SOCIETY/CULTURE: Scrutiny of the Bounties

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By Leslie Harpold

The term "bounty hunter" conjures up myriad made-for-TV movie images, like that of the wronged loner on the lam from The Man, trying to track down the real perpetrator and clear his good name. But the real world was not made for TV; the likelihood is low that you will run into some Lorenzo Llamas-like bounty hunter with a team of tech experts backing him up, fighting all kinds of fires for hire while searching for the man who put him behind bars in the first place. Playing within that syndicated series paradigm "hunter... or hunted?" is strictly for television.

No matter your sexual preference, the only way to describe Kevin is "cute." Fair-skinned, raven-haired Irish with a baby face that had me guessing he was 23. Truth is he's 32. He looks like any guy, literally. Preppie even. His friend Gene is 6'3" and wiry, and a consummate dart player. Gene doesn't look like he could hurt a fly. Looks can deceive. Kevin and Gene are professional bounty hunters.

"I got into this business because I like two things: I like money, and I like to beat people up."

"I got into this business because I like two things: I like money, and I like to beat people up," Kevin explains as Gene laughs and gets another beer. "It's a certain kind of high. I was a bad kid — I'm not gonna lie to you — and this way, I get to be a good guy, I get in less trouble."

"And sometimes you get to beat on punks," Gene adds.

Most of the time, they make their money by picking up loose criminals who've jumped bail. Bail jumpers are mostly people who are picked up for selling drugs, felony possession (intent to sell), or weapons possession charges — people with long rap sheets who are on their last dime before they get serious repeat-offender time.

In New York City, the police department does not offer large rewards for the capture of most criminals. One thousand dollars is the standard reward provided through the NYPD Foundation for the arrest and indictment of any violent felon. "The real money," Gene explains, "comes when someone does something to somebody who is a somebody, or related to a somebody. Then you get private reward money on top of it. That's rare though, that's not where we get paid most of the time."

Most of the time, the money comes from bail bondsmen. Bonds generally require a cash outlay of ten percent the amount of bail, depending on the individual's flight risk; so a $25,000 bail generally costs $2,500 to post. The bondsman writes a bond to the courts for the full bail, and the person is released until trial. This offers opportunity for those who know that their luck has run out to leave town, or at least go underground. At this point, the person who sponsored the bond (typically some relative or friend of the accused) is liable for the difference between purchase price and full value.

Realistically, the sponsor usually doesn't have the full amount to compensate the bond issuer for his loss. It is then in the bondsman's interest to see the accused returned to the police to face trial. Worth enough to offer at least double the price paid for the bond — for him, a $5,000 reward is a small investment to recoup what could be a $25,000 loss. The bondsman puts up this reward in private agreements with the bounty hunters; what the bounty hunters do straddles the line between legal and illegal activity, and as a lending institution, a bail bondsmen are wary of openly associating with them.

"There's professional respect — they're professional, we're professionals. They see us, and they just stay very calm, and say 'Okay, man, let's do it.'"

Sometimes, the bounty hunters can glean information from the police. Like tip-offs as to who has recently disappeared, the police's interest being in serving justice and, although they don't admit to it, in racking up successful collars — arrests that lead to prosecution, feathers in their caps within the NYPD meritocracy.

"We find out from the cops who they want, and then go to the bail guys we know, and see what they've got. Some of [the criminals] we know, just from... around," Kevin will not go into details, though it's not uncommon for guys like Kevin and Gene to have little side projects, like illegal bookmaking, which keeps them familiar with the underground. When possible, the police and the bail bondsman will give bounty hunters info about who the fugitive's posse is, where they got picked up, where to start looking. Since these criminals tend to be lifestyle criminals, creatures of habit who like to keep the money flowing, most merely return to a slightly altered version of their old routines.

"It's not that hard. These guys know who we are and when they see us, if they're smart, they just fold. They don't try to run that much. There's professional respect — they're professional, we're professionals. They see us, and they just stay very calm, and say 'Okay, man, let's do it,' and get in the van. If they're really cooperative, and chill, we'll let them make a phone call or give them a chance to empty their pockets." Emptying the pockets can be valuable to the fugitive for one reason: If they are apprehended and found with firearms, knives or drugs on their person, it only makes the charges more severe. By the time they get picked up by a bounty hunter, they're already in enough trouble.

So where do the beatings come in? "Sometimes they're not that chill" Kevin explains. "We're not held to the same code of ethics the police are. They don't care what kind of shape they get them in, just as long as they get them." Here's where they have their fun. If someone's out on bond and they try to escape, or avoid capture, Kevin and Gene beat them. They generally don't shoot at people, preferring the skin-to-skin contact. Since bounty hunters tend to work in teams of four, they frequently outnumber their prey. The police don't ask the bounty hunters how they caught the fugitive, they just take their names and lock up the criminal. By going on the run, you forfeit many rights.

I ask Kevin if the police ever ask them to track down certain individuals as favors — drug traffickers, for instance, whom the cops want but who aren't actually jumping a bond. The practice is illegal, but it keeps the cops happy and helps them forget about little indiscretions like sideline bookmaking.

"Want another beer?" he asks me. I accept, and repeat my question. "Want another beer?" he repeats. I think I have my answer.

Leslie Harpold is a freelance writer and is editor of Smug. She hangs around with riff raff.

Illustrations by Federico Jordan.

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