Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given (2010) (18 page)

Whenever a cop shows up at a scene we’re working, we fear what type of cop he is. Will he embrace us and work with us? Or will he make it difficult for me to do my job? Every time we make an arrest, we always risk a cop siding with the fugitive and not us.

This is especially disconcerting because most police officers don’t know the laws that protect bounty hunters. Unlike the police, I can enter private property unannounced and without a warrant. I don’t even have to read a fugitive their Miranda rights before making the arrest. Some states require bounty hunters to be licensed, while others only ask for bounty hunters to register with them. They refer to bounty hunters as peace officers, officers of the court, and people who aid government officials. Whatever it’s called, bounty hunting is an essential element to effectively fighting crime.

But every time I’m out on a bust, I never know if the cops I come into contact with in the field are friend or foe. Not long ago, we were out making a bust when the police showed up at the house where we’d arrested our fugitive. One of the officers began questioning the home
owner, who told him we broke into her house. When the cop asked me if that was true, I told him, no.

The cop said, “I certainly hope that’s true, Dog, because if it’s not, you’re all going to jail. Now, get out of here!”

“I will not. I’ve got proof we got permission and I’ll use it if I have to.” Of course, I was referring to my camera crew, who’d captured the entire bust on tape. It’s generally not a great idea to offer up my footage as evidence, unless I really have to, because the police will confiscate all of it. Usually if I find myself in a position where that’s my only option, I’ll take the arrest and defend myself later. The fact is, I ultimately have to be responsible to uphold the law when I am out on a hunt because not only could I lose my job with A&E, I could also go to jail.

It really hurts my feelings that some cops see me as the enemy. I’ve got thirty-plus years in the field chasing down criminals. I’ve had experiences most cops will never have throughout their entire career. I’d love to share my techniques and information on chasing fugitives with the proper authorities so they can share in the knowledge I’ve acquired over the years. I respect the police and the service they provide. Whenever I see cops in a restaurant, I make it a point to pick up their check as a small gesture to let them know how I feel. I always tell the waitress not to tell them who picked up the tab, because I don’t want the recognition. I just want to say thanks for all they do. Unless the police and bounty hunters learn to work together, fugitives can use the system to keep themselves from being caught. Cops and bounty hunters are on the same side of the law—they ought to join forces to serve and protect citizens from dangerous criminals on the run.

There have been all sorts of laws proposed to govern the field of bounty hunting, ranging from not allowing the use of real firearms to restricting our right to enter a private citizen’s home. To be clear, bounty hunters are
not
vigilantes, executioners, or police officers. It isn’t our responsibility to execute the sentence, but merely to pick up the fugitive and deliver them to the court. Because the laws vary from state to state, I think bounty hunting has become a business that now needs some kind of regulation to govern what we can and cannot do.

I’m disappointed that the National Association of Bounty Hunters has never asked me to speak at a function and has never asked me to become a member of their organization. I think I would bring a lot of clout to the table to help establish our profession as a viable and respectable field. The only time they tried to associate, or should I say disassociate, with me was after I was arrested in Mexico, when they were quick to point out that they would have never apprehended Luster like I did. Well, I guess we all know how that story ends. Even so, I would be honored to be a part of the association one day because I know our collective voice would bring the right type of attention to our chosen profession. Since I have become the very best in the field, I would be an ideal advocate to help mediate between the association and the government, to come up with laws that would effectively regulate the business while taking the needs of both parties into consideration. Although I am the poster boy for the profession, many bounty hunters think I am the very person ruining it. For all of those doubters, I have one thing to say: You’re sadly mistaken.

The higher up the rank of an officer, the better we generally get along. The rookies trying to make a name for themselves loathe bounty hunters. Let’s face it: I’m the guy out there
catching
criminals while some of these guys are still
chasing
them. This constant tension with my profession combined with a personal feud I wasn’t aware of led to a surprise meeting set up with a Honolulu police major and Beth and me. Let’s just say he wasn’t a huge fan of mine. One thing is for sure. He is not sitting at home on Wednesday nights watching my show.

Beth and I have never been known for our promptness, so of course, we were twenty minutes late on the day of our big meeting. James Lindblad, my good friend and the number one bondsman in Hawaii, was also at the meeting, but of course he arrived on time. When we walked in, Lindblad was just coming out of the meeting room. He said the meeting was over before it began.

I figured I could smooth talk the major into hearing what we had to say, so we walked into his office anyway. He barely looked up from his desk when he said, “You’re late. Meeting’s over. Leave.”

When I was selling Kirby vacuums back in the day, I never took no for an answer. If a farmer’s wife told me she couldn’t afford the machine, I talked to her until she realized she couldn’t afford
not
to own one. So when the major informed me that our meeting was over before it began, I fell back on my vacuum salesman days.

“Listen, Major,” I said. “I am really sorry we are late. The traffic here in Honolulu has gotten so bad. I mean, you know, you live here too.” I looked him straight in the eyes so he could tell I was being sincere. I thought he was going to eat right through one of his pencils as we tried to apologize for our tardiness, and then I did the only thing I could think to do: I introduced him to Beth, saying, “This is my wife.” He didn’t have the courtesy to acknowledge her. He couldn’t have cared less that we were there to talk. It was pretty obvious the major wasn’t going to budge. He didn’t want to hear a word we had to say.

I was there to discuss an administrative procedure that states that as a bounty hunter, if a prisoner is hurt, I am supposed to take him to the hospital first, obtain a release when he is deemed okay by the attending physician, and then bring him to the local jail. I had a problem with the details of this procedure. If the prisoner is wanted, I’m not a doctor, so if he were injured, I wouldn’t know how serious it was, but I don’t want to walk him down to the hospital, where he could run or, worse, harm other civilians, and I don’t carry a gun, so I wouldn’t be able to deter him with a firearm if he got out of hand.

Beth and I tried to explain all of this to the major, but he was too angry to listen. Our words were falling on very deaf ears. Beth began to get a little heated at his lack of response. She pointed out that the police carry guns and are able protect themselves against the unpredictable behavior of a prisoner. We don’t and aren’t. We simply find them and bring them in to the station where they become the police’s responsibility.

Sure, I have been known to leave a prisoner cuffed to a post outside the hospital or police station so he’s someone else’s problem. But I walk away knowing where my fugitive is and where he will be. I get paid either way.

Now, these tactics don’t make the cops all that happy, but to be fair, I don’t practice them often enough for it to be a problem. But I have done this sort of thing a couple of times where it stirred a rumor or two that I do this for the sake of television. Not true. Everything on my television show actually happens just as you see it at home. It’s not staged, scripted, or planned in advance. My show is true
reality
television. What you see is what you get.

When Beth’s tone changed from sharp to sultry in our meeting, the major began to get even madder. My wife knows how to turn on the charm and use her femininity to the max. Guys like the major hate that in a woman. There are some men who don’t like strong women, and he was one of them. Of course, Beth was well aware of this, so she used her strengths to prey on his weaknesses.

She pointed to the major and said, “Look at this guy. He’s been giving me the stink eye for this whole meeting. Do you think he likes us when we bring prisoners in they can’t find? We have the right to arrest a fugitive just like you do. This guy gives us nothing but problems for doing the job he can’t.”

If looks could kill, then Beth would have been a goner.

The major shot back a quick retort. “Yeah, you use your badges like you’re cops, but you’re not. What about that guy you nabbed at the airport a couple of weeks ago? You had no right to arrest him. “

“Like hell I didn’t,” I shot back. “The guy was wanted on twelve charges of sexual assault. He was bonded for one crime or another for the past three years and was planning to leave before he got permission from the court. I couldn’t take that risk, so I grabbed him before he fled. Would you prefer him safely locked up or out on the streets where he could commit more crimes?”

“How did you know he was about to run?” the major asked. “C’mon, it was a setup for your show, right?”

“No!” I told him. “A friend called to say he’d bought a plane ticket to Florida and was leaving on a flight the very next day.”

I got to the airport just as the guy was standing in line to go through security. When he saw me, all he could say was, “Sorry, Dog.” He
called his wife on the way to jail and said, “The Dog got me.” I booked that son of a bitch with his plane ticket and boarding pass in his pocket.

The major was still dissatisfied with how things were going. Just as Beth and I were about to leave, he called me over. He started questioning me about all the places I traveled to around the world for my job. I thought this was my one chance to show the major I was a good guy. I wanted to break the ice and make him like me. Boy, did I have him all wrong.

“You know, Duane,” the major started out, sounding a little like Barney Fife as he slowly began to make his point, “there are a lot of murders, rapes, and other types of crimes that happen all over the globe. Probably in places you might go or have already been to.”

I still wasn’t clear on where he was heading with what he was insinuating.

And then he said, “Are you aware of the law here in Hawaii that all felons have to have their DNA checked? I think we ought to be able to do it right now in the station while I’ve got you here instead of one of my guys having to pull you over and make a scene in public. You wouldn’t want another scandal to make the evening news, would you?”

I was flabbergasted. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Bring it on. Go get your swab.”

The major sent one of his sergeants to get the DNA kit. He must have run as fast as Carl Lewis because he was back in the room within sixty seconds or so.

I walked back toward Beth, who still wasn’t sure what was going on. She was upset, but we both knew I had to let them swab me because it is state law. The major could run every possible DNA match there was, but he wasn’t going to find anything, because I had nothing to hide. I suppose in a far-fetched world, it was possible that I was a “secret serial killer,” because people surely have died in all of the places I have been. Anything is possible. Even so, the major didn’t have to conduct himself like that. It was the height of disrespect and unprofessional behavior and everything I stand against when dealing with fugitives. I would never have acted that way—not even on my worst day in the field.

Not long after that meeting, I bumped into that same major again. I was delivering a prisoner to the local police station in Honolulu after a bust, when he came over and told me to move my car.

“You’re parked in police parking,” he said.

I tried to explain that I had a prisoner in custody and was entitled to use the spot.

“No, you’re not. You’re lay public, now move your vehicle before I have you towed!”

I was quick to point out that under
Taylor versus Taintor
, bounty hunters are acting in the capacity of the sheriff at the time of making an arrest. Despite everything I said and the case I cited, he still wasn’t buying my explanation. The major went back into the building to look up the law and check the accuracy of what I was saying. In the meantime, I walked my prisoner to the door of the station and handed him over like I always do. When I came back outside, the major was standing in front of my car with a smug look on his face and his arms folded.

“Bounty Hunter!”

“Yes, sir?” I said.

“Move your car, civilian. You’re in
my
spot now.”

At first I thought he was just being a punk, but then he gave me the Hawaiian shaka sign, waving his thumb and pinky finger in the air to let me know everything was all right. It was a small victory knowing I had won the major over. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting me to be cooperative when he called me into his office that day, or maybe he actually believed he would bust me for something after he swabbed me. Whatever his motivation was, he seemed to have a change of heart that day in the parking lot. It always makes me feel good when cops embrace the service we provide, but this time it was especially satisfying because this guy had been on my back for so long trying to trip me up. Thankfully, that day he was only yanking my chain. I looked over and said, “Thank you, sir. See you again, not too soon!” I smiled, got into my car, and drove away.

Roy Marasigan

J
ail is a wake-up call for most people. But once they’re awake, what do you do with them? Having been in the streets for the better part of my life, I understand the inner workings of the criminal mind. I often think that the justice system should consult with reformed criminals to help make better laws to protect the citizens the system is supposed to save from harm.

The federal justice system is broken. It hemorrhages money, when in fact it could be generating billions of dollars in revenue. Right now, the only people making money off of crime are the criminals and the lawyers who represent them. The justice system that fights against the criminal loses money.

When a criminal runs, I know I am going to make some money, but I have to work damn hard and will earn it. As a bondsman, my money is in jeopardy if a client decides to run and I’m not able catch him and bring him in. I’ve always claimed that my motivation to make sure every single person I bond shows up in court is to prevent the loss of my own money, something I don’t like very much. I have to capture that person if they run, and do it within thirty days or I won’t be able to put food on the table for my kids. That drives me to make sure I’m on top of the people I bond out.

And though it’s tue that I don’t like to lose money, between you and
me, the real reason I’m in the game is for the chase. When someone runs, it’s the best part of my job to know that I will chase them to the gates of hell if I have to.

Police don’t have the same motivation as a bondsman. They don’t have the deadlines or financial risk we have. They have every resource imaginable available to them, yet criminals run free. Our police agencies are terribly underpaid for the service they provide. Their departments are understaffed and slammed with more cases than they can handle. Because of that, the private sector has to be brought in to subsidize the workload.

If you have a skunk in your house or a stray dog gets loose, you can call your local humane society, which is supposed to come to your home and take care of these problems for you, courtesy of the taxpayers. Most people don’t take advantage of this service because they usually end up calling an exterminator and paying for the removal out of their own pocket.

A bondsman works much in the same way as an exterminator. He is the person in the private sector who does a better and more efficient job than the state-run public sector agency. The criminal justice system ought to be designed to work the same way a bondsman does—to make a profit off of criminals. They’re the house and the criminals are the players. The house should always win, but in the case of crime, the house continues to lose, and lose big.

Most bail bonds businesses are family-run operations that have been around for two, three, and even four generations. That connection makes it hard to walk away from the business, but there are also two years’ worth of liabilities that have to be squared away before you can shut your doors. It makes good fiscal sense to keep the business in the family so that the next generation can take over. The good news is that most bondsmen get to learn the system from the ground up because they have been in the business from an early age, which means they understand how the system works inside and out.

I’m a criminal justice expert. If I could, I’d like to be appointed the czar of criminal justice by the Obama administration, so I could help
create new laws and implement a better, more efficient system. Because of my years of experience in chasing criminals, I know what deters crime, which punishments work and which ones don’t. If I had the opportunity, I would love to work with a dream team of the experts I’ve met and worked with over the years, including friends from the FBI, local law enforcement, and people I respect and admire in other government agencies. Together, we could really make some positive changes in the system where the current programs simply don’t work.

Most states in our country have implemented a policy for certain offenders called “pretrial release.” The program is designed as an alternative to incarceration for all defendants who are initially unable to post bail. Although the program is meant for defendants accused of minor crimes, who pose no immediate threat of flight or danger to the community, many jurisdictions offer the program to criminals who don’t fit those criteria. It’s a state-run program funded by the federal government. It’s designed to relieve overcrowding and alleviate court burden for judges who have severely overbooked dockets.

The pretrial service interviews defendants so they can decide if that person is either worthy of a free bond or what is often referred to as a PR, a personal recognizance bond. In some states these are also called OR bonds, or own recognizance bonds. Any way you slice it, these are free bonds provided to defendants by the government, which in my opinion are nothing more than “get out of jail free” cards.

The program works by having a pretrial officer prepare a report based on the officer’s limited interview with the defendant, which ostensibly helps the court make an informed decision about whether that person should be released or detained. If that person is released, the pretrial officer becomes responsible for supervising them, assisting in complying with the conditions of their release, monitoring that compliance, providing necessary support services, and informing the court of any and all violations of those conditions.

Unlike bondsmen, pretrial officers don’t need a license to do what they do. They don’t have to take a state-mandated exam like the one that bondsmen are required to pass. They get very little instruction be
yond some administrative training and can’t really assess whether a defendant is a true threat to society or if they’ll ever show for their court appearance. The state doesn’t employ bounty hunters and there aren’t any who work for pretrial services. That job ends up falling on people who are called cops, which means that they’ll issue another warrant if the defendant bolts, but only after that guy’s file has sat on someone’s desk for three to six weeks before it gets entered into the system.

The percentage of defendants who run from the pretrial system exceeds 70 percent, a staggering figure when you consider that many of these are hardened criminals who have been put back out on the street because the program believed they weren’t risks. To put that into perspective for you, the percentage of my defendants who run hovers around 17 percent. Of those who are foolish enough to try to get away, I have brought 98 percent back to face their crimes. I’m still looking for the other 2 percent, and you and I both know who you are!

Unfortunately, none of our criminal justice departments can allocate the funds to send out a task force to reclaim all of these fugitives from the pretrial program, so they do the best they can, and don’t end up achieving much. Forty to 60 percent of all defendants will be released under the pretrial release program, which means that the state is letting these criminals back onto the street as fast as the cops are picking them up. The defendant doesn’t care if he shows up in court or not, because there is nothing to lose if he fails to appear. No one has the deed to his momma’s house or the pink slip to his daddy’s car, and he certainly isn’t afraid that the Dog will come looking for him. There are no repercussions for anyone—not the defendant or the pretrial officer, who doesn’t worry she’ll lose her car or home if her client runs, because she has no personal stake in it. It’s basically a system of “it’s not my problem,” because there is no deterrent. This inefficiency makes the pretrial service one of the most ridiculous drains on today’s judicial system.

Regardless of the state’s opinion, a bail bondsman offers a tremendous system of checks and balances. Because we secure bonds with a family member, a car, a house, or something of equal or greater value
to the bond, we are also providing a “get out of jail card,” but not for free. We will only get you out if you make a promise that you can financially back yourself up. If you can’t pay for the crime, then you will do the time. Period. I personally see to that.

And if you can’t pay the bail and act in a responsible way, I will take your momma’s house and see to it that you can’t get out of jail to commit more crimes. Repeat offenders should never be offered pretrial services—ever. The only people I believe qualify for this type of program and to be released on a personal release bond are first-time offenders who have never been in trouble before, have no criminal history, have committed a nonviolent crime, and have no reason to be looked at further than the jailhouse interview.

Illinois, Kentucky, Wisconsin, and Oregon are the only states in the union that do not allow bail bonds—they’ve actually outlawed them. They are the 10-percent-to-the-state states, meaning a defendant puts up 10 percent of their bail to the state instead of a bondsman. They only use the pretrial release program, which in my opinion has been absolutely disastrous for them. Thousands of victims will never get closure on their cases because their assailants have disappeared. In Chicago alone there are thousands of open cases on the books because the defendants cannot be found and they don’t convict in absentia. It has to be terribly frustrating for anyone trying to bring a fugitive to justice in those states, because the pretrial release program works against them.

Bounty hunting has been outlawed in Oregon since 1974, but recently the state has seen the error of its ways and is now trying to bring bail bonds and bounty hunting back. The bill has already cleared the House and is set to head to the full Senate for consideration. Senator Jason Atkinson actually said, “In the faint hope of meeting Dog the Bounty Hunter, I will vote yes.”

The state government in Oregon has recognized how much money it has wasted because it can’t bring fugitives to justice. If it allows bounty hunting, I can find these guys so that their cases can go forward and the victims can be vindicated. Case closed. The state gets the revenue
from the fines and crime goes down. I would volunteer my time to help any one of these states get its system in order so it could start making money on crime instead of losing it.

It used to be that the prison system was about incarceration
and
rehabilitation. Unfortunately, there’s only incarceration these days. There are no Tony Robbins courses in jail to help the inmates become rehabilitated, functioning members of society when they get out. We aren’t educating the inmates, teaching them how to read and write, or making sure they have a skill set when they’re released, so we aren’t preparing them to reenter a world where they have to make decisions all on their own. Their lack of decision-making skills is what landed most of these guys in the clink in the first place, so why on earth would we not offer them some type of program to help teach these inmates the skills they’ll need to not only survive but thrive on the outside?

We break them down but never build them back up. There are some people who think we shouldn’t offer prisoners anything—that they made their bed and now they have to lie in it. But to the prisoners I say, “Who cares what
they
think? You committed a crime, but you don’t get to lie around doing nothing.” That’s nothing more than free, lazy living. When I was in Huntsville, I spent my days picking cotton in one-hundred-degree heat and humidity. I’m certain that kind of hard-labor punishment works, because I never want to go back there again. If prison weren’t so easy, people wouldn’t be content with going there. For too many, prison is a free ride on easy street. Those guys get an all-expense-paid vacation, and guess who’s footing the bill? Me and you! In the meantime, your taxes go through the roof, your insurance rates are sky-high, and your identity is put at risk while the guy who stole your car stereo or used your Social Security number lies around in a cell for six months trying to figure out who he’s going to harm next.

Jail should be reserved for repeat offenders, those people who can’t get it through their heads that they cannot continue to commit crime. For first-time offenders, I’ve found that money is a great deterrent. Anytime a criminal has to go into his pocket and come up with cash,
it’s a big “ouch.” Money hurts those guys the worst. In this economy and in today’s society, we need to start looking for other means of punishment without it actually costing taxpayers money or becoming a burden to society.

Take someone like Leona Helmsley or Martha Stewart—two obviously brilliant women who had no prior criminal history. Their attitude and demeanor were why they ended up in jail. Like them or not, that’s not supposed to come into play when a judge is making his or her decision on sentencing. Both women were made to pay back the money they owed, suffered tremendous public humiliation, and were still sentenced to jail, where taxpayers had to pay for their incarceration. I don’t agree with that outcome. I think they should have been placed in welfare situations, sent to inner-city public recreation centers and schools, where they could have influenced the lives of those who were less fortunate. They could have had to spend their time showing people how to enter the workforce, helping them get back on their feet, and teaching them how to cook and sew. Surely their skills could have been taught to the underprivileged, easing the stress on our state budgets in the process. That would have allowed them to do something good for society without costing the state any additional money. And if the state still felt compelled to incarcerate these women, they should have been required to pay for their stay. They had the means and ability to subsidize the cost of their imprisonment. This type of alternative sentencing would have had a far greater impact on these women, because it would have knocked the chip off their shoulders. Instead, Martha came out of prison thinner, healthier than she had been in years, and with a television deal to do
The Apprentice,
while Leona Helmsely remained the Queen of Mean for the rest of her days, never showing remorse for what she had done to cheat the system.