John loses it at the sound of Marston's laughter. He's holding his hands over his mouth, trying to shush himself, because somehow it's the funniest thing in the world and he's sure that he'll never have a joke affect him like this ever again. Just the sound of laughter is like the world's best comedy routine, and he'll never forgot this moment. Mainly because he'll be looking back at his own stupidity in the endeavor for information, but that's another issue.

It takes him a moment to get himself together. And he looks away from Marston, afraid that he'll crack up again if he looks at him directly. "They just don't like that I do blood rituals in the room. Prejudiced, that's what they are." They don't like that he's an alcoholic who's often bratty and difficult when inebriated, if not flat out assaultive. But John has his angle, they have theirs.

They make their way up further, Constantine watching for potential threats to their very serious mission. "If the door's locked? Well, trust me to take care of it. I've got a plan." If the plan didn't work back in LA, it's very unlikely to work here. But he still thinks magic words are the way to go.