Middle of summer, end of a busy shift. A single patrol officer in service. The rest are already on scenes: two shootings, a couple accidents with injury, some random report and a barricaded domestic suspect. Two others are waiting on a wagon for their arrestee. A number of calls come in about people being unable to drive because “500 cars” are blocking a bunch of major intersections and are parked all over private property. We’d gotten intel about the possibility of one of these “street takeovers” taking place toward the end of shift, but with those other incidents draining the pool of available officers, and with the other five Indianapolis police districts dealing with the same sort of summertime shenanigans, an adequate response was hard to muster.

Control dispatches the one in-service officer and “any other available unit” to check it out. A newer officer at the time, I have my doubts about “500 cars,” but I’ve just finished up an arrest, so I back on. “Adam 268 from 3-8 and Capitol,” I radio in. Another officer preempts off his run and backs on too. He and the dispatched officer are both closer than me, so they show up together and attempt to navigate through the mess, quickly realizing 500 is probably an understatement. Given the numerical imbalance, they just as quickly realize they’re basically just there to provide some semblance of a police presence, however miniscule. It’s not long before one of them gets on the radio: “Control, I’m blocked in. I’ve got people twerking on my hood.” I’m not sure if I should laugh or hit my lights and siren.

Then, “I’ve got someone shooting not far from me. There are too many people here to see who, but everyone’s freaking out. Start me a couple more cars if available.” I can hear the gunfire in the background of his radio dispatch, even over the incredibly loud bass. The scene sounds a little less comedic at this point, so I hit my lights and siren and haul ass over there.

“Control, I’ve got more shooting; sounds like a different gun than before, maybe southwest of me.”

Then, “We’ve got people shaking our cars. I need cars rush.”

“Control, start ERG,” a lieutenant radios in. Event Response Group, our set of patrol officers specifically trained in crowd control tactics, would be a useful tool in situations like this if not for all the other craziness simultaneously taking place across the city preoccupying those officers.

As I approach the blockade of cars, noise and people, I’m passed by a red Jeep Wrangler whose front passenger is cranking off rounds opposite me into nearby Fall Creek. Triaging, I don’t have time to stop and don’t even put it over the radio. I hear shots up ahead, so, blocked by the logjam of party cars and everyday drivers, I ditch my car, draw my gun and start on foot toward the shooting, telling everyday drivers “needing” answers from me to turn around. As I’m looking for my fellow officers, I see a dude 90 feet or so ahead of me firing rifle rounds into the air. A late shift sergeant who arrived at the same time joins me en route to the rifle guy, who jumps in a Dodge Charger Hellcat and squeals outta there away from us, somehow hitting no one in the process. I’m fast, but not that fast. I crank up my radio and hear the initial officers say folks are beginning to clear away from their cars and they’re searching for the shooting scenes and possible people shot. I decide to hold my fresh shooting scene as late shifters begin to arrive and clear the roadways.

Ultimately, there was no one shot, at least no one who remained on scene, but we sure had a lot of spent shell casings to collect. Interestingly, two people showed up at two area hospitals not 10 minutes later, neither of whom knew how they’d gotten shot or where the shooting had happened. Strange…. Almost as strange as hundreds of people showing up to these “events” week after week despite this predictable ending. As extraordinary as I thought this incident was, I’d quickly learn this is, sadly, an almost weekly occurrence during the hot months in Indy.

Between runs like these and an endless list of the silliest of dispatches about everything from a person receiving an extra hamburger at McDonald’s to geese blocking the sidewalk to someone running out of toilet paper, I swear, no imagination can conjure up more bizarre circumstances than actual police runs. The toughest part about these runs isn’t fathoming the utter stupidity of someone calling the police about the “issue” in the first place. The toughest part is fitting an ever-increasing volume of runs about anything from hamburgers to homicides into a single manageable workday, “manageable” being the key word.

Making shifts manageable is a large reason why patrol officers don’t patrol — not the way folks imagine they do, anyway. Post-COVID, post–George Floyd, post-riots, the roles of patrol officers have changed. For a time, officers on my department were actually ordered not to make unnecessary stops or have unnecessary interactions for fear of COVID or another catastrophe’s impact on the readiness of our contracting police force. Traffic stops still occur, investigations still ensue, etc., but the urban police of today largely act way more like a reactive fire station than a proactive crime-fightin’, ticket-issuin’ task force. That’s generalization from a limited viewpoint, but to an extent, it’s true.

After the freeze was put on cop proactivity following the viral and vengeance outbreaks, crime and crazy driving were less deterred, so more occurred. When more crime and wilder traffic bothered citizens with influence, complaints started pouring in about officers not doing enough. Simultaneously, more restrictive pursuit and traffic enforcement policies were being implemented, largely at the behest of civilian oversight boards. Fewer convictions seemed to be sticking against those acting outside society’s bounds, even in cases of people shooting at officers. And more civil lawsuits were being filed against officers — officers oftentimes acting within department policy — all scaring officers away from proactivity’s increased odds of landing a suspension or a lawsuit or no criminal conviction after all their investigative work. But far and away, the biggest culprit in decreased proactive patrolling is simple math. Increased run volumes plus decreased officer staffing equals fewer non-dispatched patrols.

Thirty runs in one eight-and-a-half-hour shift, 21 runs in only half a shift and 76 runs across three is just too many. A murder followed immediately by a domestic with the victim stabbed in front of her kids, then a rollover personal injury accident with entrapment, then another serious injury domestic with a weapon, then an on-site employee threatening to shoot up his workplace, then a DOA, then an armed carjacking, plus all the less-eventful runs in between (real day in 2023), plus all the corresponding reports, each of which requires detailed, coherent, professional and accurate language given each is a sworn statement likely to become an official court document and possibly a criminal law case … all that makes for an exhausting day.

To add further insult to injury, many times runs come out in clusters, so few officers are spread thinner yet. I remember once looking at my incident screen and seeing every officer across the district on a high-priority run: four different people shot runs, a shots fired, a call for help, a SWAT incident, a domestic, an alarm and an investigation that ended up being a homicide. Though that’s one of the more notable examples, the reality is that these exceedingly busy days aren’t all that uncommon. Even a glut of relatively minor dispatched or self-initiated runs can have the same impact. Factor in the slowdown in recruitment and the speedup in retirements, and necessary overtime’s become a never-ending way to burn the candle at both ends. On top of that, the ever-increasing public scrutiny against officers isn’t exactly incentivizing either.

All this to say, sometimes it’s nice to take a breather. I’d even argue it’s necessary. Maintaining healthy, alert officers without crummy overworked attitudes outweighs what little deterrence a few more tickets given or miles driven might afford. While the public may be slow to come to this realization, thankfully here in Indy, supervisors, not long ago patrol officers themselves, seem to get it.