Address

James Frank Morgan waited five long, grueling years. He had all that time to plan. His daydream revenge was like an old movie by now. He knew he had to do it. His double-crossing partner in crime got away with most of the bank loot, then he set Morgan up for the fall. So now, he deserves what he gets.

Almost sixty long months of days and nights to think about getting screwed over by someone he never should have trusted, Morgan was all twisted up inside like a deadly coil of pure rage- finally, on parole. Third day back on the streets, he paid a guy for a ghost gun, easy breezy. Speaking of new felonies, he didn't care about state lines, he'll cross borders soon.

Morgan knew exactly what he would do. Stick to the plan, then disappear. Best to start shooting just as he opens his door. Empty the clip, fast, then run.

Morgan's disloyal partner didn't know he'd left other enemies behind, so tracking him down to a suburb outside of Pittsburgh was simple. But, what James Frank Morgan- a loser mostly loyal to his own ignorance- what he didn't know was the unfortunate fact that he had somehow gotten the address wrong.

A harsh knock on the door made Mark Lankster's calico look up. He took a quick sip of his cocoa, and a bite of his bear claw, before rising to answer.