"When I regained consciousness, I was on my back in a pool of blood trying to assess the damage from the gunshot wound in my cheek. Was this a case of small entry, big exit, as often happens with bullets? Was the back of my head missing? I heard a voice saying, ‘Don’ worry, you be all right, you be all right,’ and when I opened my eyes I saw an old Hispanic man looking down at me like Carlos Castaneda’s Don Juan. My ‘backup’ was nowhere in sight. They hadn’t even called for assistance—I never heard the famed ‘Code 1013,’ meaning ‘Officer Down.’ They didn’t call an ambulance either, I later learned; the old man did. One patrol car responded to investigate, and realizing I was a narcotics officer rushed me to a nearby hospital (one of the officers who drove me that night said, ‘If I knew it was him, I would have left him there to bleed to death,’ I learned later).
The next time I saw my ‘back-up’ officers was when one of them came to the hospital to bring me my watch. I said, ‘What the hell am I going to do with a watch? What I needed was a back-up. Where were you?’ He said, ‘Fuck you,’ and left. Both my ‘back-ups’ were later awarded medals for saving my life."
(Via.) POLITICO Magazine The Police Are Still Out of Control by Frank Serpico