Kickin’ Doors and Slappin’ Whores: Tales of a Cowboy Bounty Hunter

By Tony Smith

I wrote this book to inform and entertain people about a most misunderstood profession. I wanted to convey the fact that I am not some superhuman or a supercool character out of a movie but just some guy trying to make a living in a hard and dangerous profession.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546214649

Tony Smith

Dr. Alveda King is a Minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, a grateful mother and grandmother. She is a former college professor, author, mentor, stage and screen actress, Georgia State Legislator and presidential appointee. She has been “honored” and “blessed” to sit on several boards, and has received numerous awards and honors. Through her ministry of King for America and her vocation as Director of African American Outreach with Priests for Life, she devotes her God- given gifts and talents of writing, singing, song writing, producing and directing media projects and other gifts “to glorify God in the earth”. Tony Smith, Illustrator Extraordinaire is perhaps best known for his entertaining caricature gifts. When watching Tony draw, you can tell that he enjoys what he does; making people laugh! They keep him smiling! After attending the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, Tony started entertaining with caricatures and has been doing so since 1983. His talents also include portraiture and illustrations.

Book preview

KICKIN’ DOORS

AND

SLAPPIN’ WHORES

Tales of a Cowboy Bounty Hunter

Tony Smith

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2017 Tony Smith. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/26/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1465-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1463-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1464-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017916516

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 Rookie’s First Bust

Chapter 2 Gittin’ Rufus Wit It

Chapter 3 Texas Fiasco

Chapter 4 Soddy Daisy

Chapter 5 Spanky And Our Gang

Chapter 6 Mario Is Missing

Chapter 7 Oh Shit!

Chapter 8 Pete

Chapter 9 ‘Bama Drama

Chapter 10 Cali-Fornication

Chapter 11 Tony The Taser

Chapter 12 Debbie Got A Rush

Chapter 13 Ro’s Ho

Chapter 14 Amarillo’s Most Wanted

Glossary

To my wife Tina

Who has always stood

behind me or beside me

and sometimes in front of me.

I love you!

Prologue

F or well over a decade during the last century, I made a living hunting outlaws for bounty. Unlike most hunters, I was from a rural area, a long ways from big cities and urban sprawl where most of the work was, so from the start I had to be a nationwide hunter traveling hundreds and thousands of miles from home with very limited contacts in the area I worked. Also, unlike many hunters, I was married; my wife, a stay at home mom with a couple of kids. When I went after someone, I had no choice. I had to find them and bring them back. It was my own limited finances that funded each operation and each reward check had to cover my family’s bills and fund the next hunt. During this period my success rate was well over 95%.

Back when I started, the average citizen didn’t even know that Bounty Hunters still existed. Some Police and court personnel had heard of it and may have dealt with one, but it was seldom talked about. The Bounty Hunter was a shadowy figure that slipped into town and using unorthodox and sometimes down right dirty tricks would snatch a criminal and leave. His job was created by various case laws and judges decisions and a somewhat vagueness in the law, which granted him more authority than the Police. He got his training by surviving on the streets and in the backwoods of America and knew how evil people think and act. That’s training that money can’t buy.

In the writing of this book, some of the names and locations have been changed and then again, maybe they haven’t; however, all the stories are true to the best of my recollection. Unfortunately some of the best stories can’t be told because of various reasons: lawsuits, reprisals, open investigations, and some I just don’t want to talk about.

I would like to take this occasion to apologize to the reader for my bastardization of the English language. I speak southern English combined with Spanish and street slang with a lot of cowboy jargon thrown in. A reader of good breeding would probably need a translator to understand me.

I also apologize for the many curse words. I know that’s not nice; however, I’m not always nice.

ANYONE –ANYPLACE-ANYTIME

BOUNTY HUNTER

TONY SMITH

Private Eye Specializing in the Tracking of

BAIL JUMPERS, OUTLAWS AND DESPERADOS

Chapter 1

ROOKIE’S FIRST BUST

I t’s the 24 th day of May and it’s still cold up here in the Capitan Mountains of New Mexico. This is the same country that Pat Garret hunted Billy the Kid. Not much has changed I think as I sit in the bushes outside an apartment building on the outskirts of a little town near the Apache reservation.

I start to shiver and shake, is it the cold? Or am I just scared shitless? Probably both, I think to myself. Tucked inside the waistband of my jeans is an old 45, the metal touching my flesh is ice cold. I’m anxiously awaiting the return of my partner and for the sun to come up.

Adam has walked up the hill to a convenience store to call the cops and ask for some backup. Inside the building sleeps our quarry, a Mexican Mafia enforcer who has jumped bail on a piddly assed fraud charge up in Kansas.

I’m so tired and scared, I feel like a criminal myself sneaking around in the dark, packing a gun, and my brain does a reality check. Is this shit really legal? I remind myself of the State Statutes and case law that I have studied religiously and of the U.S. Supreme Court Decision of 1872 that upheld the Bondsman and their agents the right to pursue, capture and return their fugitives to custody using whatever means necessary.

My mind wanders back to how this all started when a Dodge City Bail Bondsman gave us our first case several months ago.

Even though Adam was an ex-cop and I was armed with a black belt in Ju-Jitsu we soon found out we were strictly rookies in this street-wise game of adult hide and go seek. Our skip was supposed to be living in Garden City, a rough, tough packing house town in Southwest Kansas about two hours from where we lived in Oklahoma. Our first night in the Barrio doing surveillance, we were confronted by some gangsters and literally run out of town. A few days later we heard from a contact in the neighborhood that everybody was laughing about how they ran the Gringo Bounty hunters out of town and how we’re a bunch of pussies, but we also learned that our desperado is living with his girlfriends’ parents and a good lead on their address.

Pistols, handcuffs, and flashlights, we head back to Kansas. I’ve also added a 12 gauge semi-automatic shotgun my daddy gave me, minus about six inches off the barrel. As we cruise toward our destination Adam, who is always good for some intellectual conversation, is unusually quiet. I don’t feel like talking either, something is gonna happen tonight I can feel it.

Its early evening, we arrive at our target location, still plenty of light and our guys’ pickup is parked out front. We unload. Adam pounds on the front door as I run around back of an old one-story house in need of some paint. I can hear him arguing with a Mexican woman up front, she won’t let him in. What should I do? I can’t leave the back unattended and I’ve got no cover if somebody starts shooting.

In a heartbeat I make a decision that will change my life forever as the ball of my foot makes contact with the door right under the knob. My adrenaline must have been off the charts ’cuz the door just explodes open, tearing out some of the wood in the frame and breaking the door down the middle.

Me and the shotgun come in. Hit the deck! I’m screaming.

Adam unshucks his .38 special and pushes his way past the old broad. We’re going through the house searching room by room. In the bathtub is an old man, buck-naked, who keeps yelling in English, but with a thick Spanish accent.

What the hell is going on! he repeats this over and over as we continue to search.

It finally dawns on us the prick ain’t here and oh boy are these people pissed! They are yelling, the neighbors are coming out of the woodwork to see what’s up. Right in the middle of this shit is two Anglo rookie Bounty hunters; it looks like the fucking Alamo all over. Somehow we made it thru all these assholes and get in the Buick. I put ’er in reverse and haul ass backwards down the street at a very high rate of speed spinning the car 180˚ at the end of the block we got the hell outa Dodge.

Now two months later, after paying an old girlfriend $200 for his address, we’re back in business. My mind kicks back to reality as Adam arrives with two town Marshals. They won’t help us though, since they don’t have a warrant; however, they will hang around to keep the peace and to see if we get killed (I think to myself).

Even though the perps Bond is relatively small, we’ve been told by several people that this dude is a bad hombre that has killed people whose bodies have never been found. I think maybe there is more to the story than we know. Possibly he has done something else that he hasn’t been charged with. I mean he’s running way too hard for no more time than these charges carry.

The sun is just coming up as we creep up the stairs to his second story apartment. There are no lights on and the screen door is latched. Adam knocks on the screen, I’m standing to the right of the door just out of sight, my heart is pounding through my chest, and he knocks again louder this time. The guy answers the door rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Armando? questions my partner. His eyes open wide, OPEN THE DOOR! he commands, and the outlaw hesitates.

I shove my 45 into the screen and pull the hammer back. CLICK! The sound is unmistakable and he reaches up and unhooks the screen door. Adam rips the door open and we spill into the room.

Get on the ground we’re yelling.

Clad only in his underwear he readily complies. Adam cuffs him behind his back while I hold the gun to his head, then we stand him up this guy is in tremendous shape, very muscular and packing no body fat. He would be a very formidable opponent in a fight. He also has a piss hard on.

What’s that, says Adam pointing to his bulge. Ya got a gun in there?

No says Armando sheepishly.

I find his britches and we get him dressed and ready for transport back to Kansas where it turns out he is wanted on some other charges that hadn’t been filed yet.

Armando will spend several years in the Penitentiary at Lansing while we roam free to ply over new trade as Outlaw Hunters.

Chapter 2

GITTIN’ RUFUS WIT IT

A lot of time has passed since that first manhunt. Adam has moved from Oklahoma over across the line into Kansas. He has taken a job writing bonds for a company that has offices state wide and is somewhat his own boss. I think he was looking for a little more sure income and they offered me