He ran a hand through his wavy hair once again, turning it into a nervous habit each time he stopped at a red light.
Deeply engrossed in his brooding, Steve never noticed the rain moving in off the bay, until the drops hammered against the windshield of the Galaxy, pulling his mind back to the nightclub, and the horrors its patrons must have felt when somebody opened fire on them.
His vivid imagination took him to the dance floor, seeing people smile, having a good time, when suddenly, the hail of bullets destroyed what should have been a careless night.
Steve inhaled deeply, realizing he'd forgotten to do so for a while, feeling his heart beating frantically at the disturbing images that flooded his mind all over again.
And no matter how many times Mike pulled him away from the list of names, the images of smiling faces circulating the media and newspapers, while the squad down at robbery put in countless overtime hours to assist the next-of-kin, he couldn't stop thinking about the victims.
And he couldn't stop the overwhelming sadness and anger from clouding his spirits, no matter how hard he tried.
"Attention all units in the vicinity of Market and Kearney. Report of a brawl in front of Hank and Barry's bar. Please respond."
The sheer mentioning made his heart drop and Steve reached for the radio, not entirely sure where exactly he was at the moment.
"10-4, Inspectors 81 responding."
Flipping on the siren, he slammed on the brakes, then made an illegal U-turn across all four lanes of Kearney once traffic cleared. Hitting a curb along the way, he headed south at an accelerated pace, subconsciously noting the echoes of 10-4's coming to the rescue.
A repeat attack on the stricken nightclub seemed unlikely, but not completely out of the realm of possibilities either.
What seemed more conceivable was an argument gone south at the memorial site that had been set up along the road, a sea of flowers and letters that had blocked pedestrian traffic and reminded the citizens of San Francisco of the unspeakable loss of life that had occurred.
Given that the incident happened at a gay bar, it was safe to say that not everybody would be as open-minded about the situation as they'd hoped.
Steve was the first to arrive at the scene, bringing the Galaxy to a halt with screeching tires, hoping it would draw attention to the arrival of law enforcement.
Nonetheless, with Hank being right in the middle of the mess, a crowd of six or seven guys were going after each other, trampling flowers that had been placed near the nightclub, swinging punches and yelling obscenities while several dozen onlookers had gathered and watched them from a safe distance.
"Alright, break it up. Police!", Steve ordered as he approached the human cluster slowly heading toward the intersection, completely oblivious to the soaking rain and bone-chilling cold.
Nobody turned around to acknowledge his order, not even Hank who was pressed against the wall, receiving a violent punch to the face that should have knocked him out but didn't.
"I said break it up, Police!", Steve tried again, louder this time around, and reached inside the cluster, hoping his arm would help drive people apart.
Approaching sirens could be heard, and he kept an eye on Hank who remained a few feet away, leaning heavily against the building, staring back at him in undisguised relief.
"Come on, break it up!", Steve yelled again, when the fist fight continued one person over, where a guy twice his size tried to punch a kid who looked no older than twenty.
"I said break it up, Police."
When the large male made no attempts to slow down, Steve reached over, trying to get a hold of his tattoo-covered forearm but failing to do so when it was too slippery.
Distracted with the effort to pry the man away from the crowd, he never saw the elbow appear from the cluster of heads and arms around him, until it collided with the side of his face.