Deuce watched as the mugger began backing up, his gun hand trembling, and with a voice that shook, he said, “I mean it. I’ll shoot.”

“And risk being found out? Like the man said, people like you crawl around in the da ...”

Before he could get his words out, suddenly the mugger shot, over and over again, but the bullets bounced off the hero’s chest and fell on the concrete.

“Will you stop that?” the Night Flyer said, grabbing the gun away from him. “With those bullets flying all over the place, you’re going to hit someone.”

“Oh, my God,” the mugger bellowed, and turned and ran.

The Night Flyer quickly turned to Deuce, and said, “Are you okay? Did he take anything?”

“Uh ... actually, n-no. I ... I ... those bullets just bounced off you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” Deuce said as he put out his hand in friendship. “I’m Deuce Gannon. I was just out for a walk this evening, and ran into our friend there.”

“This is not a very good neighborhood to be walking around in, Mr. Gannon.”

“Deuce, please.”

“Next time you feel like walking, I would suggest you stay in well-lit areas. Areas like this are a mugger’s dream.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before. I mean outside a poker game.”

“It’s just a name I acquired from a bunch of hoodlums I used to play cards with.” He looked at the name on the shirt the man was wearing, and said, “Night Flyer.” He looked up at him. “Is that you? Sounds like a superhero.”

“It’s the name of my plane, the Night Flyer. I’m a pilot.”

“Oh, I see. So you’re not a superhero, or anything.”

Gabe smiled indulgently. “Superheroes are for comic books, Mr. Gannon. I’m just ... well, for now, just call me Gabe. Gabe Wesley.”

As Deuce looked at Gabe, he thought of the finely-carved Michelangelo statue. His nose was perfectly symmetrical and his lips looked soft and pillowy, ending in a cute little smirk at the corners. The lights of the city blinked on his face, highlighting his strength and heroic charm. Deuce had an irresistible urge to lick his lips as he thought of what they might taste like. Midnight sex, maybe, all mixed up with a spicy cologne that drifted on the night air. His eyes were the color of blue dusk. So strong, and daring. His hair was like deep waves that he wanted to ride. He could tell that he was a strong individual, but his touch was soft and gentle, yet strong and seductive. He wanted to feel his hot breath as it left his mouth, and brushed the side of his neck. Nothing could be quite so exciting as that.

“I feel I owe you something. Could I buy you a drink?” Deuce asked.

“I don’t drink.” A heavy silence fell between them, so he went on to explain. “Don’t get me wrong. I used to, but I found myself getting too fond of it, you might say, and I cut myself off from it immediately. From that day on it’s been coffee, soft drinks, or just plain old water.”

“You left out milk,” Deuce said teasingly.

“Sorry, no milk. Can’t stand it. Maybe as a child, but I’m a big boy now.”

“You sure are,” Deuce said as he looked him over from top to bottom. “I am wondering, though, why you thought you had to explain that to me. You either drink, or you don’t. No problem.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want you getting the wrong picture of me. I mean, I’m no goody-two shoes by any means. I like to sin as much as the next guy, but addiction is no fun. Whether it’s sex, alcohol, or drugs.”