headed for the interstate like the Macy’s Day parade.”
Static. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I fired up the Bullet and pulled through the pump island onto the road with my light bar on but no siren. “Don’t worry; I’ll get ’em. They’re probably lost.”
* * *
With the Chrysler safely pulled over again, this time at the I-90 entrance ramp, I climbed out and walked toward them, passingBuffalo Bill and running my hand over the single row of shiny sheet-metal screws on the side of the trailer.
“Howdy again.”
The man looked even more embarrassed this time. “We can’t find the gas station.”
I glanced down the road. “About a half mile back that way; it’s across from where you pulled out.” He turned and again gave an accusatory look at his passenger, who was eating from a bag of chips. “If you want, you can just follow me back.”
He dipped his head. “Of course. Thank you.”
I led them to the Maverik and watched as they parked in the shade next to the picnic tables beside Clear Creek. With a dark look, Joseph ducked past my truck, and went inside. I got out, too, figuring what the hey, I’d take advantage of the Rainier sale and grab an eighteen-pack for Gameday. The Broncos-Chiefs game was tomorrow, so Henry would be over to watch—I would, as always, torment him with my beer of choice.
I set my prospective purchase on the counter and stood behind Joseph in line. “Don’t forget to pay for those snacks along with the gas.”
He nodded curtly. The kid at the register rang him up, and Joseph paid in cash from a wad secured with a thick rubber band.
“Enjoy the Hills.”
He glanced up at me, nodded, and went out the door without a word. The cashier held his receipt out after him but finally dropped it on the counter. “Those Amish, they’re weird.”
I picked up the abandoned ticket and examined it.
* * *
They weren’t as happy to see me this time, as I raised a hand to keep them from pulling away from the convenience store. “Mr. Aaron, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”
He looked genuinely annoyed. “This is getting to be a bit much—I mean, we paid for the gas. Is there another problem, Sheriff?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I just don’t get the opportunity to discuss different theologies very often and was wondering if you could answer a few quick questions for me.”
He glanced at the clock in the dash, avoided my eyes, and made a definitive statement by reaching down to turn the key and firing up the Chrysler. “We are hoping to be in the Black Hills today.”
Ignoring the fact that the vehicle was running, I tipped my hat back and folded my arms on his window. “Oh, this won’t take long—you’re Hasidic, are you not?”
He nodded, quickly adding, “Yes we are, but . . .”
“I hope you’ll excuse my ignorance, but the Hasidim are Haredi or ultra-Orthodox—one of the most conservative forms of Judaism, am I correct?”
“Well, yes.”
“Now, the Hasidim wear clothing that other Orthodox Jews can’t wear, such as the tallit katan over the shirts, like some of you gentlemen are wearing now, whereas other Orthodox Jews have to wear them under their shirts with only the tzitzit hanging out, right?”
He studied my face. “You . . . You seem extraordinarily knowledgeable on the subject of Judaism for a Wyoming sheriff.”
I smiled. “Well, I had a Jewish girlfriend in college, andyou’d be surprised what you can learn when you’re motivated, and with the right teacher.”
Nervously, he turned to his compatriots and then stared at the wheel. “I see.”
I reached out and patted his shoulder. “Oh, I’m just showing off . . . But I do have just one more question, if you don’t mind.”
He nodded again, but this time with even less enthusiasm as he looked in his side mirror and saw Saizarbitoria’s unit pulling in behind him. “Uh . . . Anything we can do to help.”
“Well, if the
Static. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I fired up the Bullet and pulled through the pump island onto the road with my light bar on but no siren. “Don’t worry; I’ll get ’em. They’re probably lost.”
* * *
With the Chrysler safely pulled over again, this time at the I-90 entrance ramp, I climbed out and walked toward them, passingBuffalo Bill and running my hand over the single row of shiny sheet-metal screws on the side of the trailer.
“Howdy again.”
The man looked even more embarrassed this time. “We can’t find the gas station.”
I glanced down the road. “About a half mile back that way; it’s across from where you pulled out.” He turned and again gave an accusatory look at his passenger, who was eating from a bag of chips. “If you want, you can just follow me back.”
He dipped his head. “Of course. Thank you.”
I led them to the Maverik and watched as they parked in the shade next to the picnic tables beside Clear Creek. With a dark look, Joseph ducked past my truck, and went inside. I got out, too, figuring what the hey, I’d take advantage of the Rainier sale and grab an eighteen-pack for Gameday. The Broncos-Chiefs game was tomorrow, so Henry would be over to watch—I would, as always, torment him with my beer of choice.
I set my prospective purchase on the counter and stood behind Joseph in line. “Don’t forget to pay for those snacks along with the gas.”
He nodded curtly. The kid at the register rang him up, and Joseph paid in cash from a wad secured with a thick rubber band.
“Enjoy the Hills.”
He glanced up at me, nodded, and went out the door without a word. The cashier held his receipt out after him but finally dropped it on the counter. “Those Amish, they’re weird.”
I picked up the abandoned ticket and examined it.
* * *
They weren’t as happy to see me this time, as I raised a hand to keep them from pulling away from the convenience store. “Mr. Aaron, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”
He looked genuinely annoyed. “This is getting to be a bit much—I mean, we paid for the gas. Is there another problem, Sheriff?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I just don’t get the opportunity to discuss different theologies very often and was wondering if you could answer a few quick questions for me.”
He glanced at the clock in the dash, avoided my eyes, and made a definitive statement by reaching down to turn the key and firing up the Chrysler. “We are hoping to be in the Black Hills today.”
Ignoring the fact that the vehicle was running, I tipped my hat back and folded my arms on his window. “Oh, this won’t take long—you’re Hasidic, are you not?”
He nodded, quickly adding, “Yes we are, but . . .”
“I hope you’ll excuse my ignorance, but the Hasidim are Haredi or ultra-Orthodox—one of the most conservative forms of Judaism, am I correct?”
“Well, yes.”
“Now, the Hasidim wear clothing that other Orthodox Jews can’t wear, such as the tallit katan over the shirts, like some of you gentlemen are wearing now, whereas other Orthodox Jews have to wear them under their shirts with only the tzitzit hanging out, right?”
He studied my face. “You . . . You seem extraordinarily knowledgeable on the subject of Judaism for a Wyoming sheriff.”
I smiled. “Well, I had a Jewish girlfriend in college, andyou’d be surprised what you can learn when you’re motivated, and with the right teacher.”
Nervously, he turned to his compatriots and then stared at the wheel. “I see.”
I reached out and patted his shoulder. “Oh, I’m just showing off . . . But I do have just one more question, if you don’t mind.”
He nodded again, but this time with even less enthusiasm as he looked in his side mirror and saw Saizarbitoria’s unit pulling in behind him. “Uh . . . Anything we can do to help.”
“Well, if the
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