Every jounce and bounce rammed a spike of pain through Jack's head. Vaguely familiar voices, one accented, echoed through cottony air ...

"... about the Hummer?... Stolen. This is he?... Yeah, that's him. Think he's your guy?... We will find out..."

Lying on his back. Where? What happened? He remembered leaving Drexler's, grabbing a cab, and then ... what?

Seemed to be moving. Still in the cab?

No. Hard floor against his back.

God, his head. And his stomach felt ready to hurl.

Tried to open his eyes but the reluctant lids allowed him only a brief glimpse of blurred figures before losing strength and collapsing.

Tried to move but couldn't. Seemed to be - alarm shot through him as he struggled to move his arms. They'd been tied or taped.

The lump of his Glock was missing against the small of his back.

And then the cab or whatever he was in hit a pothole or a curb and took a big bounce and the world faded away ...