I pushed open the reinforced glass door and the first several bars of “Deep in the Heart of Texas” played as an entry chime. The harsh fluorescent light overhead highlighted the decades-old wood paneling on the walls. The ceiling tiles were rust-colored in places from water damage and the commercial-grade carpet had been worn down to the felt in high traffic trails. There were racks and rows of blue denim jeans and leather cowboy boots of every style and color, and, of course, an extensive collection of hats. All of the goods for sale were immaculately organized. Nothing was out of place and I couldn’t see a speck of dust anywhere.

A man behind the sales counter looked up from an Elmore Leonard novel and peered at me over his spectacles for a moment, really taking my measure. He slowly marked his place before gently placing the book on the counter and tucking his specs into a shirt pocket. “Young man,” he drawled, “you seem in desperate need of a head covering.” The old man got up off the stool he was sitting on and stepped out from behind the register. He was dressed in dark indigo blue jeans and a crisp white shirt. Over the top of the shirt was a form-fitted, checked vest and he sported dark brown leather cowboys boots. His hair was long and straight, the color of an expensive pearl. He had a full, push-broom mustache that turned down into a horseshoe. His mustache still had a little pepper with the salt, recalling a more vigorous age. I caught glints of silver from his hands that turned out to be sterling silver rings and shiny silver cufflinks shaped like galloping stallions. But the star of the whole had to be the man’s huge silver and turquoise belt buckle. A bull’s head formed the “T” in an ornately lettered “T - E - X”.

The man gave me a thousand-watt smile and thrust forward a gigantic paw. It took his hand in my own and was impressed with both the strength of the handshake and the arthritic, knurled knots that were the man’s knuckle joints. “Name’s Mathew Thompson, but all my friends call me Tex. And, I hope you will be my friend.” He shook vigorously.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tex,” I replied. “I’m Cash Renshaw and I am looking for a hat.”

He reeled his leather mitt back in and examined me with a squint eye. “Of course you are, of course, you are. But, you ain’t no ten-cent saddle bum walking into my shop with those two smoke wagons.” He walked slowly around me in a circle. He whispered the words, almost reverently. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to himself. “And you ain’t no done up, mail-order dude, neither. You, my friend, are a regular Belvidere bull.” He finished his circuit and returned to where he started.

“I am in a bit of a hurry." I looked past him at the wall of hats. "Can I just pick one off the rack?”

The man looked at me like I slapped him. “Can you just pick one? Tarnation boy! No! The hat picks the man! A good thatch can make a fat man slim and a short man tall. It lets your friends know that you are a huckleberry above a persimmon and lets your enemies know that you are on the shoot. Come with me.”

I followed him. Tex walked slowly and shot a glance back at me every few steps. He was muttering to himself. We reached the hat area and he motioned toward a wooden stool. “It’s a little late in the season for straw, so it’ll have to be felt. You’ll want a fine fur, but not too fine. Something, that will stand a little weather. And of course,” Tex looked at me, “it’ll have to be white.”

He picked up a few hats off their perches and placed them back. One, he grabbed and brought it halfway to me before stopping and returning it. He seemed to be getting agitated. He stood in front of the wall of hats and rubbed his chin. I was starting to get impatient. I wanted to say something, but I was afraid that I would be interrupting some important ritual.

“None of these are quite right,” Tex admitted. I wondered if he was going to make me leave empty-handed just as he visibly stiffened before hustling off into the back. He came back with a fancy-looking box. He set it on the stool next to me and opened it. “This just came in last night. It’s the new Stetson Skyline. Tex removed some packaging and placed the hat reverently into my hands. I noticed it was more of a brownish taupe, rather than white. The box declared it was “Sahara” colored. The felt was fine in my hand and the hat was solid, substantial. The Stetson had a matching hatband with a tiny silver buckle. I looked closer and the buckle had the letter ‘C” on it. I pointed it out to Tex. He pulled out his spectacles and looked.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Normally, that’s an “S” for Stetson. This must be some kind of manufacturing snafu. You might be holding a collector’s item. Well, what are you waiting on?”

I gingerly placed the hat atop my head. It fit perfectly, although I didn’t remember Tex measuring my head or asking my size. I pushed it forward so that it sat level and before I even looked in the mirror, I knew this was the one. It was as though a tuning fork had been struck on my head and its perfect vibrations pulsed through my body. I felt completed. Or at least, more complete. I stood and strode toward the three-way mirror. The browns in the hat set off my skin tone perfectly and it matched the leather of my gun belts. The hatband sported my initial, without a reasonable explanation. This was it, my hat.

“Not too far back, or you’ll look like a camp ranger," Tex instructed. "Not too far forward, or you’ll like the men you’re chasing.” I adjusted the brim, forward, then back a little. I settled it into the Goldilocks zone.

“Perfect,” Tex and I said at the same time. I thought I saw a tear in the old man’s eye. Maybe it was the severe lighting.

“I assume you’ll wear it out?” Tex asked, not expecting an answer. He looked down at my feet, then my waist. “How about some boots? A buckle?”

I gazed at my dusty, brown Danner boots. They were light and comfortable and allowed me to run. We had been through a lot together, and I didn’t think that now was the time to be breaking in a new pair of justins. “Not today, Tex. I really am in a hurry.”

He nodded and led me back to the front of the store. “I understand. Chomping at the bit to introduce some hard cases to those thumb busters on your hips. I get it, shootist.” Tex walked behind the counter and punched a few buttons on an old brass cash register that looked older than he was. Two hundred dollars came up on the display. Tex fired up the salesman's smile. “I’m giving you the friends and family discount. I’ll hope you’ll be back. I know you’re in a hurry, but you and me. We have more business, I think.”

I counted out two hundred in twenties and pushed them across the counter. Tex’s eyes glittered. “Hard currency. My favorite.” He collected the money and pushed a few more buttons on the old machine. The drawer chimed open happily and Tex fed it my money before closing it. I waited a moment for a receipt, but Tex sat back on his stool and picked up his book, and replaced his readers. I made for the door, leaving the hatbox and packaging on the counter.

I made it about halfway there when I heard Tex called to me, “Cash.”

I turned to face him, but the older man wasn’t looking at me. He was instead looking past me out the windows at the darkening sky. “Remember, there’s a time for law and a time for lead." He looked at me over his spectacles. "We have to know which is when.”

I nodded and waited for more, but Tex went back to reading. The door chimed the second half of “Deep in the Heart of Texas” and I stepped back out into the wind. The pristine blue had given way to an overcast slate grey. I hurried across the street back to my car and marveled at how good I felt. I was free from pain and the adrenal fatigue from earlier had passed. I wasn’t sure if it was aspirin, the whisky, the hat, or a combination of the three. In any case, I felt like a million bucks. The impossible was suddenly in reach and there was no such thing as ‘too dangerous’.

I jumped back into the driver’s seat with a spring in my step and carefully placed my hat on the dash. Teddy had dozed off again and the closing door startled him awake. He gave a slight groan upon waking, but his breathing seemed easier than before. I pushed the start button and turned back out onto the highway. Teddy leaned forward and ran a finger over the felt of my new Stetson.

“Nice hat,” he commented before easing himself back and closing his eyes.

“Thanks, partner.”

“Special stock? He bring it out of the back?” Teddy asked.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“The buckle on the hatband is wrong. Unless they changed the name of the company to Chetson, and nobody told me.” He sighed wearily. “If it wasn’t magic before, it is now.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Remind me to show you my collection of bow-ties. Quite remarkable.”

Teddy slept while the Hellcat scorched through the remains of the countryside. We reentered the city proper and I headed toward the downtown area. We were still looking good to make it back in time. I hit a bit of the early rush hour traffic, keyed on my lights to drive around it in the emergency lane. The sun was well into its daily descent.

I pulled the Charger back into the same spot we had been just a few days before. It seemed like a lifetime since we had sat here eating chili dogs. I tapped Teddy awake. Down in the warehouse yard ahead of us were two Mitsubishi box trucks, and two Tahoes, identical to the ones we had intercepted in San Paso. Several figures were milling about the trucks, but they looked like they were getting ready to depart. I spotted a woman I recognized as likely Vanessa from the park. She vaulted into the driver’s side of the lead Tahoe and pounded on the side of the door. The rest of the pack loaded up in the trucks for departure.

Teddy yawned and prodded at his broken arm. “Looks like we are just in time.”

I watched as a gate glided open and the vehicles departed in a line. I made a mental note of where the gate was. “That’s a lot of doped up blood leaving,” I commented remembering the deal Black Mesa had made with the Sleeper.

“Hardly a catastrophe,” Teddy said. “The city is rotten with it as is.” He was checking his MPX carbine with his one good arm.

“How you feeling?” I asked him.

“Much better,” he smiled. “Amazing what a little bourbon and a quick nap can do for the soul.”

I got out and opened the trunk. I emptied my weapons of the silver rounds and reloaded them with a mix of explosive rounds, shield busters, and regular .357 magnum hollow points. In the 1887 shotgun, I put in regular double ought buckshot loads. I grabbed a few of the stand-off loads for my ammo belt. Teddy got out of the car just as I finished.

“Give me a few minutes to find a spot where I can set up and build a rifle rest. I should be able to provide cover fire down into the yard, even one-handed. Once you go inside the building though, you’re on your own. Good luck.” Teddy told me. His voice was extremely calm, a contrast to my own pounding heart. This might be the last time we saw each other.

I nodded to him, not trusting myself with words. I did a last check of my gear as Teddy walked out of the alley. He was moving a lot better and I felt a bit better. He had taken a terrible thrashing from Keith Richards and I was guilty about dragging him into this. Everything was in place. I holstered my pistols and changed out the stock on the shotgun for the pistol grip before slinging it close to my body. The Henry Big Boy rifle I kept in my hands.

I got back into the Charger and listened to the engine idle. The unstoppable euphoria I had felt before had waned, but there was work to be done. I put my new Stetson on my head just as my phone chimed. Teddy was in position. I checked that hat’s fit in the mirror. Perfect.

I thought back to Tex's parting words to me. There was a time for lead, alright. And the clock had just struck .357.