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body, it might already be too late.
    A belt was loosened but still wrapped around the young man’s bicep, indicating drug activity, although there was no sign of a needle or other paraphernalia around. Someone, possibly the dealer or even another junkie, had probably scooped it up and removed it from the scene. Nevertheless, by the fresh mark on his arm, it was obvious the man had been shooting up something, probably heroin.
    Sara pulled on a pair of protective gloves, checked his vitals and removed the belt. She reached into her narc kit and pulled out a packet that held a syringe filled with Narcan, a drug they used to counteract overdoses. She ripped the packet open with her teeth and took out the syringe. She held it up, checked for air bubbles, then jabbed the needle into the man’s arm muscle.
    Mere seconds later, the man sucked in a lungful of air and bolted upright into a sitting position. His eyes were wide and confused as he looked around at the dozens of morbidly curious faces staring down at him.
    “Fuck me! What happened?” he asked breathlessly.
    “You overdosed. Now we’re going to take you to the hospital and get you—” Sara started to explain as she carefully inserted the needle into a disposable container in her kit so she wouldn’t accidentally leave it behind.
    “No way. I hate hospitals,” the man interrupted. He scrambled to his feet and would have run if there had been an opening. The crowd, seeing that the drama was over and no one had died, started to disperse. Seeing an escape route materialize, he ran.
    Chris reached out and grabbed the man’s shirt as he passed. “Hey, man, let us take you in. This medicine isn’t going to last, and you’re going to crash in less than an hour.”
    The man tried to pull away but didn’t have the strength. He turned back to protest, then stopped.
    “Lieutenant?” he asked, his voice weak. His right hand rose to his forehead in a shaky salute.
    Chris stiffened and stared at the guy more closely. “Miller? Dude, what have you done to yourself?”
    The man’s shoulders slumped and his head dropped. “It’s rough out here. I don’t think I can make it.”
    “Let us help you,” Chris said. “First, we’ll get you checked out, then—”
    Miller shook his head. “No hospital.”
    “Do you live around here?”
    Miller waved vaguely toward the north. “I’ve got an apartment up on Cook Street.”
    “That’s not far from here.” Chris frowned as he tried to think of a way to convince the man to accept treatment. He could see blood trickling out of a wound on Miller’s head and dripping onto his torn, dirty T-shirt. “I’ll make you a deal. What if you let us take you to the hospital right now? You banged your head when you fell. It needs to be cleaned and treated, and I’m sure you could use a good meal. Then tomorrow, I’ll pick you up and take you to your apartment. Okay?”
    “I don’t know.” His hand lifted to the bloody spot on his head as if he’d just realized he was hurt. “I’m not going to jail?”
    Chris lifted his gaze to the cop, who shook his head negatively. “Not this time. Unless you’ve got something in those pockets that you shouldn’t.”
    Miller held up his hands, fingers spread wide. “I don’t have anything on me. I just needed that one hit to get me by tonight.”
    “What about tomorrow night?”
    All the resistance drained out of Miller. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. I just don’t know. I thought my life was shit when I was over there, but it’s a thousand times worse here.”
    Chris leaned in closer. “I know, man. I know. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here for you.”
    Miller looked up, his dark brown eyes floating in unshed tears. He didn’t speak, but he nodded his agreement.
    “Great decision. You were a good soldier, and you have the right to health care and counseling, among other things. We’ll work on all that tomorrow, but let’s get