The last bits of daylight had already escaped before Heckler admitted he was lost. The well-worn path to his townhouse had seemed so passé all of a sudden. Maybe it was Jeff's revelation that sent Heckler down a different route. Perhaps it was merely curiosity. Regardless, it didn't take long before he was miles away from the fair, and from anything familiar.

This particular street was totally foreign to him. Fortunately, he was able to suss out a direction and heading, and figured out a general way home. He tightened his grip on the backpack slung over his shoulder, and moved quietly through the dense darkness. From the other side of the road, he could hear someone rattling a change cup. The sound of destitution distracted him enough that he nearly bumped into the barely clothed women stumbling out of some bar. It was certainly an area unfamiliar to Heckler, in more ways than one.

Yet, Heckler did know that it was during nights like this when working women would mark random passersby on the street, targeting their potential clients with a typically keen eye. Usually, this road was busy enough to provide plenty of opportunities to ply their trade. On this night, however, Heckler listened to his own footsteps echo off the flat facades of the bordering buildings. The next thing he knew, a wave of women rushed up the empty road, eager to earn a few bucks. One blonde woman in particular stood forward as Heckler quickened his pace to escape the area.

"Hey cutie, what's your name?" her silky voice rose above the chatter of the bevy of young women, who were now spreading out along the length of the street.

He stopped, dead in his tracks. Something about her voice had him leaning on the dim lamppost next to him.

"Heckler," he offered to the blonde. "And what about yours?"

"Call me Veronica, sweetie."

The lady was wearing a halter top, paired with a leather skirt, and fishnet stockings down to her knees. Her face sported too much blush, and her lips glistened with something three shades too dark. Her five inch pumps ground the gravel underfoot as she surveyed her quarry.

This lady needs a stylist badly, Heckler kept to himself.

Heckler knew what she wanted, but decided to play coy, more to interest himself than anything else. He slathered on a coating of sarcasm as he let out, "Nice name; so tell me, what exactly are you selling, honey?"

"Anything you want, baby." The voluptuous vixen licked her too-dark lips, thinking she had already sealed a deal with him.

Raising an eyebrow, Heckler ran with it. "Look, I don't have all night babe, so what's it gonna be?"

Though she wasn't put off, it was plain that the blonde was less enthused - perhaps she sensed her deal slipping away. "Shy one, aren't you? Well, how 'bout we go back to your place, and we can have a…little fun." With a coquettish wink, she bent down and purred, and ran a finger down his spine. "You look like you've worked too hard all day long. Trust me, I've…helped out a few like you before, darling. You just let me take care of you, okay?"

"Lady, I really wish I could. But I can't tonight, I've got stuff to do and work scheduled for tomorrow," he answered matter-of-factly, with a hint of annoyance. An obvious lie - Heckler knew that, and most likely, she did as well. That something about her voice had devolved into something uninviting and unappealing. Desperation, maybe.

"Oh, come on, I'm sure that can wait," Veronica pressed harder as she leaned in closer to him, her lips tickling his ear. "You're not living if you haven't tried it once. Let's do it, just you and me. Unless…you got a friend you wanna bring in. That'd be fine, too."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," his voice chilled.

She rolled her eyes in disbelief and took one more shot.

"Maybe after you've tried it, you might change your mind. Truth be told, I am the hottest girl this side of Kauai. Be a gentleman - don't hurt a lady's feelings." She teasingly blew in his ear.

"Yeah, whatever you say," Heckler remarked. "Truth be told, it will take more than a little caressing and dirty talk to get me to change my mind, capiche?"

With a muttered curse, the prostitute inhaled deeply and nodded in admission of defeat. Though she wasn't done quite yet. "Hmph, maybe girls aren't your thing..."

Took her two minutes to figure that out, Heckler's mind panicked. What about those who know me better?

"Oh well, you don't know what you're missing, honey." She stood up before walking away, unable to convince the tough little Experiment.

Heckler felt obliged to chase her with, "Oh, and one more thing: If I hurt your feelings in any way, I just want you to know - from the bottom of my heart - that I don't care!" He gave a little huff, which did not stir the blonde, who had already given him the cold shoulder and left. Heckler could swear he heard a few cheers in his head - perhaps satisfaction at not caving to some more primal desire. More confidently, Heckler figured that his true happiness would not be found in the arms of that woman of the night.

"Note to self, never pass by through this place again," he mumbled a self-scathing rebuke.

Rather than attracting more unwanted attention, Heckler turned right around and slinked in silence down Waa Road - a hidden street sign had instructed him. Ecstatic to make a hasty retreat for home, he kept moving past the strip clubs and dive bars, eschewing catcalls from more ladies.

In his haste to hide from the denizens of the night, Heckler missed Slick passing on the opposite corner of the street, a traveling salesman happily dragging his wagon of wares. It had been a long, though impressively fruitful, day for Slick. The fair had proven lucrative for the short time he had camped out there. Odds and ends were still stacked up in the wagon's bed, but Slick was lugging along a few more dollars than he had yesterday.

"Not a bad day," he congratulated his own work ethic.

He came upon an alley, nearly pitch black. But, there was enough light to draw the outlines of three men. As the wagon's wheels squeaked by, they emerged from the shadows, dressed in leather jackets, tight jeans and black shoes, and blocked his path.

"Hey punk, got something useful there?" one of the men interrogated. They were forming an awkward triangle around Slick's wagon. Something about the gentlemen made the salesman's spine tingle; however, Slick waived it, instead reverting to his natural programming to sell them his trinkets.
"Hey there fellas, wanna buy some cool T-shirts? I've got several ones you'd probably like."

Slick dug into his wagon and emerged with several T-shirts containing different designs and logos. In his paw was a green shirt that read 'We Beat Cancer.'

"Or how 'bout this right here?" He pulled out a Dallas Lakers jersey. "I'm offering this gem for the low price of $4.99. Come and buy it while it lasts - money goes to help heal all cancer stricken children in the hospitals!" Slick slapped on the happiest grin he could muster in the middle of this strange gathering.

Though they were obviously uninterested in the tees, they did start to pick a fight with the salesman. "Five bucks a piece? For that? What do you take us for?" a short guy with a distinct Bostonian accent - quite out-of-place on Kauai - replied.

Slick sensed the conversation was souring at breakneck pace. His mental acumen enabled him to make several insights on what he was up against. Yet, this experiment's programming had him pass up on accepting the foreboding debacle. Or, more accurately, Slick preferred to avoid useless confrontation. And certainly, the last thing he wanted was to anger someone that could possibly do nasty things.

"Well, it is for charity…tell ya what, I'm willing to offer a discount for only 2.99, this time and this time only" he counter-offered, trying his best to conceal his rising concern.

"Hmm…nah, how's 'bout we transact business a little differently?"

Without warning, they hoisted his wagon and flung it against a large dumpster. The garbage bin pealed with a hollow and sickly sound. The wagon ejected its contents, scattering them through the alley and onto the street.

"Hey! That was expensive!" Slick shouted, angrily pointing to his damaged carrier.

"Yeah, but it's about to cost ya a whole lot more…" one guy ominously delivered as he cracked his knuckles.
"Oh," the salesman started in swift understanding before he was slammed against a brick wall. His body went limp, and made a large thud as he was knocked to the ground.

"Wow, gentlemen…that was just…uncalled for…" Slick managed through groans of pain. The aches helpfully reminded Slick that his paranoid delusions had been right all along. His midnight customers had ended up being crooks ready to relieve him of his wares and cash. But instead of crying and begging for mercy, he kept his cool and looked up, hoping to snag a useful glimpse of his attackers. "I'm thinkin' you guys need to be put behind bars for this," he prodded while clutching the back of his swelling head.

"Grab his arms! I'll teach 'im a lesson!" the gang's leader commanded.

The other two goons restrained Slick by his wrists, clearing a larger target for their leader to land a few solid hits. Slick squirmed and tried to get away, but the bindings of angry gangsters held him fast. The gang leader grabbed at Slick's throat and, leering from above, he growled, "Listen to me, you son of a bitch. I'm tired of your damned useless junk, but that cash of yours looks mighty nice. Now you better give us what we want, or we'll teach you another lesson."

"Not a chance, bud" Slick protested without missing a beat. He still squirmed in a futile effort to flee.

"Oh, trying to piss me off, are you?" Slick was obviously getting to the gang's leader - sadly, the leader could also get to Slick. The first punch landed in the middle of his stomach. He flinched in pain. The second one landed on his right cheek. His head twisted with it. As one of the goons moved to the front, several more kicks and punches randomly fell. The last goon holding him finally let go, and Slick tumbled to the ground.

Almost delicately, they picked up Slick's straw boater hat, which had landed inches from his contused face. Their laughter and jeers hurt, but not as badly as when they unceremoniously crumpled his hat and flung it away into the cold night. "Psh, what a stupid hat."

Cruel laughter rang louder as Slick abruptly and clumsily - but resolutely - got to his feet. Slick had no choice now but defend himself right where he stood. There was no way he was going to let these guys win. No turning back now. He thought of saying something, but the gleam in his eyes said enough. The gang turned back to their mark.

One of the muggers snarled while he slowly pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket. "Back on your feet…you think we're done?" he challenged, swinging it in wild arcs dangerously close to Slick's nose.

"I'm not afraid of you. The money is going to help those kids. I will not give it!" Slick obstinately refused, his steadfastness elegantly draping every syllable as he told off the gang.

"Yeah? I'd like to see you try and stop us!" the mugger warned, his words sopping with malice.

That malice manifested in the mugger's coal-black eyes. He darted forward, the knife tracking Slick's stomach. In a stroke of luck, the salesman was able to outmaneuver the assailant and parry the mugger's arm with his own. He twisted around and forced the knife away from his own body. The blade, glinting brightly in sparse moonbeams, pierced the man's shoulder, though it cost Slick a huge gash on his arm in the process. The mugger cried out in pain, "You little dipshit!"

Another attack - a slicing move. Slick had jerked sideways, preparing to lunge and slam an elbow into the mugger's orbital socket. But the mugger anticipated this, and managed to deliver a kick to Slick's gut, knocking him into one the alley's dirty walls. The mugger charged once more.

Slick desperately tried to hold him off. But his efforts failed. The knife stabbed deeply into his stomach. A moment of shock paralyzed him. Slick heaved as the guy twisted and then pulled the blade away, messily tearing the wound open. The knife glinted crimson, and specks spattered the pavement.

The mugger stepped back, a devilish grin contorting his face - an evil and satisfied look. Slick staggered sideways before he fell. There on the pavement, he laid on his back, the world around him dimming and chilling.

"Now that is what I call a one way trip to the emergency room. But first we'll be relieving you of the burden of your cash. And as an added bonus, we'll take everything you have. Except that busted wagon - that's all yours, mate. Alright boys, take all of it." The leader took a step forward and spat on Slick. "Good luck surviving the night, jackass"

Slick shifted a bit. The pain was blinding. "Hey - the more you move, the more it's gonna hurt. So lay still!" The mugger admonished his victim cheerfully as he ran a fingertip along the stained edge of the blade. A few more dark drips fell from the bloody tip.

"You're a true psycho, boss," a sycophantic goon added.

"Tell me about it. But to be fair, this guy didn't put up a proper fight - a little outta his league," the mugger remarked, flourishing by pointing his blade at Slick.
Slick could only manage a weak moan while his muggers gloated. Images lost their resolutions. The little color of the night faded to gray, then black.


As Heckler neared the end of Waa Road, he happily whistled some tune he had picked up from somewhere long forgotten. The melody gave him more of a spring in his step, and he accelerated his pace, anxious to get home. The walk was smooth - no more interruptions from unsavory characters. Not until the muffled curses floated by.

A group of three men, slinking around in the telltale fashion of ne'er-do-wells, were messing with a pile of junk, gloating about something - he needed to blink a few times to realize that something was a twitching leg. That was plenty of suspicious activity to spook him. "Thieves, prostitutes, hobos, they're all over in this part of the island." He gathered his wits. "I'd better call the cops."

He extracted his phone, stowed away in a pocket of his backpack and used chiefly for emergencies, and immediately dialed 911.

"911. What's your emergency?" the female dispatcher answered.

"Hello, police, I need to report a disturbance on Waa Road, near the corner of Rice Street. Someone is being mugged right now, as we speak," his voiced stiffened.

"Alright. Get yourself to a safe location. Units will be there soon, sir. Can you stay on the line-" He muttered a quiet curse after he hung up a bit too early.

"Oh well, they got the message. And she made a good point - I'd better lay low before I get mugged, too." He figured he could sneak over to the street corner, under the bright lights of a busy throughway. But just as quickly as his mind constructed its plan, an unsettling feeling stopped him. The moans and groans that emanated from the owner of the twitching leg were all too familiar, as if he had heard the noise once before. "Where have I heard that sound?" he spoke aloud, his mind hoping to divine an answer.

Heckler decided to half-heed the dispatcher's instructions and instead investigate more closely from an adequate safe spot. He carefully stooped down, positioning himself behind the tire well of a nearby parked car. A bit closer now, the moans were morphing into a clearer plea. "Someone help me!"

His mouth dried. His limbs quaked. A moment in utter silence, disbelief. "No way, that can't be him."

The panic set in fast. Heckler's heart raced wildly. He shook his head vigorously, stopping the formation of worst-case images and pretend catastrophes. All in his head - it had to be! He stepped along the chassis, and then peeked from the taillights to spot the thugs surrounding their victim. They pummeled the guy with constant shouts and kicks.

"How you like your customers now, you stupid son of a gun," one guy spat as he kicked the man who was sprawled on his side.

"Wow, how rude and hurtful - and I should know as much. But this, absolutely ridiculous…" the orange fur ball opined.

Heckler expected to see a plain fellow that was having an exceptionally bad day - a poor sap, to be sure. Instead, in the moonlight and clear as day, he saw Slick taking a boot to the gut. Heckler blinked a few times, and shook his head to clear it. He examined the guy on the ground again, searching for the trademark straw boater hat. It had been cast aside, but it was still noticeable even after it had been crumpled, likely beyond repair.

The poor sap was actually his best friend. A best friend who could be very near to losing his life. The thugs were killing his friend, and Heckler sat behind the car, hiding in cowardice.

A spark ignited. Muscles tensed. A fury rose. He leapt out from behind the car. "Hey assholes! Let him go!" The power of Heckler's voice surprised even him. The booming sound had the thugs jumping.

"Let's take it all and go before cops get here!" roared their obvious leader. The three hid a wad of cash and every trinket they had gathered from the ground in a burlap sack, and dashed away from the crime scene.

"Yeah, that's right, you better run! And I, I…oh man, I can't believe I was so stupid!"

As he berated his heroically dumb move, he missed a step and fell face first onto hard pavement. His best friend groaned, and Heckler stood up as quickly as his legs would let him, and he ran to Slick's side.

"Come on dude, let's get you somewhere safe." He got Slick on his feet, and together they hobbled to a nearby parking lot. Heckler managed to lay him against a wall. Once Heckler let go, Slick plopped down gently. Heckler knelt down next to him, tending to his wounds. The blood rapidly stained his hands, his fingers dripping crimson all over the place.

"What did those guys do to you?" Heckler asked in a disbelieving whisper, fighting back a powerful sob.

"They stole…everything…" Slick coughed.

"In his haste to save Slick, Heckler hadn't noticed the gear, usually piled high in that wagon, had been missing. Now out of immediate danger, the loss became evident - especially the money Slick had worked so hard to earn.

"Those bitches!" Heckler swore under his breath. His hands curled into angry fists, and his temple pulsed when he thought back on those braying thugs. He ran a free hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut tightly to dam the tears.

Minutes ticked by before he could bear to look again at the salesman. "Just relax, man. The ambulance will be here any minute. And I'll talk to Officer Kahiko - I know he'll catch those stupid criminals, don't you worry."

Silence filled the deserted parking lot.

"Slick? Slick! Answer me!" Failing to get a response, Heckler slapped the right side of his friend's face, to rouse him to consciousness. "Please stay with me Slick. Hang on tight, I promise I will not leave your side, no matter what!" He buried his face into Slick's dirtied fur, tears already soaking through his delicate pink pelage.

He felt time was running short. He hurriedly pulled out his phone and called 911 once more. "Hello, where are you guys?" he demanded. His voice shook like dead leaves in the wind, and he wished he didn't sound like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

"We're only a few blocks away, sir. We'll get there as soon as we can. The ambulance is on its way, too," the voice from the other line responded.

"Hurry please! I'm begging you, my friend might not make it!" Heckler hung up the phone and chucked it into his backpack.

Half an hour elapsed, and still no sign of the ambulance. Heckler took matters into his own hands. "Alright Slick, I know that paramedics are on their way, but I'm going to apply pressure on the wound to stop the blood flow. I just hope my two weeks of first aid training will come in handy." He moved his shaking hands toward the glowing red stain marring Slick's stomach, and pressed down gently. Almost instantly, Slick whimpered in pain, like an animal trapped in a corner.

Slick was worsening, no doubt still in shock following his assault. Luckily for him, Heckler began pulling his wits together, and planned how he was going to keep his friend alive. He whipped out a towel from his backpack and wrapped it around Slick, who was shivering from the cold. "Here we go, yeah, I think this towel is big enough for your size."

A few minutes later, Heckler knew the towel was definitely doing a good job of keeping Slick warm.

"There, that'll keep you cozy for the time being." His face lit up as he lay down beside the salesman. And there in that parking lot, with the whole of the world against them, all Heckler wanted was to feel the warmth of Slick loving him in return.

"Thank you…" the salesman sobbed, wiping his eyes with the side of his muddy hand. That hand fell inches from Heckler's blood-smeared face. His own hands were soaked in Slick's blood, but he didn't care. He just held Slick close to him, first his hand and then his body, terrified to let go.

"And if they ever come back, Slick, they're going to have to face me. I may be small, but I'm feisty when I need to be. No one dares threaten my friends like that."

It began to rain, a torrent of chilly droplets that pinged as they hit the asphalt. Heckler was no longer certain whether the water streaming down his face was a river of rain or tears. Both Slick and he were waterlogged. As the rain washed away the blood, into the sewer grate and out to somewhere far away, Heckler fretted. What infection would cold rain bring? He studied his friend's wound, cleaner but in greater peril, and then checked for a pulse on Slick's neck. Thankfully, his friend's heart still beat, but it was agonizingly weak. Slick groaned incoherently as Heckler desperately kept a dressing on the injury. But in the rain, nothing helped.

"Give me a break…as if things aren't bad enough already, now I have to deal with bad weather!" yelled an impotent Heckler.

No sooner did the shouts bounce off the wall than did the beautiful wailing sirens grace their ears. Help had arrived. "Hang in there buddy," he pushed Slick. "You'll be at the hospital soon." Heckler nodded, his face ashen.

The ambulance pulled up in front of them. Several paramedics poured from the back and placed Slick on a stretcher. "Are you coming with us, sir?" one paramedic asked.

"Of course I am! Just look at the guy. You think I'm just going to stand around here like a statue and leave him!" Heckler objected. The paramedic didn't resist, and Heckler hopped into the back of the ambulance. A second paramedic handed him a fresh cloth to clean himself up. He scrubbed, and the cloth came away almost as bloody as his fingers still were.

"I forgot to ask - what's his name?" the female paramedic asked.

"It's…his name is Slick."

His duty discharged, Heckler let himself lean back, attempting to find comfort in the realization that Slick was in the hands of professionals now. They would help get him back on his feet in no time.

But for now, he hoped it would be over soon.

"This is going to be a long night," he whispered as his hand gently clutched Slick's paw. A single tear slid down Heckler's cheek, silent and slow.

TO BE CONTINUED