Waking up.

When Chase awoke his right cheek pressed against the cold damp metal of a dumpster in a pungent alley he didn't recognize. Steam rose in a broad stream of cloud from a half opened manhole twenty feet to his left obstructing the view of the alley that stretched beyond. As he staggered to his feet he peered around the dumpster to his right to see a solid brick wall ending the alley. A door creaked closed on the left wall. Was he alone?

A stab of pain shot from his head to his feet as he straightened to his full height. Quickly grabbing the back of his head he felt a warm sticky liquid. He knew before he pulled his hand in front of him that it was blood. The collar of his trench coat was saturated in his own blood. He'd taken a hit to the head. A hard hit. But he couldn't remember from who or why. More than likely he deserved it.

He felt through his pants pockets, wallet, keys, a crumpled five dollar bill and a wad of paper with the numbers 4987984574. He let his hands feel his coats pockets: Lighter, pack of Djarum Blacks, a small but bright pen-flashlight and...