8A
NEWS
THE UNIVERSITY HARY KANSAN
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30,2006
BAIL (CONTINUED FROM 1A)
Steve Robson of Lawrence reviews arrest and warrant information with a man he has just taken into custody. Robson had loosened the man's restraining device so that he could smoke a last cigarette before being processed Into the Douglas County jail.
pursuit of fugitive skips in Hawaii.
The show glorifies the adventurous side of being a bail bondsman: fugitive recovery. However, bondmen must be accessible 24 hours a day, ready to take that one phone call allowed to those in jail.
Robson said he performed a "community service." If the people he bells were left in jail, more tax dollars would be needed for jail space. But Robson said the public perceived him negatively.
"The most frustrating thing about being in the bail-bond business to me is the way that most of the community almost looks down on you like you are one of the criminals for getting people out of jail," he said.
It didn't help the image of local bondsmen in September when Jim Price, 69, owner of A-1 Bail Bonds, committed the biggest faux pas in the business. His armed recovery agents apprehended the wrong man, who had the same name as the fugitive who skipped. The innocent victim spent a night in jail. Price said health problems could have contributed to the mix-up. In early October, Robert Fairchild, chief judge of Douglas County District Court, suspended Price and his agency from writing bonds in Douglas County.
"The quickest way to get in trouble in the ball-bond business isn't writing bonds, it's picking people up," Robson said.
ceptions, bondsmen said.
In addition to Price's recent trouble, the exposure of "Dog The Bounty Hunter" has created misper-
Loren Thormobsgard. 57, owner of Viking Bail Bonds in Topeka, said being a bail bondsman was nothing like the show.
Robson called Dog's dramatic recoveries "ridiculous."
"You can't jump out of a car with seven guys, badges hanging off of you with bulletproof vests, mace swinging all over the place running
down the street," he said. "Then criminals are going to be three miles ahead of you when you get out of the car. They'll spot you and be gone. You've got to sneak up on them."
Instead of exciting 'car chases, recoveries require a lot of patient sitting and waiting outside the homes of skips, and their friends or relatives, explained Ryan Messenger, 33, of Speedy Release Bail Bonds in Olathe.
Messenger, Dog aggressively and often with force, apprehends skips with the help of his wife, two sons and brother. He then lectures skips during the ride to jail. Conversations
"You can't jump out of a car with seven guys, badges hanging off of you with bullet proof vests, mace swinging all over the place running down the street."
STEVE ROBSON
Owner, Ace Bail Bonds
Steve Robson of Lawrence peers into the window of a couple's house, trying to convince a woman he had bonded to come out so that he can take her to jail. If Robson and his team of bondsmen can't recover an individual whom they've bonded and subsequently misses his or her court date, Robson is liable for the full amount of the bond.
often end with the skip in tears and Dog telling them to "Go with Christ."
"I specifically instruct my guys to avoid confrontation. We don't kick down doors," he said, even though Kansas law allows it if the bondsman knows a skip is behind the door."
Kansas law grants bondsmen the power to apprehend clients and return them to jail if they miss a court date, but requires notifying law enforcement if they intend to make an arrest. That way, law enforcement can have an opportunity to accompany the bondsman. Each state is different; not all even allow bail bondsmen to become bounty hunters.
In contrast to Robson and
Robson worried the popularity of the show could result in more competition and more regulation in the industry. Right now, he has as much authority
Ryan McGeeney/KANSAN
as police, he said.
Not seen on TV are the early morning trips to the jail, the paperwork writing bonds and the time spent on the phone or the long hours.
Messenger said he worked about 16 hours a day, mostly on the phone. He racks up as much as 10,000 minutes on his phone each month. His cell phone bills average $200 monthly, he said.
Robson is often exhausted during the day after waking up throughout the night to answer his phone. He estimates that more than half of his client calls come between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.
"When people want out of jail, they don't care what time it is," Robson said.
The second she and Robson sit down at a restaurant, Dana said, the phone rings. She joked that when business got slow, she would suggest they go out to dinner.
His wife, Dana, said ringing phones were a part of their life.
"Steve shows with the phone on the back of the toilet," she said.
bondsman requirements
Steve Robson said "Dog The Bounty Hunter" had created the impression that any wannabe can become a bail bondman, but there are conditions.
The 155 resident bail bondsmen currently licensed by the Kansas Insurance Department had to:
The life of a bail bondsman can
— Pass the "Kansas Laws and Regualtions Exam," which covers the legal and general insurance statutes of the state of Kansas, with a score of 70 percent or better
- Complete 12 hours of property and casualty courses plus one hour of ethics
take a toll on normal family life, but Robson is fortunate enough to spend time with his family at work. He employs six members of his family at Ace.
— Renew Certification every two years
During daylight hours,
Robson spends
Passing the test allows the person to write bail bonds, but not other types of insurance like car or life insurance. The 51 non-resident bail bondsmen in Kansas only had to be in good standing in their home state to write bonds in Kansas.
Source: Leroy Brungantt, director of the agents division, Kansas Insurance Department.
This is how it works: When you get arrested and a judge sets a bail amount, you have three options. You can pay the court the entire amount, stay in jail until your court date, or call a bondman who will charge you a 10 percent non-refundable premium and agree to pay the court the full amount if you don't show up for court. Your bondman will usually insist on having a co-signer, often a member of your family, who
Robson and Messenger don't bail many KU students out of jail, but when they do, the most common charge is a DUI, which has a $250 bail that many just pay. Robson said some got money from their parents for larger bonds. Messenger recalled one KU student who was arrested for growing psychedelic mushrooms in his residence hall room, but said his KU customers were "few and far between."
had more than $500,000 in bonds on the street at a given time.
Bondsmen make money by charging a 10 percent non-refundable premium. For example, if bail is set at $10,000, the bondsman charges a $1,000 fee. The minimum Robson charges is $75, so even bail amounts less than $750 entail a $75 fee.
is responsible for the entire amount of the ball if you miss your court date. You may have to give personal references, other people your bondsman can contact if you go missing. Your contract gives the bondsman the
power to arrest and physically return you to jail — and even charge you for costs incurred while he does it.
Robson said cosigners were the key to a successful bail-bond business.
He said his 15 bondmen had written more than 800 bonds in northeast Kansas since last December and
"They're going to help you find the person if they're missing or they're going to pay the bond," he said. "The success of your pickups depends on your ability to get good cosigners."
10 hours a day in his office, writing between 15 and 30 bonds a week, depending on the time of year. Warm weather months, Kansas football gamedays and holidays are the busiest, he said.
Robson recently apprehended a repeat offender in Topeka with the help of a cosigner who told him the skip's whereabouts. He thought it
BROCK ROBSON Ace Bail Bonds
"She tells me to wear my seat belt and my bulletproof vest when I go on pickups."
his hands together behind his back, a cigarette still hanging from his mouth. When Robson dropped the man off at the Douglas County jail, the man apologized for missing his court date, thanked him, shook his hand and gave him a hug.
would get confrontational, but it turned out to be one of his easy pickups. Robson entered the apartment, holding his taser gun at his side. The man immediately turned around and put
Messenger uses intimidation to avoid confrontation by brandishing a taser gun that he said he's never
"I've had guys say' I don't want your big ass coming to get me, I'll go to court."
had to use. His 6-foot-2, 240-pound frame helps too.
"Ninety-nine percent won't go toe-to-toe in a fight with you," he said.
Robson said he sometimes deterred a skip from resisting by holding up a can of pepper spray. He'll also hold a taser gun that he's never used.
"I've had guys say, 'I don't want your big ass coming to get me, I'll go to court,'" Messenger said. Only about one out of five clients missed a court date last year, he said.
RYAN MESSENGER Speedy Release Bail Bonds
But some pickups have potential for violence. Brock Robson, 22, who works with his father at Ace, recalls a pickup when he was working for Viking in Topeka. Brock walked up behind the man and asked if he had anything on him, drugs or weapons. In fact, the man had a loaded 22-caliber pistol, a knife and five stolen credit cards. He had multiple felonies, but was taken back to jail without incident.
Brock serves as the "runner" during fugitive recoveries, responsible for chasing skips who run away. At 5-foot-9, 175 pounds, he's not big, but Thormobsgard, his former boss at Viking, said Brock was "very fast."
Ryan McGeeney/KANSAN
Brock said clients were sometimes surprised to see someone so young bail them out. Some older clients have glared at him with confusion and he's been called a "young pup", he
said.
Neither Robson nor Messenger typically carry guns, but Messenger did once. On one of his first pick-ups, Messenger was working with a recovery agent who gave him a shot-gun loaded with bean bag rounds. The two were approaching the skip's house, when a neighbor let his pit bull loose after Messenger warned him not to. Messenger shot the dog.
Brock said his mom worried about him when he's working. "She tells me to wear my seat belt and my bulletproof vest when I go on pick-ups" he said.
Robson recalled one pickup when a woman skip bit him so hard on his side, underneath his armpit, that she drew blood and left a black and blue dental imprint. That happened after he had emptied a can of pepper spray in her face to subdue her. Usually, the sight of pepper spray is enough to deter people, he said. He's suffered bumps, bruises and scrapes, but no broken bones and no one has ever shot at him.
"He ran away with his tail between his legs," Messenger said.
Bondsmen said that the rewards outweighed the risks and that they could make a good living. Messenger, who is single, earns $50,000 a year. He said the money wasn't the only reason he liked his job.
Steve Robson of Lawrence argues with a man who refuses to turn over his girlfriend, a skip 'who Robson attempts to arrest. After about a half hour, the woman finally turned herself over to Robson, having evaded him for more than a month.
"My enjoyment comes from knowing I help people get their stuff taken care of," he said. "Writing bail bonds is not just about collecting money and getting people out of jail. It's part social work, counseling and financial advising."
Robson wouldn't say how much money his business made, but he moved into a new office last March and is in the process of moving into a new house south of town. For Robson, it's more than money, it's a family thing. He said that it was about trust and comfort, and that his family had grown closer because of it.
"This is our livelihood," he said. "We have to make it work. This is how we make our living."
Kansan staff writer Jack Weinstein can be contacted at jwelinstein@ kansan.com.
---- Edited by Natalie Johnson