You Can Run but You Can't Hide (32 page)

“Yes. I understand. But remember, you are now a reflection of

your mother.”

Oh, no he didn’t. He did
not
just bring my momma into the con-

versation.

“Say what?” I was confused. How did he know my mom had

died a few years back? How did he know that would push my but-

tons? Before I could ask, he was gone.

I called him right back.

“How do you know about my momma?”

He said, “I know she raised you to be a brave man. This is the

time for you to demonstrate all she taught you. She is dead, I know.

But who do you think looks over you in heaven?”

“
She
does. Every damn minute of my life.”

“So . . . what’s the holdup?”

I stood silent. He was right. Boris had hit my soft spot. He

found a way in, a door that no one before or after has ever dared

to open.

I later discovered that Boris is one of those Hollywood guys who

started out acting in movies, including
The Hunt for Red October

and
The Italian Job.
He also had connections to get things done and

deliver. All I had to do was give him the sign I was interested.

I was in.

Boris was successful right out of the gate. He contacted his

friend Lucas Foster, who was running Columbia Pictures. Foster

had produced several hugely successful movies, including
Danger-

ous Minds, Crimson Tide
, and
Bad Boys.

I had met Peter Guber at the Tony Robbins seminar in 1990. At

the time, he was running his own film company, but later he went

on to become the studio chief of Sony Pictures. I had no idea who

he was when we met, and he didn’t seem to care much about me. All

I knew was that he had produced a couple of movies I’d heard of,

including
Midnight Express
and
The Deep.

Both men agreed my life story was filmworthy, but Lucas Foster

won, scooping up rights to the story for a modest sum. I was blown

away.

Now, for those of you who don’t know much about Hollywood,

there’s a little something in the movie business called “development

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

hell.” That’s when your project, which everyone was so jacked up

about in the beginning, sits around for months or years, waiting to

get off the ground. That’s exactly what happened at Columbia

Pictures.

When the rights were released, we went back to Peter Guber. He

commissioned a script, but it sucked. Every time Beth and I read a

draft, we thought it was crap. I wouldn’t approve it for production,

so that deal died as well. Eventually, the rights reverted back to us,

because their time ran out too. Boris and Beth then took the project

to Les Moonves at CBS, who bought it on the spot. Different day,

same story.

Boris could see I was disappointed. The up-and-down roller-

coaster nature of the movie business made bounty hunting feel like

a safe and stable gig. But I didn’t give up hope in my Hollywood

dream.

“You’re an American icon. You’re a real-life superhero. Perhaps

Hollywood just doesn’t know that yet.” I thought
icon
sounded a hell

of a lot better than
ex-con
. I wanted to believe Boris was right. I have

spent every minute of my life since Huntsville trying to redeem my-

self for that night in Pampa. I know God sees the score as even, but I

wasn’t sure the rest of the American people do. My one goal is to find

redemption. Tony Robbins once referred to me as the most “human”

human he’d ever met. I wasn’t sure I understood what he meant, so I

asked him why he thought that. He explained that people can relate

to me. The rich, the poor, the good, the bad, and the ugly. They can

take one look at me and think,
If that seventh grade dropout son of a

bitch can do it, so can I.

I always tell my kids that I graduated with honors from the sev-

enth grade. I’m not proud that I left school so young, but I’m not

ashamed of it either. I’m not a stupid man. Don’t confuse my in-

correct grammar or mispronunciation of words with being dumb. I

have a better education than most. My education, my best teacher,

has been living a very full and demanding life. If Hollywood

couldn’t see that yet, I knew in my gut that someday they certainly

would. I kept telling myself that I am an all-around good guy and a

slayer of dragons. I couldn’t give up hope. The Lord kept telling me,

“This isn’t your time. I will fulfill your dream in my own time. Be

patient.”

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

A CHASE TO

THE GRAVE

Lar r y and Jerome
Bernstein were career white-collar crimi-

nals. They weren’t the type of cons who would be found making

midnight deals in dark back alleys with drug dealers and prosti-

tutes. They were into big business crime, and before the law caught

up with them, they made plenty of money off of their elaborate

pyramid scams. Despite the fact that they were raised in a wealthy

family in an upper-class area of Denver, they decided to take a

criminal path in life. They portrayed themselves as businessmen,

but when it came right down to it, the Bernstein brothers were just

glorified street hustlers with expensive wardrobes. I had captured a

few wealthy fugitives before, but white-collar crime was new to me.

When the Denver police finally closed in on them, Larry and

Jerome were running a Ponzi scheme called Bernstein Oil and Gas.

Their business plan was based on creating a false pretense of prof-

itability for their clients. They would produce unbelievably inflated

drilling production numbers and use these to attract wealthy in-

vestors. The only thing these people were investing in was a worth-

less plot of land. The Bernsteins pocketed all of the money. If one

of the original investors wanted to cash out, they would pay him

from someone else’s investment so the money machine kept mov-

ing. It was an endless hunt for new investors and new money.

The Bernsteins came into our office on a Friday afternoon to fill

out applications for $175,000 in bonds. One was for a hundred

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

grand, the other for seventy-five. They were very well-mannered

and nicely dressed in matching suits. It was obvious that they spent

top dollar on their wardrobe, even though it might have been paid

for with
other
people’s money. We knew their family was wealthy,

but we wanted to be certain they were bondworthy, so I called them

in for an interview before I would agree to write the bond. When

they came in, they began to interview me. I caught on right away. I

recognized their tactics as old-school Zig Ziglar stuff, like answer-

ing questions with questions. They had no idea who they were talk-

ing to. Larry was more curious than Jerome. He demanded to know

why I needed to know what size shoe he wore. He couldn’t figure

out why I needed that type of information. I looked down and saw

he wore a size thirteen. That’s a large footprint to track, right? I

told this rich, smart, college-educated son of a bitch I needed to

know his shoe size so I could track him down if he ran.

“Well, if I ran, how long would you chase me?” This was a very

important question. Without hesitation, I looked them in the eyes

and said, “To the grave, brothers.” Jerome looked at Larry with a

“whoa no” expression, because they knew I meant business. With-

out hesitation, they gave us a check for $17,500, the standard 10-

percent deposit on their bond.

The weekend came and went. On Tuesday, Beth started getting

phone calls from the brothers saying they were scared to go to

court. We kept reassuring them we already posted their bond. For

the moment, they were safe. The courts couldn’t do anything to

them until their appearance, which was scheduled for the following

Monday. Little did we know that the check they gave us was hot.

That’s what they were scared about. It was only a matter of time

before we discovered their check bounced. Every time they called,

they actually wanted to see if we knew yet.

On Monday, Beth went to court to make sure the Bernsteins

showed. They did not. One of our attorneys was representing them.

He said they were always early for their previous court appear-

ances. They were never late. Beth and I began to panic. The attor-

ney told the judge he was genuinely concerned for their welfare and

asked for more time. The judge agreed their absence was unusual

but refused to grant the lawyer his request to meet later that after-

noon. He issued new warrants for $300,000 cash—no bond.

Beth called me right away so I could start the hunt. An hour

A C h a s e t o t h e G r av e

197

later, we got word their check bounced. This did not look good. I

had an immediate sinking feeling in my stomach. Larry and Jerome

were used to country clubs and cocktail parties. They were privi-

leged and came from a nice Jewish family. The idea of doing serious

jail time shook them to their core.

The clock was officially ticking.

Beth went to see their dad. We needed any possible information

he might have. When I told him the check his sons had given us

bounced, he was shocked. He insisted he had at least two hundred

grand in his account and he’d make good on the check. Beth made

the trip to the father’s bank with him that afternoon so she could

collect our money.

The news wasn’t good. According to the bank, the old man had

just a little over six hundred dollars in his account. Apparently,

Larry and Jerome had cleaned out their own father’s life savings.

They had linked their accounts to his, so if there were any over-

drafts or fees, money got sucked out of the father’s to cover bad

checks.

This all didn’t sit well with Beth. She absolutely can’t stand to

see innocent people get ripped off, especially elderly folks. How

could the old man’s bank transfer those types of amounts and never

once contact him?

Beth decided to bring Mr. Bernstein by Jerome’s wife’s house.

The older Mr. Bernstein was only concerned that his two sons were

safe. Jerome’s wife, on the other hand, didn’t seem all that dis-

tressed about the situation. Apparently, she and Jerome were going

through a separation. Beth and I were amazed by her total lack of

concern for her husband. She acted as if the whole thing was just a

big bother to her.

When I spoke to his wife, she told me the last thing her husband

said was that he wanted to commit suicide. She seemed so blasé

about the thought. She didn’t think he was serious. When I asked

if he had ever threatened suicide before, she said he hadn’t. She

thought nothing of it. I called Beth into the house to interview the

wife, woman to woman.

I went into the backyard and began throwing a ball around with

their little boy. As we tossed the ball back and forth, an image of

Jerome flashed into my head. I could hear him say, “I didn’t know

you were like this, Dog. You’re playing with my little boy.” I turned

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

back toward the house to find Beth. I knew the Bernstein brothers

were dead.

Something told me to go check the other brother’s house, but I

refused because I didn’t want to believe those sons of bitches had

killed themselves. After we left the house, I got a lead from a local

cop that the brothers had chartered a private jet and were planning

to leave town. In a weird way, I was relieved to hear that news.

Within a couple hours, I had all of the airports covered. The closest

one was Centennial Field. By the time I got there, the cops were

convinced the brothers had already fled to Brazil. I spoke to a

worker on the field who told me he was certain the Bernsteins

hadn’t been out there. He said there was no way they took a plane

from Centennial, because the plane they usually chartered was still

in its hangar.

Before the end of the first day, I made an appearance on the local

six o’clock news and told people to keep an eye out for them. I must

have called every number in my Rolodex—hotels, bus stations,

train stations, airlines, and car rental places. It had been a very long

day and I was exhausted. I went home, though I couldn’t shake the

feeling about Larry’s house.

The following morning, I got a call from a security guard who

was watching Larry’s house, telling me to get over there right away.

Beth and I hopped in the car and rushed over. When we turned onto

Larry’s, street everything suddenly seemed to be happening in slow

motion. Ambulances and police cruisers lined the street. There

were cops gathered in the driveway of the house. Paramedics were

rushing around with medical equipment.

The double garage doors were open and I could see two gold

Jaguars parked side by side. A few of the cops in the driveway