"Damnit" Miguel swore.
"What's the matter?" Tim asked him.
"I can't find my phone. Can you call me?" Miguel asked him. Tim picked up his phone and dialed Miguel. It didn't ring. It finally went to voice mail.
"When's the last time you know you had it?" Tim asked him.
"At the Starbucks. I definitely had it when I used it to pay for my coffee," Miguel thought about it. I haven't seen it since then.
"Let's see if the GPS is working on it then, maybe it's still at Starbucks." Tim opened his laptop. Miguel entered his password, and the phone showed up on the map. It was at a private residence in the middle of Pearl Harbor. "We didn't go anywhere near there," Tim said.
"No, I guess I should call the cops," Miguel answered.
"Yes, and remotely wipe your phone before they get any personal data off it." Tim reminded him.
Miguel pressed a button on the computer, and called 911. He told them he had tracked his phone, and it had been stolen. The police asked if he wanted to give a statement, but admitted there wasn't much they could do since they wouldn't bother getting a warrant for anything as small as a phone. He hung up, and swore again.