadow that seems to follow him, as much feeling as look that says bad things happen when he’s around.

He carries those shadows in his eyes, dark and brown that seem to fall away somewhere, like they’re looking at more than just the things in front of him.  He tends to keep his hair somewhat medium length to short, but doesn’t seem to bother with it much beyond that.  In fact, he doesn’t seem to care much about his appearance except for his clothes.  While his hair does whatever it wants, usually slicked back or a little disheveled, his clothes are immaculate.  While he has a leather jacket, pair of jeans and a few t-shirts in his suitcase, mostly he has suits, two piece, three piece and even a few bow ties.  There isn’t a particular style to them, but almost all of them are tailored, though there aren’t any tags to tell him by who.

History:  Good question.  Joe woke up in a hotel room with the most God awful floral wallpaper you’ve ever seen and nothing to his name except just that, a name on the bill slipped under the door.  Joe Hardy, Room 925 with a little smiley face after it.  Even the little leather bound journal he found in one of his bags was blank, the paper old and warped, like someone had run it through the washing machine over and over until all the ink was gone.

Surprisingly, none of that bothered him all that much and he was actually feeling pretty good about things.  Well not things so much, there were a lot of things to worry about.  While he couldn’t quite recall the sort of things people would consider normal, his name, where he was born, who his parents were, what he was doing in a cheap hotel room in the middle of Texas or why he hand a ton of cash in a one of his suitcases, a pristine Cadillac outside the door and an angry looking girl in his room; he did recall that there were things that went bump in the night and he hated them and they might not hate him yet, but they would soon enough.

That and he remembered, well not remembered so much as knew, there was a place he should go, a bar.  Though why or what he’d find there, he wasn’t quite sure.

Mode of transportation: He doesn’t have a clue how he got it, but he’s got the keys to a mint 1949 Cadillac Series 62 Convertible, Black.