Cable TV 'untouchables' battle black box bootleggers.

Although they go undercover, conduct stings and are three tough hombres, Mike Bates, Bob Bain and Ramon Pulido are not your standard cops. Without badges, guns or legal authority, they are trying to make Los Angeles safe from packs of cable television pirates.

The cable cops are fighting gangs of cable crooks enticed by huge profits and the knowledge that city and county police are tied up fighting drugs and violent criminals.

Cable thieves have operated with impunity, siphoning millions from cable companies and driving up cable rates for all consumers. Continental Cablevision, for one, has started fighting back.

Continental's 15 cable cops hit the streets daily in a seemingly hopeless battle against the distributors of modified "hot" converter boxes and their customers, who include residential and commercial cable television users.

The cable cops are even watching Continental's own employees, who have been caught stealing the company's boxes. In June, an in-house sting resulted in three arrests.

Over the last five years, Los Angeles has become the national hot spot for cable pirates. Bates, Continental's security director, estimates Los Angeles County cable system operators lose $100 million annually to the bad guys.

Local governments have been shorted at least $5 million in franchise fees but undersiege police departments don't have the manpower or technical expertise to take on the cable pirates. It's a job for Bates and his boys, who are also under the gun.

Over the last 12 months, numerous Continental Cablevision trucks have been stolen at gun point. The cable truck jackers clean out the boxes in the trucks, then dump the empty vehicles.

Thus far, no Continental employees have been hurt and drivers have been told not to resist. Less violent but equally brazen pirates go door to door posing as Continental service men and take boxes out of homes. They don't give customers receipts and these boxes often end up with pirate distributors who can get as much as $500 for a hot box that has been modified to give viewers pay-per-view services.

Modifying boxes doesn't require technical wizardry. With a 25-cent microchip and a simple wiring job, the deed is done. Pirates can modify up to five boxes an hour.

To combat this, Bates and his men stake out distribution centers from their specially equipped surveillance van, gathering evidence that they deliver to the police. There have been two major busts in the last 12 months but thus far no one has been jailed.

In October, L.A. police hit seven locations to seize 70,000 boxes that had a street value of $20 million. Bates and his men supplied police with all the evidence. It was the largest illegal converter box bust in history. Felony charges have been filed against one defendant but a trial has not been scheduled.

Bates estimates between 8 percent and 15 percent of Continental's 320,000 residential customers are getting extra services that they have not paid for. Hollywood is probably the most pirate-infested residential area; in some apartment complexes, about 50 percent of the residents are getting full service for nothing or just the basic fees.

Commercial establishments are also in on the con. On a sweep of bars in the Hollywood-Pico Union neighborhoods during the Grand Slam prize fights last winter, the cable cops targeted 40 bars and found 31 had unauthorized service. Bain and Pulido chose not to make disconnects that night.

Bain, a 23-year veteran of the L.A. Police Department, worked the drug/gang beats and can recognize a hostile crowd. "With a crowd of 75 people in those bars watching the fight, it was not the time to disconnect," he explains. "The guys in there paid money to see that fight. You could get hurt pulling the service, so we went back later."

If the cable cops show up at your business or home, chances are it's because someone snitched. Bates has a tip line (1-800-35-THEFT) for callers to report unauthorized use. Averaging 20 to 30 calls a day, the tipsters are after rewards and revenge.

"We often get calls from ex-wives or ex-husbands who want to turn their ex in," Bates says. "They will give us his whole rap sheet to get even. We often hear, 'I was over at my friend's house and she brags she doesn't have to pay, so why should I be paying $40 a month?'"

Many tips on abuses at commercial establishments come from legitimate customers who pay monthly service bills but complain that competitors across the street have pay-per-view and have stolen their patrons. Continental can only offer commercial basic service and does not offer special shows such as The Movie Channel and pay-per-view sporting events to bars and hotels.

On one hot Friday afternoon, Bain and Pulido hit the Hollywood streets in their $30,000 surveillance van. The list of bars to check out include some that carried the Grand Slam event last winter. Among these bars is the One Eyed Jack, a small corner gin mill on Heliotrope Avenue where a pair of elderly, semi-sodden patrons squint up at the bar's television. When the cable cops arrive, things get lively.

Flashing his Continental credentials, Bain, a burly guy who resembles Jack Nicholson but doesn't have his swagger, tells the tattooed bartender they have come to check the cable television equipment.

Pulido gets to work. He carries a flashlight and a fat blue book and within seconds is checking the television's wiring and its converter box. Meanwhile, Bain has got the bartender to open a back door and he starts checking wiring there.

The converter box doesn't have the serial numbers it's supposed to have, according to the blue book. Bain questions the barkeep, who says he is just tending bar while the Korean owner is away. The original box that the One Eyed Jack was issued is nowhere to be found. Pulido disconnects the television and hauls down the converter box.

"Chances are, he took the new box which we issued him that was state of the art and he gave it to a pirate and in return the pirate sold him a modified box at a discount," Bain says. "The bar's owner will get a rebate for one of our new boxes and in return he will get all the stations including pay per view (on the pirated system). This is typical."

Next stop is the Rodeo Room, on the edge of the Pico Union district. Once again the cable cops do their stuff and another box without a serial number is yanked. This box has its safety screws drilled out, an obvious clue.

As Pulido and Bain leave, the bartender who says he doesn't know anything about the hot box, asks Bain if he can help him with a cable problem he is having at home.

Pulido is smiling in the back of the van. During his three years as a cable cop, he has confiscated hundreds of hot boxes and this gives him pleasure. "A lot of customers offer me money to do illegals and try to bribe me with $600. But I never have asked for a penny," he says.

Meanwhile across town, a former Continental contractor is not being so honest. A sting is in progress with a hidden camera in a large house plant quietly filming the contractor selling two boxes to the cable company's undercover dummy buyer.

The buyer carefully counts out six $100 bills, the contractor turns over the boxes and then foolishly spells out his real name and gives him a phone number. The contractor says if there are any problems with the reception, he will come in and clear them up. He asks the buyer not to tell anyone where he got the boxes. Continental plans to take civil action soon against the rip-off artists and Bates is amassing evidence.