It's 11:55 PM at the Speedy Burger on Chicago's west side. The restaurant is clearing out and closing up for the night, the air pierced by police and fire-truck sirens blaring through the neighborhood. Two tall black men approach the counter and whistle at the young girl working behind it, convincing her to serve them food in the five minutes before Speedy Burger closes. She charges them $9.90 for two burgers, two large fries and two Cokes. One man pays her while the other stares off into space with sinister eyes. He's either evil incarnate, or simply irate that he's out ten dollars, which could've scored him some beef jerky, Doritos, and a good porno mag if only he'd gone to 7-11 instead. "As long as you eat fast," the employee cautions them jokingly, handing each man an empty cup. The store manager strolls over to the glass door and locks the handle to bar anyone from entering. We see a gray car parked across the street, and a pregnant woman waves frantically at the manager. He blows her a kiss with a lingering loving smile, and turns back toward the kitchen. The woman smiles, resumes waiting and flips through her book. It's called Why Your Husband Will Die Violently.

Chapter 1. He's not in the credits.
Chapter 2. He's waving lovingly at you, and all that's separating you from acting on this abiding passion are the two burly men eating slowly and glaring menacingly.

In the restaurant, the two surly men nibble on fries and pretend to remove their thick gloves. Intelligently, the manager shouts for the cashier to grab the money and hustle back into the kitchen. The restaurant is clear now, and the men pull the gloves back on, dump a soda on the floor and stroll into the kitchen. The woman in the car looks up briefly, then stares back at her book. "Why Your Husband Will Die Violently, Chapter 6: You're pregnant," she reads. She jerks her head back up in time for five slow, measured gunshots. She curses, because the author didn't put that higher up on the list. The two guys stroll casually out of the restaurant, still chewing their fries, as the woman hides in her front seat. Slowly, she crawls out of the car and walks into the store, a bare twenty seconds after the felons leave. She's bloody lucky they didn't come back for the fries, but then again, everyone knows Speedy Burger potato products are crap compared to Wendy's. The woman, her pregnant belly protruding, enters the store her husband had supposedly -- and apparently, ineptly -- locked. "No wonder it took him three years to get promoted," she sniffs. Surveying the scene, she creeps back toward the kitchen, opens the door and emits a piercing scream. Fade to black.