The hot coffee couldn’t quell the chill running down his spine. Harold’s hand trembled as he pulled his cell from his pocket.

He looked at the screen again, making sure he got the number right. That third number. The one he didn’t already know by heart. The one that he first heard on the phone last night. He dialed it.

There was no ringing on the other end of the phone, and the sudden response startled him.

“Hello, Harold.” The voice was tinny and unfathomly deep. Harold mustered what little composure he had left, fueled mainly by coffee and the three “emergency” cigarettes he still kept in his glove compartment.

“What do you want?”

“I want what you took from me.” There was no emotion in the words but Harold sensed anger. No not anger, something deeper. Betrayal.

“I don’t understand.”

“Is that really how you want to play it, Harold?”

The phone was growing wet in Harold’s palm. He switched hands and tactics. “No.”

“Good. Meet me in one hour.”

“Where?”

“Where it happened.” The phone went dead.