Game of Fear (Montgomery Justice #3)(13)
Speaking of dirty cops, three deputies strode through the door. Bad news, but Gabe forced a smile anyway. “You’re just in time for last call, gents. What can I get you?”
Within minutes, Gabe had pulled two beers on tap and sent a double shot of straight whiskey to the last cop. Menken downed it, then asked for another.
“Get a table,” he growled at his companions.
Gabe didn’t mention closing time again, even though he wanted to. His Jeffco captain, John Garrison, had told Gabe to watch these three specifically. John’s suspicions ran deep with them. A few pieces of missing evidence in their key cases and a few too many closed-door meetings with Gabe’s prime suspect, Sheriff Tower.
Everyone else in the office tried to avoid that slippery bastard, so the fact that the three musketeers, as Gabe had dubbed them, didn’t, dinged his suspicion meter.
Tower’s three deputies smelled of corruption. At one time, they’d been decent officers, but the scuttlebutt that went around the bar—and the informants who met Gabe—told a much uglier story.
Gabe didn’t want to believe they’d turned, but he’d learned the hard way that betrayal by people you’d trusted came too damn easy.
Either he or Luke would get the proof. They had to. And soon.
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t found a lick of evidence against the sheriff. The guy was Teflon. Even when the sheriff’s son, Brian, had been murdered last year amid swirling rumors about parties and meetings with Jeff Gasmerati, the local crime boss, they hadn’t touched Tower’s reelection.
Jeff Gasmerati was another matter. As a snitch, Ernie had become Gabe’s window into the organization. Gasmerati owned half of Denver, with just enough legitimate business to insulate himself from the law.
Gabe hadn’t been able to prove it, but if he were a betting man, he would say the sheriff was in bed with Gasmerati and had been since Tower was elected to fill the position vacated by the untimely death of a man who’d held the office for twenty years before him. Being sheriff in Jefferson County had turned into a lifetime job.
“Last call,” Gabe announced, checking the time again.
Most of the cops in here tonight had come for a few beers, a game or two of pool, and were now packing up to go home to their wives or husbands. The honest cops, at least.
A few more of the Blue Brotherhood had shoved back a couple of shots, disappeared with a badge groupie for a quickie, then headed home to play the Good Daddy, tucking the kids into bed. Had Patrick Montgomery been one of those?
Gabe hadn’t wanted to believe that about his father, but the longer he’d worked behind the bar, the more he’d seen what he hadn’t wanted to know.
Dirtbags, like the three musketeers, made Gabe’s stomach turn. They acted like saints in the bar, but Gabe knew better. His gaze moved from one face to the next, ticking them off his mental list. Maybe Ernie’s info tonight would nail one and Gabe could feel like a real cop again.
He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes to stools up.”
His announcement brought groans, but most finished their drinks and started bundling up to face the freezing temperatures outside.
Hawk cleared the dirty glasses and hauled them into the kitchen.
Soon the place would be empty.
Hawk’s taillights headed down the street and away from the closed bar. Gabe watched from the shadows, making sure the ex-spy was well out of sight. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his down parka.
No birds chattered this time of year. A few engines sounded from the road, the occasional horn, but mostly the streets had gone quiet in this neck of Denver.
Shifting his stance to ease the ache in his leg, Gabe searched for movement. He tried to concentrate while he waited for Ernie, but his thoughts drifted to Deb Lansing. This attraction to Deb was crazy. Could a woman with a seeming death wish and a burned-out vermin catcher with a bum leg and no dreams left, find anything in common? Somehow, he doubted it.
He’d caught her watching him on occasion. She’d seen him limp across the floor, and her eyes had flashed with pity. He wanted to shed the role he played, but he couldn’t. So he let her feel sorry for him even if it stuck in his craw.
To Gabe’s right, a shadowy figure ducked behind the trash bin. Gabe tensed and eased sideways, adjusting his stance, his hand behind him, ready to draw his weapon.
“Psst. SWAT.”
The nasal tone and familiar nickname had Gabe relaxing his fingers. Ernie.
“You’re late and I’m freezing my ass off. Hope you have something decent this time. Your last tip led nowhere. I don’t give second chances.”
Ernie nosed out from behind the bin, dragging his right leg behind him. “I was . . . unavoidably detained.”
“What happened?” Gabe asked.
The snitch shrugged. “Walked into a door . . . tripped down some stairs. Take your pick. They all work.”
When the parking lot light hit Ernie’s face, Gabe winced. The guy’s skin was a rainbow of bruises, and one eye was swollen shut. “You need a doctor?”
“No, but a bag of ice and something to eat would be good. I missed dinner . . . and lunch, come to think of it,” Ernie said, his expression full of hope. He climbed over a small snowbank, his limp obvious as he approached. “At least I can walk on this leg now. Thought I was gonna be on crutches.”