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"We had one guy, really good bounty hunter that used to get a bit worked up. We hit a dope house with some big dogs in it and he jus' ran in there and started tazin' them dogs, then he got a bit too violent with the target. It's not good to get too extreme." Tazing dogs? This is surreal.

The tip proves to be hot. The house is where it should be, the front door is open and the mother has locked the dog in the basement. Benny's van gives the green light over the radio and Fred nails the SRT from way down the street. Heads jerk back in unison and we get a huge muscle-car groan from the pipes out back.

As we arrive, Fred snaps on the Brembos and Robert runs to the back to cover one of the two rear doors as Don's car arrives on the back lawn. Fred, Benny and Ronita go for the front door, closely shadowed by Barry, who has forgotten that everyone has a gun apart from him.

After that, everything happens in a flash. As Fred, one hand on his gun, goes through the open front door, the fugitive - a 19-year-old man wanted for theft and battery - sprints for the back. Fred is shouting, "Back door! Back door!" as he rattles through the house.

I can't help thinking that he has no idea what is in that front room. There could be someone else, armed, waiting. He's blind. The very thought makes me feel a bit queasy - this shit could get you killed, right now.

Amid the general hubbub I sprint down the side of the property just in time to see Don and Robert bringing the suspect down with what seems like considerable force.

Blows are exchanged. Well, not so much exchanged as delivered. The suspect is wedged in the back door with Don kneeling on the back of his head, Robert securing his arms and lower body and cuffing his wrists.

Benny and Fred stand guard, but the suspect is under control. Doesn't stop his mouth though "Fuck you! Fuck you!" he screams. "Y'all ain't nuttin' without yo' guns! All of you on me! See what you be like one on one, muthafucker!"

It doesn't even register. Immune to such insults, they pack him into the police car. In seconds, they are back smiling. I'm shaking. Robert is right, this is an adrenalin buzz. But one that it's too dangerous to pursue.

All very well staking out houses and identifying dead addresses, but when the time came to break down a door, I couldn't help thinking that my bulletproof vest was way too small, and my ability to see the danger too acute.

This is not a job for those with a weak heart. Not that it bothers the Slacks. "If it ain't your time, it ain't your time."

Hearing that statement in an American accent, I can't help thinking that bounty hunting hasn't changed that much since the days of Pat Garrett. Just these days they have bigger guns and much, much faster cars.

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