“Morton’s people would never allow us into his lobby carrying a weapon like that, let alone into his penthouse,” Gus said.

“The machete isn’t going anywhere,” Shawn said. “Except through a couple of vertebrae.”

It took Gus a moment to realize what he was hearing. By that time Shawn had already raised the machete high over his head and was beginning to bring it down toward the old man’s body.

“Stop!” Gus shouted.

Shawn froze, the machete poised in midair. “You want to do this?”

“Of course not,” Gus said.

“Then what’s the problem?” Shawn said. “You can kill a couple of cops when we leave here. Then we’ll be even.”

“I don’t want to kill anybody,” Gus said.

“You’re no fun,” Shawn said.

“I am fun,” Gus said. “I am huge amounts of fun. Entire barrels of monkeys spend their lives yearning to be as fun as I am. What isn’t fun is shooting unarmed people and cutting off their heads.”

Gus reached up and grabbed his own ears. He gave them a hard tug, as if he was trying to pull his head off his shoulders.

“He had a grenade in one hand and a machete under the counter, which strongly suggests he wasn’t entirely unarmed,” Shawn said.

Despite his best efforts Gus’ ears remained stubbornly in place. “What about the little old lady you gunned down in the park?”

“She had that dog,” Shawn said.

“A bichon frise,” Gus said. “A Muppet would have been more of a threat. That didn’t stop you from putting three bullets in her.”

“I admit I got a little overeager there,” Shawn said. “But I paid the price for that. The cops came down pretty hard on me.”

“Until you ran them all over with your Hummer,” Gus said.

“Which dented the fender and put the car out of commission,” Shawn said. “Why do you think you were able to get here first?”