Chapter Text
Danny looks at his watch again. He doesn’t mind helping Nuciforo out; but it’s getting late, and the roads are icy; and he wants to collect his father, get him home, and get home himself to his boys and his dog.
And a law enforcement conference where the Police Commissioner of New York had had to speak at—falling between Christmas and New Year’s—what idiot made that scheduling goof? At least the whole family had had Christmas Day together before his dad had flown out on the 26th.
The plane had landed over an hour ago, and he’s getting worried.
And then he sees the feds.
Great.
Just his luck—his father’s flying home on a plane with feds. He pulls out his badge, goes over to one of the men. “Detective Danny Reagan of the NYPD, waiting for my father. You have a prisoner on that plane?”
“Yes. We made a significant arrest of a member of Mano Sangriento in D.C., but he’s wanted here in New York, so…we’re escorting him to Rykers. Two of our guys from D.C. are on that plane.”
Two feds on the plane with the guy—and three more here waiting at the airport.
That means the man is dangerous.
Wait a minute…
Mano Sangriento…
His father is on a plane with a member of the cartel that killed Linda.
The room spins, and he grabs the back of a chair.
Breathe, Reagan.
The feds are well-trained—they’ve done this a million times—there’s no reason to panic.
(There’s plenty of reason to panic, because Mano Sangriento is bad news. Bad news in general, and bad news for his family.)
One hand goes to his holster.
His weapon is still there.
Thank God, considering the paperwork he'd had to fill out to prove that he was a Law Enforcement Officer on protective duty, and needed access to his weapon.
The doors open, and he watches the long corridor.
There are the feds, with their prisoner.
That’s not good.
That’s not good at all.
SOP states that, when practical, the feds and their prisoner should be the last to deplane.
Then his father.
Of course.
Being a Reagan, he couldn’t just stay in his seat. He probably offered to help the feds out…
Then a gunshot rings out.
He looks toward the prisoner and the feds, thinking the prisoner had gotten out of his cuffs, gotten his hands on a weapon, and shot one of the feds.
But it’s his father who’s falling, the fed with a gun in his hands; and suddenly Danny hears a voice in his head whisper “Please don’t hurt my family.”
It’s his mother’s voice in his head, Linda’s voice.
He’s hearing things—because his father did not just say that from 10 feet away.
He should hit the ground—years of Reagan family rules and family dinners tell him that.
But his father has been shot, and he will not hit the ground like a coward.
He holds his badge above his head and runs—or tries to run, but he’s wading through Jell-O—toward the prone form of Francis Xavier Reagan.
“Please, God, don’t take my father,” is all he can think.