Black Hat, Chapter One

No.

You weren’t there to buy it. You weren’t looking for a hat. You’d never been the type to wear hats, except for an occasional, practical ball-cap on a windy day. But there it sat. It was a good-looking hat, a comfortable-seeming hat: black felt, nothing fancy, no decoration, just plain with a moderate brim. You picked it up off the shelf and surprised yourself by trying it, on a whim. Perfect fit. The mirror to your left suggested that it flattered you, even, a little bit.

—How much is this, you asked the clerk, pointing to your head. There’s no tag on it.

—Dunno. I can look it up.

It didn’t turn up anywhere in inventory. You and the clerk considered it, passing it back and forth, scrutinizing the hat band, finding no label, nothing.

—Someone coulda worn it in and left here by accident. But it looks brand new.

—Tell you what. I’ll give you ten bucks for it.

—Ok, I guess.

You walked out of that shop with a black hat on your head. You surveyed the scene, the passing vehicles, the pedestrians. You snickered an evil little laugh to yourself. This should be fun.