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these deals. But between his penchant for street drugs and Jeanette’s proclivity for shopping at the trendiest stores, their finances constantly teetered on the edge of ruin. The sale of patient narcotics provided a financial lifeline the couple desperately needed.
    Scrubs decelerated and pulled his aging LeBaron into Leroy’s driveway. He glanced around before leaving the safety of his car. Those three guys at the corner were gang members, but he’d seen them around before and hadn’t had any trouble with them.
    Stepping out of his car, Scrubs approached the front door and knocked. Leroy appeared within seconds, opening the door for Scrubs to enter. He wore an uncomfortable, vague expression.
    “What’s the matter, man?” asked Scrubs. “You don’t want my stuff?”
    “No…it’s cool,” replied the buyer, snapping back into the moment. “What you got?”
    Scrubs rolled down his sock and withdrew a small package wrapped in cellophane. He showed the contents to Leroy, and the two haggled over the price for several minutes. During the negotiation, Scrubs noticed Leroy glancing nervously out the front window several times.
    “Why you keep looking out the window?” asked Scrubs. “You expecting company?”
    “No, man. We’re all right.”
    They finally settled on a price. Scrubs handed over the package, and Leroy counted out several hundred-dollar bills. Anxious to leave, Scrubs rolled up the banknotes and bound them with a rubber band.
    After stuffing the cash into his pocket, he made for the door and called over his shoulder, “I’ll let you know when I have something else to move.”
    “All right, man. Don’t keep me waiting. My boys don’t like that.”
    Scrubs stepped into the bright sunshine, and the dilapidated screen door banged shut behind him. As he climbed down the porch steps, a black Cavalier accelerated from the curb across the street and screeched to a halt directly in front of Leroy’s house.
    Without warning, the occupants of the Cavalier leveled an ominous array of handguns out the car’s windows and directed a fusillade of firearm rounds towards Scrubs. A car alarm began to sound down the street, and the screams of local residents were just discernible above the din of the melee.
    Thankful his assailants hadn’t exited the safety of their Cavalier, Scrubs instinctively leaned over to present a smaller target. He began running for the LeBaron, but in his haste to pull out his key ring, he dislodged the money roll from his pocket, sending it tumbling down the sidewalk. Bullets screamed overhead as he bent down to retrieve the bankroll. One of the rounds severed a small tree branch over his left shoulder, and the limb brushed his face as it fell.
    Scrubs swiped up the wad of cash and sprinted in a half-crouch towards the front of his car, aiming to keep it between himself and his attackers. Before he could reach the cover of the LeBaron, though, a ricocheting round passed through his right forearm, sending a flash of white-hot pain radiating throughout the limb while a quick stream of blood began flowing from the wound’s angry gash. As he ducked behind the car, another slug grazed his cheek. “Dammit!” he yelled.
    To remain behind the protective shield of his vehicle, Scrubs entered it from the passenger side. As the incoming blitz continued to pound in, Scrubs hunched low in the passenger seat to avoid presenting a profile to his attackers. While the last fragments of the rear window shattered from the impact of multiple incoming rounds, Scrubs snatched a Ruger from his glove box and crawled to the driver’s seat. He crooked his right arm through the crumbling glass of the driver’s-side window and began to blindly return fire. He couldn’t tell if he hit anything, but a pause in the maelstrom of incoming gunfire provided the break he needed to start the vehicle, accelerate backwards out of the driveway, and careen down the street.
    After putting several blocks between himself