"Do you have names? Who?" Tyrone's took an immediate interest.
"Let me see if I have'm here," he said as he reached for his small notebook in the sports jacket draped over the back of his chair. "Yeah, he only gave me three, not much to go on. A Faulkner, some banker from L.A., a Wall Street tycoon named Henson and another guy Dobbs, Franklin Dobbs."
"Dobbs! How the hell do you know about Dobbs?" Tyrone yelled so loud several remaining bar patrons looked over to see what the ruckus was.
Scott was taken aback by the outburst. "What're you hollering about?"
"Shit, goddamned shit, I don't need this." Tyrone finished one and ordered another drink. He was keeping his promise; well on the way to getting severely intoxicated. "Dobbs. Dobbs is the poor fucker that came into my office."
"You saw Dobbs? He admitted it?" Scott's heart raced at the prospect of a connection. Finally.
"Scott," Tyrone asked quietly, "I have no right to ask you this, but I will anyway. If you find anything, on Dobbs, can you hold back? Just for a while?" A slight pleading on Tyrone's part.
"Why?" Was this part of the unofficial trade with Ty for earlier information?
The waiter returned with the credit card. Tyrone signed the slip, giving the waiter entirely too much of a tip. "I'll tell you on the train. Let's go."
"Where?"