You Can Run but You Can't Hide (23 page)

Tony laughed a deep hearty, throaty laugh. “Not here. It’s sign

language. It’s all good.

“Dog, if you feel up to it, let’s take one more question.” Tony

pointed to a man in the audience who looked kind of familiar. “Yes,

you, sir. What’s your question for Dog?”

“Hi, Tony. Thanks. Yes, well, I am a Texas highway patrolman

who had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Chapman this afternoon after

stopping him for jaywalking. I came here to listen to your first guest,

and to be honest, I didn’t get too much out of what he had to say. So

I decided to stay to hear Dog’s story. I just wanted to thank you be-

cause it was the greatest story I ever heard. I want to go back to the

station and tell all the guys about Dog, because he is truly inspiring.”

I got a standing ovation after the cop spoke. I could see tears

welling up in Tony’s eyes. I leaned over and said, “You cry too,

brother?”

I could feel my own tears of joy starting to come. Two giants on

a stage—I had to laugh as we both stood there and cried.

I began speaking at Tony’s seminars on a pretty regular basis.

One day, he asked me why I enjoyed the experience so much.

It was a simple answer. I loved hearing two little words that

packed as big a punch as Joe Louis’s left hook: “Thank you.” I went

on to explain that no one ever says thank you when I get the bad

guy. In fact, for the most part, other people take most of the credit

for all of my hard work. I told Tony I wouldn’t know what to do if

a bondsman actually thanked me.

Toward the end of a seminar in Palm Springs, Tony surprised me

by asking everyone in the audience to come up and thank me. There

were hundreds of people there. Each and every person came up to

me, gave me a hug, shook my hand or patted my shoulder, and said,

“Thank you, Dog.” Once again, tears rolled. I have never been so

overwhelmed or grateful. It was a beautiful, practically spiritual

experience.

C h a p t e r Tw e n t y - f i v e

MISTAKE

Ta wny coerced me
into marrying her. I told her I didn’t

want to marry her because I liked women too much to settle down.

I even talked it over with my preacher, who could see I was unsettled

by the idea. I knew in my heart that marrying Tawny was a mis-

take. She was all wrong for me. My kids liked her, though. They

were even calling her “Mom.”

Friends were telling me that Tawny was a speed freak. When I

told her what people were saying, she promised she’d get off speed

and go straight. On the other hand, when she was high, that girl

could rock my world. I was torn between my heart and my head.

Despite my misgivings, I married Tawny. Two months into the

marriage, she was back on drugs. It was a disaster from the start.

Even the judge who married us pulled me aside and asked me if I

wanted to take a little more time to think about marrying that

broad.

Beth was now working for Granville Lee, the first black bonds-

man in Denver. He was one of the brightest in the business. Other

bondsmen continuously warned me about Beth, saying she was

tough, ruthless, and smart as hell. Ahhh . . . all the qualities I like

in a woman, plus she was rack-tacular. My competitors saw Beth as

a threat; I saw her as an asset. Despite my personal feelings for her,

I had just gotten married again. I didn’t think I had room for an-

other woman.

M i s t a k e

139

One day Beth and I were talking on the street when an old buddy

of mine, Keith Barmore, came over to say hello. Keith and I grew up

together. We spent most of our youth fighting the Vatos. Keith was

a large guy, with hands as big as my dad’s. He was physically strong

and emotionally volatile. He became known as “One-Punch Bar-

more” because he only needed one to knock you down. He was

eventually sent away to a juvenile detention center.

Keith was no better as an adult than he was as a punk kid. He

was a thief with a heroin habit. He would drink beer just to even

out from the drugs. It just about broke my heart when I heard Beth

was dating him. When I heard they got married, I got physically

sick. There couldn’t have been two people in the world who were

worse together than Beth and Keith. Friends told me he was abusing

her something awful. Beth’s a tough girl, but when I heard Keith

was beating on her, I wanted to kill him myself. The only good

thing that came from their union was Beth’s beautiful daughter, Ce-

cily, who I love and adore as if she were my own flesh and blood.

Truth be told, Beth and I were sleeping together the entire time I

was married to Tawny and throughout her marriage to Keith. Beth

used to jokingly threaten to take our motel bill to the office and

show it to Tawny unless I promised to show up and spend more

time with her. I always had Beth book the room in her name, just

in case.

Even though we were both married, Beth was still in hot pursuit

of my affection. After she got her bond license, she began writing

some pretty sketchy bail so I would have to chase down her guys

if they skipped. Now, most bondsmen try to write bail based on a

fugitive’s word that he won’t run. Not Beth. She was looking for

high-risk guys to make sure she saw as much of me as she could. It

was risky business, to say the least. It would have put her
out
of

business if I weren’t the Dog. She knew I could find anyone. It was

a calculated risk on her part, but a well-thought-out plan. That

woman is manipulative but smart. She was making money and

making me come to her. She had me chasing guys who weren’t even

on the run. Better still, she paid me every time!

Sometimes Beth would go with me on bounties when I needed a

brain or a beautiful young girl to act as a decoy. The first time I took

her with me was one of the funniest hunts I can remember. Beth

was trailing my every move. When I finally spotted our guy, I yelled

140

Yo u Ca n R u n , b u t Yo u Ca n ’ t H i d e

as loud as I could, “Freeze, motherfucker! Get down on the ground

with your hands in front of you!” I turned to check on Beth. She

was flat out, facedown on the ground.

“Not you, Beth. Get up!” She wouldn’t move. I could see her

motioning for the fugitive to get down by patting her hands in a

downward direction.

“Beth. You’re no conductor. Get your ass up! I’m talking to him,

not you!” But she wouldn’t budge. She was scared to death I was

going to hurt the son of a bitch.

A year after the Colorado statute was announced, Lozow ap-

peared in front of Judge Hiatt again, only this time he argued that

the ten-year statute made it possible for me to keep my license. In

spite of the DA’s argument that he couldn’t confirm what Lozow

was saying, the judge had heard enough and ruled in my favor. I

dodged another bullet and was able to continue.

Throughout the year, I couldn’t help but think the Division of

Insurance was trying to push me out of the business. Someone with

a lot of power and influence was gunning for me. All of these laws

and bills were popping up that were seemingly aimed directly at

me, with one goal: to shut me down.

I received a call from an investigator from the Division of Insur-

ance. Not long after I got my license back from Judge Hiatt, he

needed me to post a bail bond for a family member. It seemed a lit-

tle strange that he came to me, especially since the Division of In-

surance was always breathing down my neck. I agreed to write the

bond, thinking it was my way of extending an olive branch in peace

and good will. The following day, I called the investigator to inquire

about the nine hundred dollars he owed me for writing the bond.

He hemmed and hawed and then said he already put the check in

the mail. I just love it when someone tells me, “The check is in the

mail.” Translation: You’re screwed.

Three days later—still no check. When I tried to reach the inves-

tigator, there was no getting through. Ironically, I did receive a call

from another local bondsman who called to tell me I was never go-

ing to get paid. This small bond wasn’t going to put me out of busi-

ness, but it sure as hell was going to send the investigator’s family

member back to jail.

The investigator wanted to meet for a “business opportunity.”

This was beginning to stink to high heaven of a low-down dirty

M i s t a k e

141

setup. I called Lozow to see what he thought. Lozow made it clear

he thought something was up, but he told me to take the meeting. I

called my mom to tell her what was happening. She became suspi-

cious and thought it might be a good idea to record the meeting just

in case.

We met at Copperfields, a bar in downtown Denver near the

courthouse where cops and lawyers like to hang out. The investiga-

tor walked in looking way overdressed for the joint. It occurred to

me he was dressed pretty nice, worth a couple grand, for an investi-

gator from the Division of Insurance. I grew suspicious right away.

I clicked on my recorder before we sat at a table, to capture every

second of dialogue. Good thing I did.

We got right to the point.

The deal was a “one-time proposition.” Any complaint from

one of my clients would be taken care of. In exchange for that ser-

vice, I had to pay five hundred dollars per. Once I paid, the problem

would go away.

Now, I knew the offer was illegal. If I agreed, I would be out of

business for good. I kept saying, “This is illegal,” to be certain the

recording proved I wasn’t interested. The investigator assured me it

wasn’t
illegal. When I asked how will you “show this” the investiga-

tor said it would be considered a “fine,” and suggested I shouldn’t

talk about our little arrangement. When I inquired about the bond

money he owed me, I was told, “Consider it a down payment for

future complaints.”

I didn’t commit, but I didn’t turn it down, either. I left the bar

and called Lozow and told him what happened. A few days later,

Lozow called to say it was a shakedown. It was all a scam and he

told me to keep the tape. Quite to my surprise, a few days later I re-

ceived the bond money due me. That was the last I heard about this

for a while.

C h a p t e r Tw e n t y - s i x

ALOHA FROM HAWAII

I began speaking
at Tony Robbins’s seminars at least once a

year. That became the only real vacation I took. I’d run myself all

year long until I was completely exhausted, and then I’d go to a

seminar to recharge and refuel my batteries. I’d always come back

invigorated in both myself and my faith.

In 1991, I attended a Mastery Seminar in Hawaii that changed

my life forever. These are ten-day intensive courses designed for

people like me who are familiar with Tony’s philosophy and who

attend the one- and two-day seminars regularly. I was excited to

be a part of this seminar, because I was there as both speaker and

student.

Whenever I spoke at a Robbins seminar, I always entered the

room with the song “Secret Agent Man” blaring in the background.

I would walk from the back of the auditorium as it played, and

the crowd would stand up and applaud. This time, I walked in to

“I’ve Got the Power.” The feeling and appreciation I got from that

hundred-yard walk would get me over every hurdle, past every

roadblock, and through every indignity I had to endure for the next

year. On this particular night, I gave the crowd the best of all I had

to offer.

Tony spent much of the ten days talking about how life is a

struggle, something that my mom always said too. Those words

floated in my thoughts the entire time I was in Hawaii.

A l o h a F r o m H awa i i

143

After I spoke, I took my seat at one of the many banquet tables.

The waiter placed two forks to the left of my plate. I called him

over. I thought he had made a mistake.

“You’re going to lose your job. You gave me two forks.” I was

seriously concerned for this young man.

“No, brother. You’re supposed to have two. It’s good. No worries.”

I wasn’t sophisticated enough to know any better. I wasn’t

ghetto dumb. I just never went to dinner anyplace fancy that gave

me more than one fork, knife, or spoon.

I looked up at the waiter and noticed he had much darker skin

than I did. He wasn’t black, but he wasn’t white, either.

“Why did you call me brother?” I was curious to hear his re-

sponse. I wasn’t offended. In fact, I liked the sound very much. But

in my world, BRO meant “Bend Right Over,” or else it was a word I

heard the black guys use on the streets. The way my waiter used the

word, it had a different feel.

He looked at me with a kind smile and said, “Under the skin, we

are all brothers.”

His name was Skip. He was pure Hawaiian. I liked everything

about him. I always felt a connection or brotherhood when I was a