The hat fluttered across the car crusher yard as the killer picked up the body
and dumped it in the trunk of a junker in the queue to be crushed. Not much of
a final resting place but very convenient.
The German Shepherd pacing the lot caught the hat. It smelled interesting. He
carried it back to the break area and flopped it at his master's feet. "What
cha got, boy?" The dog thumped his tail.
An hour later, the master was on the road, headed up I-15 for Vegas to meet a
couple of buddies. He had the next three days off. His windows were down, the
tunes were blasting, his new hat was securely on his head. There had been a
twenty dollar bill tucked in the inside of the hat. It was a lucky hat. He had
a good feeling about it.
By midnight, broke and so drunk he could barely stand, it was pretty clear the
hat was getting him nowhere. He was very drunk. Drunk enough that lying down
felt like a good idea. Easier than trying to figure out how to open his hotel
room door. When he woke up a little after dawn, he never even thought about the
hat.
Victor's hat.
By this point, it was all that was left of him.