You Can Run but You Can't Hide (17 page)
Read You Can Run but You Can't Hide Online
Authors: Duane Dog Chapman
Judge Levi said, “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Chapman. You go out
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and get this guy, and I’ll pay the first two hundred dollars toward
your child support.”
It sounded too damn good to be true.
“What’s the catch?” Why was Judge Levi giving me this break?
What was his motivation to help a guy like me? In his eyes, I was a
deadbeat dad. It made me very suspicious that it might be a setup.
“No catch, Mr. Chapman. It’s pretty simple. You get this guy,
and I will put the bounty fee toward your first payment. Have we
got ourselves a deal?”
“Yes, sir. I believe we do.”
I went to court expecting the sheriff to treat me like a common
criminal. Much to my surprise, I left the courtroom as a man out to
get
a common criminal. Who would have believed it? The sheriff
took me across the street to his office, where he handed me a copy
of the warrant and mug shots of the wanted man.
I didn’t know what to say. I sure as hell didn’t know where to be-
gin. This was all new to me. Here I was, in a police station, but this
time was different. Now I was on the same side as the law.
The sheriff looked as confused as I felt. He was clearly trying to
figure out why Judge Levi did what he did. To be honest, so was I. I
didn’t know anything about tracking a criminal, but, after years of
experience, I did know how a criminal thinks.
When you believe something is true, you can make it real. I was
empowered to do something good. I knew I could find the guy. I had
already done it once in prison. How hard could it be?
The fugitive Judge Levi asked me to find was a young black guy
named Gerald, who was wanted on outstanding warrants and had
missed his court date. It was minor stuff. In my book, this guy
wasn’t even a real criminal. I didn’t know any special tricks to bring
this guy in, but instinctively I knew what to do.
First I called his momma and said I was from one of the local
black radio stations. I imitated the voice of a jive-sounding DJ and
spun a little white lie: “I’m trying to reach your boy because Gerald
won our radio contest. All he has to do is come down right now to
Stereo City, where we are broadcasting live, and claim his prize: a
thousand-dollar stereo of his choice.”
Sure enough, Gerald showed up around three o’clock to claim his
prize. I grabbed him getting out of his car. He never saw me coming.
It was so easy—except . . .
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“What am I supposed to do now?” I turned to my friend David
Bautista, who came along to help. I was hoping he knew the answer,
because I didn’t have a clue.
“I don’t know, Dog. Maybe you oughta handcuff him?”
I didn’t bring any cuffs—it never even occurred to me—so I re-
moved my belt and wrapped it tight around his wrists. I wedged
Gerald in the front seat of my truck, making him sit in between
David and me.
I didn’t know where to take him, so I drove over to the court-
house, hoping Judge Levi was there. I grabbed Gerald by his shirt
collar and dragged him through the hallways up to Judge Levi’s
chambers. He wasn’t there, so I walked across the hall to his court-
room.
I cracked open the door and gave the judge a little wave. I tried
to get his attention as he was presiding over another case.
“Pssst. Judge. It’s me—Dog.”
He gave me a hard look that basically said, “Shut the fuck up,
you asshole.”
I guessed he didn’t recognize me, so I grabbed Gerald and
shoved him through the door. Judge Levi’s eyes almost popped out
of his head. I’ll never forget the look of complete and utter shock
on his face.
“Jesus Christ, Dog. You got him!”
The judge turned his attention to Gerald, berating the poor bas-
tard for ten minutes. He ordered the bailiff to take him to the sher-
iff for booking.
“Mr. Chapman, I’m not sure what impresses me more—how
quickly you caught this guy or the fact you got him at all. Do you
know what a bail bondsman is?”
I smiled and said, “Uh, yes, sir. I’ve had a little experience with
them.” I had. Probably too much! A bail bondsman provides a
money guarantee that an individual released from jail will be pres-
ent in court at an appointed time. If the individual doesn’t show
up—that is, “jumps bail”—the monetary value of the bond is for-
feited to the court.
“Well, there is a bondsman I’d like you to meet named Lucky.
With the way you brought Gerald in, I can safely say he’ll give you
enough work chasing fugitives to get you current in your back child
support.”
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It sounded pretty good to me, especially since the job meant I
wouldn’t have to do time for my back payments.
From ages sixteen to twenty-two, I broke the law. From the mo-
ment I caught Gerald, I no longer wanted to. I had to try both ways
to know which one was a better fit. I was completely convinced de-
fending the law was a better choice.
Want to know
what makes a bounty hunter? Well, he’s a lot
like a biker, but to be a good one, it also helps to be a convict, a
rebel, and a preacher—all those things rolled into one. And like a
good salesman, he never takes no for an answer. He keeps hunting
until he finds his man. As ironic as it seemed, my newfound dual ca-
reers actually complemented each other.
I did a little research on Lucky before I met him. Word on the
street was that Lucky’s business was booming, which made him a
very unpopular man with criminals in and around Denver. Every
now and then, a pissed-off fugitive would put a bounty on
him
. A
full-fledged contract. In fact, I had heard there were more than a
few times when bullets whistled right past his head. I’m not sure
whether they were warning shots or the work of second-rate hit
men. It appeared Lucky always lived life on the edge and took too
many chances. Somehow, I knew we would really hit it off.
The first time I strolled into his office, Lucky was screaming at
someone on the phone, so he just waved me over toward his desk and
pointed to the tattered old leather club chair. He looked like a Mex-
ican hippie who hadn’t bathed or shaved for days. He had spent
some time in Vietnam, and it looked as if he had seen some hard
times in battle. He didn’t smell bad; he just had a rough appearance.
When Lucky got off his call, he abruptly shook my hand and
said, “Good to meet you, Dog. Let’s get started right away.”
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My first target was a familiar face. She was the old lady of one
of my Disciple brothers. I hadn’t seen her for years, but I knew her
man. I figured this would be an easy hunt. I called an old friend,
D.B., to see if he knew where the Disciples usually gathered at
night. It had been a few years since I ran with these guys. I wasn’t
sure they still hung out in the same spots. D.B. knew exactly where
to go. He drove me in his old Buick LeSabre and parked right up
front at a diner just off of I-70. I held the photo of the chick in my
hand, looking for her before we walked through the door. I wanted
to be absolutely sure she was there before we made a move. After
all, I didn’t want to be careless while dealing with a coffee shop full
of Disciples. One false move and my brother status wouldn’t
mean a thing.
I told D.B. to get the car and bring it around to the back of the
place. I wanted him to pull it up real close and keep the engine
running.
When I walked through the door, the guys recognized me right
away. They only knew me as a fellow Disciple, so I fell right back into
that role. They had heard about the ex–sergeant at arms on parole
for first-degree murder, so I instantly had their attention and respect.
I spotted her old man passed out in one of the booths and made
my way over to the chick I was chasing, cool and smooth. I chatted
her up real nice.
“Hey, baby. How’d you get to be so pretty? You look familiar.
Have we ever met?” I did everything I could to make her believe I
was hitting on her. She fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I knew if
I could get her out to my car, I’d have my first catch.
“Listen,” I finally said. “I have something real pretty in the car
for you. I’ll let you pick what you want.” It was a done deal. She
took the bait right away. I walked through the back door, gently
guiding her with my hand, keeping her close to make sure she
wouldn’t run if she got suspicious.
“Where the hell’s my present?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s in there,” I answered, pointing into the front seat. I
knew it was too dark for her to see. She cupped her hands to her
eyes and leaned in. Before she could get too close, D.B. pushed the
passenger door open. I gave her a quick shove and hopped in next
to her. It all happened so fast, she barely had time to react. I leaned
over the chick to give D.B. a high five. It was too damn easy.
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I was half-asleep when my phone rang at home. I was surprised
to hear the voice of one of the Disciples I’d come across at the
diner. He was asking if I had seen or heard from the chick I picked
up earlier that night. He said he was worried some bounty hunter
might have snatched her. I told him I talked to her, but I didn’t
know anything else.
I tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was racing. I no longer
saw myself as Dog the Disciple. I had a new identity. My life was in
a total turnaround. I liked the way it felt. I was good at this. I knew
I could make a career out of it. I lay in bed for the next two hours
dreaming of my future as Dog the Bounty Hunter.
I was more motivated than ever to make a name for myself in the
business. When I walked into Lucky’s office the next morning, he
said, “Here comes the bounty hunter.” I just smiled. Chasing fugi-
tives turned out to be exciting. I felt like I was right back in the days
of planning big scores and rolling hippies, except now I was on the
right side of the law.
Lucky told me he had a client who skipped out and ran to Ve-
gas. We hopped a plane later that afternoon. I figured I would get
settled into my room and rest for a while before we hit the town. I
clicked the television on and listened to an evangelical preacher
give a sermon while I unpacked. As I reached for the remote to
change the channel, I heard the preacher say, “I have a feeling there’s
someone out there whose very existence is about to change. He has
a checkered past, perhaps a criminal. You never thought you could
turn your life around, but you can. I am here to tell you the Lord
has raised His hand and said, ‘Be healed. For you shall serve Me, as
a messenger of My word and faith.’ If you can hear me, son, the
Lord has asked me to tell you to trust His mighty plan. You must
honor His wishes, and you shall be greatly rewarded for your ser-
vice.”
That message was for me. I could feel it through the TV. The
hand of God had touched my heart. The Lord was telling me to
stay righteous. I couldn’t wait to tell Lucky about what I just heard.
When I knocked on his door, my excitement quickly faded when I
found him in bed with a prostitute. Normally, this wouldn’t bother
me, but Lucky had a wife and kids at home. That’s where I draw the
line. One thing I would quickly come to understand about Lucky—
the guy loved whores.
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I woke up the following morning to the sound of Lucky banging
on my door. I thought he was playing around, trying to get me back
for interrupting him the night before. When I opened the door,
Lucky was in his underwear in a full-blown panic.
“I ended up passing out last night, and that whore robbed me!
She took all my cash and split.”
This was a major problem, since I didn’t have more than seven
bucks in my pocket. Neither of us had credit cards, either. Since we
flew to Vegas at the last minute, we had only bought one-way tick-
ets. We didn’t know when we’d be coming back. It all depended on
whether we caught the jump.
Lucky said we had to find the guy we were looking for so we
could get the hell out of Vegas. We knew he had skipped town with-
out a cent to his name. My instincts told me we should hit all the
soup kitchens in the area around midday. I figured the fugitive had
to eat. Sure enough, we found our guy standing in line with his tray
at one of the first kitchens we rolled into.
While I was busy cuffing the skip, I noticed Lucky went off to
make a call at a nearby pay phone. I put the guy in the backseat of
our rental car and smoked a cigarette, waiting for Lucky. When
Lucky got back to the car, he told me he had a way to get some
cash. He wanted to call the car rental’s insurance agent and file a