"Tyrone, get up!" Scott's excited voice caught Tryone's notice.
"Scott," he yawned. "What's the matter?"
"Are you awake?"
"Don't worry, I had to get up to answer the phone." Then in a more muffled voice Scott heard Tyrone say, "no, it's all right dear. Go back to sleep, I'll take it in the den." Tyrone got back on the phone and barked, "hold on."
Scott paced across his junked up home office, sidestepping some items, stepping on others, until Tyrone came back on the line.
"Shit, man," were Tyrone's first words. "You have any idea what time it is?"
"Hey, I'm sorry," Scott said mocking Tyrone's complaint. "I'll write you a letter tomorrow and lick a stamp and let the Post Office take it from there . . ."
"You made your point. What is it?"
"The airlines are going to be hit next. Homosoto's next target."
"How the hell would you know that?"