You wake up in a bathroom stall in a seedy Chicago bar with no idea of how you got here or, for that matter, who you are. You’ve dealt with the effects of benders before and this ain’t one of those. As you shake your head (hoping some memories might shake loose), you notice a ’38 hanging on the door. You check the chamber – six shells – three of them empty. That can’t be good. You gather your trench coat, stumble up the stairs and find some stiff slumped over a desk. There’s three bullets in the guy. Yeah, this is gonna be a bad