It had been happening for months. The phone would ring just about two in the morning and, when Nismet picked it up, a raspy voice would say, "Tomorrow..." and hang up. Nismet had started turning the ringer off when he went to bed. If he hadn't been so tired when he got home from work, he wouldn't have forgotten to silence it. But the Vickers account was coming due and everyone was pulling extra shifts.
The phone startled him awake, right at two. "I know," Nismet snapped into the headset. "Tomorrow, tomorrow, always tomorrow."
"Yesterday," the voice croaked.
And disconnected.
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