"Mister Gold will do fine," he assures, waving off that initial agreement. "I left the military a long, long time ago."

So what was he going to do with him? Even he saw the absurdity in being approached by a super solider (apparently) and having him push a shop broom, but he was anything if equal-opportunity in menial labor.

He saw shadows against the door window, and anticipated he was about to see a familiar face -- business wise. Where that would go was anyone's guess, but he waved the soldier aside. "Pretend to be browsing," he said firmly.