The Man In The Top Hat Novels & Stories

) (Note: Manong is used when you want to call older men like uncles) The man with a farmer's hat turned around to face me. I can't see his face very well because of the farmer's hat he is wearing but only his eyes. They were hazel brown colored. He looked at me intently as if angry, then froze, as if realizing something. "Ahm ... hello?" I said, snapping my fingers in front of him when he was just staring at me blankly. Weird. Is something on my face? The wind blew, making his hat fall to the ground and when he took off the scarf on his neck, I gasped in shock at what I saw.

Lucien then bent down. He picked up a hat lying near the man’s feet. Holding it lightly, he straightened and looked at him. “Is this yours?” he asked. His voice was calm, his posture composed. The simple act carried an unexpected elegance. For a second, no one spoke. Even Lyra was surprised. The man blinked, caught off guard. “Ye… yes,” he stuttered, taking the hat from him. He did not know what to say anymore. The tension that had been building suddenly collapsed.

The man in a skull mask moved over to the elevator and stood erect beside it, while Veronica lowered her eyes. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Isabella lifted her head, and the first thing she saw was a pair of shoes. Black, glossy shoes which gleamed under the room lights. Her gaze travelled up slowly, taking in the immaculate outfit of the man. White trousers, ironed to perfection. A white inner sleeve which rode over his protruding belly, then a white tux, the buttons unbuttoned. A thick brown cigar hung between his lips, thick smoke coiling off it. A white hat balanced perfectly on his head, the front part tipped over his face.

They were all wearing the same kind of white hat like that of cowboys. “Is he the one?” the woman asked. She leaned her neck forward as she spoke into the mic on the desk right a bit to her right in front of her. “Yes, ma’am.” one of the men in the hat said. “He killed him in self-defense. I don’t think we should persecute him for that.” another man in a hat said. “We will see about that.” the woman said. She rolled her eyes to the side and exhaled another smoke. “Tell him to strip!” the woman ordered.

I raise my voice to be heard over the music, but I can barely hear myself. “I think it will be fairly obvious.” Nathan’s jaw is tight as he nods toward the bar. There’s a man holding court there in a group of women dressed not so differently from me, so I can’t exactly judge them. But the guy is wearing a tropical print shirt, totally unbuttoned, and baggy khaki shorts. Atop his head is a party store wizard hat. “That can’t be,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “That is not the super powerful magician.”

The man's structure seems very familiar and I joggle my memory to remember which of my relatives had such a sense of fashion. The man followed Iris directly behind till she stepped out the door. He on the other hand paused for a moment at the entrance and adjusted his cap. It was only then did I notice the tattoo on his bicep that he didn't try to hide with his polo shirt and jeans. Wait! I know that tattoo. As if hearing my thoughts, the man slowly turned in my direction and lifted his hat so I could see his face clearly. And after sending me a smirk, he dashed out of the hall. Soldo!! ----- ~ ----- THE END.

Shivering, he almost didn’t notice the man approaching until he was only a few feet from him. “Nice weather, huh?” the man said, like they were enjoying a beautiful sunny day. Heath looked up to see a nondescript man smiling at him. He was of average height and no older than forty, with only a few lines on his face. His wore a wide-brimmed hat that dripped from the rain and a trench coat cinched at the waist that made him look like some detective from a mid-century noir film. A scar bisected his chin, his front tooth chipped from probably the same fight that had cut his chin.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The men look very distinguished with their top hats and round glasses. It’s like they just stepped out of an old detective film influenced by Charlie Chaplin. I think this image is part of their job, intended to appear impressive to suspects. “Detective Smith and Jones,” the man in front of me responds, pointing to himself and his colleague. “We come here for the case of Elena Fellogan. We’d like to ask some questions”.

In front of me, stood the man I've been looking for my entire life. Alessio Romano. He was only the best hitman in the world before he became the Leader of the Russian Mafia. He was the worst and now? He became even worst. "Drop the gun, princess. I won't repeat myself again." His voice was calm but threatening. I knew Alessio. He wouldn't hesitate to shoot my grandmother dead. I dropped my gun on the floor and raised my hands to my surrendering myself, "Just let her go."