"Forget it." Tyrone said stubbornly. "Not after what happened last time. I don't think I could get Arlene within 20 miles of your mother. She scared the living shit out of her . . .and I have my doubts."
"Relax," Scott said calmly. "It's just her way of keeping busy.
Some people play bingo, others play bridge . . ."
"And your mother shakes the rafters trying to raise her husband from the dead," said Scott with exaperation. "I don't care what you say, that's not normal. I like your mother, but, well, Arlene has put her foot down." Tyrone shuddered at the thought of that evening. No one could explain how the wooden shutters blew open or the table wobbled. Tyrone preferred, just as his wife did, to pretend it never happened.
"Hey," Tyrone said with his head back behind the newspaper. "I see you're making a name for yourself elsewhere, too."
"What do you mean?" Scott asked.
"Don't give me that innocent shit. I'm a trained professional," Tyrone joked. He held up the New York City Times turned to Scott's Christopher Columbus article. "Your computer crime pieces have been raising a few eyebrows down at the office. Seems you have better sources than we do. Our Computer Fraud division has been going nuts recently."
"Glad you can read." Scott enjoyed the compliment. "Just a job, but I gotta story much more interesting. I can't publish it yet, though."
"Why?"
"Damn lawyers want us to have our facts straight. Can you be- lieve it?" Scott teased Tyrone. "Besides, blackmail is so, so personal."
Tyrone stopped in mid-sip of his hot coffee. "What blackmail?" The frozen visage caught Scott off guard. They rarely spoke of their respective jobs in any detail, preferring to remain at a measured professional distance. The years of dedication invested in their friendship, even after to everyones' surprise, Maggie up and left for California were not to be put in jeoprady unneces- sarily. Thus far their interests had not sufficiently overlapped to be of concern.