You Can Run but You Can't Hide (31 page)

took Tim under my wing as a surrogate son. He was smart, edu-

cated in bail, and fearless. He knew the business cold. He is the same

Tim Chapman I work with to this very day. One of the other boys

was Max, who was the son of the vice president of the national mo-

torcycle club, the Outlaws, and little Lee was the son of another bail

bonds family, and David Bautista, who I brought into the bail bonds

business from selling Kirbys.

I began noticing these kids were constantly getting into trouble.

They all knew the bail bonds business from watching their parents

over the years. When their parents were tossing them out of the

house, I recognized the benefit of their knowledge and presence

right away. I was the guy who always caught their parents jumps, so

to them I was “cool.” They wanted to be around me because I

wasn’t their dad, but I could lead them in a way that kept them out

of trouble. I began using these kids to help out around Free as a

Bird Bail Bonds. I gave them all badges and radios so they felt like

they appeared “official.” They loved it and it worked well for me

because I needed the help.

I read
Billy the Kid
and wanted to have a gang of “Regulators”

like he did. These neighborhood boys fit the bill. I even took them all

on a road trip to visit to Wyoming where Billy the Kid once hung out

with his guys so we could connect like a true gang. We built a big

campfire one night and I swore each of these boys in to my version

of the Regulators. We made a pact that night to commit ourselves to

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fight for truth and justice together. The following Monday, we

started our crusade to wipe out the city of Denver’s “wanted.”

I trained the Regulators to be my eyes and ears. I sent them out

on fact-finding missions, bounties, wherever I needed help in the

pursuit of a client who jumped bail. Everyone knew who I was, so it

was becoming harder to go unnoticed. These young guys were vir-

tually invisible to the bail jumpers. It was easy to send them over to

see if someone’s car was in front of a particular house or if the per-

son was at a local bar. The Regulators could slip in and out without

the fugitive knowing. That helped me nab my man every time.

These kids took their oath to the Dog very seriously. They were

always on time and never missed a day of work. They respected me

because I was the guy who used to be them. I turned my life around.

They could see the opportunity to become something more than a

petty criminal by working with me to get the bad guys off the streets.

I talked to them about life, God, and living a good life all the time. I

offered the promise of a better plan if they followed in my footsteps

and stayed clean. Whenever they had personal setbacks, I’d be there

to encourage them to keep moving forward. I showed them love and

acceptance by always giving them another chance. I felt like the Pied

Piper trying to lead these boys who had mostly been degraded and

belittled their whole lives by living my life so as to be a positive exam-

ple. Two years later, all of these boys were as well known in the com-

munity as I was. It made them feel great knowing people saw them

doing good things for the community by getting criminals off the

streets. These days, my wife and children are my Regulators. I still do

the master planning, but they are all as loyal as my original gang.

Beth and I did suggest that a felon be required to wait a certain

number of years before being allowed to bounty hunt, much like the

law for bondsmen. Senator Lawrence got behind that idea. She

pushed the amendment through so I could get back to bounty hunt-

ing. The final vote was thirty-one ayes, two nays, and two absten-

tions. And, just for the record, Senator Ken Clover voted yes. I guess

he likes most types of pie after all!

Do you want to know why there’s a group of bounty hunters out

there who make it their full-time job to discredit me and destroy my

reputation? It started in the mid-nineties, just after Beth and I

joined together in the business. People were scared of us. We were

seen as a threat to the way all of the other bondsmen in Denver

O n e S t e p F o r wa r d

189

were doing business. They took advantage of their clients in ways

we would never, ever consider. They were afraid we would blow the

lid off of their unsavory practices.

Two things to know about Beth and me: First, we don’t believe

bounty hunters should carry guns. There are lots of other non-lethal

weapons that can stun, stop, or sedate someone without killing them.

My weapon of choice is Mace. Second, Beth and I consider most of

our clients to be human beings who simply made bad choices. We

want to help them overcome their lives of crime. We will counsel

them, guide them, and talk to them like they’re friends. In our eyes,

they are all our brothers and sisters. We are honest about their situ-

ation. We will tell them they’re screwed but also reassure them that

they can get a good lawyer and rehabilitate their lives if they want

to. Unlike most other people in our business, Beth and I genuinely

want to see our clients change their lives.

One day I was out collecting a thousand dollars from one of my

clients in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven in Denver. We were making

the exchange when I noticed a couple of guys approaching us wear-

ing camouflage jackets and baseball hats that had big bold letters on

the front: BEA. They both carried two guns strapped to their hips.

When I first caught a glimpse of them, I thought their hats said

DEA. I’m sure the exchange of cash looked like a drug deal was go-

ing down. To make matters worse, I didn’t have my badge on me.

One of the two approached me and asked, “What are you guys

doing out here?”

I took off my sunglasses, handed them to my client, and said,

“Here, honey, hold these for me.”

As I turned around, I realized their hats said BEA and said,

“BEA. What the hell does that stand for?”

“Bail bonds Enforcement Agent.”

I asked the guy, “You got any Vaseline on you? Because I’m Dog

Chapman and those guns you’ve got are going up your ass.”

When I started walking toward them, they turned and ran to

their cars screaming, “Run, it’s the Dog!!”

Anytime I see the BEA guys carrying guns, I do whatever it takes

to stop them. These guys are not qualified to carry weapons. They’re

not cops. Cops are trained experts who shoot to kill. That is, they’re

taught to fire only when deadly force is necessary to save lives. They

don’t shoot to wound in order to bring someone in.

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

A week later, I was in the jail booking another fugitive when an-

other BEA guy walked in wearing an empty holster and bragging

about pistol whipping a client. He saw me sitting there with my

fugitive but refused to acknowledge me. I stood up to confront the

guy, got into his face, and said, “You know who I am. You know I

don’t like that kind of talk. Why are you even carrying a gun?”

This guy said to me, “I don’t care if you don’t carry a gun. I’m

gonna dance on your grave.”

I was about to rumble with him right there inside the court-

house. I didn’t give a shit. Beth is a bondsman, I knew she’d get me

out. He was a chickenshit and wouldn’t take my bait. Later I saw

him outside in the parking lot talking to his wife. I waved him over

to talk, toward where I was standing.

“Come here, brother. Let’s say a prayer together.” I’m sure he

thought I was about to eat crow.

“Dear God, give this pussy-packin’ punk some balls. I’m going

to beat his ass to the ground right now. I want you to give him the

strength Joshua had at the Battle of Jericho, because he’s going to

need it after this ass-whooping.” I took a step back, spit at both of

my clenched fists, and said, “What was that you said about dancing

on my grave, white boy?”

He was shaking like a nervous Chihuahua. I turned to his wife

and said, “You see that, honey? You married a pussy. You see the

punk you got here, baby?”

I turned back to the guy and said, “C’mon. Show me how you’re

going to dance on my grave,” as if he was going to Fred Astaire his

ass in front of me.

Just then, his wife stepped in between the two of us to stop the

fight. She was yelling, “Stop, Dog. He’s legally blind. He’s got 40/90

vision!”

I was out of my mind at the thought that this gun-toting Stevie

Wonder had a weapon permit! Why would a man who is legally

blind be allowed to carry a gun?

The next thing I saw was his skinny little ass hiding behind his

wife as they ran toward their car.

To this very day I fight with the guys from the BEA. I hate them,

and they can’t stand me. I’ll continue my crusade to ban bounty

hunters from carrying guns until the day comes that we are all on

the same side of that subject.

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

GOING HOLLYWOOD

Hollywood has been
knock-knockin’ on my door for sev-

eral years. A few years before the Luster case plastered me all over

the front pages, I met a man on a flight from Los Angeles to Hon-

olulu. He was seated next to me in first class. I hardly ever talk to

people on planes. I don’t like flying. The young man asked my name

and what I did for a living. For some unknown reason, I was an

open book that day.

He was engaged before wheels-up. For five and a half hours,

he asked me question after question about my life. How’d I get

started? Have I ever been hurt? What was prison like?

I don’t believe I’ve ever talked more on a plane than I did that

day. A couple of hours into the flight I asked the guy his name.

“Chris McQuarrie.”

“Oh yeah? Well, nice to meet you, Chris. What do you do?”

“I’m a screenwriter.”

“Ever have a movie produced?”

He smiled in a way that made me feel kind of stupid for not

recognizing his name or something.

“Yes, I have had a movie produced. Maybe you saw it.
The Usual

Suspects
?”

I love that movie. I was practically starstruck. We exchanged

phone numbers and talked about getting together while Chris was in

Hawaii. I didn’t expect to hear from him, but I hoped he would call.

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

Later that night, I told Beth about my new friend.

“Who the hell was she, Duane?” She was suspicious as hell,

thinking I met a woman.

I let out a boisterous laugh. “No. No. I met this guy, Chris

McQuarrie, and . . .” Right away she knew who he was. Beth

knows that kind of stuff. She was leery as I told her how he talked

about wanting to write a movie about my life. Beth is always prag-

matic in my otherwise overly optimistic world. Before she could tell

me she thought he was full of it, the phone rang. Thank God.

“Hey, Dog. How ya doing? It’s Chris. Let’s get together and talk

a little more about the movie idea.”

I smiled and laughed. For once, I could hand the phone over to

Beth before she called me a liar or fool. I wanted Chris to confirm

what he told me right in her ear.

“It’s for you, honey.”

It’s true, Beth and I had become very wary of Hollywood and its

players. There had been lots of guys before Chris who promised

big-money deals and never delivered. Hollywood is a lot of smoke

and mirrors. You never know who you’re talking to or what they are

really all about. One thing you can count on is that everyone has his

own agenda. You are merely a pawn to move around to promote

whatever that plan is. It’s hard to tell players from liars. I’d been

drawn in many times by seemingly reputable people; I never knew

when I was being played.

So, when this crazy Russian named Boris Krutonog called me

in 1995, I was already so jaded I didn’t pay him a lot of attention. He’d

read about me in Tony Robbins’s book,
Awaken the Giant Within.

“Dog, I am so fascinated by your story.” Even though Boris is

Russian he sounded a lot like Arnold Schwarzenegger in
The Ter-

minator.

As long as I can remember, people have been telling me I’d be

famous. I always believed that one day people around the world

would recognize the Dog for something good. There have been

plenty of times in my life I’ve dreamed of seeing my name up there

on a marquee. But I’d had so many calls like the one I got from

Boris, I was practically numb listening to him speak. I was void of

emotion. I couldn’t get my hopes up again, just to have someone lie

to me, use me, and mislead me for their own purposes. I thought it

was all a bunch of horsecrap.

G o i n g H o l ly w o o d

193

“Yeah, thanks for the call, brother, but I have to hang up.” I was

nice, but quick to get off the phone.