The sixtysomething mutters something profane, but quickly shakes the muck from his pricy footwear to hustle his rapidly aging ass a few yards from his limo, where he squats to bury the cigar tin in the loose gravel. The instant the old man's stood up again, a voice calls out from behind, "Mr. Pendleton, I presume?" and it's Mark Sheppard, whom I do not remember from Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, and Dollhouse because I did not watch any of those shows, but whom I do, alas, remember from a lesser fifth-season episode of Charmed, because fucking Charmed will fucking haunt me to my fucking grave. "Demian! Language!" Shut up, Raoul. "Well!" In any event, Mr. Sheppard is here, of course, playing Crowley and, as we quickly learn through the dialogue that follows, Crowley is -- and apparently has always been -- the head Crossroads Demon, which I suppose made him answerable only to Lilith herself before Darling Sammy so obligingly whacked her in the depths of St. Mary's at the end of last season. Since then, evidently, Crowley's assumed total control of the Crossroads operation, and has been carrying on with business as usual, even going so far as to appear in person, as he's doing now with Mr. "Piggy Banker," to seal particularly important deals himself. "In my negotiations," the disappointed and somewhat confused sixtysomething protests, "I was dealing with a very attractive young lady." "I know," Crowley too-casually acknowledges, deploying Mr. Sheppard's native English accent while advancing upon the sixtysomething with a -- dare I say it? -- devilish grin on his face. "She said the deal would be sealed with a kiss!" the increasingly uncomfortable sixtysomething splutters. "That's right!" the ever-smiling Crowley confirms. The grossed-out sixtysomething Piggy Banker immediately balks, so Crowley slithers the rest of the way up to the guy and shrugs, "Your choice: You can cling to six decades of deep-seated homophobia, or give it up and get a complete bailout of your bank's ridiculous incompetence!" The incompetent, homophobic, and (I'm guessing) deeply corrupt banker waffles for a moment, but eventually caves, and so the audience must endure a full nine seconds of Mark Sheppard tonguing a gentleman old enough to be his father before the camera leaps over their lustily locked heads to land on...sneaky Castiel, stealthily lurking behind a concrete pillar with a cell phone pressed to his ear! "Got him," My Steely-Eyed Sweet Baboo growls into the mouthpiece, right before the entire screen explodes outwards for the...