Chapter Fourteen
"Daniel."
Dan's nostrils flared at the sound of his name in the last voice he'd thought to hear. Rage flamed through him as he realized the implications of what he was seeing. "You tried to kill Terry? Why? Why would you do that?"
His father was an officer of the law. He didn't kill people. That's what criminals did.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Fred Wilson replied. "I came here to see you."
"Bullshit!" Dan snapped. His father refused to speak to him for over seven years. He seriously doubted he was here to make nice now.
"No, seriously," his father continued, "ask your friend Terry. He called me and asked me to come here."
"Who is this guy, Dan?" Mike asked. "Do you know him?"
Dan's lip curled back. "He's my father."
When Fred started to get up, Dan raised his gun again. "Don't move."
Dan felt numb with shock. As much as he didn't want to believe it, he knew his father was the shooter. It couldn't be anyone else. He just didn't understand why.
"I know we didn't exactly part on amicable terms the last time we saw each other, son, but—"
"Cuff him and read him his rights, Mike."
"Really?" Mike shot him a strange look. "You want me to cuff your father?"
"He shot Will and Hector, and he tried to shoot Terry. He broke the law. As he is an officer of the law himself, I'm sure he understands the gravity of what he did, and he knows he's going to go to jail for a very long time."
Ah yes, there was the glare he expected out of his father. Mike pulled his father to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back, reading him his rights. Fred just glared at Dan the entire time.
"I don't really care why you did it, but I know you did," Dan said. "I'm sure the ballistics will match your gun to the bullets we get out of Will and Hector. And you'd better hope Will is alive or you'll probably get the needle, what with you being a cop and all. They kind of frown on cops going bad." Dan's grin was pure evil, and he meant it to be. "Makes me glad I'm a DEA agent."
Fred spit on the floor at Dan's feet. "DEA, bah! You should have been a cop like generations of your family."
Dan cocked his head to the side. "Is that why you did it? Because I wouldn't become a beat cop?"
"That little bastard called me, wanting to bring us back together like some pansy ass tit sucker. He told me all about how you're doing in the DEA, making busts and catching bad guys." Fred's upper lip curled back as he shook his head. "If the guys back at my precinct learned the son of Fred Wilson was a fucking suit, I'd never live it down."
"Dude." Mike's eyes were huge. "You went on a shooting spree because you don't like your son's profession?"
"He should have done what he was told and became a beat cop like his old man, like my old man, like six generations of the Wilson family. But no. He had to go and deny his heritage and become a suit with a badge."
"Why do you care?" Mike asked. "He still went into law enforcement."
"No, he didn't!" Fred shouted. "Law enforcement is walking a beat and solving crime. It's getting to know the people on your streets and keeping them safe. It's not sitting behind some desk somewhere, pushing papers and stomping all over other agencies."
"Why Will?" Dan asked. "Why bring him into this?"
Fred snorted. "The little shit should have done what I said and fucked your pansy-ass landlord. With his reputation in ruins, you'd lose your place to live, and then maybe you would have gotten your head out of your ass and moved back to the city where you belong."
Never in a million years.
"He lost his nerve and filed harassment charges against him instead. He was sure that would do it, but this town is full of pansies. They just looked the other way, just like the DEA does."
"Just for your information, my pansyass landlord isn't my landlord. He's my lover. That's why your little scheme didn't work. I live with him. I sleep in his bed every night, and yes, Dad." Dan's laughter had a bit of hysteria to it. "I'm a pansy too."
Fred's eyes narrowed for a moment before he made a lunge. Dan drew back his fist and planted it right in his father's face. If Mike hadn't been holding him up, the man would have fallen to the floor. As it was, he had a nice trail of blood trickling down his chin from his fat lip.
