The darkness surrounding all his senses was disrupted when the LTD hit a deep pothole, shaking the car and its passengers violently.
Passengers, being the important term in this matter.
Shortly before he'd lost consciousness, Mike had identified three men, all dressed in similar fashion, appearing from around the green LTD parked next to the Marina Motel, taking him down in trained precision before shoving him into the backset, cuffing his hands to something in the bench and blindfolding him.
Unclear of how much time had passed, he'd cued his hearing to anything that could indicate a certain location, the noise of trains, the wind gusts rushing across the Golden Gate Bridge or even the rhythmic bopping of tires passing the long segments of slightly uneven concrete along 101.
So far, all he'd been able to discern was that somebody sat next to him. Mike could feel the other man's body heat without the need for physical contact.
Quiet mumbling from the front bench signaled two more assailants.
For the longest time the car had been going fairly straight, moving into the left-hand lane here and there to pass slower vehicles. Then, not to long ago, the road grade had changed, deteriorated somewhat and grew curvier.
At the lack of stopping for traffic lights, Mike assumed they'd left civilization behind and headed for some of the mountainous regions due north.
The road turning a lot ruddier a few miles back, shaking all passengers, confirmed his eerie suspicion.
At this point he was reasonably certain that his consciousness hadn't been detected yet, and Mike tried to stay as still as possible, while contemplating his next steps.
Hopelessly outnumbered, there wasn't much he could do besides paying attention, taking in his surroundings despite the restraints and hope that they'd arrive at their destination soon.
At the lack of his beloved fedora, he could feel the cold metal of the doorframe against his cheek where the blindfold had curled under somewhat. Determined to take advantage of the situation, Mike carefully pushed his face deeper into the framework, hoping to use the leverage to shift the cotton wrap up just another inch or so to allow for him to see his surroundings.
Knowing that there was a chance that any of the three men might keep an eye on him and notice the maneuver; he moved agonizingly slow, causing the muscles in his neck and upper back to strain against the tension needed.
Suddenly, the LTD hit another pothole, making him hit his temple hard on the framework, bringing back a slew of stars appearing beneath his closed eyes and adding to the incessant headache from the earlier beating.
Steve.
As he fought through the new wave of pain, his mind wandered back to his partner, hoping that the young Inspector had also been taken hostage and wasn't dead and buried in some godforsaken dumpster in the back alley off Lombard.
Mike swore to himself that he'd turn the entire country upside down finding and prosecuting this cartel if they'd gone as far as murdering his best friend.
With one final gentle tug, he managed to push the blindfold up enough for his left eye to get a glimpse of his surroundings. Waiting until the blurriness disappeared, Mike remained perfectly still, going as far as holding his breath to take advantage of the benefactor as long as possible before he would be found out.
As expected, there were trees, many trees.
A rusty set of guardrails curled around a sloped corner when they took a right, hilly terrain becoming visible throughout the countless sets of trunks.
Here and there were small two-tracks and driveways leading off into the woods, others ending next to a shack somebody called their home.
As if the notion of exploring questionable hill country handcuffed with the company of three homicidal strangers wasn't bad enough, it was the sight of an abandoned roadside stand that chilled Mike to the bone.
Across the front of the dilapidated building, somebody had spray-painted the words "Stop the slaughter! Bring Kristy back!"