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     The only time I'm worried is when I'm walking from the store to my car.  Most people who make death threats aren't serious about it, but Marcus doesn't strike me as the type to joke around.  I get into my car and things are cool.  I get my Beretta out of the glovebox and tuck it between the driver's seat and the center console.  I drive slowly, watching the mirrors for signs that I'm being followed.  I'm really hoping Marcus will pull up and try to make good on his threat.  I've had a bad day and killing the stupid gangbanger would make me feel a lot better.  No such luck.

     I cruise by Marcus's place.  It's a run-down apartment complex.  I spot his apartment, but all the lights are off.  Maybe he's at work.

     What the hell.  I'm hungry anyway, so I head over to the Burger Barn.  I go through the drive-through and order a couple of cheeseburgers, fries and a Coke, then pull up to the window.  Some bleach-blonde bimbo is manning the register and she has to stop chewing her bubble gum so she can concentrate on counting my change back to me.

     "Marcus here?" I ask.

     "You a cop?"

     "I look like a cop?  Get real."

     "I never can tell.  People always point out unmarked cop cars to me, but they don't look any different to me than any other car on the road."

     "Tell me something," I say as I wait for my order.  "What is a gang member doing working at Burger Barn?  Drug trafficking not paying as well as it used to?"

     "Uh...."

     "It's all right.  A friend told me that Marcus was the guy to see if I wanted to score a gram."

     "Oh.  Well, you're supposed to knock on the back door with the code."

     "Oh, I forgot.  Can you give him a note for me?  Let him know I want to place an order?"

     "I don't know.  I--"  The drive-through beeps at her letting her know she has another customer.  "I gotta take another order," she says.

     "That's cool.  I'll write the note."

     I grab a pen and jot my note on the back of an old receipt.  The bimbo gives me my order and I hand her my note.  I wish I could see Marcus's face when he finds someone who can read the note to him.

     Marcus,

     I'm the guy who wouldn't cash your check, you worthless maggot.  I thought you wanted to kill me.  What's the matter?  Your balls too small?  Mommy won't let you out of the house after dark?  What?  If you work up the nerve, I live at 1341 S. Racine Way Apt # D-206.

                        --H.

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