PART 20:
Steve looked out the living room window at the unmarked car that was now in front of the house. He was unaware that the officers inside were dead.
Mark walked out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup in his hand. "Okay, here's some soup for ya," he said, placing the bowl on the table. "Come over here and eat it before it gets cold.
Steve walked over to the table and sat down. He grabbed a spoon and started to eat the soup quickly.
"Hey, slow down," Mark ordered him. "You'll make yourself sick."
"Guess I'm hungrier than I thought I was."
"Well, there's plenty more soup in there, so just take it easy."
"Can I have some more then?" Steve asked, holding up his now empty bowl.
"Sure can," Mark said with a smile and he walked back into the kitchen.
Steve looked around while he waited for his father to come back from the kitchen. "Hey, what's taking you so long? I don't want that much." There was no answer from the kitchen. "Dad?"
At that moment Mark walked into the dining room with Jackson and Franklin behind him.
"Sit down."
"What do you want?" Steve asked.
"You'll see, Lieutenant Sloan," Jackson said, walking over to the front door, and opening it.
Torres walked into the house and looked at Mark and Steve sitting at the table.
"Awwww, isn't this nice," Torres said looking around. "A cozy family dinner."
What the hell are you doing here, Torres?" Steve asked.
"Oh, you didn't hear, Lieutenant Sloan," Torres said with a smirk. "I was let out of jail. Seems the main witness never showed up to testify." Torres sat in the chair opposite the Sloans. "And he still won't be showing up."
"You're not going to get away with this, Torres."
"Look around you, Stevie boy. The officers outside? Well, let's just say they met with a very unfortunate accident."
"You son of a bitch," Steve hissed.
"Cursing in front of your father," Torres said. "Not a nice thing to do."
"Look, it's me you want. Let my father go; you don't need him."
Torres stared at Steve. "No, he's going to stay here with us for the time being."
Torres snapped his fingers and Jackson and Franklin walked over to the table to grab Steve. Before they could get a grip on him, Steve sprang up from the chair, knocking Jackson to the ground. Franklin pointed his gun at Steve, ready to shoot him. Seeing this, Mark threw himself at Franklin, knocking the gun out of Franklin's hand. Scrambling to his feet, Mark grabbed a vase off of the table and smashed it on the back of Franklins head, sending him to the floor. Seeing that Franklin wasn't getting back up, Mark went over to help his son. Steve was fighting to gain control of the gun from Jackson.
Torres moved to pick up Franklin's gun as Steve knocked Jackson unconscious with a blow from his own gun.
Mark was helping his son up, when a gun shot made them both freeze in place.
"Are we done now?" Torres asked angrily. He pointed the gun at Mark. "Bring the gun over here, Sloan."
Steve and Mark walked over to Torres and Steve turned the gun over to him.
"Please don't do this," Mark pleaded.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Torres said angrily, lashing out with the gun, the butt connecting with Mark's temple.
Steve watched his father fall to the ground, blood oozing from the gash on his father's temple. He made a move toward Torres.
"Ah ah," Torres said, pointing his gun at Steve. "Now, Lieutenant Sloan, it is your time to die."
Steve never took his eyes off of Torres. "How do you plan on getting away with this, Torres?"
"Oh, I'm not going to do it," Torres answered him. "You'll be doing it yourself." He took the syringe from his pocket and held it up for Steve to see. "Remember this, Sloan?"
Steve swallowed hard as he stared at the syringe in Torres' hand.
"I know you want it," Torres said with a smile. "Come on, Sloan, it's waiting for you."
The need was there, and Steve knew it. He looked at his father with tears in his eyes and made his move toward Torres.
"That's it," Torres said. "Come and get it."
Steve walked up to Torres who held the syringe out for him to take.
"Go on. Take it. It's yours."
Steve took the syringe from Torres' hand and just held it in his own hand. He looked at his father lying on the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered and began to roll up his sleeve.
------------------------------
Cheryl and Newman pulled up behind the unmarked police car.
"I don't see them in there," Cheryl said.
"They are," Newman said, pointing to the ground. "There's broken glass on the ground, they're in there."
"You take the back," Cheryl said. "I got the front." She started to get out of the car.
"Wait for back up, Cheryl," Newman ordered her.
Cheryl looked at Newman. "There's no time to wait for back up. Torres and his men are probably in the house already."
Newman looked back at the house and then at Cheryl again. "Okay," he said, reaching into the glove department and taking out two walkie talkies. "Give me a minute to get to the back of the house. I'll let you know when I'm back there," he told her, handing her one of the radios. "After that, count to ten and we'll both go in."
"All right," Cheryl said. She made her way slowly to the front door of the house, while Newman made his way to the back.
Cheryl walked up to the front door and waited. She could see that the living room window curtain was partly opened. She moved to the other side of the door and peered inside. What she saw made her heart jump. She returned to the door. "Come on, Captain, hurry up," she whispered to herself.
------------------------------
Torres pointed the gun at Mark. He watched as Steve brought the syringe up to his arm.
"Come on already," Torres said impatiently. "Get on with it."
Steve looked up at Torres and slowly lowered the syringe to his side. Steve brought the syringe up to his arm once again and pricked himself with the needle but stopped and looked at Torres.
"Look man, if you don't do this now," Torres began, "your father is history." He cocked the gun back. "It's your choice."
"You forgot the tourniquet," Steve informed him. "I can't do this without the tourniquet."
"The hell with the tourniquet, just shoot it into your arm. You're stalling, Sloan. I'm giving you to the count of five before I put a bullet in your father's head."
Tom looked at his father and then Torres again.
"One."
"Six," Cheryl said.
"Two."
"Seven," Newman said.
"Four," Torres continued to count.
"Nine," Cheryl said.
"Ten," Newman said and he opened the door and entered the house.
"Ten," Cheryl said and she flung the front door opened.
"Fi…" Torres started to say. "What the…?" He looked up at the front door as Cheryl burst into the room.
Steve saw his chance and leapt into action. He knocked the gun out of Torres' hand and stabbed him in the chest with the syringe, releasing the drug into Torres' system at the same time.
Torres stumbled backwards, impaled by the syringe, clutching at his chest. He stared wide eyed at Steve, hitting the wall with a sickening thud and slid down. His body twitched once and then stopped moving.
Steve moved over to Mark, who remained crumpled on the floor. "Dad?"
Newman walked into the living room and took in the scene. He walked over to Franklin and handcuffed the still unconscious man. Cheryl finished cuffing Jackson, and then walked over to Steve and his dad.
Mark was sitting up by the time she reached them.
"You all right?" she asked, kneeling next to Steve.
"Yeah, I'll be fine," Steve said with a smile and turned his attention to his father.
"Oh, what hit me?" Mark moaned, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Next time, Dad," Steve said with a tired grin, "let me handle the bad guys, okay?"
Mark smiled. "You got it."
Newman joined the group after checking Torres. "Torres is dead."
Steve looked over at Torres' lifeless body. A hand on his shoulder brought his attention back to his father.
"It's over, Son. It's finally over."
--------------------
Thank for all who have read this story and left wonderful feedback.