“It’s a store, not a damn museum,” the owner croaked, the sagging skin of his left arm twitching as his hand clutched the shotgun. “You want to buy something or you want to get out.”

Gus scanned the shelves of bottles, trying to make out a label underneath the grime. Nothing looked right to him. He had to bring something back to Morton; that was the only way he could prove he was trustworthy. At least that was how the dead guy who used to own that Cayenne was supposed to prove his worth. Since Morton had never seen either of them, all Gus had to do to win a place in the Organization was show up with the proper token.

It occurred to Gus that he should probably say something. The old guy might have been expecting Cayenne and would know to turn over the right item to him. If only there had been something on the note besides this address.

Maybe it’s not what was on the note, Gus thought. Maybe it’s the note itself. That didn’t seem likely. It was just a scrap off a yellow legal pad, nothing on it but this address scrawled diagonally across one side. The back was blank. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind Gus was certain he needed to show the note to the shopkeeper.

“You want to buy something or you want to get out,” the old man croaked again, and this time Gus was sure he could see dust rising out of his mouth.

Gus dug in the pockets of his silk suit and pulled out the scrap of paper. He unfolded it carefully, then slid it across the counter to the proprietor.

The old man didn’t even glance down at the paper. He stared at Gus. “You want to buy something or you want to get out,” he said.

“I’ll buy something,” Gus said, desperately trying to figure out what it was he needed.