ALL EYES (AND WHEELS) ON THE STREET

Thursday morning beneath Interstate 705 in downtown Tacoma, and
Business Improvement Area (BIA) bike patrol officers John Leitheiser
and Sarah Kirkman scramble along a hillside. The officers are dwarfed
by scores of graffiti-tagged colonnades, and scale a massive hillside
that stretches toward Foss Waterway like the open face of a wave. As
they step over trash, old sleeping bags, human feces, broken lawn
chairs, and dirty needles covered with loose dirt, it's not long
before Leitheiser and Kirkman come across an encampment. A man and a
woman slumber beneath layers of blankets and sleeping bags. On a dirt
ledge beside the pair, Leitheiser points to drug paraphernalia: a
pipe with chalky residue, a bent and scorched tablespoon, and a lighter.

"Rise and shine," says Leitheiser. It's a voice so friendly and calm,
you would think he were delivering room service. Leitheiser's thick
build and coarse, slightly twanged tone belie a friendlier side: he
has been known to move through encampments singing a theme song from
a bygone Raisin Bran commercial -- an effort to assuage any tension
he might encounter from the people he moves out of downtown doorways,
parks, and I-705 overpasses. "Good morning," he continues. "How are
you doing?" After a pause, he adds, "You're trespassing."

An African-American woman pulls layers of covers away from her face
and squints at the officers. She's groggy and tired. "I didn't see
any signs," she says. "Is it trespassing down here?"

"Yeah, it is," replies Leitheiser. "We're going to give you a few
minutes to get your things and move out." He asks if she's tried some
of the local missions or homeless shelters. The woman, who identifies
herself as Chavella, 50, says she has, but they're always full before
she can get in. Moments later, her companion -- a man wearing a
hooded sweatshirt pulled tight over his head -- stirs. He sits up and
stares at the hillside below. He doesn't speak to Leitheiser or
Kirkman, nor is he confrontational.

It took a lot for Chavella and her companion to make it down here.
They had to walk along the white stripe of an on-ramp dipping down to
Schuster Parkway, climb through a chain-link fence accessible by way
of a broken lock, and scurry down the hillside.

While the pair collect their belongings, the two officers convene
back on street level, in a parking lot near the old Northern Pacific
building. Though a chain-link fence was installed to discourage
hillside access, Leitheiser and Kirkman say homeless people find ways
to gain access.

"They are so desperate that it doesn't stop them," explains Kirkman,
25, with a tone of compassion.

Moments later, Chavella and her companion emerge. They clutch
blankets and sleeping bags, and shuffle up the on-ramp. Leitheiser
offers a list with contact information for shelters in Tacoma, but
the pair refuse it. Before long, they disappear around a corner,
presumably in search of another place to camp.

It's a common scene for Leitheiser and Kirkman, two of 10 patrol
officers assigned to the BIA -- an 84-block section of Tacoma that
stretches north to south from South Seventh to South 21st Streets,
and east to west from Cliff Street to Court D. The officers are
employed by Pierce County Security, which has a contract with the BIA
to implement the security program. Property owners pay for the
service, $311,000 annually, through an assessment on square footage.

Though they aren't law enforcement officers, BIA security officers
provide a key resource for the Tacoma Police Department, defusing
many nuisance situations -- sleeping in parks and public places (231
incidents in 2006, according to BIA statistics), drinking in public
(145 incidents), and property damage (211 incidents) -- before they
tap police resources.

Though BIA officers lack authority to arrest people, nor carry
firearms, they do provide a wealth of surveillance information on
alleged drug dealers and illicit activity downtown. When a TPD car
rolls through a troubled intersection, it typically clears the area.
A BIA patrol officer on a bike, however, is a little craftier and
more clandestine. And a drug dealer who knows BIA officers can't make
an arrest might continue their activities, allowing officers to
gather information that can be passed along to Tacoma police.

"We're involved with them quite a bit," says Tacoma police officer
Jim Pincham, who is one of two TPD officers also assigned to the BIA.
"People are more apt to do stuff like that if they see bike patrol
officers, rather than if they see Tacoma police officers."

ON TREK MOUNTAIN bikes, working out of a small office near Commerce
Street and South 11th Street, officers respond to a variety of
issues. During a two-day period last week -- four hours on Thursday,
and an overnight shift from 8:00 p.m. Friday to 3:00 a.m. Saturday --
this reporter followed bike patrol officers as they encountered
reports unusual (a dead cat near the Spanish Steps; a
low-income-apartment resident throwing trash onto an alley and firing
a toy gun at nearby City utility workers) and mundane (a woman who
lost her driver's license downtown -- the license was recovered on a
sidewalk and returned to the owner).

Officers also made a steady round of patrols to known "hot spots":
the corner of South Ninth Street and Commerce Street, where loitering
and alleged drug dealing are rampant (according to TPD statistics,
the corner regularly tops a list of most calls for emergency
services, and it's frequently the scene of so-called "SET" missions
aimed to arrest drug dealers); Fireman's Park, where a gazebo's wood
benches and half-walls are perfect cover camping, loitering, and drug
use; the abandoned Elk's building, where transients managed to cut a
fence and break a window to gain access inside; and even more visits
beneath I-705 underpasses to monitor homeless encampments.

"Once you're down here for awhile, the biggest part of the job is
learning the area," says officer Johnny Perry. "You learn every inch
of where people hide, where people do their drugs, where all the
illegal activity takes place. Once you get that part of it down, when
you ride by on patrol, you're automatically checking all these
places. It becomes second nature after you do it for so long."

One hub of activity: Fireman's Park.

On Friday night, officers visit the park three times to remove a
total of seven people asleep in the park's gazebo. During the first
visit, around 9:00 p.m., Leitheiser discovers a 65-year-old man,
dressed in soiled blue jeans and a dirty parka, asleep beneath the
gazebo's bench. As he grabs his blanket and prepares to leave the
park, Leitheiser offers a list with the names and addresses of local
missions. The man is familiar with all of them, but wants to go it
alone. Later on, during a patrol up the hill along Court D,
Leitheiser discovers the same man asleep under a tree. Again, the man
is polite; again, Leitheiser moves him along.

The second visit to the park, around 10:00 p.m., reveals five men
sleeping in the gazebo. Three men quickly pack their blankets and
leave. Two others put up a brief protest. As Leitheiser and his
officers discuss park rules with the two men, officer Perry circles
the gazebo with a small flashlight, pointing out some of the evidence
of trouble.

"There are clues to tell you people were here," he explains. "You
look for empty plastic sacks with marijuana residue, blunt wraps,
syringe caps, and trash." He edges around the gazebo a few moments
before he comes upon a Pepsi can, partially crushed and modified with
pin-point holes for smoking marijuana. "Sometime today," he adds,
"somebody came down here, made this, and smoked marijuana."

A few steps away, more loot: a syringe cap, a glass pipe blackened at
both ends and used to smoke crack cocaine, and the concave base of a
candle holder scarred with the brown residue of cooked narcotics. "If
you find a lot candles sitting out, that's a sign, too," officer
Perry explains. "People take the tin off the bottom of the candles,
fill them up with water, and use the candles to cook their drugs."

Ten minutes later, Leitheiser is back on his bike. Two officers on
regular patrol discover a man sleeping beneath I-705, near the Tacoma
Art Museum. Leitheiser cruises through an alley west of Pacific
Avenue, between the Washington Building, post office, and Heritage
Bank tower. When he arrives, it seems like the perfect spot to
disappear for some sleep. It's invisible to an average passerby. But
for BIA patrol officers, it's a spot frequently checked.

"He's probably going to head south," explains one female officer who
asked not to be identified for the story. "He's basically looking for
shelter or somewhere to sleep where they're not disturbed. Usually,
if people know we're out patrolling, they at least leave the BIA
boundary." If he heads south, she explains, he might find refuge in a
wooded area where I-705 and Interstate 5 connect, or an open field
near South Tacoma Way. Though officers list the names of nearby
missions, the man dismisses them.

Though officers are charged with safety in the BIA, I ask Leitheiser
why they move homeless people out at a time of night when businesses
are closed and streets empty.

The reasons are twofold: if officers can encourage someone out from
under a freeway overpass an into a shelter, it's a good resolution;
also if areas aren't regularly patrolled, word quickly spreads. "The
next thing you know, you have tent cities popping up in certain
areas," he says.

Leitheiser, 54, started on BIA patrol when the program was created in
1994. He is the most senior member on the security patrol. He
supervises every officer, trains every new-hire.

"I've got nicknames down here," he explains. "They call me sarge,
pops -- these people on the streets know who I am." Indeed, it's the
first thing you observe following him around downtown. As he cruises
along sidewalks, downtown residents and shop owners stop him to chat,
share their concerns, and learn what's new.

Leitheiser was hired as an officer after working 20 years as a
pipefitter. A back injury forced him out of the industry. When he
started at the BIA, officers patrolled on foot. Bikes were introduced
two years later, and it was a welcome addition: easier and more
efficient for Leitheiser and his colleagues to patrol the area.

"People would give you a bad time because they knew you couldn't
catch them," he says. "Now we're right on top of them. It made a big
difference."

Downtown for 13 years, Leitheiser has seen alot.His most strange and
memorable story occurred seven years ago. A man climbed up to the old
station house on the 11th Street Bridge, stepped out on a platform,
and prepared to commit suicide by jumping. Instead, he found a dead
body on the platform.

"He climbs all the way down the 11th Street Bridge, comes up to the
office, and tells me about," Leitheiser recalls. Officers were
dispatched to the scene, where they, too, discovered the corpse. "A
guy down there, stiff as a board, scared this guy from jumping,"
Leitheiser says, shaking his head.

Patrolling downtown Tacoma in the mid-to late-1990s was dangerous.
Whereas today the corner of South Ninth Street and Commerce Street is
downtown's hotspot, the corner of South 15th Street and Pacific
Avenue -- an area lined with shelters and seedy bars -- was a crime magnet.

"Within a three-block radius there was somebody shooting up, sexual
acts, you know, it was just out of hand," Leitheiser explains.
"People would hide inside [bus stops] and have their sex acts right
there. Or they would shoot up drugs. It was just a constant thing."

And whereas today BIA officers might receive three calls in one
eight-hour shift, back then it was common for BIA officers to receive
five calls on single blocks in pockets of the city, at any hour of the day.

It was in the mid-1990s that BIA really started to forge a
relationship with TPD. Because BIA officers exclusively patrolled
downtown, they could gather information to identify alleged drug
dealers. That information would be used during TPD SET missions aimed
to make arrests. It's a tactic that exists today.

Late last year, when property owners near the corner of South Seventh
Street and Broadway complained of property damage due to chronic
graffiti, BIA officers collaborated with TPD. Leitheiser and his team
were allowed after-hours access to nearby businesses, where they hid
out for two weeks conducting surveillance. That information was then
passed along to TPD. On Jan. 1, TPD and BIA teamed to apprehend and
arrest five people spraying graffiti on area buildings.

When Leitheiser pedals downtown streets today, he sees progress. The
illicit activities that he saw throughout the city are mostly gone.
The areas that do pose problems are well-known and regularly patrolled.

"I've never had an officer injured, and that's because we treat these
people right," he says. "These officers are unarmed. I've got women
patrolling down here. A lot of these people on the street aren't bad
people. Respect, both ways, goes a long way."

Around midnight, officers return to the gazebo in Fireman's Park. A
homeless man camped out refuses to leave. It's the first time this
evening officers encounter someone who is combatant. Leitheiser
offers a cigarette ("it's my version of a peace pipe," he explains),
which the man accepts.

The fidgety man has stringy blonde hair, and wears a puffy parka,
blue jeans, and tennis shoes unlaced. Three garbage bags filled with
his belongings sit next to him. He is familiar to officers --
reportedly kicked out of several missions and shelters for fighting.
Though he doesn't threaten BIA officers, he refuses to leave. As a
rule, BIA officers try to defuse and resolve non-threatening
situations before they reach TPD. Most instances are resolved without
any conflict. However, some close calls exist. Officer Perry recalls
a time last winter when a man who refused to leave Fireman's Park
flashed a buck knife and charged an officer.

"You got to be aware of your surroundings, aware of your situation,
always thinking," says officer Perry. "That's how you keep yourself
out of trouble. If it gets too dangerous, you get out. If someone
pulls a gun, you go. It's something you have to keep in your head
when you do this type of job."

On this night, Leitheiser calls TPD. Two patrol cars roll up 10
minutes later (one with a K-9 officer, who aggressively sniffs his
way through the park's berms and grassy areas), but the man left a
few minutes ago.

Two hours later, bars and restaurants near South Ninth Street and
Pacific Avenue empty.

It's a bizarre scene.

Earlier, an intoxicated woman leaving a pub fell off a sidewalk and
landed face-first on the pavement. Officers rode over to make sure
she was OK. The woman, embarrassed, was escorted to her car by two
friends who appeared sober and prepared to drive her home.

An argument between two women in two large groups spilled out of a
bar and onto the sidewalk. Officers rode up to the scene, conflict defused.

A man smoking a cigarette asked officers if they saw a brown Saturn
parked nearby. The man's girlfriend took a cab home, and sent him
downtown to pick up her car. Leitheiser suggests he check an alley
behind a nearby restaurant. Five minutes later, the man pulls up,
rolls down his window to thank Leitheiser, and drives away.

Presently, two BIA patrol officers set up outside an after-hours
club.As they chat with patrons, Leitheiser points out a few things: a
short, stocky woman wearing a black ball cap over a long pony tail is
dealing drugs to a man in a nearby doorway. Leitheiser says she's a
familiar presence here. Her hands move quickly, but it's all there,
he says: a plastic pouch filled with white powder, a flash of cash,
and a quick exchange.

BIA officers don't have the authority to arrest anyone. But they do
have the ability to collect information and pass it along to TPD. On
this night, one BIA officer notes the presence of a new car typically
associated with the alleged drug dealer's accomplice, who is sitting
behind the wheel. By 3:00 a.m., officers have gathered enough
information to pass along to Tacoma police officer Pincham Monday morning.

"We're pretty much eyes and ears down here in Tacoma," says Leitheiser.