Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [26]
Even though the judge was easy on him, it wasn’t enough to deter his behavior or keep Tucker out of trouble. By the time he was eighteen years old, his stealing had become even more out of control. One night, Beth and I were watching the evening news when we heard a story about a robbery in a local hotel room. Two men had broken into a hotel and stolen computers and other electronic equipment from a Japanese businessman. They duct taped the man’s hands and feet together so he couldn’t move and covered his mouth so he couldn’t yell for help. Beth looked over at me and said, “That sounds like something Tucker would do.” And she was right, because Tucker always had duct tape around. At first he used it to amuse Bonnie Jo, who was just a baby. She loved touching the sticky part of the tape. And then one day we came home to find Bonnie Jo’s hand taped to the side of her head. Beth warned Tucker not to do that ever again. But that didn’t stop him. Another time, we found the baby’s wrists bound by the tape.
“Someday that tape is going to be the end of you!” Beth warned Tucker.
Although Beth had her suspicions, I never once thought that my son would commit such a serious crime. I have a knack for ignoring the obvious when it comes to my children. When Tucker came by the house the next day, I asked him if he had anything to do with the robbery. He was emphatic in his answer. “No way, Dad. I would never do something like that.” His denial felt sincere and that was all I needed to hear to put my mind at ease.
Somewhere along the way, Barbara Katie, Tucker, and Baby Lyssa made a pact with one another: They would never rat on each other, ever. But I could tell something was going on because Barbara Katie kept telling me she had something to say but never offered up the information. Beth and I sat Tucker down again and reminded him of the time we called the police on him after he stole the Christmas gifts.
Beth said, “Tucker, if you’ve got something to tell us, say it now before it’s too—”
“OK, I did it!” he confessed.
Beth and I looked at each other.
“Did what?” I asked.
“I stole the computers. I robbed the Japanese guy, Dad. I’m sorry!”
His confession put me in the worst position I have ever been in as both dad and bounty hunter.
“Son, you have to leave my house right now,” I said. “If my phone was to ring and it’s the police asking about you, I’d have to take you in. You need to walk out that door right now. I can’t harbor a known fugitive in my house, Tucker. I could go to jail. You have to go.” This time, there was absolutely nothing I could do to help my son. He was on his own. The anguish and guilt nearly killed me.
Shortly after he fled, I received a call from local authorities who asked me to help them find Tucker. They knew for sure he was one of the guys who pulled off the heist.
“Listen,” I said. “You’re talking about my son. How dare you call and ask me to help you find him. The mayor’s son has been wanted on drug charges four or five times and I am positive you didn’t ask him to find his kid. You wouldn’t call a fellow cop if you were looking for one of his kids. Why would you call me? I won’t do it. I won’t help you arrest my son.” I slammed down the phone.
Tucker was apprehended a couple of weeks later, but not before putting up a good fight. In fact, I heard he was stopped in Honolulu.
“Tucker!” It was a local police officer.
Tucker spun around, got right in the cop’s face, and said, “What did you just say to me? Did you just call me a f**ker? Who the hell are you to call me a ‘f**ker’?”
Apparently a crowd began to gather as Tucker and the cop had this exchange. My son got the police officer so flustered, he let him go. OK, I’ll admit, Tucker