Chance David Baker lay dying on a sidewalk in front of the Subway sandwich shop at Union Station Plaza. He was wearing an oversized hunting jacket camouflaged to look like an autumn forest. It had been his beloved grandfather’s. Next to him on the ground was a pellet rifle he’d bought 15 minutes earlier at nearby Coastal Trading & Pawn, as well as an unfinished 40-ounce bottle of Colt 45 malt liquor, wrapped in a red bandanna. It was 11:19 a.m.