Hustle stood at Jen's door. He knocked nervously, hoping against hope that her dad wouldn't answer the door. Please let it be her mom, please please please!

It was her dad. Crap. I'm dead.

"Can I help you?" the burly hedgehog asked.

Hustle gulped. "Uh, I'm here to pick up Jen," he started squeaking. "We have a d-d-date."

"Ah, you're the young man she's 'seeing', aren't you?"

"Ahem, Yes sir," He was shaking now.

"Please, come in," Lamont opened the door so Hustle could fit through. "We need to have a little talk."

Awww, man, not the talk! I'm dead! I'm screwed!

Come on! Get a hold of yourself! You've fought Eggman and his clones, you've destroyed thousands of his robots, you've survived your brother's cooking and your afraid of one measly hedgehog? You wimp.

What am I saying? This guy could rip me apart! Or worse, he could tell Jen she can't see me anymore!

"Are you alright, son? You look a little green," Lamont commented.

"Huh? No, I'm fine, sir. Just a little nervous, that's all. I mean, your daughter's beautiful, I get nervous just looking at her."

"Humph. What did you say your name was?"

Hustle was sweating bullets now. "M-my name is Hustle, sir."

"Hustle, huh? Do you have a job, Hustle?"

"Yeah, I fight crime," Wow, he said to himself, that sounded really lame. Oh well, just keep going! "Well, I mean, I'm the head of one of the local resistance groups. I'm also part of the management staff at the movie theater."

"What do you intend to do with my daughter?"

"Well, I'd like to take her to dinner and maybe a movie afterwards."

"Alright. What time will you be done?"

"Um, about ten, maybe eleven?" Good, it's winding down. Man, this is worse than asking my boss for a raise!

"Her curfew is 10:30. Have her home before then. Hustle, it's spelled H-U-S-T-L-E, right?"

"Y-yeah, why?"

"Oh, no reason." He casually took a bullet out of his pocket and wrote 'Hustle' name on the casing. He set it on the mantle next to a row of fired bullets. They all had the names of boys on them, and Hustle had no doubt that Lamont would fire that bullet into his heart if given the slightest chance.

"By the way," Lamont said, turning towards Hustle, "When you think about kissing or holding hands or touching or even looking at my daughter, just remember this: I'm not afraid to go back to prison. Are we clear?"

Hustle's eyes were wider than dinner plates as he fearfully nodded his head.

"Good!" Lamont said cheerfully, "I'll go get Jennifer for you."

Whew! I'm glad that's over, Hustle thought to himself, well handled, but make sure you have her home by 10:30 or else that bullet is yours!

Jen walked down the stairs. She had chosen to wear a medium length black skirt and a red low-cut shirt. She walked over to him and took his arm. "Ready to go?"

Hustle looked over his shoulder to see Lamont glaring at him over the newspaper he had picked up. He moved his finger across his throat, threatening Hustle.

Hustle blanched. "Uh, yeah, sure, let's go. Brian's meeting us there." They rushed out the door to Hustle's car. He opened Jen's door, jumped over the car, wrenched his door open, sat in the driver's seat, and sped off, his tires squealing.