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As we pull up, the joking around stops. The atmosphere charges with enough tension to strip the Teflon off the space shuttle, both Robert and Fred visibly girding themselves for whatever is about to happen.

Having not the slightest idea what is about to happen, both Barry and I tug the straps on our Kevlar vests and concentrate on not falling out of the Jeep.

Sitting behind Fred with his virtually horizontal driving position, an emergency decamp is likely to leave me face first in the dirt with both feet stuck back up in the rear footwell.

Just as we round the final corner, Don's voice fizzes across the radio, "There is no lot 38 on this park." Worl has given a false address to the bail company."

No great surprise to either of the Slack brothers, who explain that much of their time is spent doing good old-fashioned detective work. The 'hunt' part of bounty hunting requires more logistical and research downtime than you get to see on the TV shows.

The second address is also a dead-end. As one vehicle circles the house checking where the doors and windows are for the target's possible exit strategies, Big Ben reports no footprints in the snow near any of the entrances. Indeed, there are windows missing and no signs of life.

"This is something we have to do a lot," explains Don. "Most times, people know how to play the system and we spend a lot of time just figuring out where people are, just as much as making the hit.

"I'm out nights running surveillance on properties, seeing who lives where and when they're home. With both addresses now checked, this case goes to a back burner while we try and shake out some new information."

The story repeats itself in another part of town an hour later as the team busts a house looking for a 40-year-old male wanted for a variety of charges, or his 19-year-old girlfriend who co-signed his bail agreement.

Under US law, if you sign someone out of jail, you are not only liable for the amount of money you signed them out for, you could also go to jail in the jumper's place.

The set-up remains the same: two vehicles hang back out of sight while Big Ben's van does a couple of quick circuits of the property, making sure of the address, checking cars in the driveway and places the suspect could run to.

As we wait, Fred tells bounty hunting stories that make my toes curl: raiding crack houses where mothers have sold their children for a couple of hours to paedophiles, accidental shootings and stabbings.

One story relates to a hunter who lost his licence for shooting a man in the bottom as he ran away. The Slacks smile with the kind of ungenerous warmth you get in gym locker rooms.