A few months ago, I got a call from a woman who wanted to bond out her ex-son-in-law. I met with her to do the paperwork and she described him as an a life-long alcoholic who had associations to the biker world and claimed to have friends in low places. I asked her if she was certain that she wanted to do this bond as he sounded like trouble. She said that she did and was doing it as a favor to his mother who lived in another state.

She was a solid indemnitor so I agreed to do the bond. However, I made sure to explain the details of a bond revocation in the event that became necessary. She agreed to all of the conditions and I posted the bond. One of the bond conditions imposed by the court was that the defendant report to pre-trial services and obtain an ankle monitor to prohibit his use of alcohol. I met with the defendant the night before he was to get the monitor and I couldn’t believe what I saw.

You’ve probably seen the famous mug shot of Nick Nolte. This guy looked like his father. He was in his mid-fifties but looked like he’d been drinking and using drugs for at least 75 years. He said he was on his last night of drinking before getting the monitor and was going to make the best of it. I left having a real bad feeling about this guy.

A couple of weeks later, I got a forfeiture notice from the court. I looked into it and found that this guy never went for the monitor. I had two choices, pay the forfeiture or put him back in jail. Easy decision. I called the defendant’s number and learned it was disconnected. I called the indemnitor and learned that the guy had been evicted from his apartment but got information as to where he was. I didn’t think he’d be a fighter, but he did walk with a cane and I didn’t want to go it alone. So, I took some muscle with me.

We went to the new apartment and went to the door. His daughter answered and said he was out. She said that he had gone to the grocery store and would be back soon. I asked her to have him call me when he could. We went back to the car to wait for him. He arrived about a half-hour later and was carrying his beer and cigarettes (the groceries). We caught up with him as he was entering a gate and quickly cuffed him and informed him of the revocation. He took it well, sort of like having to pay the price of doing business. However, he asked to be able to use the bathroom prior to going to the jail.

Crap! I really didn’t want to take the cuffs off, but I was more concerned about him going in the car on the way to the jail. So, we took him in the apartment and let him use the bathroom. I wouldn’t let him close the door and I stood there right with him. Crap he did. He also got rid of a stash that he had in his pocket. I didn’t care. I don’t make criminal cases anymore and didn’t care to deal with the complications of introducing contraband to a correctional facility.

When his job was done, we cuffed him again and took him to the car. He needed a cane to walk, so I had to cuff him in front so he could walk. Crap, again! I put him in the front seat and the muscle sat behind him. I put the seatbelt over his arms and took the cane. Off to jail we went.

I tried my best to keep him talking on the way to the jail. He said that he couldn’t wear the monitor because he was an alcoholic and could not stop drinking as he would go into the DT’s. I told  him that I got the forfeiture letter and had to make an easy choice. I said, ” I got a letter from the court and either had to pay the money or put you back in jail. You lose.” He seemed to understand.

About half -way to the jail the bargaining started. He offered money, but that didn’t work . Then he started begging. He said that he could not do jail time because they don’t have booze there. He knew he was in for a rough time and the Dt’s were inevitable. He repeatedly said ” Please don’t take me to jail. Please! Please! Please! I’ll be good”.

Then, he said something that I’ve never heard a prisoner say before. He said ” Pretty please, Mister. Don’t take me to jail. I’m saying pretty please.” I had all I could do to keep from laughing in is face. Then, he got really pissed and claimed he was having a heart attack and we should take him to the hospital. He started hyper-ventilating and complaining of chest pains trying to divert us from the jail. I used to be an EMT and knew he was faking it. On to the jail we went.

About a mile from the jail, he made his last-ditch effort to avoid jail. He freed his hands from the seatbelt and opened the front door to try and exit. The muscle put a choke hold on him and I told him that his feet might hit the street, but his head would stay with us. He saw the light and stopped trying to get out. We made it to the jail without further incident but had to spend two hours booking him. He ran through his entire repertoire of complaints for the jail medical staff before they would accept him.

We left the jail and walked to the car. As we got in, we looked at each other and simultaneously said “Pretty please?” We couldn’t believe it. We had never heard that one before.