One man's fool...

Unlike the others, Hendrick-the-right would make it back. The kind soul who placed him here would greatly increase his chances of being found by Charlie. Surely Charlie couldn't go more than a couple of yards before looking down and realizing that one of his beloved gloves was gone. Allistair-the-left was indifferent and would not call attention to the loss.
He could be so mean that way. Their relationship wasn't always like this, it had been wonderful until that horrible day last winter. Charlie was digging into his right pocket for his messy clump of keys and in seconds, a jagged edge had caught Allistair's finger tip and snagged a hole in the precious yarn.
When Allistair emerged from the pocket, Hendrick knew life would never be the same again.
It was a 50/ 50 shot. Handicaps sometimes turn their injured into nicer people, and sometimes they make them meaner, crustier, bitter.
In Allistair's case, the latter was true. He could not stand to think of Hendrick's flawless existence. It took almost a year for things to come to a head, but things did change one afternoon. Hendrick looked up to see Allistair on top of that scanky kitchen towel with the burned edges. And now he found himself on a street post waiting for Charlie to find him.
He knew Allistair was vicious but he only now just began to appreciate the depths of his evil.