“The police are already on scene, and the patient is described as 10-30.” Dispatch was giving us run info while we were driving to the scene of a shooting.

“I told you about this neighborhood, didn’t I?”  I didn’t usually work with this guy.  He was young, wiry, hyper, and covered in tattoos.  I admit he was fun to work with, and his instincts were usually spot-on, but he had zero tact.  I was always wondering if he was going to say something to offend a family member.  “This is a drug deal for sure.  They are always buyin’ in this parking lot.”

“How do you know?”  I glanced at him sideways.

“It ain’t like that.  I’m just tired of working this area,” he laughed.

We rolled up to a few cop cars in the parking lot of a shady looking Italian restaurant.  The cars were circled around an African-American male whose body had fallen in a twisted heap.  The way his arms and legs were splayed, it was hard to even tell which side he was laying on.  The headlights illuminated the scene with an unnaturally harsh glow.

“Yep, he’s dead.  He’s all krunked up.”  My partner was making a premature assessment from behind the dashboard, but it looked like he was going to be right.

We got out and I grabbed the lifepak 12.  I thought my partner would get the jump kit but all he brought was a maglite.

“Hey man, where’s the kit?” I asked.

“Scuse me…didn’t I say ‘krunked’?”  He was shining his flashlight on the heap on the pavement, and looking at me like I was crazy.

After a closer inspection it looked like there was plenty of brain matter on the ground.  I felt for a pulse and got nothing.  “I here ya,” I said, “but lets at least give him the benefit of the doubt.  He’s done though.  This is a crime scene.  I’ll get a strip if you want to back out of here.  Watch the ground for casings.”

A crowd had started to form.  Some of them were shouting, but I hadn’t thought much of it yet.  It sounded more sad than angry.  A cop started towards us, talking in the mic hanging from his shoulder.

“You gonna work this guy?”  He was pointing at the body.

“Nope,” I answered, “he’s boned.  I can see his brains and I bet I’m going to get a flat-line here in a sec.  Once I do, this is your problem my friend.  You know what happened to him?”

“It was some cowardly shit.  A witness over there says this guy was just walking across the parking lot.  He apparently lives over there.”  He pointed to some apartments behind the restaurant.  “Some guy just ran up behind him and shot him in the ear with a .38.  Didn’t even see who shot him.  One second he’s walkin’.  Next second he’s dead.  Be careful though.  We are busy tonight.  We only have four spare officers to work this and drama is forming.”

I looked up and saw that the crowd had tripled just in the minute or two since we had arrived.

“Hey!”  Someone yelled from the crowd, “You need to help him!  You need to do something!”

I looked at the officer, and he was already on it.  He walked over and I heard him try to explain that there was no way to help him and that we had to preserve the crime scene.  But that just wasn’t acceptable.

“You mother fuckers!” I heard from another part of the crowd.  “You better fuckin’ take him to the hospital!  Do something, goddamnit!”

“You got that strip, Holmes?  I’m starting to want to leave.”  My partner was motioning to the truck with his head.

“I’m hurrying.  One more second.  I’m trying not to disturb his clothing too much.”

“You won’t help him cause he’s black!  You mother fuckers!”

“Dude, fuck it.  We’re done.”  My partner started taking steps backwards towards the truck.

I still had one lead to go but I looked up and the crowd that had doubled again in size was starting to surge forward.  The cops were doing the best they could, but there were just not enough of them.  The one who had previously been talking to us waved us back.

That was all I needed.  I grabbed the handle of the lifepak and ran towards the truck, ripping the leads off the patient and dragging the wires behind me.  Seconds later we were in our truck backing up at high speed.  Once we hit the street we punched it.

I never did get to finish looking at his ECG.  I know that grief strikes different people in different ways.  My not-so-tactful partner said some not-so-tactful things about the ethnic origin of the folks that ran us off from that scene.   I told him there was no call for that. 

“White people are stupid too,” I said.  “Haven’t you ever been to a trailer park?  This didn’t happen because they were black.  It happened because they were poor, uneducated, and angry.  And to be honest, sometimes I understand the anger.”

But it was too late.  What they didn’t understand is that we were trying to help him.  The second I knew he was dead I was trying to preserve the crime scene so that it would be easier to find his killer.  In the course of running us off, the crowd trampled a crime scene, ruined evidence, and made it impossible to work on the patient even if he was viable.  I was frustrated as well.  And I am still frustrated.  For some reason, EMS is just one of those jobs where people scream and threaten you for doing the right thing.

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