"Today they did," he agrees, "and they serve a function."

It is perhaps too calm an assessment. Jason doesn't like cops even when they aren't ruling the city with an iron fist. The calmness is artificial, even if it's a good imitation of the real thing.

"I guess what grinds my gears is all the questions that will never be answered. But then again," he pauses as they near the establishment. People coming out hold the door for them. "Then again, I'm used to looking for the truth. As are you. And so."

The bar is truly old, its scars polished, the darkness of the interior sullen and almost palpable, as if the building is inhabited by a creature that curls in itself. The bartender saunters over grudgingly, and Jason tilts his head, indicating Olivia should order first.