5
There were so many things I loved about being a bounty hunter. I set my own hours, though sometimes that involved spending long nights sitting in a car, bored out of my skull and hoping I didn’t have to pee. Also, I didn’t have to wear a uniform or worry about warrants or writing up arrest reports. And there was nothing like the thrill of slapping the cuffs on a fugitive and bringing him in. The only thing better was getting paid to do it.
The next morning, I showed up at Liberty Bail Bonds on Jackson Street in downtown Phoenix. Big Bobby Mills, the owner, had run the agency there since Biblical times, or so he told people. The office always reminded me of a cross between a man cave and a barbershop, wrapped in wood paneling, circa 1975.
A half dozen wooden folding chairs formed a sma
