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been
ringing constantly. We don’t know what to do. If we go out and talk
to them, will they go away?”
    “I doubt it,” I said. “I’ve just been saying,
no comment. We could continue to do that. We’re not hiding anything
at this point. Although Roger, don’t talk about the video
surveillance on Hinton. That’s illegal and we could lose our
license. Just say we were watching him, when it comes up. The
Police know, I told them. I had to justify shooting the son of a
bitch. Sorry Ilene.”
    “I know, Mr. Mullins,” Roger said.
    I sat there thinking and said, “let me call
my attorney maybe he has a suggestion.” I’d been on the phone with
Dominic Laverney half a dozen times this afternoon with legal
questions during the debriefing. I’ve paid this guy a lot of money
over the last few years but damn it, he’s good. He answered on the
first ring, I put him on speaker “Dominic, we’re buried here,” I
said. I explained the situation.
    He said, “I called your cell and by the way
your mailbox is full. You and little Roger are the most wanted
people in the world in this news cycle. You can’t possibly handle
this yourself. Turn all communication over to a public relations
company. I have the structure of a deal worked out for you. The PR
company will represent you in all business communication and even
negotiate the right opportunities for you. You probably need an
agent too.”
    “What opportunities?”
    “Oh my God, Tom, TV, books, movies. The world
is your oyster at this point. You need help.”
    I called the PR company. Told them we were
hunkered down unable to move. I agreed on a fee for initial work
and had them send a contract back to the attorney for review for
future representation. Even though it was past 5 PM they would have
someone over inside an hour that could act as a spokesman for us. I
called Velma and told her about it and she agreed that it seemed
like a good plan. She wasn’t happy about spending money but she
never is.
    Friday morning, our spokesperson read a
statement outlining what happened the day before. Our
representative, the owner of the public relations company
representing us answered questions and then asked the public to
respect our privacy over yesterday’s tragic events. Of course, they
didn’t. Roger and I were heroes. Everyone wanted to climb on board
that train with us. The press continued to sit outside our homes
and at the agency. The phone continued to ring at the office. I
should be happy, I thought. I was miserable. I finally threw in the
towel. I suggested Roger and his family try a weekend family
vacation. Packed a bag and headed north out of the city. Maybe,
drink a little vino. Change my mojo.
     
    Chapter 6
     
    The sign said Open but the parking lot was
empty at Limestone Vineyards in Sonoma. I walked in to the empty
tasting room. I heard someone moving around out back and I yelled,
“What do I have to do to get a drink around here?”
    “Be right with you,” I heard a voice call.
The big bald headed guy came out with two trays of glasses. It
always amazed me how much the guy looked like my Dad. “Holy shit,
it’s little Tommy Mullins!” He came around the bar and gave me a
big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
    “Hey, Uncle Billy.”
    “The hero of the day. What are you doing
here?”
    “Trying to get away from being the hero of
the day, I guess.”
    “I can’t tell you how proud Mary and I are of
you, Tommy. You took out a very nasty piece of shit.”
    “Yup, he was, Uncle Billy. I’m just not
feeling very good about it.”
    He hugged me to him. “Tommy, it’s not an easy
thing to go through for most guys.” My Uncle had been a cop for 30
years too, starting in San Francisco and moving to Santa Rosa
before buying this small winery. “You did your job, end of story.
You’re a hero, whether you like it or not. How’s little Roger
taking it?”
    “He seems to be fine.” Billy walked behind
the bar and poured two glasses.
    “This new Cab is