Operator - 01 by David Vinjamuri Read Free Book Online Page B

father’s old deer rifle in your mom’s attic. It looks pretty clean to me and I’ve got an excellent new scope you can use with it. You’ll be able to count the zits on a buck’s ass, no kidding. Plus you can borrow a set of my camos. The pants might be a little short for you, but I’m sure the jacket will fit just fine.” Which is a nice way of saying that Jeff is a couple of inches shorter than me but sports a beer gut. So now I’m wearing camouflaged gear that has my arms and legs sticking out awkwardly while my midsection swims in extra fabric. Swell.
    I was even more surprised to see the Conestoga Sheriff’s Ford Explorer pull up in front of my motel room a half hour after Jeff’s call. Jeff popped out of the passenger’s seat, explaining that Buddy Peterson had proposed the hunting trip when he heard I was coming back to town. Jeff is bidding for the auto glass contract for the township of Conestoga, which includes the vehicles of the Sheriff’s office. Buddy is a fixture in town, having held the elected office for over twenty years, and no major decision is made in Conestoga without consulting him.
    I stiffened when Buddy extended his hand. He is tall and lanky, with skin the texture of an old leather wallet. Buddy has hazel eyes and slick, straight brown hair cut short and parted on the right. His right cheek bulged slightly over a wad of Skoal. The last time I’d seen Buddy was at my father’s funeral. He’d been one of the pallbearers carrying my father’s casket to the grave.
    In addition to being Sheriff, Buddy is the head of the booster’s club for the Conestoga Cougars, my high school football team. In practical terms it means he hits up local businesses for donations to pay for gear and coaching salaries for the team. But during my time on the Cougars, Buddy expanded his role as our unbeaten streak lengthened. It was Buddy, not Coach Howard, who made the calls that got me written up in Sports Illustrated and later persuaded college scouts from USC, Florida, Ohio State and Michigan to attend the state championship game. Of course, if I hadn’t played well that day, it wouldn’t have mattered. But the ten tackles, two sacks and an interception that day brought scholarship offers from USC and Michigan. Without Buddy’s help that dream would never have been possible, even though it was one I’d never realize.
    When I grasped Buddy’s outstretched hand, he surprised me by pulling me into an embrace and thumping me on the back. “It’s good to see you, son,” Buddy said. “I’m so glad you finally came back home. We’re all really proud of you here.”
    That meant something to me.
    The fourth man on the trip is a New Paltz businessman named Jack Millard. Jack owns a car dealership and several rental franchises around the Catskills and is one of Jeff’s largest clients. Millard is also a hunting fanatic, although his experience is limited to four deer hunts – one more than Jeff. Much of the talk in the car centered on equipment; Jeff and Jack debated whether the Weatherby Mark V or the Sako 85 was the better rifle, then moved on to the comparative advantages of tree and ground blinds. I closed my eyes and their voices faded into a drone of white noise. I was asleep in seconds, waking only when the truck pulled into the small parking lot at the trailhead.
    I expected to pair off with my brother-in-law, so I was surprised when Buddy insisted that Jeff and Jack set up a blind at the edge of a small meadow where Buddy had shot a buck the previous season. It was obvious that both men had been hoping to learn from either the Sheriff or the former soldier, but they quickly fell into an animated conversation as Buddy untangled their first hopeless attempt to set up the camouflaged deer blind. The blind was more or less just a tall tent without a bottom. I was relieved I wouldn’t be confined in it with Jeff.
    As we left, Buddy tossed the two men a walkie-talkie, telling them to call us if they