Guilfoyle’s was one of those Upper Peninsula taverns that kept its original name and decor while it went through revolving owners. The current proprietor was D. J. Reardon, a retired tool company executive from Wisconsin. He had owned the place going on seven years, and welcomed cops of all flavors.There were fewer vehicles in the gravel parking lot than usual, but it was a weeknight and the rain continued to come down. Their work done, Service and McCants had checked off duty with Station 20 and gone looking for hot food. It was late, but Reardon played loose with last call, especially for cops coming off patrol. The juke was low. Two men were watching a TV on a pedestal above the bar. Riordan’s wife, Susie, was holding down the cash register. The conservation officers sat at a table, stripped down to their soft armor vests. “We reek,” Candi said. Riordan’s wife came over to the table.
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