First 500 words of a story...

I am looking for a little help here.  What follows is the first 500 word of a story that I am working on and I need to know that the ideas here are congruent to the rest of the tale I intend to write.  I would love feedback on...

a)  if the passage raises any questions about the story to follow;

b)  if you have any predictions about what might be coming next;

c)  what genre you think this is;

d)  any horrible sentences that need to be nuked in atomic flame.

I really do appriciate any feedback you're willing to give.

Darkness lurked between the islands of orange light cast by the lamp posts along the street.  Unnoticed, the night sky was a urban haze - starless and black. Nobody looked up here. Blindfolded with curtains, terraces of houses sat dumb to the figure that flitted past them. They ignored everything beyond their own walls. To drown out their neighbours, muffled TVs played too loud: programmes clamoring for people's attention like colourful puppies. Like annoying brats. Brick, concrete and plastic extended along the road, unbroken by any greenery.

In short, the estate seemed its normal, hellish self.

Reese pulled the tracksuit top tighter around himself, hands dug deeply into his pockets.  The cold hadn’t deterred him from wearing his favorite top with its broken zipper and though he was chilled to his bones, he still did not regret that choice.  His trouser pockets bulged with the two tins of Fosters he had stolen from the corner shop,  Warm feelings of pride kept them from being too cold to wear so close to his skin.

Car lights flared on the road ahead as an engine burst into life, the brightness bleaching his sense of sight.  Pulling down his burberry cap, he hurried forwards.  The car passed him, trundling along the road and around the corner, leaving him once more in solitude.

Coming to an abandoned shop, Reese stopped and cast about furtively. The building's windows were boarded up, rusty nails held stained, mouldering wood in place against the peeling green paint of the window frames.  Along the sides of the building, weeds broke through gaps in the bricks like wild and unruly hair. The derelict shop stood lifeless and empty.  Reese had always thought that the boarded up windows made the building vaguely resemble a buck-toothed, grinning face.   The wood squeaked against the rotten nail as Reese moved the board wide enough to slip inside.

Slithering between the crumbling brick and the rotting wooden board, Reese was immediately swallowed by darkness.  Gagging as he always did at the stench of cat piss, he took out his phone and keyed in four zeros, unlocking it.  He flicked on the torch, illuminating the detritus of nearly a decade of dereliction and headed to the corridor and the back room.

“Hey! I got the Fosters,” he said into the darkness beyond his halo of artificial light.  His only reply was a faint dripping sound.

“Hey Zach?”

As though the name had roused it, the phone buzzed in his hand, he nearly let go in surprise.  He glanced at the screen and sighed - another text from his mother.

“Come home.  Have U gone through my handbag? Thought I had £20” the text read. Reese shook his head, trying to control the urge to heap insult upon insult at the phone, as though his mother could hear through the screen without him calling.  Why did she always assume he had stolen from her?  He had never stolen from her.  She always tarred him with the same brush as she did his father and yet, they were nothing alike.