You Can Run but You Can't Hide (29 page)

Hawaii. It was a message of hope and inspiration to get myself to-

gether and start over.

My life has been filled with trying moments when my faith gets

tested. Tony Robbins used to say there was great power in positive

thinking and positive confession. The words you speak are crucial

to how you live. Your mind believes whatever you tell it. If I felt like

a deadbeat, I acted like one. If I moved through the world like a

leader, people would see me as one. I realized that every challenge

is an opportunity to strengthen my faith, to learn how to make it

stronger, and to use that situation to learn and grow. If you keep

making the same mistakes, you keep getting the same results. I

needed change. I had to make some hard decisions. I thought about

the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the grave. He believed He

could bring him back to life when all of His disciples doubted Him.

Jesus led His disciples through fields of doubt. Sitting on the beach

that day, I felt like Lazarus. With Jesus’ love and strength, and an

unshakable belief in my own faith, I, too, was resurrected.

As hard as it was for me to concede, I had been beaten. Game

over. I stood up on the beach, cupped my hands around my mouth,

and shouted, “I’m going back to Denver! I will start over, I will suc-

ceed! I am the Mighty Dog!” I yelled until my throat was raw and

my voice was shot. I stood for a moment as the sun set over the Pa-

cific. This day was done. Tomorrow would be a new beginning.

C h a p t e r T h i r t y - t w o

KIDNEY STONES

SAVED MY LIFE

I packed up
the kids and moved back to Denver. One of the

conditions my sister Jolene placed on our staying with her was that

she really didn’t want me to see Beth. Jolene warned me I would be

on the street if she caught me with her. I should have been able to

come back into town and walk right into my old bail bonds busi-

ness, but I had already handed it off to my sister before I moved to

Hawaii. That would have solved my money problems and helped

me get back on track. She did give me work as a bounty hunter, but

the business belonged to her. She and I have a long history of not

getting along, but now was not the time to be so harsh. I opted to

stay in a motel near Jolene’s house. The only way I could bounty

hunt for her was if she gave me a car to use, which she did. If I

caught two guys a day for her, I made a hundred and fifty bucks. I

didn’t have a lot of extra money for food, so most of my downtime

was spent just hanging around the motel.

Although I had left my girlfriend behind in Hawaii, I brought all

of her bad habits with me to Denver. I was still getting high from time

to time. I hadn’t spoken to Beth since she turned me in to Richard

Heath six months earlier. Everywhere I went, people brought up

Beth’s name. For the most part, everyone thought it was best that we

didn’t get together. They all warned her to stay far away from me. I

heard she had a boyfriend who shot steroids. Because of the drugs,

he’d go into rages and beat her.

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We managed to avoid each other for a few weeks. Then one day,

we were both standing in the alley behind the houses on bail bonds

row. It was like a scene from a movie. I looked at her and she at me.

By the time Beth got to the back of the alley I was already by her

side. I grabbed her and put the most passionate kiss on her.

“Meet me in an hour.” I told her where I was staying and took

off to make sure the kids were otherwise occupied for a while.

I am an extremely sensual man. When I kiss a woman, I want to

envelop all of her in my mouth. I like to lick her face and neck, and

I want to feel connected in my love. I’m not in it just for myself. I’m

not satisfied unless my partner is happy. Making love to Beth was

always hot, and the moment I saw her in the alley that day, I knew

we’d be together forever.

My sister had warned me she would take away the car if she

caught me with Beth. Well, later that night, Jolene saw the car parked

outside Beth’s house. She came up to the front door with her hus-

band, who is a federal police officer. They asked for the car keys. I

couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched them drive away.

I don’t know why I went to Beth’s that night. Our afternoon of

passion was the stuff that dreams are made of, but I was still angry

with her for ratting me out to the insurance company. A part of me

was mad at her, but I needed a place to go. I had my babies; they

needed a home. A small motel room wasn’t the right place for them

to be. Then, one night, the kids and I were over at Beth’s for a meal.

Her daughter, Cecily, was there, and all the kids were passed out

around the house. I’d picked up two tough bounties that day and

could barely keep my eyes open.

Beth said, “Why don’t you all just stay here for now? Don’t

worry,” she laughed. “We’ll just take it one day at a time and see

how it goes.”

Beth and I decided the time had come for us to join forces—

romantically and professionally. At the time, she was working for

Bail City, whose insurance company was Pioneer General. When

they found out about us they called Beth and made it very clear that

it was either Duane or her job.

She accused them of blackmail, and in typical Beth fashion, she

told them that they didn’t run her life. They fired her.

A few days later, we all moved into Beth’s house for good. It

wouldn’t be easy, and we were certainly no Brady Bunch, but we

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loved each other. That love would get us through any challenge that

lay ahead, and there would still be a few doozies.

“I’ve waited so long for you, Duane. I waited through your mar-

riage to Lyssa, and then Tawny. Now I have you, and you’re a drug

addict son of a bitch.” She’d been through the bullshit before. Since

prison, I was always the guy who didn’t do drugs. Beth began to

cry. When she weeps, she ruins me. I looked at her, tears also now

streaming down my cheeks, and I realized she was right. I remem-

ber thinking, “I’m her hero and now I’ve let her down, too. It’s time

to snap out of this.”

Throughout my six months of being on drugs, I avoided looking

in any mirrors. I knew God wasn’t standing with me. Once in a

while, I felt him check in, but I was too ashamed to ask the Lord

into my life during those months. I was terribly ashamed of my be-

havior. I never prayed, something I normally do all the time. I felt

like my prayers would hit the ceiling and bounce back down, so I

didn’t even try. Instead, I took another hit off the pipe.

God gives us all free will. I had a choice to get high or not. For

years, I hadn’t understood how someone could choose to hit that

stuff, smoke, snort, or do any kind of drug. I just saw them as

weak-minded. They were garbage, trash. How pathetic do you have

to be not to have control over your urge to get high?

Well, now I know firsthand. Whenever I talk to someone about

drug problems, I tell them, “We have to get through this,” because

every day is a struggle for an addict. Once an addict, always an ad-

dict. I’ve been there. I know how hard it is to kick an addiction.

One day, Beth forced me to look into a mirror. She said, “Look

at yourself. You’ve lost so much weight. You’re sick, Duane. If you

don’t quit doing drugs, you will die.” When her soft-love approach

didn’t sink in, she began humiliating me.

“You’re a crackhead.”

“You ain’t the Dog anymore.”

“Your dad’s at the door. He wants to talk to you.” That one re-

ally got me, because I never wanted to disappoint my dad. He al-

ways said I was a nothing. I never wanted to give him the satisfaction

of being right.

“I’m coming back, Beth. I swear, baby. I’m coming back.” I prom-

ised what I couldn’t deliver. I couldn’t kick the habit.

Kidney stones saved my life. The pain was excruciating. I thought

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I was dying. I went to the doctor and told her I was in agony. I ex-

plained I was a drug user.

“Let me take your blood pressure.” While the doctor examined

me, she began asking me all sorts of questions.

“Why do you take drugs?”

“For the sex.”

“Are you living with a girl now?”

“Yes, that’s her in the hallway.”

“Do you love her?”

“No.” The confession was a relief.

“Who do you love?”

I couldn’t answer. My blood pressure went off the charts.

The doctor diagnosed stress and depression. She prescribed

Prozac and blood pressure medication.

Beth took one look at the prescriptions and was mad as hell. She

didn’t think I needed Prozac. I took the pills anyway.

I was in a tunnel-like state from the Prozac. I had a hard time

telling fact from fiction. One day I thought Beth had packed her

stuff and left. I got up that morning earlier than usual, and she was

gone. I opened the closet to see if her clothes were still hanging

there. They were. I sat down on the bed and realized I was falling

in love with Beth. I started to love her in ways I never imagined or

thought were possible. My old girlfriend was becoming a ghost

from my past. I don’t know if it was the Prozac, or if my feelings

were genuine and real. I didn’t care.

The Prozac seemed to be working, except I couldn’t remember

the simplest things. For some reason, I wanted to call LaFonda. I

had known her number for twenty-five years, but now I couldn’t re-

member it. When I told Beth, she showed no mercy. She didn’t want

me on those pills in the first place. I called another friend of mine

and told her what was happening.

She told me to throw those pills down the drain because they

would make me do crazy things.

As soon as I stopped taking the pills, the pain from my kidney

stones came back, only this time it was worse than ever. I went back

to the doctor.

“You have kidney stones.” The doctor ordered me to rest. I lay on

Beth’s sofa for a month, waiting for the pain to end. The doctors were

scared I might not make it. I had lost so much weight from doing

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drugs that I was down to a mere 130 pounds. My body was dying. I

didn’t have the physical strength to fight for my life. In my peak phys-

ical condition, back when I was boxing, my weight hovered around

155. I was slim like my son Leland. Today I weigh around 200 pounds.

I was a sick, weak shell of the man I once was.

After mom died, I went into a deep depression. For the first time

in my life, I felt alone. Mom’s presence usually kept me from mak-

ing poor choices and dreadful decisions. After Huntsville, I had be-

come a pretty savvy guy who avoided doing heavy drugs and lots of

drinking. Women were usually my drug of choice. And like a drug,

it was a woman, someone I would never have been with if I had

been feeling better about myself, who started me down a path of

self-destruction that eventually led to the relationship that intro-

duced me to my drug abuse.

I was extremely lonely and not thinking clearly when I chose to

participate in smoking cocaine that first night. I didn’t know how

fast things could get bad. As hard as it might seem to believe, I sim-

ply had no clue what I was getting myself into. I sank so low that

once I was in the bottom of that deep, dark pit, I didn’t know how

to get myself out. I knew I had let my family and friends down,

which made it so hard for me because I miserably failed at getting

myself together. It became a vicious cycle. The worse I got, the

worse I felt. The worse I felt, the worse I got.

Truth be told, if my mom had been alive, I’d have never given in

to that type of temptation. I couldn’t have faced her. I was de-

pressed and desperate for love and acceptance. My life had taken a

downward turn, the likes of which I had never experienced. I felt I

had no control over any aspect of my very own existence.

For a year and a half, I felt as if I had suffered blow after blow.

My once strong mind and ego were fractured. I was a broken man.

And I was truly alone. My father went back to live in Denver and

my sister Joleen, who had helped out with my bail bonds business

in Hawaii after mom died, stopped coming. Throughout my career,

there was always someone in the office running my business so I

could focus on what I do best—writing bond and capturing jumps.

I had such an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. I lost my

edge, my spark, my judgment, and my belief that I was better than

the way I was living. That’s why I know how a fugitive feels when I

have to hunt him down. I know the pain that takes a brother to the

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depths of depression and desperation. I don’t want anyone to feel