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First Chapters: Remington & The Mysterious Fedora by Chuck Waldron

First Chapters

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Remington and the Mysterious Fedora Remington & The Mysterious Fedora
By Chuck Waldron
WriteByMe Books (April 6, 2011)
Fantasy
256 pages

Chapter One

Walking through a door one afternoon was a life-changing event for Josh. Earlier that morning, he had made a grand announcement.  Grandiose might have better described it.

“I’m going to write a novel, and what’s more I’m going to write it in a month.”

When his friends stopped laughing he said, “I’m not kidding.  I saw it on the internet, a challenge to write a 50,000-word novel by the end of November.  I’m starting at midnight on November 1st.”

His friends looked at each other shaking their heads.  They had heard crap from Josh before, and believed were hearing it now.

In spite of his insisting he would do it, they all turned and walked away.

Hell, he thought, that only takes 1,667 words a day, give or take.

When Josh woke up that morning, he had no idea — absolutely none — that a typewriter and hat would figure into his day.  But, if I told you any more now, there wouldn’t be a story to tell.

It was usual for Josh to wake up early, dress and wrestle his bicycle through the apartment door, onto the elevator, and out through the building lobby, narrowly missing the fake potted-palms.

This day he looked around; it wasn’t a particularly cold day, nor was it warm.  It was a typical autumnal day for this part of the world.  A brisk breeze was blowing from the west, signaling a passing cold front.  He chose his route.  He would ride into the wind and enjoy its push on the way back.

Josh had never been mistaken for an athlete, but he appreciated the value of exercise.

The riding provided another clear benefit for him.  As he pedaled, his muscles straining, his heart rate rising, his mind would clear and sometimes wondrous thoughts would sneak into his consciousness.  He often grasped elusive ideas while riding.  Once, he had solved a complex mathematical formula in his head while taking a leisurely ride.

There was always a potentially serious downside to those aha moments, however.  He had been so focused on the mathematics while riding that long-ago day, he rode, without stopping or looking, across a busy street.  He barely noticed, or gave a second thought, to the screeching sound of tires braking on asphalt, as one car stopped inches from his right leg.  He simply rode on, oblivious to the event.

What does any of that have to do with a typewriter and hat, you ask?  Nothing really, but it explains why Josh happened to be out and about that morning, on that fateful day.

Chapter 2

 

 

 

As Josh rode on that brisk morning, he noticed the sign advertising “USED STUFF.”  He took pride in knowing all the places to buy stuff cheap.  They were some of his favorite places to stop during his bike rides about town.  Josh was above all an extremely economical young man.  Browsing vintage clothing and routing around junk stores was his passion.  He once considered writing a book, sharing his ability to find inexpensive and useful things.  Along with many other things in Josh’s life, the book idea was shelved, committed to the “forgotten” file, along with others.

What the…

I’ve never seen this sign before.

He braked and locked his bike to a nearby fence railing.  Walking through the door, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the lighting inside store.  He became aware of an odor, the whiff of what?  Stuffy, he decided.

They could use some lights.  Even I’m not this cheap.

Inside the door on his right was a display counter.  It reminded Josh of a photo he had seen once, a photo of a dry goods store in some rural town in the early twentieth century.  The date on the photo was 1911, he recalled after a minute’s thought.

A man of indeterminate age stood behind the counter in the dusty store.  Josh had never seen a banker’s eyeshade before.  (He learned later such visors were worn by all sorts of people, bankers, clerks and gamblers.)  The man behind the counter had one; it was green.  Josh saw the man’s eyes peering out from under the visor, but there was no way he could guess the nature of the man looking at him.

The clerk didn’t say anything, merely pulled a worn cardigan together at the front and stared at him.  Josh waited, but the man didn’t say anything.

Deciding to break the ice, Josh said, “I’ve never seen your store before.  Did you just open it?  Where did you get all this incredible old stuff?” Josh waved his arm around at all the miscellaneous mish-mash surrounding him.  He thought he detected a faint smile emerge from under the visor.

“New or old, merely words,” the man said.

What is this guy talking about? Josh said to himself, not given to scatological language, even in his thoughts.  The truth was, Josh was growing more than a bit nervous, and as he was deciding to leave, the man said, “Why not take your time and look around.  You never know what treasures you might find.”

Josh turned back around.  “Is there any organization to things here?”

“Just start looking,” the man said with a shrug.  “Isn’t the best part of a journey the journey itself?  Look, discover, take pleasure in the search itself.”  The man waved to one side, “There are two more rooms.  This room I call old, the second room I call older, and you can guess what I have in the last room,” he finished and started a phlegmatic coughing, not bothering to cover his mouth.

Josh didn’t like the sound of the cough, but he was intrigued.  He started to ask another question, but the man had turned to pick up a book.  He began reading intently, oblivious to the young man on the other side of the counter.  For no apparent reason, Josh noted the man was reading Moby Dick.

Josh didn’t find anything of interest in the first room.  He kept looking back over his shoulder, but the store owner was paying no attention to him now.  There was a pile of old magazines that caught Josh’s attention:  Life, Look, National Geographic, and something called The Fiddlehead, which turned out to be a Canadian literary magazine from 1945.

He moved on, fingering some glassware, but nothing on those shelves grabbed his attention.  He pushed his plastic glass frames up a little further on his nose and stifled a sneeze, tickled to life from the dust.

He found the second room even more interesting.  In the corner of the room he spotted some racks of vintage clothing.  Alongside was a shelf of old headwear.  He was intrigued with a particular tall hat.  He picked it up and held it, eyes wide with curiosity, turning it in his hand.  He looked at the headband on the inside, looking for a clue that would tell him what kind of hat it was.

“They called it a stove-pipe hat, back in the day.  I always wondered if that hat you’re holding might’ve belonged to Abraham Lincoln himself,” the shop owner said with a chuckle.  He had crept into the room to stand behind Josh, and started to cough again.  It was an unpleasant cough, really, the man reaching for a handkerchief this time and holding it to his lips.  “Try it on. There’s a mirror in here someplace.”  The man shuffled off into another room, and Josh put the hat back on the shelf.

He placed it next to another interesting looking hat.  It was camel-colored, with a dark brown ribbon wrapped around it, just above the brim, a fedora.  Josh picked it up and tried it on.  He finally located the mirror and almost started to laugh.

I look just like Indiana Jones.


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