Page 98 of Love on the Line

She wrote something on the bottom of their check and placed it on the table. “Sure thing.”

John picked up the bill. He stared at it, and his eyebrows raised.

“What’s up?” Wyatt asked.

“I’ll tell you outside.” John tossed some bills on the table and stood.

Wyatt followed him out the door. What the hell was going on? This was crazier than sandlot football. No rules with split-second decisions that could make or break the game. Constantly on the defense.

John faced him. “Sorry for the smack-down, but I couldn’t let you hit that dick in front of me. We had them where we wanted them and were damn lucky no one in the bar went all Hell’s Angels on us.”

Wyatt’s throat constricted. “I know. I lost it. I’m sorry, man.”

John blew out a breath. “Let’s move on.” He pointed to the lit-up signs of a diner a block away. “Trish left a note on the check. Wants to meet us there on her break in ten minutes.”

The small hairs on Wyatt’s arm stood up. Maybe she’d seen or heard something that could give them a lead.

They entered the diner, sat in a booth with duct tape sealing a rip, and ordered coffees. While John had an exchange with his backup unit, Wyatt warmed his hands over the steaming mug. What did Trish want to talk to them about?

She opened the door and glanced around before approaching. Worry lines wrinkled her brow as she slid into the seat opposite John. “I didn’t realize you were a cop.”

“How do you know?” John asked.

“I stayed near your table and overheard part of your conversation.” Her face turned blood red. “I was worried about you guys because those bikers are rough.”

John’s mouth twitched. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t have to save us.”

“Yeah, I feel pretty stupid now.” She rubbed her arms.

“Don’t.” John leaned closer. “You helped us out, and I appreciate your concern. Now what did you want to tell us?”

She straightened. “I might be able to help if you can tell me what you wanted with Moe Dog and Charlie.”

John smiled and acted like he was having a fun chat with a friend. “I need to find out who hired them for a recent job.”

Trish’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I think I might know.”

A spark of hope flared in Wyatt’s chest. She had his full attention.

“That Big Wig asshole I told you about who left the penny tip?” She tilted her head. “He came to Jerry’s, dressed down. Went out the back door to the alley, and Moe Dog followed him.”

Wyatt clamped his teeth together. If Trish recognized him, they’d lied about not seeing his face since he’d walked through the bar before going to the alley. No surprise. Couldn’t expect thugs-for-hire to tell the truth.

“What happened next?” John sipped his coffee.

“Moe Dog come back in later and handed Charlie some money. Big Wig never returned. I guess he left through the alley.” Trish shrugged.

“What did he look like?” asked John.

“Tall with dark hair and brown eyes. Both times I saw him he wore a suit or coat, so I don’t know if he has any tattoos or anything.”

John tapped his chin. “Any distinguishing features?”

“No, but I would recognize him if I ever saw him again.”

John handed her a business card. “Can you come by the station and work with our sketch artist?”

“Sure. I can fit it in tomorrow afternoon between babysitting and my study group. I’m sorry, that’s the soonest I’ll be free.”

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