He came into the store as he had every day for the past several years and went to the coffeepot. She saw him every day at about the same time. He was average height, and medium build. If it were not for the rumpled hat he would be easily overlooked. He would get his refill, tell her a joke, or tell her some kind of story. She always thought that there something special about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. He told her the most interesting things. If she were to have to pick out the least violent person she knew she would pick him. He did not look like he would hurt a fly.
He had told her once that some people developed a sixth sense about danger. They learned over a period of time how to tell when things were about to go wrong. She didn't understand what he was talking about but had listened. She always enjoyed what he had to say; if nothing else it was entertaining. She often wondered if this man had developed it and what would cause a person to develop one.
She saw the car pull up but didn't pay it much attention. Cars came and went constantly in a steady stream - which is what a gas station was for. The large gray car slid into the parking lot and stopped next to the front door. She noticed that the man in the hat was looking at the car. She noticed that he changed. She couldn't pinpoint the difference but something had happened. He stood differently - somehow lighter on his feet. She looked back to the car and noticed that two men got out and left the doors open. The driver stayed in the car.
The man in the hat turned and stood facing the door with his coffee mug in one hand and the pot in the other. As the two men from the car came through the door she noticed that they wore stockings over their faces. The first man inside carried a shotgun and the second carried a pistol. Her heart stopped as she looked for the man in the hat. She couldn't find him.
'Gimme the fucking money,'� screamed the first man. He pointed the shotgun in her face she was too terrified to move.
'Now, bitch!'� he ordered. She had to force herself to breathe. Her arms wouldn't move. She knew she was going to die. Then she saw the hat. Not the man under it just the hat. She recalled seeing the rumpled hat flash across her view. Then she heard glass shatter. Under the hat the man appeared. He smashed the pot of coffee across the head of the man with the pistol and then threw the mug at the man with the shotgun. The man screamed from beneath the stocking as he grabbed for his face. The man in the hat moved silently. He smashed a hand across the jaw of the shotgun-carrying thug and dropped him like a log. He turned to the second man grabbed him by the collar and slammed a knee into his groin. The thief dropped silently to the ground.
The man in the hat grabbed the pistol, unloaded it, and tossed it behind the counter. He grabbed the shotgun and one of the criminals began to stir. He slammed the butt of the shotgun against the masked mans head. Then, old hat and all, he disappeared out the opposite side of the store. Before she had time to take a breath she heard the engine of the car rev and then heard the shotgun blast. The windshield of the car shattered and the car stopped. The hat appeared beside the car and pulled the driver out. The driver pulled away from the hatted mans grip and tried to run. The butt of the shotgun flared out and caught the felon behind the ear. Before he could hit the ground the man in the hat flung the criminal over his shoulder and carried him inside and added him to the pile on the floor.
She felt herself turning. Things began to blur and swirl. The man in the hat reached across the counter and took her in one arm and pulled her over the counter. He held her in one arm and pointed the shotgun at the pile of criminals on the floor with the other. Slowly the world returned to normal. He lifted her to the counter and sat her down. He reached for the phone and dialed 911 and without speaking laid the phone on the counter. It had only lasted for a few seconds but had seemed like hours.
When she heard the sirens wailing in the distance the man in the hat checked to make sure that the criminals were still incapacitated, kissed her on the forehead, and disappeared out the door into his old car. His last words to her were, 'I was never here, you don't knot who I am.'� When the police arrived moments later she told them that she had no idea who the man was. She had known him all this time and still didn't know his name. For some reason he wanted to remain unknown and she respected that. The only description she gave the police was that he wore a hat. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

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