you turn the handle to the back door and set out for the shed in the back yard for gas cans.  the door is closed but there's no lock.  you hear a dull thud in the distance and what sounds like an argument from inside your house.

"235th and Broadson!" a raspy hi-pitched voice yells out.  must be the short guy.  "nope," he continues, "no way in hell.  nope.  getting the fuck outta here."

"Eddie," the tall guy says with hesitation, his voice closing up.  "shit happens," short guy mumbles, almost choking up, "but it don't have to happen to us."  the slam of one van door follows the other.  an engine fires up.  you walk around the house to the front of the yard.  the van is gone.