Ford Interceptor. One of the new ones. Shaped like something between an SUV and a station wagon. This one was white with a super-bumper up front, Sheriff in big letters written on the side, Ulster County in much smaller letters above it, and the image of their seven-pointed badge in front of it. Plus, a small American flag over the front wheel.

I pulled up. Stopped. Got out.

He opened his door. He got out. Dark gray shirt, lighter gray pants with a darker stripe, leaving his trooper hat in the car. He was about 6 foot, maybe more, probably 220 pounds, the bulletproof vest making him look even chunkier. Hard to stay slim when mostly what you do is ride around in a cushiony car all day. He was going bald. What hair he had on his head was cut to a quarter inch. I knew him slightly.

“Hey, Rollie.” Short for Roland, last name Robidoux.

“Hey, Tony.”

“What’s up?”

“I gotta give you some papers.”

“They sent a deputy?” I assumed it was the bank. One of the required steps to seize my home from me. Any process server, any person for that matter, could do it. They could even just mail it. Though that meant they’d have to give me more time to respond.

“Well, what I heard,” Rollie said, “is that the guy they sent before was a little lost. Then he ran into someone down by the fork and asked that person where your address was. And whoever that helpful local was, he said, ‘Oh don’t go up that way, there’s a bear’s den up there. A momma with three cubs and you know how bears get if they think the cubs are threatened. And the guy who lives up there has a whole bunch of guns…because of the bears…but he’s a little paranoid and trigger happy so I wouldn’t go up there if I were you.’ ”

“Who would say such a thing?” I said, though the way he told it made it clear he knew it had been me.

“Not a problem,” Rollie said. “We all thought it was kind of funny. Anyway, the guy didn’t want to get chewed up or shot, so he left. He was conscientious, though, I’ll say that for him. He could have given you sewer service.”

“We don’t have sewers up here,” I said.

“I know that,” Rollie said, getting irritated. He was quite willing to be amused about messing with a process server but not with him. The foundation stone of police psychology is that anything short of ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir’ is a rattle that warns them that their very life is at stake. “He could have tossed it and said you were served, but he didn’t. So here I am, and here you are.” He handed the papers to me.

“OK,” I said. “I wasn’t giving you a hard time.”