== ON THE RECORD==

Jocasta

"I know a great place. Right near my house, so I can stumble home and not wreck the car."

Roger

"Well, how's the scene there, for, well, me? I'm happy to drive."

Jocasta

"It's cool. Lots of Mexicans and Chinese. There's a herbal medicine shop across the street where I score, uh, buy medication sometimes, so not a lot of cops. They know me there."

Roger

"Sounds groovy, then. Meet you there, or do we drive over from work?"

Jocasta

Jo lets out a quick laugh at the idea that what we do is 'work'. "I'll meet you there. We'll start drinking when the news starts, so we'll be nice and toasty by the time Marshall goes on Carson. "

Roger

"See you there."

== OFF THE RECORD ==

Roger's prep will be to dress a little tougher: leather jacket, black turtleneck, boots kind of deal. And he'll have a good amount of cash on him; the lady shouldn't pick up all the tab, whatever the reason.

Jo will pick out something suitably California Casual and out of respect for the situation, will only hit a j instead of her usual routine. She doesn't anticipate any trouble but will bring along some LEO identification just in case.

Given the place has parking, the Chevelle is just outside with Roger's usual equipment locked in the trunk. And he keeps his FBI badge on him most of the time, in case of Driving While Black incidents.

==ON THE RECORD==

Roger

Roger's reaction on spotting Jo in the place in that outfit is "Solid!" then "We got some Mod Squad shit going on here, huh? Always did wonder what they got up to when Pete wasn't around."

Jocasta

"Well, we're about to find out." Jo has arranged for the bartender to set a bottle of Don Q and two glasses between them at the bar. "First round, we toast to you, for saving my life, Roger." She pauses to light a smoke and arches an eyebrow. "The second, you tell me how you did it."

Roger

"Well, I'll certainly drink your life, Jo. But, see, if you're going to give thanks for it being saved, we have to give the first drink to the honor of the one who did it. So, don't take offense, but this one is for Papa Legba." Roger looks for the bartender looking. Once they're distracted, he takes a swig, turns his head away from Jo, and blows the rum out in a fine mist.

"And this is for him, too." Roger pulls out a cigar, lights it, and takes a large puff.

Then he settles in and enjoys the rest of the glass.

When it comes to round two, Roger will start. "As to how, well, you met the one that did it. He is the Opener of the Way; no place is locked to him. How I know him, how he knows me, well, that's a bit of a tale."

Jocasta

"Well, to Papa Legba, then. Cheers. As for the story ... I got no place to be."

Roger

"The short of it is, these are my people's saints, and more, from both my blood lines. Maman's mother's people from Louisiana call it Vodoun, Papa's mother's people: Santeria. SANDMAN has their thoughts about it, egghead answers, but it comes down this: this is my religion. You might call it magic.

"My grandmere never liked that term, but my abuela used it all the time."

"The orisha know my families, and they took a shine to me right from my childhood. I was going to end up a houngan no matter what I thought. And they've been good to me, good to you, you see, so I continue to serve them."

"So, I know you have questions, and because it's clear Papa Legba likes you, I don't think he or I would take any offense to you asking ... within reason."

Jocasta

Jo will try to take this all in, asking a few other questions about Roger's background, upbringing, etc.

"It's pretty amazing stuff, Roger. I'm grateful for it – for them – no matter what you call them." She takes another shot of the Don Q, exhales smoke contemplatively, and looks at herself in the bar back mirror. "I sometimes wish I had that, that...faith. That experience of sureness that I'd made the right decision who to trust."

"So does he come every time you call him, Papa Legba? Is he always there? I have a feeling that Mitch's ... whatever you call what Mitch does ... isn't quite as reliable."

Roger

"Well, it's his call as to whether to come, but I usually make it worth his while. And as I said, he has a particular shine on me. But yeah, he might not have come. But he did. Because he is good, and we were worthy. I guess that sounds hard for you to believe. Faith has always been easy for me, from when I was just a niño. There are powers bigger than us, this we both know. But that there are good powers, and they like us, and want to help us-- in this terrible world, that takes work to believe. But believe it." Roger raises a glass. "You are here, right now, because of it. Relax into that, have a drink, and just know you are worthy of miracles."

Jocasta

Jo does have a drink. "I was raised in the Greek church. My only connection to it is a hazy memory of the smell of incense when my dad would take us to church on holidays. It wasn't until a lot later that I really learned there were things out there beyond what you could see just by looking, and most of them weren't things I wanted to believe in. Before we met, over in 'Nam, I learned about the good ones ... or, at least, the positive forces we could channel to cope with the bad ones. But I lost too much to really have faith in anything." She crushes out her cigarette and pours more rum in their glasses.

"It was around then that I found out that I could do things too. Nothing like you, or like Mitch, which is probably why they're aren't sending me on a retreat to Shasta. I don't really know what the brass wants out of me, honestly. But I'm glad they put me in URIEL. Most of what I learned to hold on to in the old days ... disappeared. Being around people who understand that reality isn't as permanent as we think it is has been, well, a source of comfort."

She pointedly takes off the slim leatherette gloves she's been wearing and takes a gulp of the Don Q. "Mind if I take a draw on that stogie?"

Roger

"Oh, sure! Legba got his share already."

==OFF THE RECORD==

Jocasta uses Psychometry on Roger's cigar. The first set of puffs gave Jocasta a combination of that pang of guilt you get when you've forgotten to take care of someone you care about, combined with a soupçon of cold responsibility and seriousness. Sort of an unusual emotional bouquet. But Jo senses there's more there, and it will take further sharing of the stogie to get down to it.

==ON THE RECORD==

Jocasta

Jo will take a few more puffs as the night progresses, having conflicting feelings of warmth, gratitude, and camaraderie along with vague pulses of memory of men who have abandoned her in the past. She feels like that's her trauma talking, and that if she doesn't let herself trust someone who just saved her life, she'll never trust anyone, but when trauma talks, it talks loud. She'll try to keep things light and breezy, letting the conversation go to serious places only if Roger steers it that way. She'll definitely keep talking about his past, his family, and his upbringing, though – it's completely removed from her own, so she's genuinely interested. She might challenge him to a game of shuffleboard before Carson comes on.

“Lest you think I’m just bossy, Roger, feel free to ask me anything as well. My life is an open book; it’s just not a very good one. I’m a bad cook and I listen to corny music; I go to the movies alone, I slept with my divorce lawyer, and I think the Warriors are going to go all the way this year—but I think that every year. I love this town. Every year at Christmas my uncle calls me and asks what I’m up to, and I always lie, but this year is going to be a real doozy.”

Roger

At some point, shooting shit about drinks and drugs, Roger will push a little: "So, any of these meds actually prescribed? Like, you got anyone helping with the dosages?"

Jocasta

Jo shakes her shoulders a little on the next drink, not embarrassed or uncomfortable really but just a little wary of what might be coming. "Well, you know. I'm still active duty -- at least I think I am, I get the feeling SANDMAN keeps those lines blurred on purpose. I see an Army shrink once a month, and they know about my, habits. They seem to think it's okay; I did some isolated trials using dosing as a sort of strategic eye-opener when I was with the Natural Guard. I'm not gonna tell you I don't, er, exceed my daily allowance sometimes, but Dr. Claire on behalf of Uncle Sam seems to think I'm fine doing what I'm doing. But I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm not sure they really have my best interests in mind."

She laughs sharply, half funny and half bitter. "I'll tell you this, though: I lost a lot of years. I'm nobody's recruitment ad and I'm sure I could have found a less...fraught way to get straight, but SANDMAN saved me from being a lot worse off than I am now with the drugs. I assume they have a psych profile on all of us, and I'm sure mine says that they wish I'd get off the psychedelics completely; and I'm equally sure my inab ... (swallows) ... unwillingness to do so was a big part of my getting transferred to URIEL. But, well, it's scary out there. I thought I knew that before, but I sure as hell know it now. They taught me that, too. And sometimes ..." she says, tapping the side of her head, "... it's less scary in here."

Roger

“Well, that’s cool. You sound like you know what’s what, and anyone who’s seen what we have that can at least sound like they do, baby that’s gold. Maybe some time I’ll have you direct me on a little flight. If we ever know we’re off duty, blurred lines and all that.”

“Now, you got to tell me – where did you learn to fight? No, really fight, not “training.” You are a badass, and a multi-tour Green Beret is saying that. Where, gurl?”

Jocasta

"Streets of San Francisco," she laughs. "Like the TV show."

Roger

“You’d kick Michael Douglas’ ass all over town.”

Jocasta

Smiling and draining the ?th glass of rum, Jo says, "No, really, I was an athletic kid ... and then when I did my drifting, I was in a lot of situations where you fight or, well, you know how it is with women. Or maybe you don't. Anyway, I joined the Army and they picked up on that, got some good training, found myself in some hairy situations. Same ol' story."

Roger

“Still. Makes me think I should check out these Warriors of yours. Hate to abandon my Lakers, after my main man Wilt, but you gotta cheer for the city you’re in. And it’s not like the Niners are worth watching. At least as long as the Cowboys exist.”

==OFF THE RECORD==

On Jocasta's second long draw from the cigar, a sharp combination of emotions and vague memories: a hard see-saw from embarrassment to righteous anger. Self-anger to external, the most delightful and insidious of all turns. The night is getting late and Carson will be on in another half-hour. Jo is friends with the barkeep and they'll switch on KRON-TV channel 4 after the news.

==ON THE RECORD==

Jocasta

Jo takes a final, fortifying swig of Don Q, chases it with a spicy drag on the cigar, and loses herself momentarily in thought. After a few seconds, she looks up at the TV, as the credits roll on the local news, and turns to her fellow agent. "So, Roger," she says, letting herself go and not trying not to slur, "all of..." and she waves her hand vaguely at the big, demon-haunted world outside the door of the Hotsy Totsy. "This. What we do. Our mission. Are you, like, cool with it? Is it worth it? I mean, yeah, there's monsters. We both know there's monsters. But they told us the VC were monsters too, you know? You have access to...well, a view from above, I guess. It's a perspective I don't have. What does it tell you about, this work we're engaged in?"

Roger

Roger is a little wobbly, so he takes his time trying to answer. He’s struggling with unformed words. Finally, he starts. “Jo, I don’t know shit. And I’m not cool with this shit. What I am, is open to it. I guess. It being the work. But not our work, like the job. The Work work. Call it fighting monsters, sure.” Roger rubs his tired eyes. “Look, the world is shit. It’s run by monsters that turn you into one of them if they can. And that’s before you know about Histories and shit. I’ll get this quote wrong, but I think it goes, ‘all of us are in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get to the stars.’ Well guess what? Monsters and shit and all, we got to the moon.”

“We fight monsters. Lot of people, white people, white men people, are all about the big monster. And they ain’t wrong. Communism, a big monster. Those King muthers. Yeah, fight ‘em! But they miss the little monsters. Or become them. You and me, we fight all the monsters. We don’t forget the little monsters. ‘cause we got them kicking us every day. Racism. Sexism. Rich folk kicking poor. If we keep up the Work, and we remember to fight the little monsters, and not become them, and the big monsters get fought too, then yeah, I’m cool with that.”

“The only thing the loa got to tell me is that there is good out there. Everything covered in shit, it’s hard to see. But it’s there. It’s there only if we keep fighting all the monsters, but fits blere.” Roger devolves into a little slurring.

He just drunkenly repeats himself, quietly now. “We fight all the monsters. We fight. We fight. We’re fighters. It’s what we are, instead of monsters.”