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T ranscript of Sheriff Grizzley T. Lawman’s Interview

Grizz: Thank you for coming, little lady. When I hired a ghost writer for my memoirs, I hadn’t expected you to be an actual ghost.

Me: I get that a lot.

Grizz: You got a lot of experience doing this sort of thing?

Me: A hundred and fifty years.

Grizz: Anyone I know? Because I want this done right, you understand me? No half-stepping, no screwing around.

Me: I have to sign an NDA before I start working, so I can’t divulge any of that.

Grizz: That sounds awfully convenient, if you ask me.

Me: I’m going to record our sessions to make sure I’m not omitting anything important. Then I’ll write up a chapter at a time and you can approve it or make edits.

Grizz: Very professional. I like that in a dame—even a dead one.

Me: Why don’t you begin with how it all began?

Grizz: Well now, that's a hell of a story.

I was born in a holler deep in the enchanted forests of Bear Ridge and let me tell you something.

From the day I drew my first breath, I was ready to uphold the law.

My mama always said I was destined for greatness.

'Course, she said the same damn fool thing about my cousin Winn, and that sumbitch ended up running bootleg honey mead outta the back of some jackass’s bakery.

Me: It sounds like you have a colorful family tree.

Grizz: Yeah, if brains were leather, most of them wouldn’t have enough to saddle a flea. But me? Hell, I had what you call natural-born talent. Not to mention, ambition, grit, and a nose for trouble that can smell trouble from three counties away.

Me: So how did it all begin?

Grizz: I earned every bit of this star the hard way, working the backroads and backwoods, busting heads and kickin' ass up one side and down the other.

Got my first big break when I took down a whole damn gang of potion smugglers—singlehandedly, mind you—well, me and my trusty crossbow, Ol' Justice.

That little piece of police work got me my sheriff's star in Fairweather County, and I have been the law around these parts ever since.

But don't you go getting' the wrong idea, little lady.

I ain't just some piss-ant small-town sheriff writing parking tickets.

Hell no. I got a badge, I got a gun, and I got a plan.

You see, there's a right way and a wrong way to enforce the law, and then there's the Grizzley T.

Lawman way. Any damn fool can holler at people, but it takes a man of my considerable talents to put the fear of Zeus into 'em.

When I speak, people listen. When I stare, criminals wet themselves.

And this here impressive physique? Well, that just adds to the overall intimidation factor.

Now, some smart-asses—and there's always smart-asses—they say I'm too enthusiastic about my job.

Well, what the hell's wrong with taking pride in your work?

There ain't no road too long, no hill too high, and no sumbitch too slick for Sheriff Grizzley T.

Lawman to run down and drag back to justice.

Little lady, when I put on this badge, I don't just enforce the law. I am the law. And that's a damn fact.

Me: So tell me about Bullseye Maverick and Hazel Primm.

Grizz: Those two? They have a complete lack of respect for the law.