You Can Run but You Can't Hide (50 page)

later find out they got our address from a traffic ticket issued to me

a few months earlier. Without that information, they never would

have found me. In fact, they went to our old house first. They broke

into the wrong house looking for me that morning.

F e d e r a l M a r s h a l s

309

When all of the arrests took place, we were in the middle of our

third season of our A&E show. By now the cops knew we didn’t

carry weapons. We weren’t armed and dangerous criminals. We’re

a family that works together to help defend the law. Who did they

think they were arresting? Kidnappers? What a joke.

On the way to jail the marshals told me they knew where Leland

was—they said they found his truck. They asked me if I wanted to

go there first so I could be with Leland when they picked him up.

Leland is a fighter. I think they thought he’d put up less of a fight

if he knew they already had his daddy. They were right. Leland

came out without any fuss.

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

FROM MISDEMEANOR

TO FELONY

By now, our
A&E crew was filming everything they could get

to and feeding the footage to the newswires. Beth dove right into

her Rolodex and began working the phones to make sure the entire

world knew what was happening. She has a pink notebook where

she keeps all the names of her contacts at CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS,

MSNBC, AP, Fox,
Dateline, 20/20,
and
Larry King Live.
You name

the show, and she’s got a contact. They all love Dog the Bounty

Hunter stories. Beth pulled two phones onto the patio and began

making her calls. She had a production assistant from the show

dialing as fast as Beth could talk. We have a lot of friends in the

media, but one of the kindest has always been Rita Cosby. Within

fifteen minutes of hearing from Beth, there was a scroll running

along the bottom of MSNBC. Shortly after that, Rita broke the

story live with Beth over the phone.

“Hi, Beth. We’re live on the air. Tell us what has happened to

Dog.” Rita set Beth up for the kill.

“The Dog has been arrested. Armed federal marshals just burst

into our house and took him. It was horrible, Rita. Duane’s no

criminal.”

Twenty minutes after that interview one of the marshals came

to my holding cell. I already knew by the look on this poor bas-

tard’s face why he was there.

“Get your damn wife on the phone and tell her to stop talking to

F r o m M i s d e m e a n o r t o F e l o n y

311

the media.” It was the exact thing they did to me in Mexico when

Beth worked the press.

Note to everyone: You do not want the wrath of my Beth when

she’s pissed.

I took a deep breath and called Beth, knowing damn well it

wouldn’t make a difference. “Honey, I’m in jail. You can’t talk to

the press. Honey, please promise me you won’t do any more inter-

views.” I pleaded with her, almost convincing myself I meant what

I was saying. But I knew Beth understood they forced me to make

that call.

“I’m sorry, Duane. I’m sorry, baby. Don’t worry, honey. It’s

gonna be fine. I swear.” Beth told me what the cops wanted to hear.

The truth is, I wanted to hear that everything would be all right too.

I don’t like negativity. I thought this was all behind me. I didn’t

want to be in jail again. I wanted to be home with my family. Deep

down, I know Beth was as scared as me, but this time she never let it

show. We both hold on to our faith and believe the Lord will deliver

us from whatever situation we’re in.

Sometimes I don’t have enough faith and Beth might not have

enough faith, but together, between the two of us, we’ve got enough

for that mustard seed.

The cop who let me make the call to Beth turned his back for

a minute.

I whispered in the phone, “Blast ’em, honey. Do you hear me?

Get me outta here. Blast the news and get me outta here.”

From years of experience, we understood that cops can’t behave

badly when the media is watching. And all eyes were on the Dog.

The marshals made a lot of mistakes that day, but the biggest

one by far was not arresting Beth. If they had taken her out of the

picture, she would never have gotten the national spotlight shining

on my arrest the way she did. It was pure genius on her part. I am

sure the government was pretty pissed off to hear Beth giving inter-

views within an hour of the arrest. She had unadulterated, truthful

knowledge of the case and was able to spin opinions before anyone

else got out there. She worked the press like a pro. If Beth had been

taken out of the picture, the government would have been success-

ful in doing their dirty business any way they wanted to.

That’s my Bethy. God, I love that woman.

Beth called our lawyers, congressmen, and local lobbyists.

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Something didn’t smell right. How could I have been taken in on

kidnapping charges, a felony, when the Mexican government had

only charged me with deprivation of liberty, which is a misde-

meanor? It wasn’t something the United States government would

ever extradite a citizen for. It didn’t make sense.

At some point that day, Beth called a local bondsman and my

number-one competitor, James Lindblant, to tell him I had been

taken into custody. We weren’t sure if there would be bail or not,

but she wanted to be prepared to get me out. Beth told him I was

being held in the Federal Detention Center, in the bottom of the

Federal courthouse in Honolulu. The holding cell (also called a

shoe) was small, like the size of a closet. It was an outrage. They

treated me like Hannibal Lecter, but worse. One of the lieutenants

came into the shoe, cuffed me, walked me twenty steps, and told me

to get naked. Next, he said, “Bend over.”

Leland and Tim were by themselves in separate cells somewhere

nearby. Because of Beth’s outreach to the media, the boys and I had

to be treated with respect. They couldn’t beat us or put us in cells

pretending nothing was happening. Once the public knew what was

going on, the uprising began.

Later that day, the same lieutenant came back to talk to me. He

sat me down and said, “I’m sorry this is happening to you, Dog.”

“I appreciate that, brother.” I felt like one of the guys I talk to

on my show. This lieutenant was giving me the “Dog speech.”

“Dog, this is all going to work out. It’s politics.” He encouraged

me not to do anything stupid, like attempt to run or try to kill my-

self. He intimated that the warden was afraid of me. That’s why the

warden ordered the lieutenant to act the way he did. I appreciated

his words, but I was still mad as hell because I was treated so inhu-

manely.

The U.S. Marshals started coming under attack almost immedi-

ately after the story broke. The media wanted to know why I was

being charged with kidnapping when the charge was deprivation of

liberty. Ron Johnson and the federal prosecutor’s office also began

to feel the heat, as well as the judge who signed the warrant. The

concerned public, fans and nonfans alike, began calling radio sta-

tions and talk shows to express their outrage. Geraldo Rivera called

to see if there was anything he could do to help. Donny Deutsch

called to offer his assistance. Sharon Osbourne called from England

F r o m M i s d e m e a n o r t o F e l o n y

313

to tell Beth that Ozzie was issuing a statement to the press in sup-

port. I could see the marshals were reeling from the fallout.

The media surrounded our home, the courthouse, everywhere

they could to make sure they got the story as it was unfolding. It

was like Diamond Head was erupting all over Hawaii.

Duane Lee got to the house later that afternoon. He was devas-

tated by the thought of his dad being in jail again. At twenty-eight

years of age, he was watching his father go back to jail for a crime

he didn’t commit. Duane Lee was five years old when he watched

me get hauled off for first-degree murder. He was that little boy

with his hands over his ears, the same age then as my Gary Boy

now. My two sons will forever have that in common. It breaks my

heart to think of any of my children being in pain. A child shouldn’t

have to witness a parent being carted away in handcuffs like an

animal.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that when you’re in jail in

a good ol’ boy state, you’ve gotta call a good ol’ boy to get you out.

That meant calling my lawyer, Brook Hart.

The law is very specific about setting bail in my situation. The

bottom line is, there is no bail for a fugitive wanted on kidnapping

charges. The only way I could get out was to prove special circum-

stances, which is a phenomenally tough job, if you can do it at all.

Brook never wavered. He went to the hearing the next day and did

the good ol’ boy thing with the judge, practically winning him over

on the spot. They agreed to process the request, which would set me

free while all of this mess got straightened out. Brook came to my

cell to give me the good news.

“Dog, it’s going to be two to three weeks before we get a hear-

ing, but I think you’ll be able to get out after that.”

I grabbed the screen separating Brook and me and said, “You’re

fired.”

He looked stunned. I’m guessing he thought he was delivering

good news when he said I’d be spending two or three weeks in a fed-

eral facility.

“Get me the hell outta here. I’m not waiting a couple of weeks.”

In all fairness, Brook didn’t have time to prepare a “special cir-

cumstances” case in the few hours he had before appearing in court

the first day. He had no trouble figuring it out for the hearing the

following day. Carl Smith was there from the law offices of Carl

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Smith Ball, because James Blancarte was still flying to Hawaii. I had

a powerful legal team assembled within hours. Across the table,

fighting on behalf of the government, was Ron Johnson. My team

successfully argued that Leland, Tim, and I had no place to go. We

couldn’t run, we couldn’t hide. They argued that as a television per-

sonality, I was too high-profile, which meant I wasn’t a flight risk.

The lawyers did everything they could to get me out. Somehow, they

got the judge to agree. After a day and a half, I was out of jail.

As of the writing of this book, my case still hasn’t been resolved.

This issue looms over my head every single day. I cannot express

how disappointing it has been that the United States and Mexican

government can’t seem to forgive the “crime” of finding Andrew

Luster. Until this case is resolved, I remain unsettled and fearful

about my future, not to mention weary of the whole shameful pro-

cess. I can only hope and pray the Lord has a plan.

C h a p t e r F i f t y - e i g h t

A FINAL THOUGHT

After writing this
book, I got to thinking about all of the

crazy stuff that’s happened in my fifty-three years of living. I won-

dered how my obituary might read if I bit the dust, hit the dirt,

keeled over tomorrow. Would I be remembered as badass biker, a

convicted felon, or a murderer? Would my good deeds and pursuit

of justice and freedom define me? All my life, I have felt like a

leader, someone setting new standards, and someone who is not

afraid to break traditional rules. Everything that has been taken

from me in my life, God has given me back three times over. I can-

not dwell on that which is missing, because I have truly been blessed

by God in every way.

I don’t think everyone I pick up is a bad person or a career crim-

inal. In fact, most of the people I go after these days are just making

bad choices in their lives. It’s degrading and humiliating to be

caught for a crime, so I try to treat these people with dignity if it

might help them see their life in a new way. Being kind helps me af-

fect positive change, which is truly my motivation for being out

there in the first place. Where mercy is shown, mercy is given.

I am emotionally impacted by every capture. On one hand, the

experience is still exhilarating. I still get the same thrill out of a

chase that I did the first time I caught a bounty. My adrenaline gets

pumping and my heart still races with excitement every single time.

The hardest part of my job comes a few hours after I make the bust.

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

Once I calm down, I begin to think about the people I caught. I feel

terrible having to put them in jail. I cry for their pain, families, and

future because I know firsthand they will be destined for failure if

they don’t make some life-altering choices when they get out.

Several years ago, I went to a house in Denver to pick up a fugi-