Red Fedora (Fanfic/Bio)

[Scarlet Shocker]

“Your grandfather was always keen that your family should become a force to be reckoned with.” Mickey Speight, Attorney at Law looked at his client over half-moon glasses.

 

Drake Sutton III shrugged. “Didn’t make much of an impression, so far.”

 

Speight nodded in agreement. “The unfortunate demise of your father not long after you were born, and the fact that your grandfather spent three decades in the Zig, would seem to support that theory. But now that he is no longer amongst the living seems to offer an opportunity to you.”

 

“Dude, I got enough crap to deal with. I got no time for his dementia-ridden fantasies. You see how shitty it is out there, just trying to make a living and hold it together.” It wasn’t a question. “If Gramps wanted us to be a name he should’ve stayed out of the Zig and spent more time here in Cap au Diable.” He gazed out of the window. The rain lashed against the glass on a wintry day. “Look at this place. It’s a shit hole!”

 

Drake was peeved. His last remaining relative had died, and he was the heir to nothing. The riches Drake senior was alleged to have accumulated, the wealth that nobody had been able to trace even after his incarceration had failed to materialise. A bank account with little more than $300 in it and a couple of boxes stored in Speight’s office for all those years.

 

“Did he ever tell you what he bequeathed you?” asked Speight?

 

“Nah, he just said I would make him proud. I figured he was gonna show me how to cut cards or something. Gran said he was good at that in the day. Not that it did him any good. You know what he left for me?”

 

“Well I know he left you this steel box and the key to the lock. I can’t tell you what’s in the box, but it’s not heavy so I guess you won’t be getting a ton of bullion or something like that.” Speight sighed. He’d seen similar situations before, relatives who promised the earth and delivered next to nothing. But that was Cap au D all over; the Isle of Broken Dreams some called it. He was a squat man, balding, greywhite hair, the half-moon glasses making him appear a decade older than his 63 years. His suit was rumpled, in need of pressing but where could you get that done in this hole? Back in the day, things had been better and he’d cut some deals with the Family, and even occasionally some lucrative stuff with Goldbrickers. But after the Rikti hit Paragon, things had gotten tougher and tougher and tougher. He couldn’t wait to retire.

 

Drake nodded. “Yeah. I bet he barely covered your fees and I sure ain’t gonna.”

 

Speight allowed a half smile. “He paid me up front when he brokered this deal. We’d always figured it’d be your pop, not you, so it took longer time but for the storage…” he gestured at the box. “It’s not so big that storage became an issue. Don’t worry about that part at least.”

 

He took something from his jacket pocket and passed it to Drake. He was wearing his best, well truthfully his only, suit for the occasion. He was just above average height, skinny, dark hair and dark eyed, not bad looking, young, but with no real prospects. His family all gone, his dad a victim of getting in over his head with the Circle when Drake III was an infant, a mother who went to an early grave due to overwork, broken hearted, shattered dreams. The upshot was the kid had to make it on his own, which he’d done, just barely, yet surprisingly without hitting the wrong side of the tracks or getting into something that might have left him face down in a gutter somewhere.

 

Drake looked at chain Speight had passed him. It was silver, unremarkable, but a small silver key on it. The key looked like it should fit the lock on the trunk. He nodded, gazed thoughtfully at the trunk and then put the key in the lock and wiggled. It turned easily enough, the lock clicked and the lid raised slightly. The young man, 22 at most, opened the case and looked inside, an overwhelming sense of disappointment welling inside of him. There was a large circular box, next to a smaller square cardboard tube, a letter laying crooked between them and something silver under the letter. He lifted the letter, and picked up the silver item and chuckled with a sense of irony. It was a silver hip flask, engraved with the letters D S. Otherwise it was unaugmented.

 

Speight looked on impassively. He had no clue what to expect, but he wasn’t expecting miracles, and he wasn’t disappointed. The last few sentimental belongings of a man with dreams above his station and ability.

 

He moved to a sideboard in his office and poured a couple of whiskeys from the silver tray that rested there. It wasn’t something he often did for his clients, especially the broke ones, but he had fond memories of Drake’s grandfather, a happy-go-lucky fool and bullshitter but one who’d never crossed Speight and always been solid to his family those he cared for.

 

Drake III dropped the letter, turning his attention to the large round box. He lifted the lid and sighed, his eyes rolling in exasperation as he lifted out a bright red Fedora hat. It did look to be very well crafted, and in exceptionally great condition considering it must be close to forty years old, at least. But seriously, what the hell would Drake do with such a hat? How could that be important? Not exactly the height of fashion.

 

He grinned lopsidedly and popped the hat on his head. It fit perfectly and he accepted the proffered glass from Speight gratefully. “Are you as impressed as I am?” he asked with more than a little sarcasm.

 

Speight shrugged, raised his glass; “Cheers.” He sipped the whiskey and looked at the kid. His grin was slightly infectious and to be fair, even though it was somewhat incongruous, the hat did seem to suit his young client. “It looks ok. Nice material for sure.”

 

Drake shrugged, knocked back his drink in one take and turned to the tube in the trunk. It was thick cardboard, with tin end caps pressed on. He twisted one off, peered inside and then gently tapped the open end on his palm. Something brass with a chain slid gently into his hand. He took it by the chain and held it up. It looked like a small brass carriage lantern, fine workmanship but too small to truly light anything significant. It fit within the palm of his hand.

 

“Huh.” There was nothing else to say. A disappointing ornament. Drake held out his glass absent-mindedly staring at the lamp, puzzled. “Another drink please.”

 

Speight opened his mouth to say something. He wasn’t in the habit of giving free drinks to broke clients but something made him think better of it and he poured another, silently watching the young man as he popped the lamp in his jacked pocket and opened the letter.

 

The letter was on high quality paper, thick, cream coloured, and a cursive script in dark brown ink. It was brief. Drake read it once, then again, frowning slightly.

 

“Son,

 

When you want to go places, throw the lamp away.

When you want people to understand your strength, wear the hat.

 

Always wear the hat. It was crafted by the Circle, from the finest Redcap felt. There are others items out there, somewhere, but I never found them; a vest, gloves and a neck-tie at least. Maybe there’s more.

Make them yours, make people know the name Drake Sutton. Own the Isles, make them fear the Red Fedora

 

Dad

 

PS the flask is just a keepsake. My father gave it to me for my 18^th birthday and we got the same initials, so you have it.”

 

 

Drake took the new drink and sipped this time, staring at the letter.

 

“How you feeling kid?” Speight’s voice was low and conciliatory.

 

“Confused. I mean seriously, what the hell? Who are the Red Caps and the Circle? I’m thinking he didn’t write this to me, but for dad.”

 

“Yeah he was in the Zig before you were born and only got out just before he died. He knew your dad was dead, but couldn’t get here to re-arrange stuff. He called me once your dad died, told me everything stands, just pass it to you. Rewrote his will from the Zig and sent it to me. He couldn’t make the letter yours because he never knew you but he wanted this for you. Your job as he saw it was to be the champion that he and your dad never managed to be.”

 

“The Red Fedora?” Drake sounded incredulous.

 

“You looked around kid? The Isles are infested with capes. Everyone and his brother’s got a damned name. It’s worse in Paragon I been told but I ain’t never been there. Your grandpappy believed those things in that trunk would make him, then your dad, wealthy and famous, names to be reckoned with. I figure third time lucky might just do the trick huh?”

 

Drake grinned. The drink was warming and despite his misgivings, his disappointment, he liked the idea of even a bit of power. Life in the Isles was tough, in Cap au Diable it was tougher than most places. It wouldn’t hurt to make a few bucks, get a name for himself, live a more comfortable life than the one he had, barely scraping by, at the mercy of anyone higher up the food chain.

 

“You know how this stuff works?” he asked Speight.

 

“I never did. Never saw it used, he never told me. I guess you’re gonna have to find out by trial and error.” Speight spread his hands. “You’ll need to go see one of Recluse’s Arbiters I guess. He don’t take too kindly to powered freelancers on his turf but he’s pretty easy going once he knows who you are so long as you don’t try and take him on. Though I hear a few have, won, and lived to tell the tale.”

 

Drake nodded. “I’ve heard that but I never paid much attention. I was too busy trying to do my own thing. I’m not even sure if this will change much. What do you think I should do, honestly?”

 

Speight paused, thoughtfully. “Legally, you’re in the clear until you use a power to break the law. That’s mostly stuff to worry about in Paragon. Here’s different – you know that – you cross someone and if they’re tough enough they’ll take you down any way they can. If they ain’t tough enough…” he spread his hands. “It’s dog eat dog. But your grandpappy believed in it. He kinda felt there was a destiny in your family and since he and your dad never managed it, maybe it is you. You’re a bright kid Drake, you should see what you can do with this stuff. But that’s not legal advice. That’s your grandpappy’s friend talking.”

 

Drake placed the letter back in the box and moved to the heavy wooden sash window overlooking the 22^nd National Bank in New Haven, a misnomer if ever there was one. It wasn’t new, nor was it a haven unless you were a friend of the Goldbrickers who were always terrorizing the area. If you moved further down towards the university you were likely to get hassle from Vanguard thugs who lorded it around being untouchable as they seemingly were.

 

It was evening, the rain had eased. Speight would have left long ago had it not been for Drake. Drake smiled inwardly. He was already feeling a smidge of power. Enough to be reckless if nothing else. He opened the catch to the sash window and yanked it upwards letting the cold air in.

 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Speight exclaimed, a flicker of annoyance on his face.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m testing a theory.” Drake’s reply was calm and Speight shrugged and decided to sit in his chair.

 

Drake took the lantern on the chain from his pocket, looked at it, then flung it through the window as far as he could. “’If you want to go places throw the lamp away.’ What does that even mean?”

 

“Beats me,” Speight replied then his jaw went slack and he stared open mouthed at the window. Outside undulating in the evening dusk was some kind of oriental rug, maybe Turkish, Chinese, somewhere foreign. The lamp sat on it but looked a little bigger. “A fucking magic carpet?”

 

Drake grinned. “A fucking magic carpet. Think it’ll hold my weight?”

 

Speight grinned back. “Kid, it ain’t gotta hold your weight.”

 

Drake looked puzzled, “What do you mean?”

 

“It’s obvious,” he retorted. “It’s only gotta carry a Red Fedora”

Edited March 4 by Scarlet Shocker
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