"Just past nine at night.
The dark, elongated alleyway.
After work, Brian wore a hoodie, his body hidden beneath the sweatshirt, took out a disposable phone, and taped a can tab to his throat as he dialed that number.
A moment passed.
The call connected.
A hoarse voice came from the other end, 'Who's this?'
'You don't need to know who I am, but if you can't make it to the back alley of Husky Bar within half an hour, you'll never see your son again,' said the trembling metallic voice, chilling to the ear.
'Son!'
The person on the other end was initially shocked, then as if they heard something ludicrous, they angrily retorted, 'My son died this afternoon, he's dead, go to hell with your son, who the hell are you!'
Dead?
Brian was startled.
Such a ruthless person!
