The screen glowed like a nightlight in the dark room. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen. “Yeah,” he said, after his head cleared enough for him to find the pick up button. On the other end, someone breathed heavily. The hairs stood up on the back of Peter’s neck. “We know where you live, douche bag. You and your skinny friend.” The voice was husky, but not a disguise. Peter recognized T-Man, who sounded like he gargled with whiskey and gravel every morning. Peter rubbed his knuckle into his eyes, not sure that he was fully awake. “Everybody knows my address. A monkey with an Internet connection can find anyone’s address,” he said, his voice unusually loud in the silent room. “I also know that if I make a single phone call, your probation officer’s going to find out about that pot you sell at the middle school.” There was a pause at the other end. Peter grinned. He might not have a chance against T-Man in a fight, but in a verbal battle, Peter figured T-Man was practically unarmed.
