Simon stepped into the doorway of the shop, bringing a hand to his face and covering his mouth and nose at the stench. He almost turned and ran, almost decided the prize wasn't worth the possible contamination of his person. He glanced over his shoulder and stepped into the dark room.

A man behind the counter looked up, his mouth obscured by his bushy copper beard. His eyes narrowed and the mustache moved with his words. "Lost."

"No, I'm a... customer," Simon replied hesitantly.

"Wasn't a question," the man said, looking back down at his paper. "Best find the right place to be and in a hurry."

Simon moved to the counter. "I heard you can find... hard-to-find things."

"Yep," the man said. "Found me a dandy rich-boy right smack in the middle of my store this mornin'."

"I'm looking for this," Simon said, sliding a piece of paper across the counter.

The counterman did him the courtesy of glancing at it. "Bar down the street."

"No. No, ah... the artificial fei-oo won't work. I need the real thing."

"Real thing don't exist no more."

Simon kept his shoulders squared, his eyes a little wider than necessary. "And I understand you excel in finding the impossible."

"Boy..." the counterman sighed.

"Mal Reynolds told me," Simon said, speaking too quickly. It had been his ace in the hole and he hadn't wanted to mention the captain unless absolutely necessary. The conversation had been overheard in the galley, while he was exchanging war stories with Jayne and Book. He had overheard the man's name as Mal reminisced in anticipation of being on the same soil with him again. Hopefully Mal wouldn't come visit his old friend until Simon was well away from the storefront.

The counterman put down his wire-sheet and leaned forward, eyeing Simon again as if looking at him in a new light. "You know Malachai Reynolds?"

"It's Malcolm Reynolds," Simon replied, thankful he hadn't bluffed that part.

The mustache twitched and the big man looked back at the sheet of paper. "This won't come cheap."