"Scott Mason," Scott said answering the phone with his mouth full of hot pastrami on rye with pickles and mayonnaise. "Scott? It's Tyrone." Tyrone's voice was quiet, just about a whisper. "Oh, hi." Scott continued to chew. Scott was unsuccessfully trying not to sound angry. Other than following Scott's articles in the paper, they had had no contact since that eventful phone call a month ago. Since then, Scott had made sure that they rode on different cars during their daily commute into the city. It was painful for both of them since they had been close friends, but Scott was morally obligated, so he thought, to cut off their association after Tyrone broke the cardinal rule of all journalists; keep your sources protected. And, Tyrone had broken that maxim. Scott had not yet learned that the Bureau made their own rules, and that the gentleman's agreement of off-the-record didn't carry weight in their venue. "How have you been?" Tyrone said cordially. "Good bit of work you been doing." "Yeah, thanks, thanks," Scott said stiffly. Tyrone had already determined that he needed Scott if his own agency wouldn't help him. At least Scott wasn't bound by idiotic governmental regulations that stifled rather than helped the cause. Maybe there was hope for cooperation yet, if his little faux pas could be forgiven. "We need to talk. I've been meaning to call you." Though Tyrone meant it, Scott thought it was a pile of warmed up FBI shit. "Sure, let's talk." Scott's apparent indifference bothered Tyrone. "Scott, I mean it," he said sincerely. "I have an apology to make, and I want to do it in person. Also, I think that we both need each other . . .you'll understand when I tell you what's been going on." Tyrone's deep baritone voice conveyed honesty and a little bit of urgency. If nothing else, he had never known or had any reason to suspect Tyrone of purposely misleading or lying to him. And their friendship had been a good one. Plus, the tease of a secret further enticed Scott into agreeing. "Yeah, what the hell. It's Christmas." Scott's aloofness came across as phony, but Tyrone understood the awkwardness and let it pass. "How 'bout we meet at The Oyster Bar, Grand Central, and get shit faced. Merry Christmas from the Bureau."