Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [78]
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