RadioDust: The Origins
Chapter 1: Knowing each other


April 15, 1930. The massive iron locomotive clanged with a roar as it stopped at the main station in New Orleans, Louisiana. The doors opened and a multitude of people swarmed out, mostly industrial officials who came to secure lots on local products. One of the passengers, however, caught the eye most of all: the young adult must have been just twenty years old, he had short, light blond hair, divided in half by a parting and with a tuft leaning to the right. He had rosy eyes and pale skin, typical of albinos, furrowed with freckles, which adorned his face with soft, almost childish features. He wore a fancy white suit with a black bow tie as his knee-high boots, and wore a wide-brimmed white fedora on his head, probably to cover his eyes, with a dark pink sash, like his elbow-length gloves. He snorted, rummaging in the pocket of his tuxedo and wearing dark pink-rimmed glasses, and stretched out his thin arms, like his body, tall and somewhat lanky.
"Uff... Here we go..." he grunted, lifting the big dark leather bag he was carrying and getting off the train, gasping under the weight of the contents. He went down the stairs, let out a tired grunt and threw his luggage on the floor with a big thud, panting slightly since he wasn't used to doing these things by himself, usually his father's men took care of it. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, thinking of his hateful parent. Enrico Polveri, better known as Henry Duster known as The Pulverizer. One of the bigwigs of the New York underworld and one of Al Capone's most trusted second-in-commands. He had come to America from Italy when he was around her son's age and, after a long rise to power of backstabbing, tax evasion and whatnot, had become one of the most revered names in the underworld.


Mentally, the boy went back in time to a few weeks ago, when his father entered his room, frowning as usual.
“Tony, I need to talk to you.” barked Henry, with his thick Sicilian accent.
"What do you want, old man?" snapped the son, intent on smoking a cigarette.
“Respect, kiddo. I'm still your father." Henry grunted, stomping over to his son's bed. Tony didn't answer, pulling in a puff of smoke.
“I need you to do me a favor.” scolded Henry. The boy sighed: he had heard him say this sentence at least a hundred times, although this was the first time he didn't say it with clearly malicious intent.
"And ya need me for it? What, the other special boys are busy?” snapped Tony, referring to his older brother and younger sister, to whom his father was visibly more fond of.
“Goddammit, shithead! If you weren't my son, I would’a…!” Henry grunted, regaining his composure before assaulting his son, which Tony didn't seem to notice, as if he were used to it.
“…Molly and Ness already have another engagement and I’m too busy. I…need you, Tony.” Henry grunted again, but this time in a different tone, less angry and more needy.
"Tss... Yeah, right..." Tony snapped again, blowing out a cloud of smoke and holding the cigarette between his index and middle finger before bringing it to his lips again.
“…Morty is missing, Tony.” sighed the father, making his son's eyes widen.
“Morty?!” Tony asked, rolling over on the bed.


If you asked someone what could be worse than being the albino son of a 1930s gangster, they would probably answer you being the albino AND GAY son of a 1930s gangster. Tony, or rather Antonio Polveri, known in the family as Anthony Duster, was just that. And the only individual who knew this inconvenient secret of his was Morty, the nickname of Mortimer Davis, his father's trusted right-hand man and, if necessary, his children's bodyguard. To them, Morty was like the uncle they'd never had: someone surprisingly (for their line of work) kind, open and willing to listen to them, yet determined to keep their secrets…well, secrets. Anthony got out of bed, putting out his cigarette.
“W-What do you mean disappeared?! How can you say such a thing in that tone?!” snapped Tony, he was much taller than his father and almost towered over him. Despite this, however, one glance from Henry made his son feel tiny. That cold, icy gaze that only men like him could afford to give to members of their own family.
“...Where did you send him?” sighed Anthony, getting the hint. The father moved the corners of his mouth up slightly, grinning at his son's submission, and said, "I sent him to Louisiana to pick up a couple of credits I had with the locals, but haven't heard from him in a few days." .
"I-It's not like him..." muttered Anthony, who well knew how punctual his confidant was.
"Indeed. That's why I want you to go to New Orleans immediately and retrieve him." his father nodded.
“Huh? In that swampy hole? Yer jokin’... Anthony grunted, with a disgusted face.
“Tony… Your brothers have already proved that I can trust them to run my empire. The only one who hasn't done anything of value yet is you. But if you'll do this for me, who knows… I might change my mind about it…” his father proposed, placing a hand on his hip. Now this was the father Anthony knew. The bargainer. The classic man who "makes you an offer you can't refuse".
“Uff… Fine. But I'll have to carry a lot of gear with me. I foresee that I’ll get very dirty.” Anthony grunted finally.
“Good kid. Oh, and bring some weapons too. You know who's been hanging out in New Orleans these days…” Henry added, startling Anthony.
“…The Swamp Killer… Y-You don't think that…”
"Everything is possible. Morty would never squeal, but he knows many secrets. Secrets that my rivals would go out of their way to get." Henry shrugged.
“Stay alert, little boy. Find Morty, don't get killed and come back to me."


With these words, Anthony returned to the present, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.
“I can't believe he convinced me to do this thing, alone as well!” he snapped, kicking the heavy bag, immediately regretting it and hissing in pain, holding his foot.
“Excusez-moi, monsieur? Need help?" The warm, gentle, French-accented voice behind him made Antonio jump.
“Unless you're a porter, I definitely don’t think so. Beat it, before I…” muttered Antonio, turning around and finding himself face to face with a local. He was about his age, maybe a few years older. He had an olive complexion and intense light brown eyes, accentuated by red goggles and an upturned nose. His hair was hidden by the wide-brimmed red and white hat, apart from a few sporadic dark brown tufts, and the stranger wore a wide smile, which almost crossed his face. He was wearing a light red, almost pink, shirt with pronounced shoulder pads and overwhelmed by the red-striped black waistcoat and black bow tie. He was wearing burgundy pants and black tap shoes. As soon as he saw the man, Antonio's heart leapt slightly: he thought that all the inhabitants of Louisiana were boorish or at least rough-looking. Never would he have expected to see someone looking so... fascinating.
"It feels heavy." resumed the man. Anthony opened and closed his eyes a couple of times, then seemed to reconnect.
“Huh? Oh, ah, yeah, because it's… Maybe I've… overpacked a little bit…” he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.
"I noticed." the local chuckled in return. "May I?" he asked then. Anthony looked first at him, then at the bag.
“Uh, if you think you can lift it…” he finally commented. The man smiled and lifted the bag with little effort, making Anthony jump.
“But… But how’d ya do that?! That thing’ll weigh over 400 pounds!!” gasped the young adult.
“Ah, well, we've all had to do our share of hard work here. We’re used to it, mister…?” the man answered, effortlessly carrying the bag.
“Oh, uh, Anthony. Anthony Duster." said Anthony, his father had always told him to use the American name that had been given to him, the Italian one was reserved for the family.
“Enchanted, Mr. Duster. My name is Albert Store, but everyone here calls me Al.” replied Albert, making a slight bow.
(What a weirdo... But he's so kind...) thought Anthony.
"From your accent, I understand you're from New York." resumed Albert.
"Uh, yes, you… You’re right…" Anthony muttered, thinking more about how to look for Morty in a place he didn't know at all.
“I'm sorry, am I boring you? Because if so, I'm mortified." Albert said, to which Anthony looked at him quickly.
“Huh? O-Oh no, no, no, you don't bore me, sir, it's just that… Sigh, forget it…” Anthony snorted, feeling bad for having made his mysterious benefactor think this.
“It doesn't matter, I won't elaborate if you don't want to. But, do you mind if we talk less formally? After all, I'm three, four years older than you?” Al asked, making Anthony smile slightly.
"Yes, why not?" he answered, holding out his hand. Al shook it as they exited the station.


The atmosphere in which Anthony was catapulted was very different from what he expected. He was ready to find himself in a rural village, with streets made of mud and huts scattered here and there, instead the atmosphere was much more of a city, even if not as massive as New York. The streets were paved and traveled by the occasional cars and trams, on both sides of the streets there were houses and clubs of every shape and color, as well as people who strolled, chatted or went shopping. His astonishment was immediately noticed by Al, who smiled deeper as he set the bag down on the ground.
"You weren't expecting this, huh?" Al asked, at which Anthony turned.
"...Definitely no. I thought…” mumbled the young adult.
“...That we were a swampy settlement. I know I know. Don't worry, it happens to people who've never been here." Al answered calmly.
"It's that noticeable, huh?" Anthony asked, embarrassed.
“A little, yes,” Al replied, chuckling. “If I may ask so, what brings you here, mon frère?” he asked then.
“Uh, I'm… looking for my uncle. He hadn't been in touch for a while and…” Anthony answered absently, he wasn't used to lying like his father or brother did. But that seemed enough to Al.
“In that case, let me help you.” he said.
"Huh?" asked Anthony.
“Trust me, I know New Orleans like the back of my hand. I can show you the place so you can find your uncle more easily.” Al repeated, leaving Anthony stunned.
“But… But… W-We just met… W-Why are you so… nice to me?” Anthony asked, not knowing what to answer.
“It is the duty of every good gentleman to help those in need. But first, let's find a place where you can spend the night." Al answered as he pulled a buggy to a halt.
"Hey Al. How are ya, man?" asked the coachman, a large African-American man in a yellow smock, brown slacks and boots with a flannel on his bald head and a big mustache.
“Very well, Ray, old chap. Hey, would you give me and my guest a lift at the Fleur de Lis?” Al asked the coachman.
“Ah, New Yorker, huh? Well then, the Fleur de Lis is the perfect place.” Ray said, smiling. Anthony climbed aboard, still shocked by the kindness shown to him, while Al loaded the bag on the chariot, which left immediately after. As they made their way to this Fleur de Lis, Anthony couldn't take his eyes off Albert's face. He'd taken off his hat, freeing his chestnut-colored hair, and was now adjusting it with a folding comb he kept in his waistcoat pocket. Anthony's heart leapt again: Al had a face that was really… pleasant to look at, according to him. Al opened one eye and caught Antonio's gaze on his face and smiled kindly.
“Do you want to ask me something, mon frère?” Al asked. Anthony shook his head, as if he'd just woken up, and noticed Al staring at him intently, feeling his cheeks color slightly.
“Uh, n-no, no… It's just… W-Why do all this… for me?” asked Anthony. He was so unaccustomed to receiving kindnesses for no reason that he could not understand why he did it.
“Because you needed help. And, as I said, it is a gentleman's duty to do what it takes to help those in need. That's how we see it here." Al responded without half measures, exuding sincerity from every pore. Anhony felt the blush color his cheeks even more and tried to compose himself: he really couldn't have a crush on a guy he had just met.
"T-Thank you, you're... you're very kind..." Anthony murmured, and Al only replied with an even warmer smile, so much so that Antonio had to look away to avoid feeling even more flustered than necessary.




The journey did not last long and the chariot stopped in front of a huge white building with cornflowers planted and depicted almost everywhere.
“Here is the Fleur de Lis, the flagship of the new district.” Al said poetically.
“So… Is this, like, your house?” Anthony asked, impressed by how the palace towered over the other buildings. Al burst into laughter, which made Anthony's heart leap again.
“No no no, mon ami. This is not my house, it’s the hotel where I stay at with my roommate.” Al said between laughs.
“You stay here? Don't… Don't you have a home?” asked Anthony. Al's smile sagged slightly and he sketched out a “Not anymore…” before getting off. The fact that he didn't have a home struck Anthony. He couldn't even think of what that entailed. But then he started thinking about something else: if he was homeless, how could he afford a room in such a luxurious place? Anthony was so lost in thought that he only noticed Al's outstretched hand moments later, blinking a couple of times.
“…Uh, Al? What-What are you…?” Anthony asked, confused.
"Helping you down." Al answered, finding his smile again. Anthony felt his heart race as he offered Al his right hand and stepped out of the carriage. But Al didn't let go of his hand right away, instead allowing himself a couple of quick strokes on the back of Anthony’s hand with his thumb. Anthony felt like dying from how strong his heart was pounding, it seemed as if he wanted to escape from his chest.
“...Can I make a slightly unusual comment?" Al asked after a couple of seconds. Anthony replied with a very shy "Mhm?" which then turned into a sort of barely suppressed moan from his lips as Al planted a kiss on his glove.
“The thing is…I don't think I've ever seen a man more…interesting than you. You have very soft skin, I can feel it even through the glove. And your face… Your face has childish features that give you an even more fascinating air than the most beautiful damsels I know.” Al decanted in an elegant and refined, but nevertheless extremely sweet, tone. At that point Anthony was thrown in shambles. The blush had reached the tips of his ears, his heart beated like crazy and he couldn't help but emit a groan badly held back by his tightly closed lips.
"Ya done, Romeo?" Ray grumbled and Al, chuckling, let go of Anthony’s hand.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away." Al smiled, then turned on his heel and entered.
"I'll wait for you inside, mon ami." he added then before disappearing behind the door. Only then did Anthony lean back in the carriage seat, putting a hand to his chest as he desperately tried to calm down.


"You good?" Ray asked, peeking out from behind the carriage, he had come down to get the luggage.
"Anf… Anf… Anf… Y-Yes, I'm… Y-I'm fine…" panted Anthony, still in shock from what had just happened. Was Al by any chance… hitting on him? No, it wasn't possible. They had literally met minutes ago, he couldn't be flirting with him already.
“Eh, Al is like that. When he wants to say something,ain’t no way he's keeping it to himself." Ray huffed.
“Have… Have you known him for a long time?” Anthony seemed to regain a modicum of calm as he asked.
“Everyone in town knows him. How not to? He's not only the nephew of the best restaurateur in town, but he's also a radio star, did you know that?” Ray said.
“He works in radio?” asked Anthony.
“Work on it? He practically owns it. Al is the best radio host in the entire state of Louisiana.” Ray burst out proudly, as if he were his own son.
“A radio host, huh?” asked Anthony, who was now able to explain many things. He also thought it was perfect: who better than a radio conductor to help him find a lost person?
“Yeah, founder and director of Radio New Orleans.” Ray answered, heading towards the entrance.
"Really?" said Anthony, surprised.
"Well yes. Even though it's hard work at times. Like lately, he always starts his shows by reading the obituary of whoever was killed by the Swamp Killer…" Ray sighed mournfully.
“O-Oh… Yes, ne… I've heard of it…” Anthony commented, rubbing his arm anxiously.
“Ho ho, don't worry, sir. Unless ya venture into the swamp alone, ya have nothin’ to fear. The Killer never leaves his territory. You are safe in the city." Ray chuckled and gave a thumbs up.
“That… comforts me, really.” Anthony sighed. In reality he was only afraid that he would have to venture into the swamp to look for Morty, but at the moment that was not really the case, since the sun was setting. At least now he could take off his glasses and hat.
“Oh, I better go now. Have a nice rest." Ray said, setting down his bag as he walked out of the lobby, back to his chariot, and set off again. Anthony smiled at the coachman, then he too entered the Fleur de Lis hotel.


Instantly, he felt like he was back home. The structure of the hall, large and spacious, was very reminiscent of the entrance to the building where he lived with his family. At the end of the hall, with a dark blue floor and marble walls adorned with columns and arches, there was an immense black marble staircase that led to the floors with the rooms. To Anthony’s left was a bar with an attached piano and to his right was a lounge with sofas, armchairs and a selection of books. Anthony was immediately joined by a man slightly shorter than him, dressed in a black pinstripe suit and with dark hair covered in gel, his smiling face was adorned with two pointed mustaches, also black. It was probably the owner.
"Welcome to the Fleur de Lis, sir." The man greeted him warmly.
“Uh, are you from New York?” Anthony asked, noting his accent.
“Like you, I notice.” answered the director, still smiling.
“I moved here with my Geraldine, the best pastry chef in the world. She stays in the kitchen, I take care of the rest. Would you like a room?” he asked, walking with Anthony to the reception.
“Uh, sure.” he answered, pulling out a wad of cash, part of the money given to him by his father for his research. “Are these enough?” he asked nonchalantly. The manager blanched and grabbed the roll.
“Are you kidding? With these you are entitled to our best rooms! The king size, as we called them, because we serve you with the treatment of a king!” answered the director enthusiastically. Anthony looked around casually when he noticed Al sitting on one of the couches. He was reading a book. As soon as he laid eyes on Al, Anthony’s heart started pounding again, but he held himself together enough.
“Uh, d-do you mind taking my bags to my room? I-I don't think I'll go in right away, I'd like to look around a bit." Anthony asked, as the blush returned.
"Sure. No problem." said the director, clapping his hands and making a boy of about 15 rush over to take away the bag. The porter lifted him onto his back and, muttering, carried it away, while the manager gave Anthony the key to room 303. Anthony thanked him and was left alone, the manager disappeared into a back door. Anthony felt his heart pounding as he slowly approached Al, his guide, shyly. As he did so he thought back to what she had said to him, the way she had said it and, above all, the way his eyes seemed to look straight into his soul. He began to sweat, his hands shook and the blush returned, stronger than before. Was it possible that someone he'd just met had not only been so nice to him, but actually seemed interested in him? And in a romantic sense, nonetheless? This and other questions formed in his mind as Anthony approached him.


Al was reading a book of poetry, humming a lyrical tune.
"...Le Nozze di Figaro." Anthony commented in Italian, taking Al's eyes away from his reading.
“Heh, opera fan?” Al asked as his new friend sat down next to him.
"More or less. It's the music my father likes. We have Italian roots, you know.” replied Anthony. While he knew the song, it wasn't actually among his favorites, preferring more modern singers like Frank Sinatra.
“Ah! Wonderful! I would love to visit it!” Al said, putting the book down.
"...Me too..." Anthony muttered, frowning.
“…What’s troubling you?” Al asked, getting serious.
“The fact that I'll probably never go anywhere. My old man will never let me." Anthony sighed, covering his face with his hands.
“Well… You're here now, aren't you? It's already something." Al said, raising an eyebrow.
"No, you're wrong. I'm only here at his behest, to find his brother. Otherwise, he'd always keep me locked up in the house. And so also with my brothers.” sobbed Anthony, never would have believed that he could cry in front of someone, but Al inspired him confidence. The same one Morty gave him.
“Sigh, he’s THAT type of father, huh? I can understand you, mon amì, I've been there too..." Al sighed and, for a second, Antonio seemed to hear a different nuance in his voice. A more… angry one. But he quickly got rid of it, returning to his iconic smile.
“Listen, mon ami, I was going to dinner. Will you join me?" he asked. Anthony raised an eyebrow. Was he asking him out? Was this… a date? He felt his pulse quicken again, but he managed to contain himself.
"O-Okay..." chirped Anthony.
“Splendid!” Al exclaimed stentorianly, standing up.
“Dining in good company is more fun, don't you agree?” he added then. His optimism was truly contagious, so much so that even Anthony cracked a smile.
"I think you’re right." he answered, standing up and seeing Al offering him his arm. Another chivalrous gesture that reduced Anthony to a red and embarrassed mess, but still allowed Al to take his arm and leave the hotel. The two walked through the streets as the sunlight grew fainter, much to Anthony’s relief.
"It must not be easy, being an albino, right?" Al asked Anthony.
"Yeah... One of the reasons why I don't go out often at home either..." sighed Anthony.
“It must be bad, mon ami. Not being able to enjoy the sunlight and all that. But at least you have your brothers to keep you company, n'est pas?” Al asked.
“You're wrong. Only I was born an albino." Anthony sighed again.
"Oh... I'm sorry..." This time it was Al who sighed.
“Having siblings must be wonderful and terrible at the same time. I was born an only child, so I can't even imagine what it's like to have a brother." he said then.
“Meh, you don't miss much. I'm on good terms with my little sister, but with my older brother... We practically never see each other, he's always away on business, and the few times we meet... It's like there's a stranger in our house. Obviously, since they both work, daddy is very proud of them… I, on the other hand, am the black sheep of the family… Precisely because of my condition, I can't find a job.” Anthony bowed his head in displeasure.
“I see…” Al said, looking ahead.
"Oh! Look! Here we are! It's my uncle Bernard's restaurant!" he said.
“Oh, right. Ray told me." Anthony commented, looking up.
“Oh… Huff… What else did he tell you?” Al snorted, looking a little disappointed.
“That you own a radio station, which is amazing.” Anthony answered, feeling a little better. Al muttered something in French, then said "Too bad... I wanted to reveal it to you myself...".
"Oh... Well, come on, it's not like he did it on purpose..." Anthony minimized, gesturing with his hand.
“Huff, I guess you're right.” Al said, opening the door for his guest and entering the restaurant with him. It was a very quaint, maritime themed place. The tables were old polished rudders, the chairs were made of barrels and on the walls there were various fishing trophies and photos of fishermen with their catch. Anthony had to admit that the atmosphere was very nice, even though he was used to much more refined places.


“Petit-fils!” said the voice of a man about Ray's age. But this one was bigger and taller, with more hair and a black and gray beard.
“Oncle!” Al answered, running up to him and hugging him.
"Mmmm. Comment ça va?” Bernard asked in French.
“Je vais bien, mon oncle. Comment vas-tu?” Al asked back.
“Je ne peux pas me plaindre.” replied Bernard, noticing Antonio who greeted him a little awkwardly.
"Oh! Mon oncle, voici mon nouvel ami, Anthony.” Al said, returning to his side and introducing Anthony to his uncle, who bowed slightly.
“Plaisir to meet you, monsieur Anthony.” Bernard said in a strong French dialect.
“Plaisir… UHM! T-The pleasure is all mine..." Anthony grunted after that slip of the tongue, but Bernard just laughed, a laugh very similar to Al's.
“Don't worry, monsieur. So, table for deux?” the uncle asked Al, who nodded.
"Sit down, I'll be right back." Bernard then said, disappearing behind the counter as Al seated Anthony.
"Ugh, I don't know what got into me..." Anthony snorted.
"Relax. You made him laugh, so he already likes you. Like me, after all." Al answered, sitting down across from him and holding his hand again.
“Y-Yeah… I noticed you laugh the same way.” stammered Anthony, trying to change the subject.
“Oh yeah, he taught me the value of laughter. You see, you can tell a lot about a person by the way they laugh. Whether he's doing well or not, whether he's really happy or just a circumstantial laugh… I owe him this and even more. After losing mine, he's been my rock. He raised me and protected me from a hostile world.” Al revealed, sighing slightly.
“Aw, how cute.” Anthony answered, not wanting him to think about these things in the middle of their… date? The thought came back strong, and so did his heartbeat, so Anthony swallowed and stammered "L-Look, Al… W-What you… told me earlier, when we arrived… W-Were you serious?". Al looked at him and replied “Of course. I never hide anything, mon cher." Antonio knew that that mon cher had a different meaning from the mon amì or mon frère with which Al had called him before. A more… intimate meaning. Bernard arrived with the menus and, surprisingly, Al quickly withdrew his hand, regaining his composure. Anthony had no more doubts: Al too was homosexual. He recognized all too well the anxiety of having to hide his true nature from his only relative. His uncle handed him the menus and they both concentrated on what to have. They both had shrimp jambalaya, on Al's recommendation, and Bernard took the menus away, disappearing back into the kitchen. As they waited, Anthony could feel the tension between them, a million questions swirling in his head but he didn't know how to make them take shape.
“...You figured it out, right?” Al asked, sighing.
“W-what?” Anthony asked.
“Come on, mon cher, let's not insult each other. We know the elephant in the room…” Al huffed, resting his forehead on the table.
“...How long have you known?” asked Anthony.
“For a couple of years, even if I suspected it from before. I had a girlfriend, Rosie. She wasn't perfect, but I loved her in my own way. But, when I revealed it to her in confidence, she ran away, horrified. I haven't seen her since…” Al moaned, sounding really sad despite his always cheerful facade.
"Holy shit… Al, I… I'm so sorry…" and this time it was Anthony who held his hand.
“And about what, cher? You couldn't have known…” Al sighed, shaking Anthony’s hand.
“But I understand you. Even too well. I also know what it feels like to have to hide who you are from your family and loved ones. Just think that this uncle I'm looking for is the only one who knows about my... particular tendencies..." Anthony said, lightly patting the back of Al's hand.
“I know we haven't known each other for a long time but… I already feel like I can be completely honest with you, Tony.” Al answered with a smirk and that's when Anthony chuckled. A small chuckle, but enough to make Al's face light up.
“Sorry, it's just… Tony is what my brother calls me. But you say it in a much nicer way.” Anthony said, stopping to see Al looking at him, almost enraptured.
"Al?" asked Anthony.
"...It's gorgeous..." Al commented, receiving a perplexed look from Antonio.
“Your laugh… It's wonderful. It's like… a musical instrument, like a perfectly tuned guitar… It tastes like sadness and hope at the same time.” Al explained, still twinkling in his eyes. Anthony withdrew a little, turning away so as not to show the blush on his face but unable to stop smiling.

The two dishes arrived and the two friends ate heartily. Anthony had never tasted anything tastier in his entire life, not even home cooking could compete with Uncle Bernard's jambalaya. They ate and drank together, thanking Bernard who insisted not to be paid, and then went back to the hotel together. By now it was late at night, the street lamps were on and lit up the street while the two laughed and talked about this and that, getting to know each other better than ever. Suddenly Al stopped and pointed Anthony towards the distant swamp, a dark mass compared to the lighted streets. Suddenly, an almost infinite number of fireflies burst out of it, lighting up the night sky even more. Antonio watched the spectacle in ecstasy and, without even realizing it, held Al tightly, their hands clasped together. Al stared at him intently, then planted a tender kiss on his cheek. Anthony looked down, seeing Al's soft face almost shining against the street and blushed again, but this time he didn't move away, instead accepting the tender gesture. The two watched the fireflies fly in the sky, then returned to the hotel, Al insisted on accompanying Anthony to his room.
“I really enjoyed myself today, Al.” Anthony commented, giggling.
"The same goes for me. Now sleep, mon ange. Tomorrow I will help you find your uncle.” Al answered, stroking his cheek.
“Mmm… What does that mean?” Anthony asked, feeling the warmth of Al's hand on his cheek.
“Hehehe… It means my angel.” Al answered, smiling and starting to walk away.
"Good night." Al said.
"Night..." sighed Anthony , entering and closing the door of his huge room with a four-poster bed. He took a deep breath, then let out a gleeful little cry, the kind he'd never given before.
"YES! I'M IN LOVE!!" he laughed heartily and sank back on the bed, sighing passionately and hugging the pillow.


Meanwhile, Al returned to his room and collapsed on the door, sighing.
“Aaahhh… Sorry for the delay, mon amì, but I was chatting with a delicious young man who arrived here from the Big Apple. You know, I think he likes me. And I like him a lot too.” sighed Al, getting back to his feet as, from the darkness, someone answered with a grunt.
“Oh, sorry, were you sleeping? How rude of me…” Al sighed again, moving away from the door and heading towards the bed.
“Tomorrow I won't be present for the whole day. Between work and the promise I made to my new friend that might even become something more, I'm afraid we won't see each other for a while… So…” Al's voice changed dramatically, almost turning to a guttural, frightening hiss as he took a sharp scalpel from the bedside table.
“How about we… cut it short?” sneered Al, chuckling soon after, as he heard more grunts, coupled with the sound of ropes pulling.
"What's up? You don't like my joke? Hm, I'll have to perfect my repertoire… Eh, I'll do it later…” muttered Al, approaching the middle-aged man tied to his bed by strong ropes tied tightly on his limbs to the four sides of the canopy. He was missing an eye and his jaw, and his entire body was covered in bloody cuts and incisions, with the names of various cuts of meat on them. The man wriggled free in the tight ropes, begging Al amid aching whimpers and unintelligible mutterings.
“So, Morty… Where were we?” Al hissed again, grinning madly as he bent over the man, his victim's gasps and screams of pain drowned out by a twisted, sadistic, insane version of Al's normally soothing laugh.




 To Be Continued…