It was easy to decipher that whoever was holding the gun to his ribs wasn't accustomed to doing so judging by the trembling of the barrel against his clothes.

Drawing in a deep breath, Mike froze in his spot, remaining completely still besides lowering his head enough to get a better view of the attacker in his peripheral vision.

"You…you will stop slandering my son's name, Lieutenant…", came the shaky command from behind, letting Mike know exactly who was standing there.

Slowly raising his hands, he turned around, feeling fairly confident that Vargas' father wouldn't have the guts to fire the gun he undoubtedly bought off the streets this evening.

"Did you…did you wait here all night for me to come home?", Mike asked calmly, then pointed his chin at the .32 in the other man's shaking hand, "And does your family know you got that Saturday Night Special right here?"

"Don't you drag my family into this.", Vargas' father sneered, then proceeded to push the barrel of the revolver into his gut, "You've done enough damage to our family. Your lies have brought shame to us."

"Your son's unspeakable deed is what has brought shame to your family.", Mike argued but kept his voice calm and controlled, "Whether you want to believe us or not, we have irrefutable evidence that points directly at him. He killed all the people in this nightclub, then killed himself before we could get to him. No lies that Verdant has been feeding you since then will change that…neither will your actions right here."

"That's impossible!", the man yelled, his free hand nervously running through his disheveled grey hair, frantic eyes going back and forth between Mike and the road, as if to expect company, "Theodore was a good kid. Not an easy one, but a good one. He would have never been able to commit a mass shooting."

"But he did.", Mike continued, "And he didn't just fire once. He fired, and fired and fired until everyone in his sight was dead. And he saved one bullet for himself. We found his prints on the automatic weapon he used for the killings, on the .44 he used to kill himself, as well as the ammunition left in his pockets. Hours before the shooting, he told sources of his plan. Nobody forced him to do it, he did it out of his own free will. I am not going to pretend to know all the answers on what it was that drove Theodore to commit these killings, Mister Vargas, but there had to be a reason, something he was keeping from you that made him do it. And maybe it would be best if you had a long talk with each member of your family to see if there was something he told them that he was afraid to tell you."

"Is that the kind of talk you give all parents who go through these massacres?", the man growled and took a step back, as if to contemplate running away.

"In the twenty-some years I have been on the force, there have been very few cases I have come across that compared to this one, Mister Vargas and to be honest with you-"

"POLICE. HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

Steve's frantic voice coming from the side of the road disrupted their conversation, tearing through the silence of the night like a siren. Shielded behind the driver's side door of the grey Porsche, the young Inspector had his .38 aimed at Vargas's chest, undoubtably ready to fire at the slightest chance that Mike's life was in danger.

Grateful and yet worried about his partner's unexpected arrival, he glanced over at Steve, cocking his head subtly, meeting those green eyes filled with unspeakable terror early that morning.

When he was reasonably assured that his message had been understood loud and clear, Mike returned his attention to Vargas, who'd grown even more frantic now.

"Look at you. Look at what you are doing. You're holding a weapon you bought off some…some scum of the streets and you're aiming it at a cop. Fire it, and I can guarantee you that you will never see freedom again, Mister Vargas. Is that what you want for your family and for yourself, hm? You want to kill a cop to prove that your son didn't kill all these people? Is that going to be your defense with Verdant? Because I can tell you right now that even he won't be able to pull your neck out of that sling. To make matters worse, my partner over there is an excellent shot. He doesn't miss. He's my best friend and he doesn't want to see me gunned down, no matter what your reasoning is. Trust me, Mister Vargas, if he feels that my life is in danger, he will squeeze that trigger. But he doesn't want to do that unless he has no other choice. And I don't want to see you shot and killed, Mister Vargas. I want to see you return home and be with your family, because you guys have been through enough. And right now, the best thing you can do is be with each other and talk. And try to heal from all this. Not make matters worse."

Mike felt his shoulders relax somewhat when Vargas's eyes began to well up with tears, the .32 in his hand slowly being lowered, before he cautiously crouched down to place it on driveway.

By the time he straightened back out, tears were freely rolling down his cheeks, his red-rimmed eyes scanning him wearily, before he shook his head in defeat.

"I just…I just miss him so much. What did I…what did I do to drive him to kill all these people? Why did he do that? What did I do wrong?!"

Noticing that Steve had left his guarded position behind the Porsche and slowly approached the two men, Mike glanced over at the young Inspector, quietly requesting for him to keep his distance just a bit longer, then placed both of his hands on the shoulders of the shaking man in front of him.

"Sometimes there are no answers, Mister Vargas. You may never find out why Theodore chose to do what he did. But in the meantime, you can't forget about your other son and your wife. They need you more than ever now. Go home and be with them, let them help you through this."

A long silence ensued, broken up only by Vargas's distraught sobs, his head lowered in shame, his hands unable to keep up with the flood of tears leaving his eyes.

"I am…sorry…Lieutenant Stone…", he finally gasped and looked back up, his features having lost the anger and hatred that was so obvious earlier.

Then, much to Mike's surprise, he held out his hands to be cuffed. Noticing the Lieutenant's frown, he pointed his chin at the gun at his feet.

"I threatened to kill you with that thing, that…that gun. And I don't even know how to use it. I spent a hundred bucks on it and I don't even know how to use the damn thing!"

Following Vargas's glance, Mike reached for the .32 with the toe of his dress shoe, only to slide it below his car, where it was out of sight.

"I'm sorry, what gun?"

Understanding the unspoken message of forgiveness, Vargas broke into another bout of sobs, his cheeks shiny with tears, before he summoned enough energy to speak up again.

"Thank you…both of you...", he said, his voice having grown hoarse, and nodded at both detectives.

Limiting his answer to a cock of the head, Mike watched the other man spin around and slowly walk back to the car he parked several yards away, his shoulders a little less slumped from the burden that had been lifted off them.

Once he was reasonably satisfied that the danger was over with, he turned around to face his partner, who had followed the scene intrigued.

"And just what were you doing here, Buddy Boy?"

With a cheeky grin, Steve returned the .38 to the holster on his left hip, before coming closer.

"I came to check on you, make sure you're safe. Seems to me I came at the right time."