Once again I was in the news and once again I declined requests for interviews and appearances. I credited Marsha Russo with having identified Buzz Farmer as the serial killer and the media swarmed her.
“How did it turn out that I’ve become your media representative?” Jordyn Yates said when I picked up her call. “Prior to my agreeing to represent you, I was a highly regarded attorney in a very prestigious firm. Now, instead of client calls, I’m fielding requests from the likes of Anderson Cooper and Sean Hannity.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
“Don’t smart mouth with me, Buddy. You have no idea how time-consuming it is for me and my staff.”
“Bill me,” I said.
“That’s not the point.”
“So what exactly is the point? Other than the opportunity for me to listen to you whine.”
“You’re a fucking hero, Buddy. Everyone wants a piece of you.”
“Not interested.”
“You’re nuts. You’re a national phenomenon. Sheriff Buddy Steel. Brings down a Russian drug cartel and a serial killer both in the same week.”
“Coincidence. On their own, neither is newsworthy.”
“Will you at least grant one interview? Stephanopoulos? Norah O’Donnell?”
“I might consider James Corden. But only if I can sing in the car.”
“Is there any chance you might take this a little more seriously, Buddy?”
“It’s already a done deal. But I will hire a publicist to fend them all off.”
“No, you don’t have to do that. I’ll still rep you.”
“I never meant to be a burden, Jordy.”
“I know,” she said. “But it was worth the try.”
After a brief silence, I offered, “May I tell you something? Something in confidence.”
“I’m your lawyer, aren’t I?”
“I’m thinking of dropping out for a while.”
“Meaning?”
“I want off the grid.”
“Stop being obtuse, Buddy. What are you talking about?”
“I’ve had my fill of this circus. I need to stop the world for a while. Take some time for myself.”
“Because?”
“I feel rudderless. Untethered to any recognizable reality.”
“And you think time out will change that?”
“It might.”
“And where are you thinking of taking this time out?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is it you want to do?”
“That’s just it. There’s nothing I want to do. Go for a hike, maybe. Climb a mountain.”
“Utah.”
“Excuse me?”
“I own a ski cabin in Utah. In Deer Valley. I’m not using it. You can have it.”
“You mean I can stay there?”
“Yes.”
“Can I get back to you on that?”
“Whenever.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really willing to step away from the spotlight?”
“I am.”
“Forgive me for being so old-fashioned. Missed opportunities never fail to haunt me.”
“Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”
“Excuse me?”
“Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”
“What are you talking about?”
She was quiet for several moments, then she said, “Wait a minute. I get it. I know this game. I love this game. The Godfather, right?
I knew she was grinning without seeing her.
“It’s a line from The Godfather. I know it is. I know more lines, too. How about, ‘Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes?’”
When I said nothing, she went on. “He was banging cocktail waitresses two at a time.”
“Jordyn…”
“They shot Sonny on the causeway.”
“Jordyn…”
“I’ll take lines from movies for forty, Alex.”