Page 56 of Gonzo's Grudge
Chapter 17
Gonzo
The call came late. Too late for a man like him to be reaching for me.
I was in the garage, grease on my hands, a socket wrench in my fist, when the phone buzzed. Unknown number. Normally I’d let it ring. But something in my gut told me to answer.
“Gabriel Gonzales,” a voice said. Calm. Too calm. “It’s Conner Walsh.”
Every muscle in my body went taut.
I gripped the phone harder. “You’ve got some fucking balls, calling me.”
“We need to meet.”
“No, Judge. You and me? We don’t need shit.”
“You want Hampton Stanley, I want Hampton Stanley. An enemy of my enemy…” He let it hang.
I should’ve hung up. Instead, I found myself listening.
“There’s a place,” he continued. “You’ll know it. The cave bar on Devil’s Pass. Tomorrow night. Back room.”
Click. He hung up before I could answer.
I stood there, phone buzzing dead in my palm, fury simmering under my ribs. That bastard thought he could call me like we were equals. Like he hadn’t taken my son’s life on the word of Hampton fucking Stanley.
But my gut said show up. Not for him. For the war.
The cave bar was just what it sounded like—a hole carved into the mountain where outlaws and drifters drank cheap whiskey and made worse decisions. The walls letting off smoke from the cold, the air thick with stench that never cleared.
I pushed through the front room—pool balls clacking, a jukebox wheezing out classic rock, eyes tracking me like they always did. The bartender jerked his chin toward the back.
Conner Walsh was waiting.
He looked out of place. Suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled, tie loosened like he thought that would make him blend. It didn’t. A man like him could never scrub the court off his skin. He was a judge even in a cave.
I shut the door behind me, the heavy wood echoing like a cell closing.
“Talk,” I said, planting myself in the chair opposite him.
He took a sip of bourbon, set the glass down with a clink. “Hampton Stanley is ruining my life.”
I laughed, hard and sharp. “Cry me a fucking river. You ruined my son’s can’t say I feel the least bit sorry for you.”
He flinched, just a twitch around the eyes, but I saw it.
“You think you get to come crawling to me now?” I leaned forward, voice low and dangerous. “You sat on that bench and you listened to Stanley. You banged that gavel and you handed GJ a death sentence. Don’t pretend you weren’t holding the hammer.”
His jaw worked. “You think I had a choice? He had me by the throat. Pictures. Documents. If I hadn’t ruled the way he wanted, my career—my family—would have been destroyed. You have an ex-wife, they get half of everything you worked for. I wasn’t willing to give that up.”
“And instead you destroyed my son’s life, his future,” I snarled. “Yeah, I got an ex-wife that gets half my damn retirement for the rest of the days she’s breathing. I’ll give her the whole fucking check if she needed it. I didn’t keep my dick in my pants and I had to man up and own the way I wronged a good woman. You shoulda done the same, you didn’t. You chose to fuck up a young man’s beginning. Scales didn’t balance, fucker.”
He didn’t answer. Just sat there, eyes hollow.
Finally, he said, “I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m asking you to see sense. Hampton Stanley isn’t just your problem. He’s everyone’s. He’s bleeding this county dry, and he’ll bleed me until there’s nothing left. An enemy of my enemy is my friend, Gonzo. Isn’t that how the game is played?”
I stared at him. Rage burned hot in my gut, but underneath it, something colder stirred. He wasn’t wrong. Stanley was the rot. Walsh was the puppet. Cut the strings, maybe the puppet dances for me.
