Chicago Mike has long retired and has been working as a clerk at the front desk.
Last night, at the end of shift, he asks, "Hey RD, are you busy?"
I'm finishing up a DUII, "Nah, what up?"
As I walk up, his head turns to man prone on the reception bench.
"This guy just came in. He says he's been stabbed."
I look at the man. His black shirt is soaked in blood. The beach wood bench is starting to be smeared with blood.
I click my mic, "8 David 3."
The dispatcher repeats my call sign.
"8 David 3, the precinct has a walk-in stabbing victim. Send a night car and code three medical."
Chicago Mike hands me a pair of gloves as I head out into the lobby and the desk's scissors.
I begin cutting his shirt off. He's been stabbed twice in the chest, once in the shoulder, and twice in the hand.
EmDee and Piton arrive and try to interview the victim.
He gives me his name and date of birth, but will only say he was stabbed in the dark. He didn't see a thing.
The man only wants medical attention. He doesn't want to be a victim.