Scott laid down his newspaper and vacantly asked why.

"That shirt," Ty smirked. "A lesson in how to make friends and influence people."

"Oh, this?" Scott looked down at the words on his chest:

I"m O.K.

You"re A s.h.i.thead.

"It only offends them that oughta be offended."

"s.h.i.theads?"

"s.h.i.theads."

"Gotcha," Ty said sarcastically. "Right."

"My mother," groused Scott. "VCR lessons." Ty didn"t under- stand.

"I gave my mom a VCR last Christmas," Scott continued. "She ooh"d and ah"d and I thought great, I got her a decent present. Well, a couple of weeks later I went over to her place and I asked how she liked the VCR. She didn"t answer, so I asked again and she mumbled that she hadn"t used it yet. I fell down," Scott laughed out loud.

""Why?" I asked her and she said she wanted to get used to it sitting next to her TV for a couple of months before she used it." Tyrone caught a case of Scott"s roaring laughter.

"Wheeee!" exclaimed Tyrone. "And you an engineer?"

"Hey," Scott settled down, "my mom calls 911 to change a light- bulb." They laughed until Scott could speak. "So last night I went over for her weekly VCR lesson."

"If it"s anything like Arlene"s mother," Tyrone giggled, "trust- ing a machine to do something right, when you"re not around to make sure it is right, is an absolutely terrifying thought. They don"t believe it works."

"It"s a lot of fun actually," Scott said fondly. "It tests my ability to reduce things to the basics. The real basics. Trying to teach a seventy year old widower about digital is like trying to get a square ball bearing to roll."

Even so, Scott looked forward to those evenings with his mom. He couldn"t imagine it, the inability to understand the simplicity of either "on" or "off". But he welcomed the tangent conversa- tions that invariably resulted when he tried to explain how the VCR could record one channel and yes mom, you can watch another channel at the same time.

Scott never found out that his mother deprogrammed the VCR, cleared its memory and "Twelved" the clock an hour before he arrived to show her how to use it. And after he left, she repro- grammed it for her tastes only to erase it again before his next visit. If he had ever discovered her ruse it would have ruined her little game and the ritual starting point for their private talks.

"By the way," Scott said to Tyrone. "What are you and Arlene doing Sunday night?"

"Sunday? Nothing, why?" Tyrone asked innocently.

"My mom is having a little get together and she"d love the two of you . . ."

"Is this another one of her seances?" Tyrone asked pointedly.

"Well, not in so many words, but it"s always possible . . ."

"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 s.h.i.t 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 s.h.i.t. 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?"

"d.a.m.n 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.

"It"s a story, that, well, doesn"t have enough to go into print, but, it"s there, I know it. Off the record, ok?" Scott wanted to talk.

"Mums the word."

"A few days ago I received some revealing doc.u.ments papers on a certain company. I can"t say which one." He looked at Tyrone for approval.

"Whatever," Tyrone urged anxiously.

Scott told Tyrone about his nameless and faceless donor and what Higgins had said about the McMillan situation and the legality of the apparently purloined information. Tyrone listened in fasci- nation as Scott outline a few inner sanctum secrets to which he was privy.

Tyrone got a shiver up his spine. He tried to disguise it.

"Can I ask you a question?" Tyrone quietly asked.

"Sure. Go for it."

"Was one of the companies Amalgamated General?"

Scott shot Tyrone a look they belied the answer.

"How did you know?" Scott asked suspiciously.

"And would another be First Federated or State National Bank?"

Tyrone tried to subdue his concern. All he needed was the press on this.

Scott could not hide his surprise. "Yeah! And a bunch of others.

How"d you know?"

Tyrone retreated back into his professional FBI persona. "Lucky guess."

"Bulls.h.i.t. What"s up?" Scott"s reporter mindset replaced that of the lazy commuter.