The knife still had butter on it.

It wasn't uncommon, particularly during a busy late shift, for the local hospital to put out an emergency request for assistance. No we weren't available for bone setting, suturing or brain surgery - although heaven knows some people claimed the local cops needed brain surgery. We were to deal with some of the nastier patients who had created bother in the A&E department.

One such buffon had arrived there with substantial cuts to his face and hands, bruising all over and looked as if he'd spent half an hour in a fast rotating cement mixer whilst fighting a pride of wild lions. Apparently he wanted treatment from the ever caring staff there, but took umbridge at being asked how he had come by his injuries. 

Having started to huff and then puff, he blew for all he was worth until he started running around the department with blood dripping everywhere and caused quite a commotion. Naturally, the hospital staff didn't take too kindly to this galoot's behaviour and called the thin blue line to deal with the matter.

Being reasonably close, we duly attended to find this numpty shouting at the moon and clearly not rowing with all his oars in the water. After an intial stand off, he managed to produce a knife. Not a particularly menacing one, but a confirmation that he was a local guy, since the knife still had butter on it. A closer quick appraisal of the guy suggested he was from one of the better parts of town since his tattoos were spelled correctly. Could this be a violent murdered who was intent on slashing his way to escape? No on seeing our white hats and realising the traffic cops were there, he calmed down, completely unexpectedly owned up to having stolen a car and had crashed it - hence the injuries.

He presumably thought we had caught up with him for his earlier misdemeanours and who were we to burst his bubble. Accepting that he was now caught he calmed down, saw the error of his ways, and agreed to behave whilst treated by the doctors and nurses.

Apologetic, but handcuffed, he was quietly cleaned up, sewn back together and cleared as well enough for custody.  So Bell Street it was for for free bed and breakfast prior to appearing in court the next morning. Meantime, we had an evening of searching and enquiry to find the car, trace the owner and clean up the mess this wannabe Duke of Hazzard had caused.  

All's well that ends well.