Huh, I thought they only came in fuzzy.
In honor of the resurrection of the Hawaii Five-O CBS television series, I thought I’d tell you all about the time I carried hand cuffs.
For years I carried handcuffs. No, not in the hopes of finding someone hot to kidnap a willing victim. But that’s not a bad idea. Thanks!
In another episode of Jobs I Had: I was a licensed Bail Agent.
Yup, the State of California thought I was sane enough for a Bail Agent’s license. As long as you haven’t committed a felony, you too can get one.
Being a licensed Bail Agent meant I could go on bail “skips” (those who skip out of town or sentencing) and arrest the offender. Neato. Got my own handcuffs, too. This job was in conjunction with my time as a P.I. – my boss, the owner of the PI firm, also owned a bail bond agency.
With two exceptions, no one ever “made” (identified, spotted) me. If I got questioned by neighbors in the area I was staking out, I had a great cover: I was stalking my cheating boyfriend. They were so nice they would offer to help! People are cool.
A couple weren’t cool. Some men were nasty, and even threatened me. Too bad you can’t shoot someone for threatening you. If they’d only known I was armed. And dangerous.
Before you all go thinking: OMG! She was just like Dog the County Hunter! No, it’s not nearly as exciting as they make it seem. Well, not all the time.
But sometimes it is very interesting.
Case: A BIG dude who skipped bail on my boss. I had a mug shot to go by and night goggles.
So I’m waiting near his apartment. The complex has a gym where we know he likes to work out. I’ve been instructed to call for our off-duty police backup when I spot the skip.
I spot him working out at the gym. Score! My heart starts racing. Our off-duty police backup meets me, we ID the guy with the mug shot I have, and the cop handcuffs him. The guy doesn’t have his wallet or ID with him because he was working out, but he says he’s not the guy.
A likely story. Ya, we never heard that one before.
He insists he’s not the guy. He admits to being on parole for killing (Penal Code 187) a cop with his brother 9 years ago, but says he’s not our guy. But he’s a Dead Wringer (pun not intended) in the mug shot I have.
He’s really calm and polite. That’s rare. But it’s ok with me that he’s still handcuffed.
Anyway, we walk him to his apartment to get his wallet and ID. The photo looks like him, but the name isn’t the same as my skip. The cop runs a check on him, and finds only that prior crime he mentioned: The 187 . The murder.
He’s really not our guy. Ok, fine.
The cop goes to uncuff him, but he can’t find his handcuff key. It’s gone. Totally lost. He asks if I have mine.
Nope. Didn’t expect to be doing the handcuffing on this one. Plus my key was taken away from me. But that’s another story.
So the cop leaves me alone in the apartment with the handcuffed BIG dude. Who could head-butt me to death with one blow. Who is innocent of skipping bail. But not cop-killing.
I’m sure I oozed fear the whole fivty-thousdred minutes I was alone with BIG dude.
He was tame as a kitten with me. Very nice of him considering WE’D HANDCUFFED AN INNOCENT MAN.
With killer instincts.