After a short chase in a Garden Grove park Lisa, left, and Teresa Golt of Lipstick Bail Bonds lift a handcuffed Robert Jozsa, 46, up to his feet. Jozsa had not shown up for his court appearances.
LEONARD ORTIZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER
Part 2: The women at Lipstick Bail Bonds write $2 million in bonds each month. When a client jumps bail, they risk losing it. That’s when they become bounty hunters.
ANAHEIM We’re hot on the trail of a heroin dealer when an informant calls with a tip on another fugitive. An easy pick-up.
Lisa and Teresa Golt, co-founders of Lipstick Bail Bonds, spin their car around and race to Eastgate Park in Garden Grove.
“This guy is more important,” says Lisa.
Why? She pulls a slip of paper from her pocket.
“I live with this,” she says. “I sleep with this. It’s with me at all times.”
She’s holding a “forfeiture list” of Lipstick clients who’ve failed to appear in court. The twins have six months to turn them in or forfeit bail – sometimes more than $100,000.
They’re close to forfeiting a $30,000 bail on Robert Jozsa, so he’s priority one. And, soon, they spot him sitting in his truck.
Lisa parks. As she walks up to the truck and asks him to sign some bail paperwork, her twin, Teresa, hides nearby, just in case.
Good idea. Because that’s when Jozsa bolts.
TV’s BOND GIRLS
TV loves chases. TV loves babes. TV loves criminals. Put them all together and what do you have?
“Let’s say they have a great chance,” says L.A. producer Gentry Stanley, president of Big Lightening Productions and Dap Studios, who soon plans to start filming the Golt sisters and their employees, and then pitch the footage as a reality show.
The premise: cameras would follow the “Lipstick Bond Girls” and weave in a competition featuring other women who think they have what it takes to use pink handcuffs professionally.
“We’re not just bimbos out there going, ‘Oh my God. You gotta stop!” says Lipstick agent Dawn Wickwire who, with fellow agent Kimberly Shepherd, act as decoys while the Golt sisters, former LAPD officers, tackle and subdue the fugitives.
Women approach them all the time: “Oh, you’re a bounty hunter? Like ‘Dog?’ I want to be a bounty hunter.”
But few understand what it takes: Sleep four hours a day. Work seven days a week. Get shoved, punched and kicked. Risk losing every bail bond you write. And work without a gun.
Unfortunately for the Golt twins, they once got caught working without something else.
BIG BROUHAHA
They got fired from the LAPD, the whisper campaign goes. They’re not licensed.
Both untrue. The twins did get reprimanded by the LAPD. And they did get arrested in 2000 for issuing bail without a license. But the story goes back further, to 1998.
That’s when fellow LAPD officer Brian Brown was murdered by a gangbanger. At his funeral, the twins got into a spat with then Police Chief Bernard Parks, whom they felt questioned their friend’s integrity. They later started a petition to ban Parks from officers’ funerals.
And, they say, they paid the price.
Four months after Lisa got her bail license in December, 1999, it was revoked without notification. Police arrested her. She eventually pleaded guilty to four misdemeanor charges while Teresa, caught riding with her, pleaded guilty to one charge – for which she was fined $500.
They admit their mistake. Records show they’re licensed in good standing today. And they retired, with pensions, from the LAPD.
Don Keith, a retired member of L.A.’s Fire and Police Pensions board, verified the Golts’ pensions, adding: “They were wonderful officers when they worked for me.”
Long Beach Police Sgt. Gordon Collier calls them the “sweetest, kindest girls I ever met,” – the kind of people, he adds, who’ll pick up an injured dog, take it to the vet and pay the bill themselves. “They’re legitimate.”
“Now, we’re so by-the-book,” Teresa says. “We assume, every day, someone is watching us.”
Including bail jumpers, like Robert Jozsa – now hightailing it across Eastgate Park with the Golt sisters in pursuit.
PINK HARLEYS
The chase begun like this “Hey Robert, it’s Lipstick, what’s up?”
“I know, I owe you money,” Jozsa replied. “I’ll get it later.”
That’s when he started running. But, halfway across the deserted park, Teresa tackled him and secured him with their trademark pink handcuffs.
“I thought I could run,” he says later, as they drive him to the Downey Police Department.
“I guess I smoke too much.”
It’s past 10 p.m. as the sisters pick up the trail of their fugitive heroin dealer. A tipster said their guy was partying in a bad neighborhood, but that was a few hours ago.
“If he comes out all gonzo, we’ll taze him if we have to,” Teresa says. “We want to go home too.”
Soon, the sisters are pounding on a back door. Confusion erupts. Yelling. Barking. Neighbors rush out. It’s tense.
But it’s the wrong house.
Now they’re apologizing and turning to neighbors in the yard. The scene unfolds in maybe five minutes, but their experience shows – a calm under pressure. And, as they leave, they urge his friends to tell their client to get to court.
“Or we’ll be back, again and again. Nobody wants that.”
It’s now after midnight and the Golt sisters are celebrating with agent Kimberly Shepherd.
“Would you rather pay $30,000, or do what we just did?” Teresa asks, referring to the night’s tackling capture. “I need my martini.”
And, indeed, they have reason to celebrate. A meth “tweaker” they chased a few weeks earlier is in jail. Their lost heroin junkie will be in jail by morning.
The Lipstick Bond Girls, as they call themselves, clink glasses of their favorite drink: pink lemon drop martinis.
Why not? Their pink Hummer put them on the map, and the $20,000 worth of pink swag they give out every month keeps them on the map. And they’re about to add pink Harleys to their fleet of 21 pink vehicles.
Pink, they can attest, works.
“We’re not into clothes,” Teresa says. “We don’t go shopping. We don’t travel or go out or do anything. We put everything into our business. Our ultimate goal is to be a household name, like Domino’s pizza.”
With that, she pays her bill – and, on the table, leaves a pink pen and pink chap-stick with their logo.
You never know who’s going to need bail someday.