Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [4]
Within a couple of days, Luster was sent back to America to serve his sentence, while the boys and I remained locked up for two weeks. Unable to make the kidnapping charges stick, the judge charged us with “deprivation of liberty,” a paltry misdemeanor. We were released from jail but were told to stay in Mexico to appear in court for that charge.
While we were waiting for our court date, my Mexican lawyer told me there was a rumor around Puerto Vallarta that some guys connected to Andrew Luster were in town looking for me. My lawyer had heard they were flashing around a lot of money to influence certain people in the Mexican legal system to reinstate the kidnapping charges. He also told me he’d heard there was a hit man looking for me, too. His professional legal advice was to flee. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of running. Even though I was staying at the Westin and was out of jail, I was still under house arrest. If I ran, I’d be a Mexican fugitive for the rest of my life. I didn’t want that hanging over my head, and besides, I’ve always said, “This blood don’t run.” I was the guy who chased fugitives. I wasn’t about to become one. But the alternative was to stay in Mexico until my case went to trial. It could be six weeks, six months, or six years before that happened. No one knew for sure.
I thought long and hard about what my lawyer was saying. He told me I was as good as dead if I stayed. That’s when I realized he was probably right. It was time to leave Mexico. I was assured that the misdemeanor charge was nonextraditable, so if I somehow made it over the border, there was no way I’d ever be sent back.
I called Beth to let her know we had concocted a plan, but I had to be cryptic in my explanation because I was certain that the feds were recording all of our calls. She understood what I was telling her, even though no one else who might have been listening could have. The boys and I packed up our stuff, loaded it into a rented van, and headed out as if we were going sightseeing for the day. I tried to act cool, but deep down I was scared to death. If we got caught, we’d be doing a lot more time than we were already facing. Thankfully, we were able to make it over the border without anyone catching on. I fell to my knees when I realized I was back in America. I looked up and saw the largest, most beautiful American flag waving above me. I was free, blessed, safe, loved, relieved, and very lucky. I kissed the ground beneath me. Thank God, I was home.
I had been counting on receiving at least $300,000 in compensation for capturing Luster. I’d funded the apprehension of this criminal with my own money under the assumption that I’d be entitled to recoup my cost plus a fee for his return to justice.
Unfortunately, the money never came through. When I went to collect my fees from the state, Judge Brodie, the judge who was now overseeing the reward case in Ventura County, California, said he wouldn’t give it to me because I broke the law in Mexico. He was duped into believing the allegations against me because of a document he had been given that had been signed by twenty-five hundred California bail agents expressing their displeasure with me and my conduct. Although the judge believed the document was authentic, it was not. An administrative person at the California Bond Agents Association offered up the letter without the consent of the organization’s members, making it look like the entire association was against me.
The judge persisted in his belief that I was a wanted man in Mexico and therefore wasn’t entitled to a dime. He told me that he wouldn’t “condone my vigilante tactics.” I couldn’t believe the judge saw me as a vigilante. It broke my heart that my good deed and pursuit of justice were being misconstrued. I was one of the good guys, and yet here I was being painted as a criminal for something I had done for my country, the state of California, and