Don't move

He looks scary, sure, but he doesn't look like he's out to hurt you. Better not escalate the situation by acting scared.

The drunk reaches you and, towering over you, says, "What's a kid like you doin' out here so late?" He's not slurring as much as you thought he was, that's a good sign.

"I'm, you know, just around," you say, turning around to leave. "I should probably get going. The guys are--" Before you know what's happening, the man's hand is covering your yours, and his other is holding your arms together. You try to scream, but his big, meaty hand clamps your jaw shut.

"Perfect," he rumbles. He carries you over to the dumpster, or, rather, a door next to the dumpster hidden by shadows.

He whispers in your ear, "Scream, and I lock you in the dumpster and throw away the key," before letting go of your mouth to knock on the door.